MOONDANCE
The Magic Jukebox: BOOK FIVE
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Copyright © 2015 by Barbara Keiler
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
About the Author
Chapter One
If Talia had known Cory would be there, she would have worn something nicer.
Actually, no. If she’d know he would be there, she wouldn’t have come at all.
Blindsided by her own daughter. Was it too late to put the kid up for adoption? Probably. Wendy was about to graduate from high school. She had a driver’s license. She had a boyfriend. She had a dorm room waiting for her at Tufts University. No one was going to adopt her with those staggering tuition bills hanging over her head.
Sighing, Talia entered Punjab Palace, a cozy little Indian restaurant with unrolled saris hanging on the walls and whiny sitar music blasting from speakers in the ceiling. The room smelled of curry and cardamom, and about half the tables were filled. One of them held Wendy, her boyfriend Anthony…and Cory.
Talia halted just inside the front door, regrouping, wondering if she should bolt. She hadn’t seen Cory in fifteen years, by design. He lived less than two hundred fifty miles away, in New York City, and Wendy saw him on a regular basis. Talia hadn’t wanted to see him, though, and she’d managed to avoid him quite successfully. Until now.
They spotted her. Her chance to escape was gone. The single glimmer of hope she found in this situation was that Cory looked as surprised as she felt. He sprang to his feet, and for a moment she wondered if he wanted to escape, too, to sprint right past her, fling the door open, and race across the parking lot and out of sight as fast as his long legs could carry him.
As surprised as he looked, he also looked damned good—lean and buff and all those things that had drawn her to him like a heat-seeking missile when they’d been Wendy and Anthony’s age. His hair was shorter, still jet black but neatly trimmed. The last time she’d seen him, it had been a shaggy mess. He’d still been in his half-hippie, half-I-don’t-give-a-shit phase. Now, dressed in snug jeans and a clean black T-shirt that hinted at his lanky physique, he was ridiculously handsome.
She, on the other hand, was wearing mommy jeans, a Red Sox T-shirt and sneakers, and her hair was still slightly damp from the shower she’d taken before coming here. Punjab Palace didn’t have a dress code. Her attire was perfectly acceptable for a Sunday evening dinner at the restaurant. It wasn’t acceptable for a reunion with Cory, however.
But then, a reunion with Cory wasn’t acceptable.
Wendy beamed at her. Anthony sat sheepishly across the table from Wendy, his smile tentative. He must have noticed Talia’s tension as she crossed slowly to their table with all the enthusiasm of a dead man walking.
Eating dinner with Cory wasn’t a death sentence; the table, with its vase of fake flowers, silverware, glasses of water, and a heaping basket of naan, was not the electric chair. But really—she’d thought she would be having dinner with her daughter and Anthony. Not with her ex-husband.
Wendy rose and gave Talia a crushing hug as Talia trudged the final few steps to the table. “Surprise!” she whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I mind,” Talia whispered back through gritted teeth. But she returned Wendy’s hug. How could she not? She loved her daughter. She’d been so happy when Wendy had invited her to join her and Anthony for dinner tonight.
It had all been a set-up, of course. Wendy hadn’t wanted to have dinner with her mother. She’d wanted to have dinner with her parents.
Her parents, whose only communication during the past fifteen years had been logistical: how to transport Wendy from Brogan’s Point, Massachusetts to Cory’s home in Brooklyn Heights, whether she was old enough to take the train by herself, whether she should make the trip when she was recovering from strep throat, whether they should pressure her into continuing her violin lessons when she wanted to quit. Cory had won that argument. “She hates the violin,” he’d said. “Why force her?” Talia had made a plea for discipline and cited a study she’d read claiming that kids who played musical instruments performed better in school. “You want to make her play? Then you pay for her lessons,” Cory had said, and that had pretty much decided things. Talia hadn’t had much money then.
She was in better financial shape now. By no stretch of the imagination was she rich, but thanks to her grandmother, the house was hers, and her business was holding its own. She would be able to contribute toward that staggering tuition bill from Tufts.
Cory was doing a lot better than she was financially, and he’d agreed to pay the larger share of Wendy’s college expenses. Talia never would have predicted it, but he’d managed to parlay a degree from an art school into a successful career. He hadn’t missed a child-support payment since he’d moved to New York, and he covered lots of incidentals. Not violin lessons his daughter didn’t want, but a few frills along with the essentials.
“Hi, Ms. Malone,” Anthony said, shooting an anxious glance at Wendy, and then at Cory. That he wasn’t family allowed him enough objectivity to realize that Wendy’s “surprise” was not going over well. His only agenda was to make Wendy happy, and he could probably guess that she wouldn’t be happy if her parents started snarling and snapping at each other. So he’d be the peacekeeping force at this meal, charming and pleasant, papering over any awkward silences or bitter rumblings.
Today marked the beginning of Wendy’s senior week. Six days from now, she’d be a high school graduate. When Cory had said he wanted to travel to Brogan’s Point for his daughter’s commencement, Talia couldn’t possibly object. She’d assumed he would come to town Thursday—the night before the ceremony—watch Wendy collect her diploma on Friday, and then return to Brooklyn. Talia had figured they could manage to interact civilly for a day or two. They’d be so focused on Wendy, so awash in pride, they wouldn’t have the time or energy to fight.
But he’d come a week before graduation day. Wendy must have known—in fact, she must have planned the dates of his visit with him—and she hadn’t bothered to mention this important fact to Talia. Instead, she’d told her father to have dinner with her Sunday evening, and then told her mother to have dinner with her. And here they both were.
“Hello, Tally,” Cory said, surprising her by using the nickname he’d used for her back when they’d been teenagers.
His eyes were still dark and soulful. She tried not to stare directly at them. “Hi, Cory,” she said, determined to match him in courtesy. Before he could say anything else, she smiled at Anthony, currently her favorite person at the table. “How are you doing, Anthony? Getting psyched for the big day?”
“Well, it’s a big week,” he said as they all sat, females on one side of the table and males on the other, the water glasses and the fragrant basket of naan creating an ineffective barrier between the sexes. “Parties, barbecues, a harbor cruis
e, a day at an amusement park. Graduation’s gonna seem anticlimactic.”
“I doubt that,” Talia said, managing a weak smile. She could get through this meal if she only had to talk to Anthony.
That wouldn’t be possible, though. She felt Cory’s gaze on her. Mustering her courage, she turned to face him. “Are you spending the whole week here?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “New Yorkers always flee the city in the summer—the Hamptons, the Catskills, the Litchfield hills. Brogan’s Point seemed like a great getaway.”
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“Ocean Bluff Inn. You know the place?”
She nodded. “It’s very nice.” Could this conversation possibly be any more stilted?
A waiter approached their table with menus. Anthony saw this as his cue to attack the naan. He pulled a circle of the warm, puffy Indian bread from the basket and devoured it in a few quick bites. In the months since he and Wendy had started dating, he’d spent enough time at Talia’s house for her to have grown accustomed to how much he could eat. Adolescent boys required constant refueling. He was a good kid, but his sweet little high school romance with Wendy had had a major impact on Talia’s grocery bills.
For the next few minutes, Talia occupied herself with the menu. Holding it up in front of her face, she was able to block her view of the man seated across from her, with his bottomless brown eyes, his strong nose and chin, and his lips shaping a quirky grin. How she’d loved that grin. How she’d loved his mouth…
But that was a long time and a lot of mistakes ago. They were older now, and—she’d like to think—wiser. Whatever mistakes they’d made, whatever crazy, brainless things they’d done, they had somehow managed to produce a magnificent daughter. Wendy might be an underhanded sneak, but she was still magnificent.
All the items on the menu looked delicious. Unfortunately, Talia’s appetite had vanished the instant she’d seen Cory. So had her ability to make a decision. How could she possibly choose among masala, curry, and tandoori when all she could think about was the fact that the man she’d once loved with all her heart—the man who’d torn that heart out of her and stomped it into a pulp—was sitting just a few feet away?
“Get the chicken tikki masala,” Wendy advised her. “You always love that.”
Talia nodded. Whatever. She’d take a few bites and give the rest to Anthony, who would happily inhale her meal once he was done inhaling his own.
They gave the waiter their orders. Cory requested an Indian beer and eyed Talia, raising his eyebrows in a question. No, she would not join him in an alcoholic beverage. She needed to keep her wits about her in Cory’s presence. Just imagining the sleek physique beneath that black T-shirt was enough to intoxicate a weak woman.
Fortunately, Talia wasn’t weak.
”So,” she said, surprised by how calm she sounded, “how are things in New York?”
“Good,” he replied.
Well, that was terse. Maybe he was a lot more rattled than he was letting on. The thought gratified her.
Wendy bailed them out by announcing. “Janelle Tomaso’s having a pool party tonight. She texted us while we were driving here. She texted me. Anthony was driving,” Wendy added, so her parents would know she wasn’t using her cell phone when she was behind the wheel.
“Wouldn’t you rather be there than here?” Talia asked. She herself would prefer to be at some teenage pool party instead of this table.
“We’ll go after dinner. We can loop past the house so I can pick up a suit and some towels. And yes, I know it’s a school night.”
“Like that matters this week,” Anthony said with a grin.
“We still have to go to school,” Wendy reminded him, evidently trying to earn a few desperately needed points with her mother. “They’re going to be taking attendance.”
“What do they do with you this week besides take attendance?” Cory asked.
“Well, the class trips,” Wendy said.
“And the senior barbecue.”
“No classes? No finals?” When Wendy and Anthony shook their heads, their smiles blissful, Cory eyed Talia. “That’s not how I remember our last week in high school.”
Talia’s memory of that final week was so wretched, she couldn’t recall whether classwork had been a part of it. She’d been nauseous and frightened. Her hope of attending college had lain in splinters like shattered crystal at her feet. And Cory, stoic and dutiful, had told her he’d marry her. He hadn’t proposed, hadn’t gone down on one knee, hadn’t asked if she wanted a ring. “Okay, so no abortion,” he’d said with a resigned sigh. “I guess we should get married or something, right?”
Maybe she should have chosen “or something.”
But that was then. Eighteen years had passed. Her wonderful daughter had not made the mistakes Talia had made, and she would get to go to college.
Whatever mistakes Talia had made, one she hadn’t made was to be like her own mother. And as reluctant as she might be to admit it, Cory was a good father. Wendy genuinely seemed to love the time she spent with him. She often called or Skyped him while she was in Brogan’s Point, and she managed to travel down to Brooklyn to see him at least once a month. Last year he’d found her a summer job as a gofer at his company, and she’d lived with him for all of July and August. It had been a good test run for Talia, a chance for her to experience a taste of empty-nest. Wendy had teased her that those two months offered her a chance to go wild, to date dozens of men and host orgies at the house. Talia had only laughed. She might have been a little reckless in her teens, but not anymore.
The waiter arrived with platters of masala, crisp, golden samosas, bright red tandoori chicken and lamb curry. The mix of spicy aromas jolted Talia like smelling salts, awakening her to the present—to the two babbling teenagers, giddy over their impending liberation from public school and their volcanic love for each other, and to the quiet, dark-eyed man seated directly across from her. His expression was stoical, giving nothing away.
Occasionally, Wendy seemed to acknowledge the tension stretching between her parents. How could she not acknowledge it? It was as palpable as a rubber band, pulled so taut it could snap at any minute. “I want to learn how to drive a stick shift,” she told Cory, “so I’ll be able to drive your car—if you’ll let me. He’s got this cute little Miata,” she added for Talia’s sake. Of course Talia would have no idea what kind of car Cory drove. “It’s a good car in the city, because it’s small. So it’s easy to park. At least, it’s easy if you know how to shift gears. I’ve got to learn how to do that. You know how to drive a stick, don’t you, Anthony?”
Bless the girl for babbling. It was the least she could do. She was responsible for the awkwardness; she’d instigated this stupid surprise, springing her mother and father on each other.
Lucky Cory, driving a two-seat sports coupe. Perfect for cruising around Brooklyn with a girlfriend in the passenger seat, top down, hair flying in the wind. Or cruising around Brooklyn with Wendy, who clearly found her father’s car a lot cooler than her mother’s extremely practical eight-year-old minivan.
After a while, the babbling stopped. Wendy rose to her feet, Anthony’s signal to stand as well. “Well, we’ve got to run,” she announced. “Janelle said to come at seven, and we still have to stop back at the house first. I’ll see you guys later.” She dashed a quick kiss on Talia’s cheek, then circled the table to kiss the crown of Cory’s head as he started to push his chair away from the table.
Anthony mumbled a well-mannered thank-you for dinner, and the two of them pranced out of the restaurant.
Talia gazed at the door until she could no longer see Anthony and Wendy through the panes of glass. Then she swiveled back in her chair, which left her facing Cory over a plate of barely touched chicken masala. So much for her plan to offer it to Anthony. She’d bring it home and let him eat it the next time he visited.
“Looks like they stuck us with the check,” Cory said with a wry smile. As i
f the kids would ever have offered to pay for dinner.
Talia would gladly put the meal on her credit card if doing so would make Cory disappear. What was she supposed to say to him? Why had Wendy maneuvered to leave them alone together? Surely she knew her parents had no real relationship. Her existence was the only thing that kept them in one another’s lives. Without her, they might as well be two strangers.
Two strangers who’d once been madly in love.
“So,” Talia asked, managing a limp smile, “what do we do now?”
Chapter Two
When was the last time he’d seen Talia? Not glimpsed her photo on Wendy’s cell phone while she was scrolling through her gallery, not talked to Talia on the phone, but actually been just a few feet away from her, face to face?
He took a sip of his beer and tried to remember. Ten years ago? Twelve? More like fifteen. There had been so much anger, so much resentment, he’d been happy to let his mother be the go-between, even if she’d been part of the whole anger-and-resentment scene. When Wendy had been too young to travel alone, Cory’s mother used to drive up to Brogan’s Point, pick up the kid, and drive her back to Providence so Cory could spend the weekend with his daughter there. Once Wendy was old enough to take the train herself, Talia would drive her to South Station in Boston, and Cory would meet her at Penn Station in Manhattan. Cory and Talia hadn’t had to see each other to share their daughter.
Now Wendy wanted to learn to drive a stick. She’d informed him several of her friends were receiving cars as graduation presents, and he’d informed her that was very nice for her friends but she could forget about getting a car from him. His graduation present to her was the five-figure check he’d be making out to Tufts University. Talia was contributing what she could to the college costs, too. Neither parent was buying Wendy a car.
Talia gazed at him across the table, and he remembered how those big Bambi eyes of hers had melted his heart when they’d first met. She’d been dazzlingly pretty then. She was pretty now, too. The lines framing her mouth were a little deeper, the tiny creases fanning out from the corners of her eyes a little more visible, but she still had soft pink lips and bouncy brown hair and those huge, poignant eyes. Wendy looked a lot like her mother. Lucky girl.
Moondance Page 1