Authors: Sharon Struth
“A peck.” Veronica’s cheeks burned warm from the lie. “I turned around and he realized his mistake. Trust me, we were both embarrassed. You guys, I think he’s trying to start off on the right foot in Northbridge and worried I was upset with him. So, that’s why he asked me to dance. To say sorry.”
“You know, when Duncan first showed up in town, we all thought the worst of Trent.” Sophie pushed up the sleeves on a light summer shirt, then sat back in her seat and crossed her arms. “But he’s not a bad guy. Just had some hard knocks. He needs someone to believe in him for a change. According to Duncan, their father always ignored Trent.”
Despite Veronica’s family’s flaws, they always supported each other. What had Trent been through? The confident, casual attitude might be a front. Didn’t everyone have a story? Veronica’s heart swelled with an unexpected ache, over a man for whom she desperately wished to have absolutely no feelings.
Trent neared downtown Northbridge, shut off the car’s air conditioning, and rolled down the Jeep windows. An unseasonably cool August breeze passed through the vehicle, a nice break from the heat. He did a rough tally in his head and counted fifteen restaurants he’d visited since yesterday. Ten were willing to showcase Litchfield Hills Vineyard’s wine and offer discount coupons for the tasting room to their patrons. Not too shabby.
He shifted in the seat of his car, but it did little to lessen the soreness in his back. The past day and a half spent driving around Litchfield and Hartford counties meeting with restaurant owners wasn’t what made him sore, but sure added to his discomfort. The aches and pains all came from the hard work he’d endured at the farm. Back in his twenties, he could’ve done this much physical labor complaint-free.
Over the weekend he’d learned how to milk a goat, put up a fence, and prune various plants. Life here was different than he’d expected. Almost all the food in his refrigerator came from their land or nearby farms. The eggs he cracked for breakfast each morning glowed with vibrant orange yolks—so unlike the store-bought ones—and he’d never tasted cheeses with the rich flavors like those made at a local dairy farm.
He’d worked harder than ever before, and yet when he’d crawl under the covers each night, aching and tired, something inside his soul was strangely satiated.
In the center of town, he found a free spot on the street, right near the park. His list of errands paled next to his growling stomach. A bench under a large oak tree not far from a gazebo called to him, so he grabbed the bagged lunch purchased from a deli a few towns over and crossed the lawn to the bench.
Across the street, folks bustled in and out of shops. He slowly chewed his roast beef sandwich and sipped a soda. The quiet pace of Northbridge shifted his internal gears and left him more relaxed, less needy of the stimulants he’d consumed for so many years. Maybe his brother hadn’t been off his rocker when he’d moved here.
A shopper left Walker’s Drugstore. He did a double take when he realized the tall woman hurrying down the street was Veronica. A package tucked under her arm, she took long strides, obvious in her fitted white slacks. Her dark curls bounced against the back of her neck, and he recalled how the soft strands felt in his fingers during their kiss.
He finished the sandwich, watched her journey. Soon, she disappeared inside the library. Friday night during their chance meeting in Duncan’s kitchen, she’d been very quiet. Why, though. The elevator? The kiss at Sophie’s party? Self-defense class? Probably all of the above.
He’d e-mailed Etta to ask her for some advice on what he could do to help a student who showed fear, possibly because she’d suffered from an attack. He’d also asked Etta if she’d ever visited Boston, saying he planned a trip there and was looking for recommendations on sites or restaurants. Duncan had said Veronica went to school in the Massachusetts city, so he anxiously awaited a reply from Etta to see if his suspicions that these two women were one and the same moved any closer to confirmation.
He brushed a few crumbs off his lap, gathered his trash, and stood. Rather than go to the hardware store, he headed to the library. At the crosswalk, he tossed his garbage in a can and crossed the street. Not far from the old white library, he stopped and read a plaque beneath a bronze statue.
Dewty Flynn
~ 150 Years ~
Come one, Come all, but if you don’t come, you’ll miss the fun.
He remembered many years ago when his dad pointed out the small home where the famous vaudevillian was born. The same summer Trent caused a whole lot of commotion trying to uncover the truth about his father.
Ignoring the weight of his family history, he pulled open the heavy library door. People mingled in the main area, which opened to shelves filled with books, thick wall-to-wall carpeting, and long desks and chairs.
Etta had mentioned a book he wanted to know more about, so he went over to a woman sitting at a desk. “Excuse me. I’m looking for a book called
Unleashing the Past
.
The curly haired helper nodded. “That’s popular these days. Hold on.” She tapped at the keyboard for a minute. “Sorry. It’s out and there are two other people on the wait list. Can I add your name?”
“No, but thanks. I’ll check back.”
Trent wandered the aisles. He found an interesting mystery, scanned the jacket, and replaced it, continuing down the aisle.
In the biography section, he skimmed the titles, stopping at one on the life of Irving Berlin. The day of his wedding to Gemma flooded his mind and heart. At their reception, he’d sung Berlin’s “Blue Skies” to her. Before starting the number, he’d told the guests at the outdoor wedding the song was selected because Gemma’s love cleared the dark skies of his life.
Their short engagement—a month after meeting—and wedding two months later was too fast according to others, but he’d never doubted their love, even to this day.
He pulled the book from the shelf and browsed the pages, but the words and pictures blurred. After shutting the book, he clutched it to his chest, as if it possessed some mystical power that might relieve the sadness, which had owned him ever since their marriage ended. He drew in a deep breath.
“Trent?”
The pain pulsating inside him eased as his gaze got lost in Veronica’s beautiful dark eyes. “Oh. Veronica.”
She motioned to the book. “Are you an Irving Berlin fan?”
He’d almost forgotten about the book he held, so lost in his memories. “I am. They don’t write songs like his anymore.”
“No. They don’t.” She stared at him with parted lips as if she wanted to say something else. “Well, if you need a library card, the front desk will be glad to help.”
“Thanks.”
Neither one moved. Her perfect lips shimmered, as if they’d been brushed with pink stardust.
“Ronnie?” The woman who’d helped him earlier came to the end of the aisle. “There’s someone at the circulation desk to see you.”
“I’ll be right there.” She turned her attention back to Trent. “Guess I’ll see you in class tonight.”
“You will.”
She shifted, one step from leaving, then stopped. “What’s your favorite song of Berlin’s?”
The wedding memory again ambushed his heart. “Blue Skies.”
Her gaze rested on him for several seconds, and she almost smiled. “Mine, too.”
She walked away. The weight of his loss lifted from his chest, and Trent’s heart pinged inside his ribcage with a flurry of passion he’d been missing for far too long.
* * * *
Veronica tooted the horn. Her niece appeared at the front door with a toothbrush in her mouth and held up her index finger. Veronica threw the car into park and slouched in the front seat of her car with her cell phone close to her face, trying to retrieve the hasty e-mail reply she’d sent to Ry seconds before leaving the house.
His e-mail had described a woman in his self-defense class that he’d called a “reluctant participator.” Her actions, he speculated, made it seem as if she’d experienced something traumatic, like a personal assault, and he wanted “Etta’s” advice. One problem, though. How could she answer truthfully without confessing her own cowardly actions in last week’s class?
There was no way she could let Ry down, especially considering the support he’d given her lately. So she’d said what he most likely needed to hear, but that advice didn’t match the turmoil going on inside her head. His whole e-mail this time had left her uneasy.
The phone’s Internet whirled to get a connection to the e-mail account, and she tapped her finger on the steering wheel, wishing it would hurry up. Ry always respected her request to keep most matters impersonal, but in this recent e-mail, he’d asked a very specific question:
have you ever visited Boston?
The truth was, answering that question didn’t mean she lived near the city, but… It was too close to the truth. Too personal. So she’d answered in the only way she deemed appropriate…an outright lie.
Finally her e-mail account opened, and she went to her sent messages to reread what she’d written to him, hopeful it didn’t sound as bad as she’d thought.
From: [email protected]
Subject: My Advice
How exciting that you may be visiting Boston. I’m sorry to say that I’ve never visited the fine city before, but it’s one I hope someday to see.
On your class issue, you’re so sweet to care so much about a student! I’d say after getting to know you, I’m not a bit surprised. Chances are, if she’s taking the class, she’s got a reason—not simply looking for a night out. Please don’t give up, but tread lightly. If she’s been hurt, it might take time.
Veronica rolled her eyes. The word hypocrite screamed in her ears. She wished for an un-send button. She—of all people—wasn’t equipped to give him reasonable feedback.
The passenger door flung open and Cassidy got in. “Sorry. Mom made me change my shirt. Said it was too clingy.”
Veronica tossed the phone in her purse. “Sometimes moms know best.”
“I guess.”
Five minutes later, they arrived at the gym. Most of the class already sat on the bleachers, deep in conversation. Trent stood with three ladies who’d formed a semi-circle around him. His stunning blue eyes showed great concentration as he listened.
How was it possible “Blue Skies” was his favorite song, too? Who’d even have guessed he’d know anything about the American composer? The impression didn’t mesh with Trent’s casual attitude and hip facade.
They sat behind Bernadette and her daughter, and as they got settled, Trent spoke above the chatter. “Let’s get started.”
As the talking died down, he scanned the group and grinned. “I’d worried you ladies might have been scared off after last week.”
Many of them laughed, but Veronica found herself caught up in how his smile twisted her heart into an incoherent mess. She leaned over and adjusted the ankle of her yoga pants to avoid looking at him.
This past weekend, she’d gone to the movies with Jim, but all the safe things about him were losing their appeal. Worse, every conversation she’d ever had with Trent niggled inside her, a pesky reminder of how he stirred deep emotions and an aching physical need, leaving her both wanting and fearful.
“In a few minutes, we’ll move on to some new material. But first, I’d like to recap last week.”
While he talked, Veronica fished through her purse for last week’s handout, where she’d taken some notes, despite her lack of participation.
“Now remember, keys make a perfect weapon, but being confident and using your voice are the best weapons of all. If someone attacks you, yell to get attention. I’d maybe yell the word fire because, sadly, if you yell rape or even help, many people will be afraid to get involved.”
Veronica’s cheeks burned and she glanced up. Trent’s eyes landed on her, so swiftly she averted hers to the back of Bernadette’s head.
“I need two volunteers to help me reinforce a few moves from last week.”
Bernadette turned around. “Why don’t we go?” she said in a stage whisper.
Veronica shook her head.
Wanda raised her hand and so did Bernadette, but she sent a strange look Veronica’s way.
“Thanks, ladies. Come on down.” They went to the floor mats. Trent stood between them. “Let’s recap the shock shove. I feel like we rushed through this last week. I want you to place the palms of your hands in front of the shoulder and give a good push. Like you really mean it.”
They demonstrated the exercise, taking turns shoving each other. Veronica didn’t remember this exercise, then realized they must’ve covered it while she’d stepped out. What was there to practice? A shove seemed easy.
Trent thanked them and turned to the bleachers. “How about the rest of you come down, pair up, and give this one a try?”
Katie elbowed Cassidy. “Partners again?”
Cassidy looked at Veronica, a question on her face.
“You two go. I’m just watching.”
Veronica busied herself by staring at the notes he’d given them last week, jotting down a few tips on the shock shove while the others practiced. Maybe she could try this at home with Cassidy. The bleachers shook from footsteps, then stopped.
“Care to give it a try?”
She glanced up from the paper, and Trent stared back. She adjusted the slipped strap of her tank top and shook her head. “Nope. I’m good.”
His full lower lip bowed, and a strand of his messy hair flopped down his forehead. “Here’s an idea. We try, but you say stop and we’ll stop.”
The others were busy on the floor mats, but the technique seemed easy and fast. “Fine. One try.”
She hopped down the bleachers to an open space, Trent one step behind.
She turned around, startled that he stood so close. Taking a step back, she said, “Okay. Now what?”
“Let’s square off. Move your feet apart. It’ll ground you. You can take your sneakers off if you want.”
She glanced down at her white canvas slip-ons, then looked up at him. “Is that what an attacker will say to me?”
He grinned. “Okay. Leave them on.”