Harvest Moon

by Sharon Struth

  * * * *

  Trent focused on the dance floor, pushed his empty plate closer to the busboy’s reach, then draped his arm over the back of Angie’s empty chair. One of the guys from RGI had asked her to dance, and Trent sent them off with a smile, truly relishing a moment alone at their table while the others seated there also mingled.

  His decent mood upon arrival had threatened to disappear with his father’s criticisms. Questions about Trent’s work on the vineyard came at him like machine gun fire, almost all followed up by the old man’s sarcasm-filled responses. Argh! Dad now sat at Duncan’s table, but even across the room, he still managed to crawl under Trent’s skin. He tried to tap into the more Zen-like philosophy of his martial arts training to gain focus, but with Dad in the room it wasn’t easy.

  Trent thought back to the stretch of time when his dad had softened toward him, encouraged him to attend law school, and begged him to carry on the family business. Favored son Duncan’s lack of interest in the field had left the old man empty-handed. Trent had taken the bait, like a starving fish. The price he’d paid turned out to be as valuable as water to a fish—his lost happiness. He’d hated the work, hated the long days with his father, whose demands grew. Ultimately, he’d hated getting up and going to work. To ease his days, he’d hopped on the path to further substance abuse. Eventually his father asked him to leave the firm.

  Thickness blocked his throat, shame from his actions still strong. In his constant state of soberness, he often found the memories embarrassing. Across the room, his parents talked to Sophie’s father. The couple stuck out compared to the other guests, like diamonds in a sea of costume jewelry. Old money always did. His father and Alan Moore were probably talking about fishing, because his mother seemed to have lost interest, now scanning the room. Trent’s heart swelled with fondness for her. At least she’d tried to make up for his father’s shortcomings. Still, there was a part of him that always believed he’d become another one of her charity cases, like the many she ran for the Junior League.

  His gaze drifted back to the dance floor. Beyond Angie and her partner, Veronica moved with her date to the slow number. Trent moistened his lower lip with his tongue, replaying the sensation of her soft mouth melting to his, her eager reaction still able to have an influence on him even now, making him shift in his seat. Sometimes a kiss was much more than a kiss.

  Her back to him, he took full advantage of the view, combing every inch of her tall, lean frame. Gentle curves graced her hips and her nicely rounded bottom. He inhaled, subconsciously recapturing the perfumed fragrance of her hair, catching instead a whiff of coffee being poured at the table next to his.

  He turned, hoping to flag the waiter. His gaze landed on a man with thinning gray hair and rounded nose sitting alone at the table next to him, arms crossed, covering the older man’s tartan plaid tie worn with a yellow dress shirt. Sophie had introduced the man earlier as her former boss at the newspaper, Cliff Rogers.

  “Hey.” Trent nodded. “Not one for the dance floor?”

  “Just taking in a quiet moment.” Cliff smiled with a gentle curl of his lips. “Quiet is underrated.”

  “I hear you, man.” Trent chuckled. “Now if only the rest of the world understood.”

  “You can say that again.” Cliff leaned forward and fished a business card from his shirt pocket. “Sorry to mix business and pleasure, but I meant to give you my card earlier. The paper wants to do a story on the vineyard.”

  “Cool. We need publicity.”

  “Sophie tells me you like baseball. Our high school made state last year. Maybe we can catch a game in the spring.”

  “Sounds good. I used to play on my team…many years ago.”

  Cliff chuckled. “Not as many as I did.”

  Trent liked this guy’s easy and relaxed attitude. “How about I call next week? I’d like to run some newspaper ads for the tasting room opening, too.”

  “Sounds good.” Cliff leaned back in the chair. “We’ll talk.”

  Trent’s mood improved, and he returned to his purview of Veronica. The day she’d stepped onto the elevator at RGI, she’d snagged his attention; he never turned down a chance to admire a beautiful woman. The second she’d opened her mouth, however, citing proper broken elevator behavior, she’d left him…not attracted to…but what? Curious? Yes, wanting to know more.

  He scrutinized her date. Trent had caught the perfunctory peck on the cheek he’d given Veronica at his arrival and how in their time together, they rarely touched. Did she respond to his kiss with the same hunger Trent had sampled at the bar? For some reason, he didn’t think so.

  According to Sophie, they’d been dating around six months, but they moved on the dance floor like an example from the Arthur Murray guidelines for proper dancing. A stance befitting two strangers, not lovers.

  Interesting to learn she worked as the local library director. Did she run her life with card catalog organization and spend her nights at home reading? Even if she did, he couldn’t stop the wheels in his head from spinning, trying to figure out what made her tick. His gaze shifted to Duncan and Sophie, staring in each other’s eyes while they danced, so in love it made Trent’s chest ache.

  He looked down to the table, tracing a circle in the linen cloth with his finger while the pain of the divorce rolled across his chest, then vanished. Relief settled over him when the waiter poured his coffee, a reason to think about something else besides the one woman who’d claimed his heart. He slowly stirred the cream in his cup and concentrated on the piano music. His fingers itched to get on the keyboard.

  The music stopped, and the older man playing the piano stood. “Tonight I have a special treat. Veronica Sussingham has offered to sing for us.”

  Everyone clapped. Veronica left the dance floor and went over to the piano player, giving him a hug.

  They spoke quietly for a half a minute, and then she stood in front of the piano. A few seconds later, music flowed from the piano. Veronica closed her eyes, swayed her head to the beat. Trent recognized the song as “Walkin’ After Midnight.” Not quite the country pace made famous by Patsy Cline, but a slowed down, jazzier version he’d once heard by Madeleine Peyroux. As Veronica’s shimmering lips parted, she sang the first line.

  Her voice flowed like soft velvet, her tone rich and sexy. She lifted her chin and opened her eyes, now sparkling with a playful glow, and launched the next line about an after midnight search for love. He breathed in her beautiful sound, hypnotized by the subtle sway of her body, as spellbinding as the beat.

  At a line from the chorus, one filled with hope that the search for love wasn’t one sided, her gaze landed on him, exposing a vulnerability he hadn’t been aware of. His breath stalled but didn’t recover even when she averted her gaze across the room and picked up the next verse.

  Who was this woman? This relaxed persona and sultry songstress offered a stark contrast to the woman he’d met on the elevator. Mesmerized by both the sight and sound, he sat enchanted by her act. She was—a word rested on the tip of his tongue…classy. Classier than he might expect from someone in this small town, as though she really belonged someplace else and had landed here by mistake.

  She finished the song to wild applause and returned to her table where her boyfriend gave her a peck on the cheek. Lifting her purse, she quickly left the room.

  Trent got up and walked to the table, unsure what he was even doing.

  “Your girlfriend has quite a voice. I’m Trent Jamieson, Duncan’s brother.” Trent offered his hand to her date and they shook.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Jim Fitzhugh. Indeed, Veronica does have a lovely voice. Duncan said you’ve recently moved to town?”

  Trent nodded.

  “Please. Have a seat.” He motioned to an empty chair so Trent sat. “I live across the lake, in New Scotland.”

  “How’d you and Veronica meet?”

  “I’m a pharmacist. Veronica couldn’t get something
at Walker’s Drugs so ended up at the New Scotland pharmacy, where I work.”

  They talked for a bit about Northbridge small businesses, and he concluded Jim seemed likable enough.

  “Hello.”

  Trent looked up. Veronica stared back, her beautiful dark eyes questioning his presence at their table.

  He pushed back the chair and stood. “I was telling Jim how much I enjoyed your singing.”

  “Thank you. Do you two know each other?”

  “We just met.” In the background, the piano music switched to a slow number. Trent almost couldn’t believe the next words out of his mouth. “Jim, would you mind if I asked Veronica to dance?”

  “Not at all.” He gave Veronica a quick smile and flagged down a waiter passing by with a carafe of coffee and motioned for a refill.

  She scanned the room, as if plotting an escape route. “Well, I…” She rested her purse on the table. “Sure. One dance.”

  Trent offered his hand, but she ignored it, jutted her chin out, and walked past him. He followed from behind, soaking in the delightful sight of her body, showcased in the glove-like fit of her dress. Jim must have some vision problems because Trent would never let someone like her leave his side.

  She stepped onto the wood floor, stopping near a few other couples. Turning toward him, she stood straight and waited. He moved close, and when she lifted her arms in a traditional dance pose, he gathered her around the waist, coaxed her close, and nestled his cheek near hers.

  He whispered, “You can put your arms around my neck. I don’t bite.” He leaned back and grinned.

  “I know you don’t bite.” She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. “You just…” She sighed. “Oh, never mind.”

  Her soft hands landed at his nape. Although he couldn’t see her face, the stiffness in her body screamed of her discomfort. Was her irritation with him from his unexpected kiss or because she’d learned things about him from others in Northbridge?

  “Your voice, it’s beautiful.” He spoke quietly near her ear, breathing in the exotic scent he’d enjoyed when they’d kissed.

  “Thank you. Sophie said you’re in a band?”

  “I am. With a few guys I’ve known since college.” He leaned back and stared into her eyes. “I’m sorry I was so uptight when we met in the elevator. It was a bad day.”

  “It’s okay.” She stared at him for a few seconds before her gaze drifted toward the piano player.

  “How come I didn’t meet you at Sophie and Duncan’s Fourth of July party?”

  “I was away.”

  He nodded and after a few awkward seconds moved his head back near hers and gathered her a little closer, taking note of her tense hold, so rigid she might crack in half any second.

  The piano player’s skills did justice to “Chances Are,” a romantic tune he found difficult to take advantage of with Veronica’s stiff pose. He closed his eyes, hummed, and moved her along the floor to the music. After a minute, she relaxed ever so slightly. He continued to hum, as if he hadn’t noticed.

  Her voice landed close to his ear. “You sure hum a lot.”

  He leaned back. “Do I?”

  “On the elevator at RGI you started the second you got on.”

  “Oh. Then I guess I do. I like music.” He stared into her eyes and, this time, their gazes remained locked. “So, Pearls, what do you do when you’re not getting stuck in elevators?” He cracked a closed lip smile, hoping to further lighten her mood.

  Her lips waivered, but she stopped short of a real smile. “I work at the Northbridge library. I was in Hartford to attend a librarian luncheon the day we got stuck. I only stopped at RGI to give Duncan something he’d left at home.” She paused and a troubled expression crossed her face. “You know, that kiss… I didn’t know…I’d never do any—”

  “I’m sorry. From behind, I honestly thought you were my date.”

  She pursed her lips, nodded.

  “Come on, Pearls. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

  She dropped her chin to her chest for a few seconds, and when she lifted it, her gaze was somber. “Why do you keep calling me Pearls? Are you making fun of me?”

  “No.” He chuckled, but when she didn’t smile back, his smile faded. “It’s only a nickname.”

  “Hmm.” She watched something across the room.

  “Did you know pearls are formed when a foreign substance gets inside an oyster or mussel shell?”

  “Of course.”

  “But I’ll bet you don’t know how.” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It secretes a substance to protect the mollusk’s soft, internal surface. The substance turns it into the gem.”

  She raised a brow. In the far recesses of her eyes, he saw some interest, but it disappeared, quickly replaced by concern.

  He brought her close and continued to dance. A part of him was afraid he’d never get this woman to forgive him. For what, though, he really wasn’t quite sure.

  Chapter 7

  “Thanks, Aunt Ronnie.” Cassidy dug into the ice cream sundae.

  “You’re welcome.” Veronica eyed her own cup, guilt settling into every drizzle of hot fudge. She stuck in her spoon anyway and took a big bite.

  From their picnic table on the grassy plot next to the Dairy Inn, they watched people heading into town, in their cars or walking along the sidewalk with dogs, young children, or strollers.

  This afternoon’s kayaking trip with her niece had done little to steer Veronica’s thoughts away from Trent Jamieson. His image had seeped into the crevices of her mind all day, especially his lesson about the creation of pearls. Did he ever consider how he was the foreign matter invading her protective shell? And no pretty gems would result from his invasion. Only added worries she might make another bad choice, allow an attraction to an overly confident man to get the better of her.

  Cassidy wiped some whipped cream off her upper lip. “I’m glad you were around today so I didn’t have to go to Missy’s soccer game with my mom and dad.”

  “Me, too. What’d the text say from your sister? Did they win their match?”

  “Yeah. They’re on their way home. Thanks for the ice cream and taking me kayaking.”

  “Well deserved after helping with Boomer’s bath.”

  “How’s the peanut butter?” Cassidy eyed Veronica’s sundae.

  “Good.” She pushed the cup toward her niece.

  While Cassidy dipped in her spoon, Veronica again couldn’t get over how her niece had matured in the past six months. Childlike roundness had thinned. Glossy strands of dark hair curled at her shoulders, and her long eyelashes held an exotic quality. Dressed in simple white shorts and ribbed tank top, she carried the fresh appeal of a sunny spring day. Everyone said Cassidy and Veronica looked alike, but she never remembered being quite as beautiful as her niece.

  “Try mine. Strawberry Fusion.” Cassidy offered her cup.

  Veronica skimmed a little off the top and tasted. “Mmmm. Good. Excited about school starting in a few weeks?”

  “I guess.”

  “You’ll be an eighth grader this year? Big chick on campus.”

  She shrugged, poked at her ice cream.

  “Will you join any clubs?”

  “Yearbook and chorus again.” Cassidy stared out in the distance. After a minute, she put down her ice cream and turned sideways on the bench seat. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Mom?”

  A loaded question, but Veronica considered her sister’s hysteria over most things. She nodded. “I won’t say anything.”

  “Last year, a new boy started at school. We had lockers near each other, the same homeroom. Cluster assignments came out this week, and I found out he’s in my cluster again this year.” She stared into her lap for a few seconds, then slowly lifted her head to meet Veronica’s eyes. “I hate him. He’s such a jerk.”

  “How so?”

  “He does things…” Cassid
y lowered her voice. “Creepy things.”

  “Like what, honey?”

  Cassidy rubbed the top of her hand with her fingertips and glanced around the lawn, where other patrons sat talking, eating their ice cream. Her gaze shifted back to Veronica. “A couple of times he’s touched me.”

  A tremor ran down Veronica’s core. She searched deep for the right response, pushing aside the uproar those words raised inside her head. Cassidy’s eyes quickly covered with a watery sheen, but she blinked the tears away.

  Veronica put down her cup and took her niece’s hand. “Can you tell me how?”

  “One day he pretended to bump into me, but grabbed me here.” She pointed to her chest with her free hand. “Then he ran off laughing with some other boys.” She swallowed and glanced away, dropped her voice to a near-whisper. “Another time he pressed up against me at my locker, like pushed me with his…” She paused and pointed to her lap area, then wrinkled her nose. “It was gross.”

  A hard lump wedged inside Veronica’s throat. Gary’s large body pinning her to the sofa. Pressing against her. No way out. She inhaled and regained focus.

  Veronica hugged her niece tightly, trying not to cry. “Oh God, Cass. Telling me was brave. So brave.”

  Cassidy pulled back, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly. “I’m scared to go to school, Aunt Ronnie, not brave.”

  “I know, but telling me was courageous.” Veronica questioned her own silence. Tripped up by her own shame, worried others would judge her. Accuse her of provoking the act. And yet this thirteen year old…

  A protective urge seized Veronica. A need to protect Cassidy. “We can’t let this boy do this to you again. It’s not right.”

  The day Veronica had been raped, her entire operating system re-programmed. The event had usurped her life for the past twenty years. What a fool she’d been. Why hadn’t she been strong enough to reach out to others, like Cassidy? Why was it still so hard now?

  “Are you sure you don’t want to tell your mom? I mean, this is harassment and the school should know—”

  “Please don’t make me. You promised you’d keep it our secret.” Terror flared from Cassidy’s dark eyes.