Blue Moon Over Bliss Lake

by Cate Masters

  She punched the cash register keys. “Jack’s operation.”

  “That guy?” He jerked his head toward Oren, sitting at a window table.

  “No, his dog.”

  “What?” He sent a longer glance Oren’s way.

  His mocking tone riled her. “He loves his dog, Carter. We’re going to help them, but don’t bother yourself about it.” He hadn’t last time. While they’d been high school juniors, a local man couldn’t afford treatment for his beloved dog, and Carter had refused to contribute. Rainey Ridinger, he’d said, should run her veterinary practice more professionally and charge full price for every procedure, or risk failure. It’s how people built reputations, he’d claimed.

  How could he not see that such generosity only helped Rainey’s practice? “And before you argue, Ridinger’s Veterinary Practice has doubled its clientele since the last time we collected money. Residents of Bliss spread the word, and pet owners from outside of town began to bring their animals to Rainey. She’s hired another veterinarian, and two assistants. She knows the real meaning of success.” Sierra plunked his change on the counter.

  Carter picked up the two quarters and inserted them into the jug. “Fine. I’ll be over here.” He headed to a booth.

  For an hour, she ignored him. Well, tried to. He had no bags under his eyes, so obviously had slept well. Why did ruffled hair make him more handsome? And what the hell was he doing in Bliss? Still?

  The Adamsons shuffled in, a sweet couple in their seventies. She kept her back to Carter as she took their order and trained her focus on preparing their items.

  Returning, she set the cups and plates in front of them. “Here you go. Let me know if I can get you anything else.” She headed for the counter.

  “Um, honey?” asked Mrs. Adamson.

  “Yes?” She asked sweetly.

  The woman smiled. “I hate to be a bother.”

  She circled back. “No bother. What do you need?”

  Mrs. Adamson slid the cup toward her. “Not hot water, honey.”

  “What?” Smile frozen, she grew mortified when an animal-like squeak escaped her. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time, dear.”

  And pay attention. She made certain to add the white tea and ginger, then carried it over. “Sorry about earlier. It’s on the house.”

  The shop eventually emptied, except for Carter, who apparently had nothing better to do than monitor her every move. Strange, how he sat and stared, either at her or into space, as if he could find answers to life’s mysteries there.

  Her mom paused behind her. “Go talk to him, Sierra. You need a break anyway.”

  For the hundredth time, she tidied the counter. “I have nothing to say to him.”

  “He must have something to say to you.”

  She held in a groan, or a growl, unsure which. “I suppose it’s the only way I’ll get rid of him.” Marching over, she averted her gaze. “You need to leave.”

  “Not until you sit down and talk to me. Please?” He gestured to the seat across from his.

  Her knees almost bent automatically, but she braced against the impulse. “No.”

  He sighed. “Then will you at least do me one favor?”

  “I can’t.” One favor would open the floodgates, and then there’d be no stopping this—whatever this was. For her part, reliving the past, or maybe a fantasy.

  “You have to, or you might regret it later.”

  How could he look so sincere? So innocent? She bit her lip. “What is it?”

  “Watch Unhappy Housewives. I checked the local listings. It’s on tonight.” The seriousness with which he said it contradicted his words. His request sounded ridiculous, or it would, if she didn’t know what he asked her to do. Why, she had no idea.

  “I hate reality shows.” Especially when his wife was the star.

  He blew raspberries. “Me, too, believe me. But promise me you’ll watch the entire episode.”

  Why were they even having this conversation? “This is too weird. Why?”

  All sincerity, he peered up at her. “So I can redeem myself in your eyes.”

  “A reality show will redeem you?” Why would he rely on something so absurd instead of proving himself to her?

  “Will you watch it?” he asked insistently.

  She sighed. “Fine, now shoo.”

  Filled with either disappointment or resignation, Carter rose and exited, his shoulders slumped, the image of defeat. She had to stop from calling him back, cradling him in her arms, telling him it would be all right.

  And had no idea whether it would be all right or a complete disaster.

  With every hour that passed, she grew more nervous. Intuition leaned toward the complete disaster scenario. Maybe she shouldn’t watch. Akin to voyeurism, she’d feel like she was spying on his private life. He wouldn’t be there, but it wouldn’t stop his wife from talking about him. What if she revealed intimate details? She had no wish to hear them.

  Finally at home after a working nearly a double shift, she checked the show description on cable moments before the new episode aired. From the previews, the women on Unhappy Housewives appeared to be total shrews. Mannequins were more real than the females on the show. Probably had more feelings and were better educated, too.

  The theme music played, a tinny tune as annoying as the women’s shrill voices. She backed toward the sofa until her legs hit the cushions, then nestled into the arm and hugged a pillow.

  Ten seconds into the episode, Barbara Grove strutted onto the set, shaking a small bottle. Geez, hadn’t hot pants gone out of style decades ago?

  “Where are we going tonight, Barb?” another asked.

  Barb stripped off her heels and began painting her toenails. “Out. I need a good f--k. My husband never f--ing knew how to f--k me right. I’m way overdue.”

  “Way overdue?” Another unhappy housewife laughed. “So who was screaming in ecstasy in your room last night?”

  “Me, but I didn’t have any company except my vibrator. Now the batteries are dead. What good’s a two hundred dollar vibrator if the batteries don’t last?”

  Stomach souring, she poised her finger over the remote’s mute button. If she had to listen to this witch for a full half hour, she might retch. Her grip on the pillow tightened as Barb complained about everything concerning her marriage, from Carter’s good looks, to his business acumen, to his lack of interest in sex.

  “At least I know how to use his money. It buys me the best of everything, including top-of-the-line sex toys.” Barb glared into the camera. “But tonight, I won’t need them. I’m going to find a real man. One who can satisfy me. All. Night. Long.”

  Sierra gaped. Was she for real?

  On screen, another housewife said, “Why don’t you dump him?”

  Barbara sneered. “I’ve been trying to, but now I want to make him suffer. I found out he’s screwing some bimbo. His high school sweetheart.” She pretended to spit.

  “What?” Sierra sat up straight and went rigid. Screwed? “No, we didn’t,” she assured the woman on television. She and Carter had shared a table at a bar with another couple for what, not even half an hour? How had the shrew found out?

  On the screen, Barbara’s face loomed. “Now the bastard will pay.”

  “Oh, please, no.”

  Carter didn’t need a scandal.

  Neither did Sierra.

  Chapter Four

  Lured by the scent of roasting turkey, Carter strode into the kitchen. “Need any help, Mom?”

  She waved him off. “Go relax. I have it under control.”

  Of that, he had no doubt. Deborah Grove made preparing meals appear almost effortless and had everything timed to perfection. “Call if you need me.” He kissed her cheek then grabbed a can of beer from the fridge.

  She chuckled. “How many times have I heard that line before?”

  An ache formed in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t recall the las
t time anyone said it to him.

  A loud exhale escaped when he settled on the sofa to watch the game with his father. Except for football talk, they sat in comfortable silence until his sister arrived.

  She tossed her messenger bag onto the floor. “Wow. Carter?”

  “Hey, CeCe.” He braced for her usual barrage of questions.

  She bent over and hugged him. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Despite choking in her awkward embrace, he smirked. “Or you wouldn’t have come?”

  With a slap to his chest, she straightened. “Oh, stop. It’s good to see you. Are you…alone?” Wariness filled her face as she peered past him.

  “Yes.” When had she grown into a young woman?

  “Whew. I’ll stay, then.” She whipped off her jacket and grinned. “Guess that explains the casual dress. But what’s up with those shoes? And isn’t that Craig’s sweater?”

  “He’ll get it back.” Carter had been meaning to get himself some new clothes. Each night, he laid the sweater and jeans across the bedroom chair and, each morning, he found them folded and freshly laundered.

  CeCe craned to see out the window. “Hey, Craig’s here. Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

  “Soon, honey,” Deborah called from the other room. “Have some veggies and dip.”

  “Ech, too healthy. Where are the chips?”

  Their brother stomped in the front door. “Happy Turkey Day!” He feigned shock and clutched his chest. “Holy moly. Carter?”

  Carter stood to receive his bear hug, and held on longer than Craig. “Why does everyone act so surprised to see me?”

  Dropping in the wingback chair, propping her legs across the arm, CeCe rolled her eyes. “Because you never come to holiday dinners, duh.”

  Hmm, not quite grown up yet; he hadn’t missed everything. “All in the past. Things are going to be different from now on.”

  Everyone stopped to stare. Even his mother entered the room specifically for that purpose.

  “They are?” She broke the stunned silence. “Where is Barbara, anyway?” She glanced around as if his wife hid somewhere, ready to spring out. Not likely. In her usual spiked heels, she’d twist an ankle, and probably sue his parents for negligence.

  CeCe eyeballed him. “Yeah, how did you manage to escape her evil clutches?”

  The better question was, how had he gotten tangled in a messy marriage? “Easy. I haven’t seen her since January.”

  Mouth agape, CeCe shook her head. “January? Didn’t her show break for the summer last May?”

  “Yep, then she sailed to the Bahamas with a friend.” He didn’t bother with the air quotes. His family knew exactly what he meant. They’d warned him off her before he married her, but he’d refused to acknowledge the truth. Another thing that will be different from now on. “Then she jetted off to Hawaii. I lost track of her after that.”

  His sister’s expression soured. “Why don’t you ditch the bitch?”

  He took a bracing breath. “I informed her attorney I’d sign the papers. I’m waiting for them. In fact, they should have arrived yesterday.” Not like Steve to slip up. He’d text him later to ask.

  She whooped. “Hallelujah! Welcome back to real life.”

  “I’m hoping.” Grinning, he raised his beer can and sipped.

  The phone rang and Deborah answered then went to the window. “Oh for goodness’ sake. What’s all this about?”

  He followed CeCe and peered over her shoulder. “Ah, shit.” Reporters. A slew of them. “Barbara must have run out of drama for the next episode.”

  His father put on his jacket. “I’ll go talk to them.” The pictures hanging on the wall bounced when he slammed the door.

  Outside, Curtis Grove spoke as if to a congregation of worshipers. Whatever he said to them worked. The crews gathered their equipment and dispersed to the four vans clustered near the driveway.

  He came inside, hung up his jacket, and returned to the football game.

  Carter plopped onto the recliner. “Sorry about that.”

  “Ach.” Dad waved.

  CeCe leaned her elbows on the back of the sofa behind him. “What did you tell them?”

  He reached up and patted her head. “That your mother and I are lawyers.”

  She winced. “But you’re retired.”

  Curtis winked. “They don’t know that.”

  With a laugh, Deborah returned to the kitchen, Cece right behind.

  Carter settled deeper into the cushions with an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction. Unfamiliar? Man, he really needed to change things.

  And needed another beer. He strolled to the kitchen. “Smells delicious, as always.”

  His mother hugged him. “I love you.”

  Nice someone does. “I love you, too.”

  On the way out, he overheard CeCe whisper, “Thank God he came to his senses.”

  “He wanted to make it work,” his mother murmured.

  Cece huffed. “Apparently he was the only one.”

  Anger built within him until his sister added, “He deserves better.”

  Something clicked in him, like a release valve opening. Yeah, I do.

  Deborah called, “Dinner.”

  He joined the scramble to the table, and realized how much he missed the easy banter, the teasing, and the arguing only families can get away with. He actually regretted when CeCe took off early to meet friends and Craig tagged along.

  Carter teased, “Hoping for leftovers of another kind, huh?”

  Craig pointed at him. “Exactamundo. Later.”

  After the football game ended, his mom popped a worn VHS tape into the decrepit player. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is a family tradition.”

  His father went slack against the sofa and pretended to snore.

  “Oh, stop.” She pinched his cheek and sat on the end of the sofa.

  On the tape, a young, long-haired Carter stepped into the wavering camera’s sights, wearing a rented black tux.

  He remembered that awful suit. Senior prom. In the video, he waved someone over, then reached out and pulled a girl into frame. Sierra. Her shy smile so radiant, and aimed at his younger self. God, she was gorgeous. She’s even better now.

  “Look at that smile,” teased his mother.

  He thought she meant the videotape, but she was watching him.

  “Yeah, those were good times.” The way he and Sierra joked together, laughed, loved. The love shone so plain on her face, even in the way she held onto him, like she couldn’t wait until they were alone. All those old feelings came rushing back and he was a kid again, waking up every day so happy for the simple reason he’d see her. Why the hell had he left her?

  “I love those little muffins Ellie sells in the shop,” Curtis said. “I may have to make a breakfast run in the morning.”

  “I’ll go.” Carter tried to sound casual.

  His parents stared with surprise then pleasure.

  “If you don’t want to, I meant. Whatever.” He gave a noncommittal shrug. Too late, judging by the look on his parents’ faces.

  Mom nestled against his dad. “It would be nice to sleep in, wouldn’t it, dear?”

  “Let’s go get a head start.” Curtis rose. “Night, son.”

  “Night, guys.” He stayed downstairs in front of the home movie. Man, he’d forgotten so much. The longer he watched, the more he wanted to see her again. Had to.

  Seeing Sierra reminded him how good it could be between two people who loved each other. Coming home was the best decision he’d made in ten years. He had zero regrets. Except for avoiding his parents for so long. They deserved better treatment, had always taught him to strive for better for himself. Maybe it was time to make that dream happen, too.

  He went to his old room and settled into the single bed. As many times as he closed his eyes, they popped open again. His entire body hummed with excitement. And he couldn’t freaking stop grinning. What the hell?

  Then it hit him. I can’t wa
it for morning. How long had it been since he could say that?

  Too damn long.

  ***

  Despite the shop’s steady stream of customers, the bell above the door had a lonely sound on Friday morning. Sunlight poured through the glass front of the shop, creating a wonderfully cozy atmosphere. Yet somehow, it seemed hollow.

  Because Carter’s not here? Hush!

  “No one will come today,” she’d told her mother earlier, before they opened the shop.

  Her mother countered, “Oren will be there at ten after his visit with Jack at the vet. Early Black Friday shoppers like me will be hungry and thirsty. You’ll see.”

  Oh, she saw all right. Outside the shop, a long van pulled up. In stilettos, hoop earrings big enough to whirl like a hula hoop around her tiny waist, and skintight jeans, Barbara Grove stalked into The Sweet Spot. A crew of four guys gathered camera equipment and followed her. Halfway down the aisle, she halted in a dramatic, wide stance, as if poised for a gunfight. Instead of a gun, she slung back her brittle, highlighted blonde hair. “Are you Sierra O’Brien?”

  One cameraman closed in on her, one on Barbara, and another positioned himself behind her, probably to capture all the action, while the last fiddled with wires.

  She wanted to die. Since it was too late to dive behind the counter, she said, “Yes.”

  Barbara grunted, sounding like an angry cat. “I’m—”

  Sierra raised her hand. “I know who you are.”

  The reality star arched a plucked brow, as if acknowledging her as a worthy opponent. “So. Where’s my husband?”

  Why is she asking me? “I have no idea.”

  Barbara pointed a perfectly manicured red nail at her, long and sharp. “Don’t play games with me. Where’s Carter?”

  She tried not to sigh audibly. This is going to be a longer morning than I thought. Some good should come out of the mess. She turned the collection jug so the camera might best capture it, and maybe one or two viewers would glimpse it and donate. “Why don’t you call him?”

  Barbara whipped out her cell, pressed a button, and held it to her ear. “Carter. You better come to The Sweet Spot before I turn your honey into mush.”