Once in a Blue Moon

by Vicki Covington

“I know what you’re thinking, and I’ll admit I didn’t pay for any of this,” Stephanie said.

  She didn’t say who did, but Jet reasoned it was either Caroline’s father or perhaps some older man Steph had dated. She did have a way with men, as Jet’s mother had told her in a somewhat condescending tone.

  Caroline’s cell rang, and she disappeared into another part of the house.

  “She has a new boyfriend,” Stephanie explained.

  “I wish I did,” Jet said.

  “How about a glass of white wine?” Stephanie asked. “I’m sure you could use a drink. It’s technically morning, but white wine is technically juice.”

  Jet hesitated, then said, “Yeah, why not?”

  Stephanie poured two glasses of wine and then led Jet to the Florida room. Jet sat on the wicker sofa, Steph in a whitewashed rocker.

  “Where were you going, anyway?” Stephanie asked.

  “To a concert in Destin.”

  “That explains it,” Stephanie joked.

  Jet smiled. “The thing is, I didn’t have the pot on me. I had it stuffed in my jeans at the waist. When the deputy looked away, I flipped it to the ground. But he found it later. And, I don’t know, I guess weed proximity was enough of a reason to arrest me. Plus, I’m sure the car reeked.”

  Steph leaned over and patted her leg. “Like I said, I know lawyers.”

  Neither knew how to begin the conversation they needed to have, so they sat quietly. In the end, Stephanie suggested they walk to the beach.

  “Caroline will be on the phone for hours. And anyway, we need some time alone.”

  She put the bottle of wine in a cloth bag, along with a couple of plastic wineglasses.

  When they reached the beach, they took off their shoes and Stephanie put a towel down. The moon was almost full, reflected in the white sand of the beach. The stars, too, were bright and alive. Occasionally, a cloud drifted across the sky, casting blue over everything. The waves crashed against the shore in white swells. Jet dug her feet into the sand.

  When she was a kid, Jet had wanted to make her parents disappear, just long enough that she could walk alone on the shoreline, searching for shells and maybe a piece of driftwood. But her parents were always coaxing her to come back, to keep away from the water. Jet realized that this was the first time she had ever been to the beach without them. Being here with Stephanie, she felt that she’d finally come home.

  The two women sat quietly sipping their wine, watching the stars overhead.

  “Jet,” Stephanie said finally, “it’s a long story. I’ll tell you if you want to hear it.”

  “Please,” Jet whispered.

  Stephanie freshened their wineglasses. She rolled her jeans up. Jet saw that she was wearing an anklet. It caught the light from the moon. It was the color of champagne.

  “Ann, your mom, couldn’t have children,” she began. “I was dating this Italian guy, Arnold, a total womanizer—not that I believed the rumors. When I got pregnant, he told me he was on board. A few months passed, things got real, and he was gone. I moved in with your parents. Your father, your adoptive father, was the person who suggested that I give my baby to him and your mom. They were established. They’d take good care of you. And I couldn’t argue with that. They had taken me in when your birth father left. I was entirely dependent on your parents. But for a while, I thought I’d keep you. I thought I could do it. It wasn’t until those final weeks that I relented. I felt overwhelmed. I was young, scared. Your parents told me I would still get to see you whenever I wanted.” Stephanie paused. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve rehearsed this story, but I’m not telling it right. I want you to know that I did want you. But I was convinced that the right thing to do was let them raise you. I figured I might have other children someday. I was seventeen, just a girl myself. I was selfish. And in a way, I was mad at you. I thought I’d still be with Arnie if I hadn’t gotten pregnant. I heard he had run off to New Orleans, and I wanted to go and find him. I just . . . I’ve prayed for years that you wouldn’t inherit my tendency to fall in love with bad men.”

  “I did inherit it, Aunt Steph,” Jet said.

  “I hate that. I’m sorry. Says a lot about nature versus nurture, doesn’t it?”

  With each break, the waves were inching closer to Jet and Stephanie.

  “I never had your mother’s sense. Your father, he was a good man. And she was a virgin when they married. I was nothing like her. She wanted a traditional life. I didn’t. I didn’t have it in me. I was born under a wandering star. Your mother wanted to stay put. I was a nomad.”

  “I get that,” Jet said. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Peaceful and destroyed all at once.

  “I want you to understand one thing, Jet. I thought they were going to tell you the truth from the get-go. But the years went by. I traveled a lot. Whenever I came home, I saw you, but it wasn’t enough. Then I got pregnant with Caroline. Her father was much older, and he wanted a family. I thought maybe I was getting a second chance to do it right. We got married and moved here, and things were okay for a while, until I filed for divorce. You know why? Because he was a good man, and I can’t take a good man.”

  “God,” Jet said. “I’m just like you.”

  Stephanie sighed. “I’m sorry, so, so sorry.”

  “I remember your visits,” Jet said. “You and Caroline, when I was a kid. I have an old videotape of me and Caroline playing on my Slip ’N Slide. I remember that day. I miss those days—all of us together.”

  “The day your mom called to tell me she had told you the truth, I was so scared. I felt like a failure. I didn’t think you’d ever speak to me again. And who could blame you? I know that you don’t believe this, but we all had your best interest at heart.”

  “I know,” Jet said.

  “The road to hell . . . ,” Stephanie said as she reached for the wine bottle.

  Jet finished her glass. A breeze had picked up, and the very edge of the horizon was starting to warm.

  She looked over at Stephanie. “I’m not mad at you,” Jet said. “That is the truth. I get it. It was so easy for me to understand why you gave me up. Secretly, I think I always wished you were my mom. I wanted a cool mother like you.”

  “It has its drawbacks. Just ask Caroline.”

  “So, where do we go from here?” Jet asked.

  “Well, tomorrow, we’ll talk about how to proceed with your court appearance. I’ll call one of my lawyer friends. What will you do about work? I mean, I’m assuming that you’ll need to stay here for at least a few days or maybe a week.”

  “I’ll call and say I have the flu. My boss is a real germophobe. Maybe he’ll actually hire an assistant department manager so I can stop doing everything all by myself.”

  On the walk back to Stephanie’s house, Jet felt lightheaded. And it wasn’t the wine. For the first time in years, she felt like herself. Her honest self. She knew she had a legal battle ahead of her. But at least for a time, there was nothing she needed to escape from. Not even the past.

  LANDON

  Landon sat at her bedroom vanity and carefully put on her ancient Charles of the Ritz foundation, powder, eyeliner, and lipstick. She usually opted for a bare—or almost bare—face, harking back to her bra-burning days. But today, she would wear it all. She’d even purchased new mascara that felt like she was coating her lashes in wax. She used her fingers to make her damp shoulder-length hair turn under a bit. And when that was all done, she searched the vanity drawers for some nail polish. She wasn’t sure she even had any, but she discovered a bottle called Sunset Gloss. The pigment had separated from the glue, and the bottle looked more like a Tequila Sunrise than a sunset. She shook it and twisted it open, which took some effort.

  After her nails were dry, she put on her favorite skirt, the long purple one with a lace overlay; a white embroidered blouse; and her only pair of dress shoes, the black flats. She didn’t want to wear the cross earrings because it might rankle Abi. Instead, s
he chose tiny opal ones that were barely visible, lost in her hair.

  She wasn’t sure, or didn’t want to admit, why she was girling it up.

  “Landon!” Abi’s big voice rang out from down the hall.

  “I’m here. I’m ready,” Landon said, and walked into the parlor where Abi stood.

  “You look so beautiful,” Abi told her. “Did you dress up for Daddy?”

  Landon grinned and waved the question away. She knelt to pet Alejandro, causing her skirt to spread across the floor. “Don’t worry, little man,” Landon told her dog. “I’ll be back soon. I’m just going to meet with Abi’s daddy to talk about his treatment plan. But then I’ll come right home to you.”

  “That’s so sweet how you tell him when you’re leaving,” Abi said. “It’s funny. It’s so . . . so you.”

  When they arrived, Landon spotted Will at a booth. The seats were burgundy vinyl, and the table was set for three. He stood and hugged Abi, then Landon.

  “How are you feeling, Will?” Landon asked him.

  “I’m good, all things considered,” he replied.

  “I know one of the waitresses here,” Abi said. “She’s behind the bar. I need to go say hello. Be right back.”

  Once she was out of sight, Landon and Will slid into the booth, sitting across from one another. Landon put her napkin in her lap and started to open the menu. Will put his hand on the table and let his baby finger brush against hers. For just an instant. But Landon felt it all over. Then, knowing herself too well, she attempted to rearrange her reaction in her mind. He had barely brushed her skin. Surely, it was by accident.

  Abi returned to the table with a glass of wine.

  “It’s good to see you girls,” Will said.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Daddy,” Abi replied.

  He looked at Abi, then at Landon—right in her eyes. She didn’t think he was a womanizer. That’s not what she was picking up on at all. She guessed his life was pretty isolated in that trailer park. Maybe he never saw any women, period, other than Abi’s mama and Aunt Sister.

  Abi nursed her wine as all three of them turned their focus to the menu. Then Abi asked Will if he had brought the instructions. He reached down to the seat and retrieved a packet. He gave it to Abi, and she in turn placed it on the tabletop so Landon could also see it.

  On the first page was a sequence of questions: “How does chemotherapy work?” “What does chemotherapy do?” “How is chemotherapy used?” “How does my doctor decide which chemotherapy to use?” “Where do I go for chemotherapy?” “How is it given?”

  After they ordered, Will explained what he knew about each of the questions. Their conversation while they ate turned away from cancer, to Abi’s job, Landon’s garden, the election.

  Abi waited until they finished eating before she started making plans.

  “Since you’re doing one week of treatment followed by three weeks of rest, I want you to stay with me during the week you’re in treatment.”

  Landon put her fork down and waited for his reaction, hoping for Abi’s sake that he wouldn’t balk at this. But if he did, that’s why she was here. She assumed.

  “Now, you know your mama won’t like this,” Will said. “But I won’t know my prognosis until after a few rounds. But let’s just say I have only a year or two.”

  “Daddy, stop!”

  “No, no, don’t worry. I’ve actually thought this out. I was hoping you’d want me to stay with you.”

  Will put his hand over Abi’s. Landon felt the familiar pang of envy over this show of fatherly love.

  “I just mean this’ll be part of what I’ll say to your mama. I’ll say I don’t know how long I’ve got, and she’s got to let me make my own decisions. Because they say it’s important to my chances of beating this thing if I take it into my own hands.”

  “That’s true,” Landon interjected. “The feeling of empowerment affects the outcome of treatment, be it in a psychological sense or a physical. It can make a difference. Feeling powerless is unhealthy.”

  “That’s why I brought a psychologist with me,” Abi said. “Don’t you just love her?”

  “I love whoever you love, sweetie,” Will said. “You know that.”

  The waitress came by to ask for dessert requests.

  “What do you have?” Landon asked her.

  “Lots of pie—lemon icebox, peanut butter, chocolate, coconut cream, and pineapple cheese.”

  “Anybody want to split one with me?” she asked.

  “Bring a slice of lemon icebox,” Abi said, “with three forks.”

  After the waitress left, Landon told Will and Abi about a conference she went to once in Boston. “When the dessert arrived, I glanced over at the man sitting next to me and realized his choice was better than mine. So I asked him if I could have a bite. He was dumbstruck. Now, you know if he’d been from here, he would have said, ‘Sure, darling. Here, take half of it.’”

  Will laughed. He held her gaze.

  When the waitress came back with the piece of pie, they all took bites, careful not to be greedy.

  “Communion,” Landon said, lifting her forkful of cool lemon custard.

  “‘Do this in remembrance of me,’” Will said.

  Abi stopped eating and put her napkin to her face. Through the paper, Landon heard her take a deep, shuddering breath. But she composed herself quickly.

  “Let’s not say remembrance,” Abi said. “Like it’s right around the corner. I mean, hell . . . I don’t know what I mean.”

  “I know what you meant,” Will said. “Don’t worry. I’m not on my deathbed. In fact, I haven’t felt this good in years, sitting here with you girls. I’m sure I’ll be staying with you in Birmingham, Abi, no matter what your mama has to say about it. It took cancer to make me realize I need to make my own decisions. The Bible says, ‘Wives, submit to your husbands.’ That’s something I’ve never seen in all my life. Women run the family. Not that I mind.”

  “So glad I’m not married,” Abi said.

  “Me, too,” Landon replied. And at that moment, she meant it.

  “So, now that we’ve gotten religion out of the way,” Abi said, “on to politics. Where do you vote, Daddy?”

  “At the old schoolhouse.”

  Abi turned to Landon. “Where I went to elementary school.” Then, to her daddy, “You will vote for Obama, won’t you? Just for me?”

  “We’ll do anything for our kids, won’t we?” Will said, smiling at Landon. “Absolutely.” Then, gesturing to Abi, “This kid in particular.”

  Landon picked up the tab, and Abi left the waitress a big tip.

  Outside, the chill in the air was weaker than it had been a few weeks before. It was January. By next month, the daffodils would be blooming.

  How depressing, Landon thought. Winter ended so suddenly in the South, from one day to the next. Time for Landon’s depression to begin.

  She loved the look of winter. In the winter, she could see the lay of the land, the way tree branches, bereft of leaves, formed patterns against the sky. Plus, the onslaught of people with seasonal affective disorder made her feel less alone in her melancholy.

  In the spring, the pollen, the heat, the too-bright sun—it was all too much for Landon, and everyone else seemed so happy about it. The signs of new life didn’t comfort her.

  Landon knew this was all part of the complexity of her bipolar disorder. If she stayed on her meds, the spring would be bearable. But that was easier said than done.

  There was, of course, the campaign to keep her going—more caucuses and primaries, and before she knew it, the election.

  ABI

  When Abi arrived to pick up her father, Mama was standing outside the trailer with her arms crossed, wearing what appeared to be a snakeskin jumpsuit with a blazer over it. When she got out of the car, Abi saw that her mama had on a new pair of boots, too—all from JCPenney, no doubt.

  “Hey, Mama,” Abi said. “You look great.”

  “
Don’t try to make this all right by complimenting me.”

  “Is Daddy ready to go?”

  “I’m not happy about this,” she said.

  Abi tried again. “Isn’t that snakeskin you’re wearing? I love it.”

  “Well,” Mama said, softening, “I like it.” She tugged on the hem of her blazer. “You’re early, aren’t you? Your daddy is still in the shower. Since you’re here, you might as well come in. Don’t be surprised; I’ve changed the kitchen a bit. Christmas is over, and Valentine’s Day is right about the corner, so I’ve spruced the place up.”

  Abi wished Landon were with her to witness the kitchen. Her mother had left no kitsch unpurchased. The oopsy daisy curtains had been replaced by scarlet strips of material. The new table runner looked like a treasured heirloom dotted with embroidered hearts, but Abi was certain it was polyester. The set of plates stacked on the table had pink hearts painted along the edges. The matching cups were tiny—fake demitasse with tiny saucers the color of apricots. There were thick plastic highball tumblers with “Love Me Right” stamped on them. A piece of metalwork was attached to the wall—a steaming cup of coffee with “Love” painted in cursive, slanting to the right in the middle of the steam. A string of red lights stretched from one side of the room to the other. There was a red curtain on the pantry door. On the wall were tinsel hearts with arrows, red paper lanterns, heart-shaped hanging paper decorations, Cupid cutouts, white heart silhouettes, and decals with “Happy Valentine’s Day” or “I Love You” on them. An unopened decorating kit on the table advertised itself as a twenty-eight-piece set. Mason jars full of red M&M’s were on the counter. And there were new pink and red heart-shaped refrigerator magnets.

  “These have a warning on the back,” her mama said, plucking one of the magnets from the refrigerator door. “‘Choking hazard. Not for children under three years.’ I figured since we don’t have any kids that young around here, they were safe. Unless one of your cousins comes in here dead drunk and tries to eat one.”

  “Yes, I think they’re safe,” Abi said. She imagined Petie or some of the other budding alcoholics coming into her mama’s kitchen and putting their mouths to the fridge to bite off the ornaments. She had to admit it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.