Share the Moon

by Sharon Struth

  Veronica’s comments at ladies’ night took on some possibility. “Why? Sounds like your family enjoyed the location.”

  Duncan did a double-take on the question and frowned. “I don’t know.”

  Sophie scribbled, Dad sold a year after last summer in NB, then scanned her questions to give him a second with his thoughts. His uncomfortable reaction corroborated Veronica’s speculation that their son had something to do with them selling their lake home.

  He shifted in his seat. “There’s a reason I wanted you to do the interview today.”

  “Oh?” She lifted her head.

  He kept a steady gaze on her, yet his usual confidence seemed to have a slight tear. “We met back then. At the tackle shop.”

  “We did?” She searched through her memories of the summers she worked there. So many new faces but few really remembered. “Are you sure it was me?”

  His lips wavered and didn’t quite reach a smile. “Positive. My dad liked to fly fish, so we went there for our supplies. You have an older brother, right? Looks a bit like your dad?”

  “I do.”

  “One time we were shopping and you were having a big debate with him over the best dry fly to use in the spring. The discussion got heated and your father stopped talking to my dad and stared at the two of you. After about thirty seconds, you both caught on to the silence and settled right down.”

  She chuckled. “Dad’s stares have more power than most modern day weapons.”

  “You left quite an impression on me. Coming from the city, I couldn’t believe a girl knew so much about fishing. The girls from my school were focused on clothes and makeup, but you wore cut-off jeans and sneakers.”

  “I was a bit of a tomboy in those days.”

  He appraised her with a swift brush of his gaze. “Not anymore.”

  Either she blushed or someone set the heat to scorching. Sophie reached for her collar to loosen it, only to realize she wore an open-necked blouse.

  “Um, let’s see…” She eyed the pad and willed her body to cool down. “When you made the offer to the Tates, didn’t you think zoning would be an issue?”

  “Sure. Sometimes we have to rethink our plans.”

  “Or pursue zoning changes?

  “That too.”

  “Has your firm ever been accused of bribing officials on past projects?”

  He flinched. “What?”

  “The rumor at the hearing suggested possible bribes offered to zoning board officials.” She waited a few long seconds. “Has RGI had any other accusations of this nature?”

  He pressed his lips tight. “No.”

  While scribbling No bribery charges in the past—acted weird, she tried to think of a casual way to slip in a question about why Joe Dougherty might have been at the office.

  He stood and walked over to a credenza, returning with something in his hand. He extended his open palm. “Candy?”

  “No thank you.”

  He pocketed one but kept the other folded in his palm, watching her carefully as he took his seat. “You know, Sophie. I’m an honest man. I’d never bribe anybody.”

  “I didn’t mean to question your integrity, Mr. Jamie—”

  “Duncan.”

  “Okay. Look, I’ve been reporting in Northbridge for many years. When rumors surface, there’s often a reason.” His stiff jaw cautioned her to use care with her next words. “I’m sure you’re honest. You do have a lot of people working for you, though. Could one of them be involved?”

  His gaze darkened. “I hope not.”

  * * * *

  Duncan rubbed his temple while Sophie scratched some notes. This interview was going worse than the time he went on a roller coaster with Patrick at Six Flags, a bonding moment he hadn’t really thought through. At least with the crazy ride he could anticipate a wild curve or when he’d be thrown down a steep ramp. Had Sophie uncovered blemishes he’d hoped were erased on his firm’s history?”

  Her arrival created a double-whammy of effects. In the course of discussing the business nature of their meeting, he’d caught himself flirting with her, as he would with any woman who captured his interest. Her responses, however, were more unreadable than fine print.

  Sophie’s full lips parted as she read something on the pad. What’d she put down? He fiddled with the candy wrapper ends, twisting the twirled cellophane ends even tighter.

  She looked up. “Why do you want to move to Blue Moon Lake?”

  “I took my son there this past summer. We both agreed we needed a change of scenery. Besides, I need to be in one place. I’ve spent too many years traveling, too many years away from my kids.” All his wife’s complaints, yet repeating them aloud left a rock hard pit of remorse in his gut. He fled the disabling sensation by concentrating on Sophie’s chestnut eyes. “Sometimes, we all need an escape.”

  “But if you love the area, why didn’t you purchase only a single residence? Why the resort too?”

  For half a second he considered telling her the real reason the land mattered to his brother, but he didn’t want to violate any confidences. “I have my reasons.”

  “Did you ever stop to consider how some of the things you love about the lake could be lost by your business proposition?”

  “I don’t think they will.”

  “Perhaps you’re not seeing the big picture.”

  “I’ll address the environmental impact. I don’t want to hurt the lake, but this will boost the Northbridge economy and create jobs.”

  “The area may suffer too. If Zoning passes those changes, they’ll lead to additional development along the shoreline.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t control everything.”

  “No. You can control what you do now, though.”

  “Communities are often resistant to change.” Duncan tried to sound convincing but felt weakened by her demanding gaze. “Things seem to work out.”

  She cocked a confident brow, like someone about to yell the word checkmate. “Won’t this be the first time you’ve stuck around long enough to find out?”

  “I visit my sites.”

  Sophie twisted her mouth, not even bothering to hide her skepticism. Idealistic. Yes, that described her. This woman preached high standards for everyone, including herself. Duncan considered her perseverance as appealing as it was annoying.

  She lowered the pad to her lap. “Living there is different. I’d go so far to say you’re…” She pressed her lips together. “Never mind.”

  “What?”

  “Listen, I don’t wish to end up apologizing twice in one day.”

  He opened his arms to each side. “Come on. Hit me with your best shot.”

  She gave him a you-might-be-sorry grin. “Well, Jamieson is Scottish, right?”

  He nodded.

  “My Nana was born in Scotland. She once told me a story about a Scotsman who was asked to express an opinion about the pyramids who replied, ‘A lot of masonry work and no rent coming in.’”

  He snorted. “Then you think I only care about money?”

  “No, but you’re approaching this purely from a practical, business-like viewpoint. Stop. Think about why you love the lake.” Her potent gaze settled on him, saying more than her words. “I’ll bet one thing is the simplicity.”

  Her honesty was unexpected and refreshing, so unlike his wife’s. “Any other problems with my plan?”

  She studied the sofa arm, where her index finger made imaginary circles in the soft leather. “The land you’re thinking of buying has better uses.” She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “Did you know for over thirty years the property operated as a farm? Besides regular produce, they had sizable grape crops and for about twenty years produced wine.”

  “Is that why you’re interested in the land?”

  Her creamy cheeks turned crimson. “You knew?”

  For the first time since the interview began, Duncan regained control of the reins. “
I did. Well?”

  “Does it really matter now?”

  “Maybe. Will it compromise this story?”

  She laughed. The kind of laugh where you couldn’t believe anybody would say something so ridiculous. Duncan wished he hadn’t asked the question.

  “I treat reporting the old-fashioned way. I only got your story in the first place because—”

  He raised his palm. “My accusation wasn’t fair. Listen, I’m sorry to have outbid you on the land so close to the closing date. A pure business decision and not personal.”

  “I never thought it was. Besides, the land isn’t yours yet.” Her brows arched.

  “Point taken.”

  “For the record, though, I write news. Not opinion pieces. I want to clear up any misconceptions since Mr. Steiner requested we put together a favorable piece.”

  “I didn’t request special treatment.” He squirmed in his seat. “Write the story as you see fit.”

  “Trust me. I will.”

  Once again, she’d left him as winded as if he’d hit the bottom of a huge crest on a roller coaster. Her stare burned through him.

  “May I switch gears?” Duncan ached to reclaim control.

  “Sure.” She crossed her shapely legs.

  “The other night, in the parking lot, you told me I’d never understand why you wanted the area to remain unchanged. It’s understandable you’d be unhappy about my bid. Is there something else I need to know?”

  Her dark gaze averted to the tip of her jiggling foot and she blinked, making her long lashes flutter. He wanted to look, too, but didn’t want to appear as if he were checking her out again. His earlier trip past her pleasing calves and nicely rounded bottom had given him the urge to unpin her knotted hair and do something that would earn him a slap across the face. Instead, he watched her expression, now more sad than angry.

  Her hand lifted to her slender neck, where her fingers slowly massaged beneath her chin. “No. Just the vineyards.” She met his gaze, but a story rested in the pain behind her empty stare.

  Sophie switched topics, but the need to understand her overwhelmed him in the most unsettling way.

  Chapter 7

  From the window of his room at the downtown Marriot, Duncan admired the sparkling lights of the city while he spoke to Patrick. “How was school today?”

  “Boring.” His son always had the same answer. “Got a B on a Bio test. The teacher said I got the highest grade in the class.”

  “Sounds like a tough one. Congratulations.” He stepped away from the view and picked up the drink he’d left on the hotel room desk. “I’ll be home right after the closing tomorrow, probably by lunchtime. Let Helen know they’ve changed the location to my lawyer’s office in Hartford. After that, the house in Northbridge will be all ours.”

  “Oh yeah. Helen said to tell you the movers called to confirm things. She told them you’d call back.”

  Thank God for Helen. When Elizabeth got sick, a search through the grapevine at the office yielded the seventy-two-year-old grandmother of three. She’d stayed on to help with the kids after his wife died, making life as a single father easier.

  He sipped his drink and the ice clinked. “Two weeks until we move, buddy. Are you psyched?”

  “Yeah. A little nervous, but kinda feel like this is our adventure.”

  Patrick’s optimism made him happy. “Life’s too short not to enjoy a good adventure. See you tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Duncan tossed the phone on the bed and returned to the window, slowly sipping his drink. He wished his daughter would warm up to his efforts to be a better father. Since starting college three months ago, she’d grown more distant. Only time would tell.

  An airplane light blinked in the sky. Against the cityscape, the aircraft reminded him of that horrible day when the World Trade Center crumbled to the ground in the same city he worked and lived. Profound sadness welled in his chest as it always did when he remembered the horrors that unfolded. That day also marked the one time in his adult life he thought about what really mattered. He’d lost many friends, but luckily his family had remained safe. For a couple months he’d made more effort to be with them yet, as life returned to normal, so had he. Only years later, when the doctor gave his wife’s cancer diagnosis, had he regretted the return of his old ways.

  He shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Yes, life could change any day without warning. Sophie’s re-entry into his life had changed him, especially after today’s interview. She’d pried off layers of control he’d fine-tuned over a lifetime. He tipped back the bourbon and got lost in the slow blaze igniting his throat and warming his entire body, a reminder of her closeness today and how it had made him stir.

  The day he’d gone to look at houses in Northbridge, running into her at the kayaks had really blown his mind. Good thing he hadn’t told her the truth about their early encounters years ago. She’d have doubled over in laughter learning she’d been his first boyhood crush. Jesus, she didn’t even remember him.

  An image of the first time he saw Sophie crystalized in his mind, clear as if it were yesterday, not the summer when Duncan had turned thirteen. His mother had insisted the family forego their usual July vacation to Newport and head to their long-forgotten lake home. Dad always offered his granddad’s lakefront home to friends, leaving the maintenance to a property firm.

  The first morning there, his father dragged Duncan and Trent out of bed at dawn to go fishing. After a trip to Bullhead Bait n’ Tackle, they’d left with fly rods, hand-crafted flies, and a map of the best spots along the Housatonic River.

  The event marked one of the few moments his father engaged in any type of activity with both of his sons. Duncan hated the early hour and wasn’t sure about the fishing, but he’d found treasured gold in the camaraderie with his workaholic father.

  Duncan’s attitude toward fishing had changed with the first tug on his line. “Dad! Come here. Hurry. I’ve got something.”

  His father had waded through the water, shouting excited instructions. Duncan followed every word, walking backward and cranking the reel.

  “Let the fish struggle.” He’d never heard his father so excited. “Tire him out.”

  Duncan had played with the fish. When his first shimmering trout emerged, dangling at the end of his line, Duncan—like the fish—became hooked on the sport.

  Later they’d returned to the tackle shop for a cold soda. A pretty girl his age stood in the back loading Coke bottles into an old boxy refrigerator. Her flowing hair had caressed her shoulders, almost like the wild branches lining the trail they’d taken that morning to reach their fishing spot on the river. Cut-off denim shorts and a black, fitted Led Zeppelin T-shirt had disclosed the start of her womanly curves, a far cry from the outfits worn by the girls at the private school he’d attended. Duncan had peeked from behind a rack of fishing vests, rendered as debilitated as a stunned fish.

  The shop owner, Mr. Moore, had yelled, “Sophie, bring three Colas up front, please.”

  She’d appeared a minute later and dumped the bottles on the counter.

  An unforeseen force, one he’d never experienced in his life, generated a magnetic pull, leading him to the back of the store. He’d loitered around a display of rods and feigned interest but covertly observed her every move.

  Sophie had bent down and lifted a bottle from the case. Instead of stacking it with the others, she’d twisted around and smiled at him. “Hi. First summer here?”

  His mouth had gone dry. He’d nodded.

  “How was fishing?”

  “Good,” he’d mumbled, dumbstruck by his own desires.

  “Yesterday morning I caught a bunch of small-mouth bass below the dam. A little past the bridge. They’re pretty good fighters.”

  He’d nodded again.

  Sophie’s eyes had swum with playful brightness. “You might want to give ’em a try if you go out to
morrow. That is, if you think you can handle them.” Her voice had teased with the sweetness of honeysuckle.

  Desire had snared his hormone-laden body, leaving it vacant of words.

  He’d obsessed about her the entire visit, learned they were the same age. Over the four weeks of their stay, he attempted to recover from the first awkward conversation. He’d tested the waters, carefully dipping in a toe every time he visited the family shop. He’d possessed all the desire to deal with her but none of the skills and had returned to New York with dry feet.

  The Jamiesons had returned the next summer, when Duncan was about to enter high school. Like many boys his age, he hadn’t quite sprouted. She’d shown no signs of remembering him from the year before. Her attention had focused on an older boy with a dirt bike who hung around the shop.

  Their visit in Northbridge had ended abruptly, two weeks earlier than planned. He woke one morning and his father said they planned to leave right away due to a problem at work. The next spring, his father had sold the home. Much like the photographs they’d taken of their visits to the lake were subsequently stored in a closet to collect dust, his thoughts of Sophie were forgotten, too.

  Her question during today’s interview had thrown him. Why would his dad’s old family house sale in Northbridge matter now? He vaguely recalled some tension between his parents the last summer they had come here. So what? They didn’t have a perfect marriage. The house sale a year later had surprised Duncan, though.

  His cell phone vibrated. He answered and told his old college friend he’d be right down to meet him for dinner, gulped the rest of his drink, and tossed on his suit jacket.

  The elevator whisked him to the lobby while his mind raced with images of Sophie. Compared to the sophisticated, ivy-league educated women he’d been with over the years, she was more granola, less dolled-up than her urban counterparts. Her full lips and creamy skin could compete with the best of them, and he longed to run his hands through her untamed hair.

  Aroused by thoughts of her, one thing remained clear: he wanted a second chance to win her over, this time as the confident grown man he’d become. His adolescent feelings for her had never disappeared. Maturity had made them deeper, filled with the craving found within the folds of one’s heart. A place he’d shut off years ago.