Harvest Moon

by Sharon Struth

  “Yes. The breakup with Marc, such a sad time for you.”

  Butterflies flittered inside Veronica’s gut, a few remnants of her old self. Only now she ignored them and said, “Well, there’s a little more to it.”

  For the next half hour, she told her mother the story she’d hidden for far too many years. When her mother cried, Veronica did too. Like her sister, her mother didn’t question Veronica’s choices. Instead, she gave her only support. Maybe her mother had mellowed over the years, or Veronica’s perceptions had been a bit misguided.

  The doorbell rang. “Mom. Let me get that. We’ll talk later.”

  As Boomer raced to the door, she peeked out the window. Village Florists. She went to the door, shoving Boomer behind her while she accepted the delivery.

  Veronica studied the mixed arrangement: red roses, white tulips, and purple irises. She plucked the card.

  Pearls,

  Roses from my heart. Tulips for forgiveness. The irises, and a request you come to the tasting room tonight, are offerings of the faith I have in us.

  She shut her eyes. The scent off the flowers wafted to her nose, like a healing ointment to the open wounds of her heart.

  Walking into the kitchen, she carried the vase and then put it on the table. She stared at them, as if they had the power to speak and tell her what to do next. Initially, when Trent had admitted to being Ry, her brain couldn’t wrap around the idea that once crazy speculations were true. Now confirmed, what had it meant for her to cling to Ry for so long? Through every piece of correspondence, a part of her had understood the intangible nature of their closeness, and only now it felt like a crutch.

  She found her laptop in the living room and brought it to the kitchen table. Once logged on, she went to the folder where she kept Ry’s letters, like the treasured gifts they once were. She reread each one, noting the great care with which Trent never crossed lines between the real world and the world they’d created behind the veil of reality. After she read each one, she tossed it in the virtual trashcan.

  A few times, she smiled. Moments they’d poked fun or played around with an inside joke. Several moments drew her so close and personal, she sensed his warmth, felt his sadness. Especially where he’d offered details that she now could see belonged to him, mostly about pain and recovery—although not once did he share the specifics.

  When she’d finished reading every last piece of correspondence she’d shared with Ry, and all were tossed into the virtual garbage, she hovered the pointer over the bin icon. The words Permanently delete? appeared. Veronica paused. Ry was another safe choice in men, no different than Jim or others she’d dated for the past twenty years.

  What about Trent? Her gaze drifted to the flowers he’d sent, so pretty and filled with meaning. Real. Perfect.

  Steadying her finger, she inhaled a deep breath and clicked, saying good-bye forever to the safety net found in the relationship with Ry.

  Chapter 27

  Jay walked into the stock room. “If you build it, they will come.”

  Trent laughed as he removed a box of wine glasses from an upper shelf. “I think everybody in Connecticut is here. I wouldn’t be shocked if Kevin Costner showed up, too.”

  “See! I knew you’d get a good baseball movie reference. I said the same thing to Sophie and she said ‘What?’” Jay took the wine glasses etched with the vineyard name.

  Trent reached up again. “I marketed the hell outta this opening, but I never dreamed we’d see a full house by three in the afternoon. Hey, where’d you store the peach wine?”

  “Against the wall.”

  Trent headed to the area and removed a few bottles. “Dude, whatever you’re cooking smells great. Make sure there’s some for my dinner.”

  “I’m trying out my Oktoberfest special.”

  Duncan came back, looked at them both. “Anybody get those extra glasses down?”

  Trent tipped his head toward Jay. “He has them.”

  “I’ll take those.” Duncan walked over to Jay.

  “Gotta give you props, pal.” Jay looked at Trent. “This opening is a hit, thanks to your promotion efforts.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Duncan walked past Trent on his way out. “I knew you were the right man for the job.”

  Satisfaction swelled in Trent’s chest, his success at the vineyard taking on a meaning even deeper than he could comprehend logically.

  “Oh, a limo service has a party bus making the rounds.” Duncan paused at the door. “We’re on the list. The guy called ahead, says they may be here around three-thirty.”

  “Thanks for the heads up.” Jay reached for another box and used his pocketknife to slice the top open. He glanced at Trent as he opened the flaps. “Doing okay?”

  “Yeah.” Trent walked toward Jay, not wanting to talk about Veronica again. “Let me take those out. You worry about the food.”

  “What time’s the band showing up?”

  “Seven. We’ll start to play around eight.”

  Trent took the box out to the tasting room, smiling at a few guests, but his mind wandered to Veronica’s silence.

  Behind the bar, he unloaded half the glasses and tucked the rest under the counter. Duncan stood a few feet away, talking to two couples who stared at him with such concentration you’d think Duncan was the inventor of wine. Although Duncan always had that way about him with any topic.

  “This blush wine is delicate and sweet. Hints of peach, apricot, and plum.” Duncan looked Sophie’s way as she rang up someone at the cash register. She nodded her approval.

  Trent smiled gently. When had his brother become an expert on blush wines or required anybody’s approval? The good feeling faded, and he mentally absorbed the punch to his gut over his own loss. No man was immune to approval from the woman he loved.

  * * * *

  Since six o’clock, Veronica had cleaned a bathroom, organized two drawers in the kitchen, and cleaned Boomer’s nose prints off the refrigerator. Just about anything to avoid the party at the vineyard, which would be well underway at this point. She walked the dog as darkness set in, then returned inside and sat at the kitchen table to pay some bills.

  While she stared at a blank check, all her empty relationships surfaced. They’d been fine for such a long time, but now, after sampling the real deal for a short time with Trent, the void she’d lived with for a long time seemed hollower than ever before.

  She could not deny all the years of inflexible control, but hadn’t she changed? She reached toward the flowers and removed the card. Trent’s offering of faith…in them, as a couple. Last night, she’d tossed that faith away, practically ran from a slight fall in confidence. Based on his note, though, he hadn’t given up on her.

  The weight of her foolishness hit hard, so unclear until this moment. A mistake she hoped she could fix. She rose quickly, went to her bedroom closet, and flipped through the clothes, removed a few things. After tugging off faded blue jeans and T-shirt, she slipped on a white linen skirt, a lightweight summer crew-necked sweater, and selected her longish strand of pearls. On her way out the door, she grabbed a faded blue denim jacket off a coat stand.

  She kissed Boomer on the head. “Be a good boy. I won’t be late.”

  Ten minutes later, she arrived at the entrance to the vineyard. Cars lined both sides of the vast lawn along the driveway, more than she’d have imagined. She parked and got out, standing for a few seconds to admire the warm glow from the converted barn’s windows and the sparkling patio lights. Voices, laughter, and music filled the air.

  Cool grass tickled her toes as she walked uphill to the patio. Closer now, she could hear the band clearly and recognized Trent’s voice, smooth and smoky, injecting character into the lyrics. Memories of the night he sang to her in his cottage caused a wave of regret to drown her chest for being so silent with him since last night.

  The song ended as she neared the outside patio. She stood in the dark backgr
ound and observed Trent and his band buddies as they talked quietly amongst themselves. He lifted the microphone. “We’re picking up the beat with this next one.” He turned to the guys. “A-one, two, one, two, three, four…”

  Willie Nelson’s classic “On the Road Again” got the crowd clapping. Through the trellis posts, she spotted her friend, Gail, and her husband with another couple at one of the tables. Veronica turned away, not wanting to discuss what had happened the night before. She followed a path inside the tasting room. Familiar and unfamiliar faces filled tables. Trent’s parents sat with Sophie’s father and Duncan’s kids. Duncan, Sophie, and Jay worked behind the bar, each talking to small groups who sampled wine.

  Veronica waited off to the side until Sophie spotted her, said something to the customers, and hurried down to the end of the bar.

  They hugged and Veronica said, “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here. Did you eat?”

  Veronica shook her head.

  “Go in the kitchen. Jay made some great food. As always. Bring it out on the patio. Want a glass of wine?”

  “Not this second. After I get some food.”

  She headed toward the kitchen, but instead detoured to the sliding doors leading out to the patio. From the doorway, she watched Trent perform. He sang, smiled, moved gently with the music, and strummed his guitar. Music always made her happy, too.

  She stepped out, making sure not to block anybody’s view, and spotted Bernadette and Dave, Meg and Roy at another table. In a discreet corner, she stood quietly and watched Trent sing.

  The band finished and the crowd clapped. Trent said something to one of the band members, and they readied themselves for another song. He spotted her. An uncertain smile crossed his lips as he raised a hand for the keyboard player to stop.

  He said something to the other members, positioned himself on a tall stool, and pulled the microphone close. After resting his guitar on his raised knee, he said, “I want to share a story about something crazy I recently did.”

  Dave cupped his hands around his mouth. “Are you sure you can tell this in public?”

  A few people hooted. Trent only chuckled. “It’s safe enough for you, Pastor.” A few locals in the crowd laughed, but Trent glanced to the ground, a thoughtful look on his face. “About six months ago, I met a woman. She understood music and we hit it off from the very start. Talking to her was easy. Before I knew it, I was sharing my music with her.”

  He looked up and his voice grew thick, more somber. “We grew close. We shared things we’d never easily shared with others. She eventually even told me a secret she’d carried around by herself for a long time.” His tone softened. “Imagine that. Nobody ever handed me that much of themselves.”

  Trent watched her with such intensity, her eyes burned with threatening tears.

  “So what did I do? Well, I’m afraid I went and fell in love with this woman. Sight unseen. You heard me right. I’d never met her, only had contact through the computer.”

  The crowd moaned, but Trent’s gaze never left Veronica. “I went by another name for our correspondence, and she did too. We wanted to keep a safe distance. But it somehow got personal.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. Ry and Trent sat in her heart like the same person. His words carried the surreal quality of a dream, her body strangely weightless and unable to move.

  He focused on the crowd, leaned his elbow in the crook of the guitar body, and stroked his chin. “I’m afraid this tale doesn’t end very well.”

  The crowd joined in a unified “awwww.”

  “You see, we met one day, purely by accident. Only I didn’t know she was my computer romance, but I liked her a lot. We became friends.” He shook his head. “And the miracle is that I began to fall for the real woman the same way I had my computer relationship. She asked me for one thing: trust. Then one day, I figured out who she was and…” He frowned and panned the crowd. “I didn’t say a word. I worried about all the private things she’d told me, and how my admission would mean I knew her darkest secrets. I worried she’d be upset and back away from me…both the real me and the computer me.” He lightly strummed the guitar, then lifted his head and stared straight at her. “A mistake I can never take back.” He inhaled and blew out a deep breath. “Now all I have left is this song. I wrote the music, but she gave it meaning with these beautiful lyrics. So thank you, Etta. Here’s our collaboration, a song named “Seed.”

  He bent his head and plucked the familiar chords, swift and gentle, filled with the hope she’d heard the first time she ever listened to the piece.

  He met her gaze and his lips parted.

  “Carried by the wind, left in the hands of fate,

  A seed will grow, left to sow.

  Seasons past in haste, nature’s plans await,

  For life unbound, can be found.

  Chaos and harsh forces, may keep us buried deep

  Left to fade, its life we trade.

  Then sunrise brings your smile, a beam to warm my heart. The hand of hope, I breathe again, and find a new start.”

  Veronica closed her eyes, listened. Every morsel of love she had for Trent was found in those lyrics. Words she’d uncovered in the depth of her own heart, now fused with Trent’s soulful voice, her passion brought to life. Tears rose to the surface, forcing her eyes to open. Trent studied her with a gaze that begged for understanding. Then he again sang the lyrics, this time softer, slower.

  She weaved through a few tables until she reached him, salty tears moistening her lips. She stood in front of him, and he stopped playing, slipped the guitar strap off his shoulder, and rested the instrument against the keyboard.

  With her fingertips, she wiped away some tears. “You love me?”

  He smiled, grabbed the sides of her jacket, and drew her close. “When I first saw you on the elevator, I loved your delicate pearls and how you knew all about elevator safety. The day I kissed you by mistake…” He paused and drew in a breath. “I couldn’t quite figure out what hit me, but it was pretty remarkable. Yeah, Pearls. I really love you.”

  A few people laughed.

  “I love you, too.” Veronica slipped her hands around his neck. “We have an audience.”

  His gaze never left hers. “Do you think they want us to kiss?”

  Applause and a few hoots filled the air, and before the cheers finished, Trent’s lips met hers. He kissed her once, then again and again as she wrapped herself close to him and breathed in the touch she’d craved all her life.

  Chapter 28

  “The true harvest of my life is intangible—a little star dust caught, a portion of the rainbow I have clutched.”—Henry David Thoreau

  October

  “I don’t do costumes.” Veronica watched the lunar ascent on the horizon, a spectacular mix of amber and golden yellow. A harvest moon, rising over the darkened hilltops that surrounded Blue Moon Lake.

  She glanced to her side at Trent, who a half hour ago had begged her to leave the Harvest Festival activities under the guise of giving her a surprise. He’d led her to a private spot behind one of the vineyard’s fields, where he’d already set up a plaid blanket, wine and cheese, and lit candles.

  He lay flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring at the sky. With her response he frowned and glanced her way. “Why don’t you do costumes?”

  Just beyond Trent, Boomer sprawled out on the grass, a few unused napkins bunched in his large black paws. He tore at them with zeal, the same way Veronica would go at a box of Belgium chocolates. About to stop him, she paused. Everyone had a vice and this was Boomer’s. She’d pick up the mess later.

  “Why don’t I do costumes?” She looked at Trent and shrugged. “I just don’t.”

  “Are you one of those party poopers who is too mature for Halloween?”

  “I give out candy and even decorate the house a little.” From the flickering candlelight, she cou
ld see his doubtful expression. “Costumes don’t interest me.”

  Almost too confident, he said, “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He grinned, stretched to his side, and propped up on his elbow. “We’d make a great pair. How about we go to Bernadette’s party as Cleopatra and Marc Anthony?”

  “Isn’t he still with J. Lo?”

  “Ah, so it’s the comedic route you’d prefer. How about Abbott and Costello? We can talk up next season’s vineyard softball team after we do a little skit.” He reached behind his back, took a grape from a container, and popped it in his mouth.

  She rolled onto her side and mirrored his pose. “Sure. I mean, we’ve got who’s on first, what’s on second, and I don’t know is on third.”

  A slow smile crept across his lips. “Any woman who can do the best comedy routine of all time is precious as a pearl to me. In fact”—his voice dipped—“I’m pretty turned on right now.”

  She chuckled, even though his suggestive tone made her want to do something more intimate than talk about Halloween. “You’re that desperate for me to wear a costume?”

  He reached for another grape and ate it. “Desperate is a strong word.”

  “Could I have a grape?”

  “Sure.” He took another. “Open wide.”

  She opened her mouth, and he brought the grape close to her lips. She anticipated the sweet taste, but the second she went to bite, he pulled his hand away and dropped it into his mouth.

  “Hey!”

  “We have the matter of that costume to discuss. Halloween is four weeks away.”

  “So you’re going to withhold food?”

  “It is kind of cruel.” He snickered as he studied her, then reached behind and took another grape. “Okay, open wide.”

  He again lowered the grape, brushing it softly against her upper lip but not close enough to go inside. “Ready?”

  She nodded and he inched it close, oh so close she could almost taste the juicy fruit, but he again dropped it in his own mouth.