Harvest Moon

by Sharon Struth

  “What?” Veronica squelched her surprise. She could see telling her wasn’t easy. “So your father adopted you, even though you were his real son? Why?”

  “Because, my mother wanted to help Marion with her unwed pregnancy. She didn’t know about my dad’s affair with Marion. And what could he say? He didn’t want to risk losing my mother. Right now, you’re one of a few who knows this. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Of course I will. Then I’ll assume Buzz knows the truth, and it plays into the way he treated you earlier.”

  He nodded, almost smiled. “I’m starting to think he holds my father’s actions against me. Plus we do have some old history going back to the summer before we sold our family house here.” He shook his head. “I suspected the truth about my dad, demanded some answers from Marion, and it got ugly. Buzz hasn’t seemed to forgive me for the acts of a confused teenage boy. Again, between us…”

  Veronica reached out, rested a hand on Trent’s chest. Clarity about what drove Trent to a life in Northbridge gave her new respect for his choice. Real bravery, though, appeared in his ability to step into this world despite how the secrets of others could stain his new life. “I swear to you I’ll never tell a soul. Marion’s very sweet. She volunteers at the library a couple times a month, so we’ve become friends.”

  The tension in his face softened, and he rested his hand over hers. “I’ve had some nice conversations with her. She set me up with the self-defense instructor job.”

  “I figured. She’s lucky to spend time with you.” Veronica shifted closer to him, placed her hand on his arm. “You’re an amazing guy who cares about other people and is brave enough to fight his own demons. Don’t let Buzz ruin things. He’s not worth it.”

  “Thank you. It’s so hard sometimes.” His jaw tensed.

  Ry had once written to her with some inspiring words she’d often repeat in her head, especially each time she’d think about attending Gail’s party. “Someone special once reminded me that we often don’t realize how strong we are until being strong is the only choice left. It’s a quote.”

  He looked at her strangely, almost troubled, but then let it go and his face softened. “It’s a great quote.”

  “Don’t forget what you’ve already done to turn your life around.” She slipped her arms through his waist and rested her head on his chest. His arms circled her, and he gently kissed the top of her head.

  His spoke close to her ear. “Pearls, you coming here tonight means everything to me.”

  She lifted her head and they kissed, slow and soulful, satiating a need found only in her heart.

  He rubbed his thumb in gentle sweeps against her arm. “I’d planned to call you today. We have our last self-defense class tomorrow.”

  “I hope to participate more this time.”

  “Good.” He paused and his Adam’s apple rolled with a swallow. “Listen, something I want to tell you. The topic in class is sexual assault. We’ll watch a movie on ways to stop a man during an attempted rape.”

  She flinched and he frowned, but she recovered with a nod, as if the statement didn’t cut straight through her. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be fine.” She motioned with her chin to the guitar. “Can you play something else for me?”

  A quiet smile made his eyes soften. “I’d love to.”

  For the next half hour, he sat next to her on the sofa and played, everything from classical jazz to rock to bluegrass, highlighting the range of his talent. When she joined in on a song, a slow smile crossed his lips, making her heart dance. But when he played the Willie Nelson classic, “You Were Always on My Mind,” she knew Trent was the kind of man she could fall for so deeply she’d never want to return.

  * * * *

  Trent slammed his foot on the brakes and pulled off the road. He’d flown past Bellantoni’s Market at least a mile back, forgetting he needed to stop. Damn it! Toilet paper was one thing you couldn’t put off until tomorrow.

  He did a quick calculation of the time required to backtrack to the grocery store and his long to-do list, then remembered he’d go right past Polanski’s Market on his way back to the farm. They had a few shelves stocked with emergency items, and if toilet paper didn’t fit that bill, what did? He pulled out, continuing toward the vineyard.

  Yesterday’s extra shitty day had sidetracked him more than once since waking before sunrise. Besides what had happened with Buzz last night, he’d been beating himself on a second count. Veronica was re-quoting things he’d said to her under his persona as Ry.

  The Bob Marley quote had given him a gift-wrapped opportunity to come clean on his dual identity. Rather than seize the chance, he’d scampered away like a mouse coming face-to-face with a cat. Every reason he hadn’t told her last time still existed, yet every single time he ignored one of these openings, his lie grew.

  His nerves jumbled. Jesus, where was the poised risk taker he used to be? A man who drifted from woman to woman, never allowed himself to get caught up in personal issues? Trent had no answers, only the realization that when you met a woman who mattered, those games lost all meaning.

  Last night, when he’d told her about the next class topic, he’d secretly wished she might share the same details about her rape she’d told Ry. Then learning the truth that both men were the same wouldn’t be as bad. At least that’s what he hoped.

  He turned at a peeling painted sign reading “Polanski’s Market,” and parked in front of the old house-turned convenience mart. Every morning for the past two weeks, Trent had stopped here for coffee on his way out to make marketing calls around the state. According to Jay, Stan’s coffee was the best in town, better than Sunny Side Up.

  Stan stood behind the counter, sorting magazines, a grease-spotted apron tied at his full waist. The short man glanced up. “Late start today?”

  “More like daydreaming and forgot to stop at Bellantoni’s. Do you carry toilet paper?”

  “Aisle three. Turn at the display of fireworks.” Stan lifted another paper to his stack and said, with a straight face, “Don’t get um’ mixed up.”

  Trent chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”

  He headed toward the end cap with the fireworks. As he turned the corner, voices from the back of the store carried toward him, becoming more clear as he made his way down the multi-shelved aisle. He spotted what he needed and stopped in front of them to study the brands.

  “I’m telling you…”

  Buzz’s raspy voice made Trent pause.

  “…He’s nothing but trouble. I can’t believe Jay Moore has him working at the farm.”

  Trent lifted a package, but waited to hear more. Last night’s insults from Buzz still fresh on his mind, he bit down on his back teeth.

  “We accepted Duncan, mostly because of Sophie.” Buzz humphed. “But I don’t trust that brother of his. He showed up at my meeting last night. Said Sophie asked him to come in her place.”

  “Maybe she did.”

  Trent recognized the other voice, but couldn’t place who it was.

  “Bah,” Buzz muttered. “Mark my words, he’ll do something to make waves around here.”

  Anger trickled through Trent’s bloodstream. A build up of slow and steady rage raced down his arms and bottled into a clenched fist. At what point would Buzz accept him, despite what he’d done so many years ago?

  “Oh for God’s sake, Buzz. Let it go.”

  Trent lowered the package.

  “Let it go! Easy for you to say. Don’t you question his motives with Marion?”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Buzz’s companion sounded irritated.

  “Maybe he’s using her. She’s got him teaching a self-defense class in town. I don’t want anybody accusing me of favoritism.”

  “Well, not many people in town are aware he’s her…” The other person’s voice lowered, mumbled a few words, then rose to normal. “…So if you shut your mouth, you’ll be in good shape.”


  Trent marched down the aisle, each long stride filled with fury. Buzz had made him feel like crap one too many times. He turned the corner. The first selectman turned ghost white.

  “Hello, Buzz.” Cliff, Sophie’s old boss, sat across from Buzz. Trent nodded, but the vile taste of anger drew his attention back to Buzz.

  Trent dragged a nearby chair from another table along the dated linoleum floor and positioned it near Buzz. He flipped the chair backward and plopped into it, resting his forearms on the back.

  Buzz pushed his chair away, but it stalled when it hit the wall.

  Trent narrowed his eyes. “Sounds as if you have something to say to me. Am I right?”

  Buzz sputtered. “What are you…? Do you need to be so close?”

  Trent leaned forward. “Yes, I do. I’m tired of your disrespect.” He dropped his voice to a near whisper. “I’m not using Marion. If you have a problem with me, then out with it.”

  Buzz crossed his arms over his chest. “Now see here, I’ve had enough of your—”

  Trent stood fast. Buzz flinched, but Trent hovered over him and didn’t even blink. “No. I’ve had enough of you. People make mistakes. I’ve apologized to you for the past. I’d better not ever hear you talking about me again.”

  Buzz’s eyes widened and his cheeks blasted bright red. “Is that a threat?”

  Trent squeezed his fist, inhaled a long breath, and slowly unfurled each finger. “No. A request.”

  He turned to Cliff, who sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, staring down his bulbous nose at the two men. “The tasting room’s opening soon. Jay’s making some wonderful German food that night. Hope you join us.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. I gave up my star reporter for the vineyard.”

  Buzz sat quietly, but his scowl said it all.

  Trent walked away. Halfway down the aisle he leaned over and picked up what he needed. As he headed toward the register, he heard Cliff laugh and say to Buzz, “I told you to close your big trap.”

  Trent paid for his purchase. Was he crazy to think he could start over somewhere else? Was he crazy to think the substances he’d always used to hide his pain would never call to him again?

  An anxious need twisted at his core. Old urges were the easy way to feel better.

  The arsenal of wine at his disposal suddenly stood in the forefront of his mind, a temptation he’d resisted until now. Once a screw up, always a screw up.

  Trent sped from the lot, hoping to God somebody was around to stop him from making a huge mistake when he reached the farm. A random thought seized him. When Buzz treated him this way, it seemed personal. It hurt more than the disregard of a stranger should even matter. The pain it stirred inside Trent was the same as another pain he’d lived with his entire life—the sting of indifference from his father.

  A glass or two of wine would help wash down the discomfort.

  Chapter 18

  “Hey, Ronnie. What’s up?”

  Before Veronica could reply into the phone mouthpiece, Bernadette started talking to Dave, asking him to get dinner on the table.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Veronica said. “I need a favor.”

  “As usual, we’re running late. Is it important or can it wait until class?”

  “It’s about class.” Veronica did her best to sound mellow, like she was sick. “I’m not feeling well. Can you take Cassidy?”

  “Sure, hon. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe that tuna salad I got from the new deli in Southbridge for lunch.”

  “Sorry you’re sick. Sure, I’ll get Cassidy. But I have a question for you. Did you and Jim break up?”

  “We did. Where’d you hear that?”

  “Dave ran into Jim this morning. So it’s true?”

  “Yes.”

  Bernadette’s silence carried like a non-verbal tsk-tsk. “I really shouldn’t be hearing this stuff from my husband.”

  “I figured I’d tell you tonight.”

  “Dave was one step from calling it into the Gazette’s “Eye Around Town” column, but I stopped him, because, if you hadn’t told your close friends, it couldn’t be true.”

  “Point taken. Sorry. And Dave would never report any gossip to that column in the paper.”

  Bernadette laughed. “I know. I was teasing. Oh-oh, now Dave’s giving me an annoyed look. So, was Jim upset about you singing with Trent?”

  “Why? Did we seem too cozy up there?”

  Bernadette offered a rare pause, a windup before she tossed a curve ball. “I’d say it was more like shocked. No, that’s too strong for him. More like taken aback to see you on stage. Then the part at the end—where you two lovebirds stared into each other’s eyes like Lady and the Tramp—that’s when Jim turned pasty white.”

  “We weren’t staring like Lady—”

  “Listen, you asked me if it seemed cozy, so I just told you what I saw. Probably the biggest reaction I’ve seen from Jim since the night Meg cornered him for advice on her skin condition.”

  “We needed a little push to end things. Even you pointed out to me how it wasn’t going anyplace.”

  “So there’s nothing going on with you and Trent?”

  “Can we talk another time? I need to lie down. Remember, my stomach?”

  “Sure. Feel better. I’ll get Cassidy there and back.”

  Veronica thanked her and hung up. She returned to her desk, taking a second pass at the video she’d found on the Internet, one scary enough to make her skip the class tonight.

  Trent had warned about tonight’s topic. Images of her with the whole class, witnessing a mock sexual assault, left her skeptical about how much she could handle. Since anything could be found on Google, she’d searched the Internet, finding exactly the kind of video Trent planned to show, a way to sample this in the privacy of her home.

  When she did, she had to shut it off before it finished.

  Veronica wasn’t a quitter, though. Gail’s party inched closer every single day, and she was determined to watch this whole video, found on a website called Self-Defense for Women.

  She clicked restart. The introduction was easy to sit through again, some of the same things Trent had covered in class. Then the video approached the scene that had sent her scurrying a short half hour ago. Two young men, with short military-styled haircuts and dressed in sweatpants, stood on either side of a woman dressed in similar attire.

  One of the men stepped toward the camera. “By now you’ve learned some basic movements on how to get away if you’re a target. But sometimes these things don’t work. If someone is trying to sexually assault you, his goal is to exhaust you in order to execute the attack. So even though you want to fight with all your might to get away, at some point, it can backfire.”

  Veronica’s mouth went dry.

  “The trick is to try to recognize when you are truly trapped and when the defensive moves you’ve learned won’t work. At that point, during a sexual assault, you need to act compliant. It’s like playing dead around a bear. Doing so isn’t easy. Our instincts want us to fight.” The instructor raised his fists. “But if you can trick your attacker into thinking you’ve given up, you might still be able to escape. Peter and Sue are going to help me demonstrate. Sue, can you lie on the floor?”

  The woman stretched out on her back, knees bent, feet flat on the floor.

  “Pete will play the part of an attacker.” He nodded at the other man. “You know what to do.”

  Pete kneeled in front of Sue, then settled between her opened thighs. Tightness seized Veronica’s chest, making it hard to breathe for a few seconds, but then she inhaled deeply. She’d been intimate with men since her rape, but they always granted her the upper hand.

  To witness a fake rape attempt was a whole other matter. Over the past twenty years, she’d left movies where this kind of struggle went on, the subject too powerful, too real.

  Veronica
’s pulse raced beneath her skin, but she forced herself to concentrate as the two performers readied themselves. Her finger hovered on the computer mouse, stationed at pause, in case she wanted to stop the video quickly.

  “The attacker won’t lie on you loosely, giving you the ability to get away.” The video instructor paced around the floor, near the couple. “He’ll pin you to the ground.”

  Pete wrapped his arms around the woman’s waist, lowered his chest over hers. She wiggled her torso every way possible, kicked her legs, and pounded his chest with her fists. No matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t dislodge from his hold.

  Visions slammed Veronica’s mind, like violent flashcards. Even now, each deep breath seemed labored, as if Gary’s strong frame still crushed her chest and stole not only her dignity, but her air supply, too. Gary had pinned her arms to her side, pressed his face close while his warm, alcohol-scented huffs grazed her cheek, making her want to throw up. She’d whimpered over and over, “please stop,” began to cry, but he’d only pressed against her with more force and covered her mouth with his.

  A silent scream let loose inside Veronica’s head. She tapped the computer mouse, stopping the video, and exited the website. If only her real trauma had been this easy to end.

  She went and poured herself a glass of white wine, wishing there were someone who knew about Gary and the horror she’d have to face at the party. An outlet to discuss her fears, maybe boost her confidence.

  Ry would surely lend a listening ear and give her some well-needed advice.

  * * * *

  Trent drove over the speed limit. Tired and worried, he made his way to Veronica’s house. Despite what Bernadette had told him, he didn’t believe for a second Veronica had missed class because she was sick.

  She’d seemed fine when she left the cottage two nights ago, quiet about the topic he’d be discussing. The secrets stuck in the cracks of their relationship were starting to thin. If only she’d tell him everything, then maybe he could get his own secrets off his back. Urgency propelled him forward, hoping he hadn’t done anything to make her avoid tonight’s session. After she came by the other night, they’d started to kiss, a bit more hot and heavy, especially without the interruptions on the island. Certainly, she’d have said if he’d come on too strong.