The Last of the Moon Girls

by Barbara Davis

  The criticism was perfectly valid, but the truth was, Lizzy was relieved that Rhanna hadn’t come down for breakfast. She hadn’t decided yet how much to say about the fire—or what might have incited it. The Gilman murders had rocked Salem Creek to its core, but Rhanna had taken them especially hard. She’d stopped painting, and started leaving the house at first light, staying gone until the wee hours, as if being in the house—or anywhere near the farm—had suddenly become unbearable. They never knew where she went, or what she did during those absences. Unless the police happened to bring her home, which they did from time to time.

  No one was really surprised that Rhanna turned out to be a problem. She’d shown her colors early on. Troubled, the guidance counselor at Salem Creek High had labeled her in her freshman year. Disruptive and a handful. In her sophomore year she quit school to become a folk singer, only to turn up pregnant a few months later. There’d been a fresh round of whispers when she handed the baby off to Althea to raise. But it was her grand finale at the coffee shop that had left the entire town slack-jawed.

  The last thing Lizzy needed was a repeat performance of her mother’s greatest hits. And that’s what would happen if Rhanna got wind of her recent preoccupation with Heather and Darcy Gilman, and then connected the dots to the fire. She had agreed to one night. As long as she stuck to that, she wouldn’t need to say anything. Rhanna would leave and that would be that. But could she do that? Make her leave, today, with no money and no place to go?

  Help her find her way back if that’s what she wants.

  Althea’s words were still fresh. So were Andrew’s. But what about what she wanted? Why should Rhanna be allowed to complicate things?

  She was still wrestling with the question, head bent as she checked off items on the packing slip, when the shop door creaked open and Rhanna appeared. She was barefoot, dressed in a short denim skirt and a tie-dye T-shirt knotted at the waist, and carried a mug in each hand.

  “I thought you might like some coffee.” She held out one of the mugs, going out of her way to avoid brushing Lizzy’s fingers.

  It was a thing she had: an aversion to being touched. Haphephobia, they called it—an anxiety disorder usually associated with sexual assault and other physical traumas. But Rhanna hadn’t experienced any physical trauma when her symptoms appeared. Lizzy had chalked it up to Rhanna’s chronic need for attention, expecting that, like so many of her mother’s ploys, it would eventually fall by the wayside. Apparently, it hadn’t.

  She was holding her mug with both hands now, inhaling the steam with an expression of pure bliss. “I take it Evvie isn’t a morning person. I think I got five words out of her while the coffee was brewing. And that was her telling me to be sure to wash my mug when I was finished. What’s with the accent?”

  “It’s Creole mostly. She’s from Baton Rouge.”

  “Baton Rouge? How in the world did she end up here?”

  “She keeps bees and sells the honey. Althea started carrying it in the shop. One day she invited Evvie for a visit, and they hit it off. She never went back.”

  Rhanna shook her head. “Leave it to Althea to buddy up with a Creole-speaking beekeeper from Louisiana.”

  Lizzy flashed her a look. “Was that snark?”

  “No.”

  “Because I don’t really think you’re in a place to judge anyone. You weren’t exactly the poster child for normal.”

  Rhanna pressed her lips together, managing to look chastened. “It wasn’t snark, Lizzy. I swear. It’s just that she’s . . . unexpected.”

  Lizzy had to give her that one. Her own first impressions had been similar. Now, here she was, defending Evvie like a mama bear, wanting Rhanna to see her as she did: generous and wise—an extension of the Moon clan. “If we’re talking unexpected, you should see her with her bees. She doesn’t wear a stitch of protective gear. No gloves. No netting. Nothing. She just sings to them.”

  Rhanna squinted one eye. “Did you just say she sings to them?”

  “I did. It’s eerie, but beautiful too. They swarm all over her, and not one sting.”

  “Peter, Paul, and Mary . . . ,” Rhanna said softly, as if unable to imagine such a thing.

  The expression brought a smile to Lizzy’s face. It was Rhanna’s signature expletive—a hippiefied version of the ever-popular Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, which Althea had forbidden her to utter, asserting that the Moons did not take the name of anyone’s god in vain. Apparently, she’d had no such compunction about taking the names of sixties folk singers in vain.

  “You like her,” Rhanna said.

  “I do. And I’d appreciate it if you’d show her some respect. She was good to Althea, and she’s been good to me.” She took a sip of her coffee, eyeing Rhanna over the rim of her mug. Coffee. Chitchat. What was she up to? “I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t think you were up yet.”

  “I’ve been up for hours, actually. I got some meditation in, did a little yoga, then went out to the orchard.”

  Lizzy paused, mug halfway to her mouth. “Why?”

  “You said it burned. I needed to see it.”

  “You didn’t believe me?”

  “Of course I believed you. I just needed to see it for myself. To get a vibe, you know.”

  “A vibe?”

  “It was on purpose, wasn’t it? Someone set it?”

  “You got that from a vibe?”

  “No, from the way you were acting last night. I could tell there was something you didn’t want me to know. So what’s the deal? Why were you trying to keep it from me?”

  Well, that certainly hadn’t taken long. Lizzy blew out a breath. “Because I was exhausted and I didn’t want you flipping out.”

  Rhanna nodded. “Fair enough. So what happened?”

  “The investigators found two bottles in the rubble. One still had a rag stuffed into the neck. It was soaked with kerosene. That’s all we know at this point.”

  It was mostly true. That was all they knew for certain. The rest was just speculation.

  Rhanna was staring at her, horrified. “They have no idea who did it?”

  “It was the day before yesterday. They’re working on it.”

  “After all these years,” Rhanna said softly. “They still can’t leave us alone.”

  Lizzy lifted a brow. “It’s us now?”

  Rhanna’s shoulders sagged. “You’re determined to make this weird, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not making it weird,” Lizzy replied. “It is weird. You. Here. Acting like nothing happened. And I’m supposed to just play along. Why? For Althea’s sake?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Althea’s gone, Rhanna. And the farm will be too, in a few months’ time.”

  Rhanna’s shoulders sagged. “You’re selling then? You’ve decided?”

  “That’s the plan. There’s just one problem. The place is falling apart, and there’s no money for repairs.”

  Rhanna peered into her mug. “It’s hard to see, isn’t it? Everything looks so tired. The gardens are all dead and wasted. I’m almost glad Althea isn’t here to see it.”

  Lizzy shot her a hard look. “This didn’t just happen, Rhanna. It’s been happening for years. There was no money and no one to help her. And she was here to see it.”

  Rhanna set down her mug and stepped away. “I couldn’t stay, Lizzy.” The words tumbled out in a rush, as if she’d been holding them in since she climbed out of Andrew’s truck. “I just . . . I couldn’t.”

  Lizzy couldn’t look at her. She reached for the sheet of Bubble Wrap on the worktable and began smashing the tiny blisters, one at a time, between her thumb and middle finger. Anything to keep from making eye contact. Perhaps because acknowledging her mother’s regrets—her pain and her guilt—would mean acknowledging her own.

  “I know,” she said softly.

  Rhanna looked away, sighing heavily. “You don’t. You couldn’t. Though I suppose you have your own reasons for hating this place.”

/>   Lizzy’s brow furrowed. Something about the remark rankled. “I don’t hate it. I never hated it. I just wanted a different kind of life. A normal life. And I have that. I live in New York now, and work for a perfume designer.”

  Rhanna turned back with a quiet smile. “Of course you do. You always knew what you wanted, even as a girl. And always so serious. You practically lived in that barn when you were a kid, always concocting something or other. I still remember how it smelled, the flowers and herbs drying in bunches or on screens, all the smells mingling together. I used to think of it as a single fragrance, but not you. You could pick each one out of the air—basil, tarragon, rosemary, sage. Do you remember?”

  Lizzy nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “So this job of yours—you’ll have your own line of fragrances?”

  “I don’t actually design the fragrances. I work on the idea side, creative concepts, marketing campaigns, that sort of thing.”

  Rhanna’s brows lifted. “Don’t you miss it? The hands-on part, I mean? You used to love that stuff.”

  Lizzy couldn’t argue with that. She had loved the hands-on part. But Chenier had a stable of highly paid noses for that part of the process. Her job was to put a face on their creations, to give each signature fragrance a distinct personality, then build a marketing campaign around it. It wasn’t where she’d seen herself all those years ago, but the work wasn’t without its rewards. And maybe someday it would turn into more. She was good at what she did. Very good. But she missed the creative part of the process, the delicious serendipity that had first drawn her to making perfume—the magick of scent.

  “I enjoy what I do,” she told Rhanna evenly. “I was lucky to get my foot in the door at Chenier five years ago. Now I’m their creative director.”

  Rhanna shook her head, her eyes suddenly shining. “It wasn’t luck, Lizzy. You’ve had perfume in your blood for as long as I can remember. You were always experimenting with fragrances, giving them cool names. What was the one I liked?”

  “Earth Song,” Lizzy said quietly. “You liked the one called Earth Song.”

  “Yes! That was it. It was so calming. Cool and earthy, like a walk in the woods.”

  “Juniper, pink peppercorns, clary sage, and vetiver,” Lizzy recited from memory.

  “You actually remember it?”

  “I remember them all.”

  Rhanna nodded. “I get it. Like my paintings. Each one special in its own way. I guess that’s why the whole desk-job thing surprised me. I’d go crazy. But as long as you love it . . .” She let the words trail, quiet for a time, then narrowed her gaze on Lizzy again. “You do love it, right? New York and the title, and everything?”

  “Of course I do,” Lizzy replied, hating how sullen she sounded. “Why are you suddenly so interested in my career?”

  “I just want you to be happy. Fulfilled, you know. Because you deserve it. You were such an amazing little girl. I remember thinking, How could one little head hold so much information? You made me wish I’d paid more attention when I was a kid and Althea was trying to teach me.” Her mouth turned down at the corners, her expression somber again. “At least she had you. You had so many wonderful gifts—and you were nothing like me. I was always glad of that.”

  Lizzy wasn’t sure which of Rhanna’s revelations to respond to first. “I’m surprised you remember me as a girl.”

  “I remember more than you think, Lizzy. More than I ever wanted to.”

  Lizzy stared at her, annoyed. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means you’re not the only one with terrible memories. I live with them too. I’ve been living with them since before you were born.”

  “They weren’t all bad,” Lizzy reminded her. “There was the barn. You loved doing that mural.”

  Rhanna’s face brightened at the mention of the mural. “Of all the paintings I’ve done, I never loved any of them the way I loved that mural.”

  Lizzy couldn’t help grinning. “You loved it because it freaked people out.”

  Rhanna’s eyes shot wide. “That’s what you think? That I painted it to freak people out?”

  “It’s why you do most things, isn’t it? Like the peace sign on the church. And the night you went skinny-dipping in the fountain.”

  “All right. You’ve got me there. But the mural was different. It was . . . personal. It’s how twilight felt to me when I was a kid. That sliver of time between day and night, when the sky looks like velvet and the stars are just coming out. It always felt so magical, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what happened next.”

  Lizzy was too astonished to reply. She’d never seen Rhanna so filled with . . . What was it? Happiness? Yearning? Was it possible that beneath all that angst, her mother had actually tucked away some pleasant memories?

  “You sounded almost happy just then.”

  Rhanna shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad.”

  “Not all of it, no.”

  The silence spooled out. They sipped their coffee. “I didn’t make it easy for you, did I?” Rhanna asked finally.

  “No. You didn’t.”

  “Is that why you left Salem Creek, because you were ashamed? Of me?”

  Lizzy lifted her chin a notch, unwilling to concede the point. “I left to go to school, like I was always going to do. But you were a big part of why I stayed gone. The damage you did—the wreckage you left in your wake. You made sure there was nothing left to come back to.”

  Rhanna nodded, accepting the words as truth. “I never meant to.”

  Lizzy tilted her head to one side, trying to read her face. “Was that your idea of an apology?”

  “Would you believe me if I said yes? If I fell down on my knees right now and asked you to forgive all the terrible things I’ve done, would you buy a word of it? Or would you think I was just saying it to say it?”

  “There’s history, Rhanna. That makes it hard.”

  “I know that.” She wandered to the end of the worktable, quiet as she scanned the array of bottles and jars scattered over its surface, the FedEx box and discarded Bubble Wrap. “What’s all this?” she asked, waving a finger.

  “Just some supplies I ordered.”

  “Colloidal oatmeal, shea butter, lye.” Her head came up. “You’re making soap?”

  Lizzy nodded, surprised she’d put it together so quickly. “I brought some headache tea to a woman who works the lunch counter at Wilson’s. She told a friend. Now I’m making soap.”

  “You could have said no.”

  “They’re old customers of Althea’s. They stood by her when the rest of this town turned their backs. I felt like I owed them.”

  Rhanna picked up the package of oatmeal, peered at the label, and put it back down. “I could help.”

  The coffee. The chitchat. All at once, Lizzy understood. She was wrangling for more time. “We talked about this last night, Rhanna. I said one night.”

  “Please, Lizzy.” Rhanna blinked several times, her gray eyes suddenly luminous with tears. “You can’t send me away. Not like this. Not until . . . well, I don’t know, really. I don’t even know why I’m here. I just know I had to come. I’ll be good. I promise. If I screw up, you can kick me out. And I’ll earn my keep. Let me help you make the soap.”

  “Why?” Lizzy asked flatly. “Why now?”

  “The women,” she said simply. “The ones who stuck by Althea—I owe them too. In fact, I owe a lot of people.”

  Lizzy studied her, wary of this new, softer side. Was she sincere, or was this just a new act?

  Help her find her way back if that’s what she wants.

  “All right,” Lizzy said reluctantly. “For Althea’s sake.”

  “But only that?”

  Lizzy met her gaze without flinching. “It’s the best I can do.”

  Rhanna nodded, accepting the response at face value. “Thank you. For saying yes, and for letting me in.”

  “Tonight, after supper,” Lizzy replied coolly
. “And I’m not doing it for you.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Andrew tossed down his drafting pencil and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He’d come into the office early, hoping to finish up the revisions for the Boston job. Two hours later, he’d barely made a dent. He was antsy and distracted, unable to settle into the work.

  The construction out in the new CAD shop didn’t help matters. Dennis Hanley might be a hard worker, but he certainly wasn’t a quiet one. Not that there was a quiet way to hang drywall. Maybe he needed another cup of coffee. Or maybe he’d already had too much.

  Or maybe he couldn’t knuckle down because he couldn’t get Lizzy’s face out of his head. The way she’d looked at him last night when she asked if he believed in ghosts—like her whole world hung on his answer. And he’d needed to earn his way back into her good graces after surprising her with Rhanna.

  But what was he supposed to do, let the woman walk the last sixteen miles? He’d stopped at a Cumby for coffee and spotted her coming out of the restroom. He hadn’t recognized her at first. She was thinner than he remembered, almost wiry, her once-pale skin tanned to a deep shade of caramel. It was the guitar slung across her back that cinched it. That and the fact that she’d looked so astonishingly like Lizzy when she turned around.

  She had seemed startled when he called her by name, almost puzzled. But then who could blame her after trekking nearly three thousand miles across country? She’d recovered quickly enough when he introduced himself, and had even pretended to remember him, though he was quite sure she didn’t. Rhanna had always lived in a world of her own, detached and rebellious, as if the rules that governed the rest of the world didn’t apply to her. She’d also been oblivious to the price her family—her daughter in particular—paid for her recklessness.

  But then the Moons were no strangers to talk. They did what they did, and were who they were, refusing to either confirm or deny the persistent bouts of rumor that shot up like weeds after a good rain. Down through the generations, one Moon at a time, the residents of Salem Creek had extracted their pound of flesh, and his gut told him they weren’t through. Not that he needed his gut. There was evidence. A shed burned to the ground. An effigy strung up in a tree. And a note.