Harvest Moon (3 page)

“I got stuck in the elevator with a woman. A sexy, rule abiding number.” Trent tried to sound cavalier, as if those long legs didn’t haunt him.

“Rule abiding, huh? Sounds just like what the doctor ordered for you. Did you get her number?”

“She ran off before I could ask.”

“Oh. Well, aren’t you seeing…Ruby?”

“I dated her last summer. I’m seeing Angie now.”

“Oh.”

Duncan looked confused, so Trent changed the subject. “Listen, before I left on this last site visit, did you see I moved myself into the cottage at the farm?”

“I did.”

“The place is a far cry from the shack you showed me last spring. I’d never have known it was the same place. Thanks for fixing it up.”

“Sophie handled renovations. She did a great job.” Duncan’s face softened when he said his fiancée’s name. “Will you stay up there tonight?”

“Maybe. I have a date later today in Hartford. So I’m not making any promises.”

“With Ru… I mean, Angie? So how long have you been dating her?”

Trent turned in the chair, pressed the cell phone “on” switch, and the phone came to life. “Guess it’s been about a month now.”

“I can’t keep up. You need to settle down.”

Trent only laughed. Settling down again didn’t seem in his cards these days, only he couldn’t quite get a pulse on what left him so unsatisfied with the women he dated.

“Oh, don’t forget, at four the staff is having a going away party for us.”

“I didn’t.” Trent searched for his contact list for Angie’s number.

“One other thing.”

He looked up, met Duncan’s stare, more serious than a moment ago.

“I’m really glad you’re joining me on the vineyard. Having some family with me as I get this new business off the ground means a lot.”

Trent’s heart filled with a love he found hard to express. He and Duncan hadn’t been close while growing up. A long and winding trail of bad choices made by Trent had left everyone else in his family with the notion he was a screw up. But not Duncan.

“Thanks. I’ll do everything in my power to help make the vineyard a success.”

Duncan studied his feet for a few seconds before looking back up. “Sometimes you’ve got to shake up your life a bit to find the gold. I know this will be different for you, but Northbridge is a special place.”

Trent nodded, even though he worried about how he’d be received in the close-knit community. “Part of the reason I said yes.”

“Bring Angie to Sophie’s party on Saturday night, so I can meet her.”

“I’ll see.”

Trent returned to his search for Angie’s number but couldn’t ignore the nervous tug at his gut, rocking the confidence it took to make a move to the small Connecticut town. Confidence easily shaken by the stupid things he’d done there many years ago, acts capable of threatening his chance for a fresh start.

Veronica scooped up the remaining shards of shredded magazine and stuffed them into the garbage pail under the sink. Her mother always said, “Keep a clean house. You don’t want folks whispering about your sloppy habits at your funeral,” as if such a trivial matter would be anybody’s biggest concern while they paid their last respects.

Boomer’s ears perked as the lid on the metal can shut.

“Listen, big boy, this paper obsession has to stop. You might get sick. And don’t ever do this at Grandma’s house. I promise, it’ll be your last visit there.”

His tail wagged and he panted, a sure sign of agreement.

She stroked the dog’s furry neck, thinking about her mother’s obsession with the family’s outward appearances. The day her mother learned Veronica’s father had left her for his secretary, she and her siblings were told not to discuss the matter with outsiders. Ever. Veronica believed her mother’s attitude unnecessary, yet to this day still abided by Mom’s mantra to keep things private.

Disgust for her own silence over what happened with Gary Tishman back in college took hold, along with the sad realization she’d turned into her mother. Northbridge gossip had the momentum of a ball rolling down a steep hill, though, and she still didn’t want anybody knowing what happened to her back then.

Veronica changed out of her work clothes and slipped on shorts with a striped tank top. Ten minutes later, she was back inside the car and cruising along Lake Shore Drive, Wednesday night dinner at her sister’s place something she rarely missed. Boomer’s head hogged the space between the VW Passat’s bucket seats, making the rearview mirror useless for navigation. He eyed the two KitKat bars on the front passenger seat.

“Those aren’t for you, Boom-boom.”

He sniffed near her ear and licked her cheek, making her laugh and forget about any small flaws he possessed.

She followed the road and enjoyed a gentle lake breeze drifting through the open window, lifting the soft curls stuck to the back of her neck. For the first time today, she relaxed. Playing phone tag with Gail, who hadn’t come to the luncheon, had made her jump each time she received an incoming call at the library. Maybe she really didn’t want to know why Gary ended up marrying their old college friend. Didn’t Carin see the dark side he possessed?

She forced Gary from her head and, instead, concentrated on how happy she’d been to finally get an e-mail from Ry this morning. For the past six months, they’d talked nearly every day. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t find a single thing wrong with the guy. Well, there might be one little thing; she wouldn’t recognize him if she walked right into him.

Theirs was a modern day pen pal relationship, all via the Internet. Ry’s e-mails dominated her thoughts like a teenage crush. Not quite online dating—or really even a relationship—the simpatico flow of their conversations always lifted her spirits and allowed her to converse with an openness and ease she hadn’t had with a man in far too long.

The winding road narrowed at a bend. She slowed the car and turned up a hill near a nineteenth century schoolhouse, a town landmark. A few minutes later, she pulled into the subdivision where her sister lived and parked on the street in front of Emily’s raised ranch.

The new siding job, started five weeks ago, was finally complete and left a clean white exterior, a vast improvement over peeling gray shingles. Boomer bolted from the car and beelined for the open garage. She followed and pushed open the inside door, ambushed by a delicious garlicky scent. The dog went into the family room, where the television set blasted louder than necessary.

“Guess who?” Veronica yelled over the noise, while Boomer jumped on the sofa between her nieces, who sprawled all over the brown sectional sofa, their legs overlapping in the center.

“Boom-boom!” the girls cried.

“Gee, thanks. What about me?”

Cassidy giggled as Boomer’s pink tongue lapped her cheek. She pushed him away. “Hi, Aunt Ronnie.”

At Cassidy’s thirteenth birthday last month, Veronica had noted some real signs of maturity in the eighth grader. Girlish features had disappeared, replaced by subtle curves and the outline of a chest. Her maturing features also showed how she bore a striking resemblance to Veronica, both with the same pert nose and dark eyes. They could pass for mother and daughter, a fact people loved to point out, often making Veronica’s sister silently scowl.

Eleven-year-old Missy hugged Boomer, her strawberry-blond flyaway hair a real contrast against the dog’s dark fur. She smiled, showcasing new turquoise colored rubber bands on her braces. “Did you bring us anything?”

“Am I that predictable?” Veronica dangled the candy bars over their heads, and their eyes widened, arms stretched to grab the candy. “Promise you won’t eat these until after dinner?”

“Thank you! I swear.” Cassidy nodded.

Veronica raised a brow at the younger girl. “You either. Okay?”

“I promise and thank you.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Veronica walked over to a bookshelf and put the candy on top. “I’m putting these up high, so Boomer can’t get them. Okeydokey?”

They both nodded but seemed more interested in Boomer’s attempt to wedge a decent space for himself on the sofa between them.

Veronica went upstairs to the kitchen. The ceiling fan spun on high and made a clicking sound. A new wooden sign hanging above the sink read, “Happiness is Homemade.” One of many little reminders that Emily worked four days a week at Homestead House, a downtown retailer specializing in décor for those who loved the country ambiance.

“More candy?” Emily stood at the counter near the sink, dumping a bag of pre-cut lettuce into a bowl. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Come on. Doesn’t an aunt have a right to share her love of chocolate with her nieces? It’s like grandparent privileges.”

“Even Mom knows better than to bring them candy, and she has real grandmother privileges.” Emily went to the trashcan and tossed out the plastic bag. “Oh, Mom texted me. They arrived in Paris. And the month-long tour begins.”

“Glad they got there safe.” Veronica stole a cherry tomato from the salad. “She struck gold when she married Harry. He’ll do anything for her. Can I help?”

“Table’s been set, pasta is cooking…” Emily looked around the counter while brushing aside the longish bangs of her short haircut. “You could pour us some wine.” She tipped her head to an opened bottle and two glasses, then returned to the cutting board and started to slice a cucumber. “How was your luncheon yesterday?”

“The keynote speaker was great and the food was good.” Veronica poured the wine. “My morning was like one big bad omen, though. My hot water heater went, and Boomer ruined the blouse I got on our shopping trip a few weeks ago.”

She’d purposely left out the part about Gary’s return. Her sister didn’t know about Gary. Nobody did. All night long, Veronica had fought sleep, wishing there were one person who knew her secret about him, about why she’d turned down the job in D.C., and about why she’d raced back to Northbridge after getting her graduate degree.

“Oh, and when I stopped at RGI to drop something off to Duncan, the elevator broke and I was trapped for a few minutes.”

Emily stopped cutting and adjusted the strap of her sundress. “I always worry I’ll get stuck just when I need to pee. Did that happen to you?”

“No. Probably the only blessing of the moment.” The hopeful look on the man’s face when he’d said good-bye stirred the kind of emotion Veronica usually tried to block, and yet she couldn’t quite shake his image. “I wasn’t alone, either. Some guy got stuck with me. He was nice enough to point out the dried toothpaste on my dress. Right on my chest. I’ve got to stop doing other things while I brush my teeth.”

Emily lifted her brows. “You sure he was looking at the toothpaste?”

“No, and I wasn’t about to ask.” She handed Emily a wine glass. “The whole episode was embarrassing from start to finish. When the elevator stopped suddenly, I fell and knocked him to the ground. Ended up on his lap. A little too up close and personal for me.”

Emily chuckled. “Was he cute?”

“Really, Em? For all I know, he was married.”

“You need to broaden your horizons. No offense, but Jim is boring. Not really your type.”

“Geesh, tell me how you really feel.” The man she’d been seeing for six months didn’t make her heart soar, but they usually had fun going out. She sat at the round kitchen table.

“I’m sorry, but he’s so, well…” Emily stopped cutting, lifted her slender chin, and squinted while she thought. “Straight-laced.”

The word dangling on the tip of Veronica’s tongue about Jim was—safe. The single trait had been her primary criteria for the men she dated, at least after meeting Gary.

“So what if he’s straight-laced? Look, Jim’s quiet, a bit reserved, but treats me nicely. Our dates are pleasant.”

Emily rinsed her hands, dried them on a dishtowel, and came over to the table, plunking in a seat across from Veronica. “If Jim were a flavor, he’d be vanilla.”

“What’s wrong with vanilla? It’s a solid flavor choice. You know what you’re getting.”

“Exactly. Predictable, lacking in any excitement.”

“Jim is nice. The pickings get slim once you pass thirty-five. It’s companionship. If I don’t mind the lackluster taste of vanilla, why do you care?”

“Because you’re my sister and I want the best for you.”

Emily wasn’t completely wrong. Besides being predictable, Jim could be a snob about movies and only read nonfiction books recommended by the
New York Times.
He didn’t like to dance and scoffed at any music not classical or more traditional, unlike Veronica who enjoyed all forms. And then there was the bedroom. Bland as vanilla ice cream and yet, it
was
ice cream.

“Jim’s not the only fish in my pond.”

Emily’s brow rose while she sipped her wine. She lowered the glass. “I’ll assume that isn’t some weird sexual euphemism.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Do you want to know more or not?”

“Hell yeah. So tell me, who else is in your so-called pond?”

“There’s a man I talk to regularly. We’ve grown quite close.”

“Someone from Northbridge?”

“No.” She stared into Emily’s questioning gaze and readied herself for the reveal. “We talk through e-mail. A lot.”

“Dear God! Are you…oh what’s that called…sexting with someone?”

Veronica laughed. “No! You need to take a step into the new millennium. I know your store still uses those old cash registers and you hate computers, but maybe your husband or kids can bring you up to speed on how the rest of us use technology for socializing.”

Emily dismissed her with a sweeping hand. “I don’t need the devices the rest of you use. The old way works fine for me. So it’s not sexting?”

“No, it’s not. It’s e-mail, which you can find on your computer. You text on a cell phone.”

“Ahhhh…” Emily thought for a second. “Well, I may be challenged, but talking to someone on the computer isn’t real.” She leaned close, lowered her voice. “Do you ever talk about dirty stuff?”

“No! Maybe I should be glad you’ve chosen to stay in the dark with these devices. Our conversations are about life and music, books. Things we like and don’t like.”

Emily scrunched her brows together. “Wait. How does a man simply show up in your inbox?”