In a Moon Smile

by Coner, Sherri

  “I know,” Jack nodded. “I know, Chez. I was wrong.”

  “You took Belinda with you,” she said evenly. “You took her on lots of those trips. She was with you in China. Wasn’t she?” His silence was her answer. “You cheated for most of our relationship, didn’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Jack said.

  “No, I don’t suppose it does,” she said.” The truth is, I didn't want that life.”

  “We can work it out now,” Jack said.

  “I don't want to work it out,” Chesney said. “If I wanted to save my relationship with you, I wouldn't have left Chicago.”

  “You're not thinking clearly.”

  “Stop treating me like a mental case,” she bristled.

  Shaking again from pent-up anger, Chesney pointed at the bags by the staircase “Get your luggage and get out,” she said wearily. Then she stomped across the room and opened the front door.

  “Don't do this, Chesney,” Jack warned in a low voice that seemed to vibrate through the sparsely furnished room. “If I leave now, I will never be back. I mean it.”

  Chesney said nothing.

  “You will never find another man like me,” he said.

  “Gawd, I hope not,” she snapped.

  “I have the money to give you everything,” Jack said.

  “What I wanted from life does not cost money,” Chesney swallowed hard, feeling hurt well again in her throat.

  “You'd rather be in this shack? You'd rather be here?” Jack shouted.

  “Yes, I’d rather be here,” she smiled, completely unaffected now by his raised voice.

  Jack brushed past, grabbed his luggage and turned to glare. “You had better be damn sure that you want me out of your life,” he said. “If I walk out the door of this dump, I will never try again to patch things up with you.” As a response, Chesney turned her back and Jack barged out the door. Three steps across the porch, his foot smashed through a rotten board. He fell victim to the same scenario Chesney endured on the back porch. A long, loud string of obscenities erupted from Jack’s mouth as he struggled to free his shiny wing tip from the rotted planks. His pant leg was not only filthy but also torn. He was enraged, to say the least. She watched from the front door, amused.

  “Whoops,” Chesney laughed.

  “Damn it,” Jack yelled furiously. “This is not funny. In fact, it is absolutely ridiculous.”

  “Watch your step there, Jack.”

  “You're crazy,” he spluttered angrily as he yanked at his pant leg. “I mean it. You have lost your damn mind.”

  “And it sure feels good,” Chesney yelled. When Jack finally freed his leg, the ragged tear in the material of his pants revealed his hairy chicken leg from knee to ankle. When he looked at her, red-faced and panting, Chesney slammed and locked the door. Through the window, she watched Jack trip and limp over loose bricks on the walkway, yank open and slam the drivers’ door shut on his fancy Saab and gun the engine. Dust followed his car all the way down the lane. Chesney pressed her face against the cool window pane and sighed. “Free at last,” she muttered. “Thank God, I'm free at last.”

  “Little post-relationship spat?” Dalton said with a grin as he came down the stairs.

  “More like a ground war,” Chesney sighed.

  “Are you okay?”

  When she nodded, Dalton glanced at his watch. “I should go home and check on Rose.”

  Chesney hoped that her face did not reveal the sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “If you don't mind, I'll take the rest of the day off,” Dalton said quietly.

  “That's fine,” she said quickly. “That's great. Take some time for yourself.” She felt sick inside and tired and alone. She didn’t want Dalton to leave. But of course he left. And then the moving men left. Even though Chesney planned to leave the plastic covering on the couch, she ripped it off with a celebratory jerk, curled up on the softness and dialed Becca's number. No answer. So she left a message. Then she turned her attention back to her home. She rearranged candles on the mantel and hung a colorful mobile in the kitchen window. Overwhelmed by how homey and safe the house felt, she started to cry. “I'm fine,” Chesney said aloud as she grabbed a pillow away from the unruly pup. “I don't need anyone. So go on home to Rose, Dalton.”

  After the sunset, she piled pillows and a down comforter in her arms and climbed the stairs. “Come on, puppy,” she said over her shoulder. “Tonight, I sleep on my old bed. Tonight I claim my new life in my new home.”

  As Chesney passed the room which would now become her office, she saw that her computer and desk had already been set up and arranged in the new work space. She dumped the linens on the landing and walked in to find a note taped to the computer screen.

  'Thought you might want to face the window so you can watch the ducks next spring. Maybe this evening you will feel like writing. Dalton'

  Chesney pressed the note to her lips and smiled. Then she sat down in front of the computer, turned on the lamp and stared at the screen. She opened the window enough for the breeze to cool her face. Then she scooped her puppy onto her lap and began to work. For the first time since leaving her old life behind, Chesney felt her love of words rush back with a power that made her sink into the chair like an old dream.

  Before the sun came up, the book draft was completed and transmitted from Bean Blossom to New York.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was not yet dawn, but the strong wind and a rumble of thunder woke Chesney from a deep sleep. Resting her exhausted body on an actual mattress instead of a sleeping bag on the hardwood floor made her sleep soundly for the first time in months. When she woke so early, unable to go back to sleep, Chesney groaned, climbed out of bed, fumbled across the room in the darkness and looked out the naked window. Wind whipped in the trees, forcing the branches to bow. Some of the limbs scratched against the windows. Rain beat against the glass as that familiar lonely feeling crept through Chesney’s stomach. It settled in her throat as she blinked back tears.

  “I wish I could turn around right now and see a wonderful man waiting for me to come back to bed,” she said to the silence. “I wish I could snuggle next to him and enjoy this summer storm.” But when she turned, the only creature on the bed was the pudgy, still nameless puppy. “Well, at least I have you,” she smiled and stroked the pup’s head.

  Grace Blake came to mind as Chesney stood there, barefoot and shivering in an oversized T-shirt. She wondered if there would ever be a time in her life when a set of male arms encircled her on a stormy morning. Would her life always be cursed, like Grace’s? Hot tears dribbled over her chin and down the side of her neck.

  “Stop this,” Chesney said loudly. “You’re overtired. You’re exhausted by yesterday’s final showdown with Jack. You’re hurt that Dalton went home to Rose.” As the puppy scrambled into her arms and burrowed under her night shirt, Chesney smiled. “Are you afraid of thunder?” she whispered into the dog’s fur. “Don’t worry. We have each other.”

  With the wiggly pup tucked securely in the crook of her arm, Chesney walked down the hall and stopped at the attic door. It was locked. Hmm. She had been busy with so many other projects, she had never once stepped inside the attic, which would immediately take her back to childhood. But why was the door locked? She went downstairs to the tool box Dalton left near the backdoor, chose a screwdriver from the mix and returned to the upstairs attic door. While the puppy danced happily around her bare legs, Chesney put all of her weight against the door and pried it open. “Bet you didn’t know I am a cat burglar, huh?” she whispered to the pup. Standing perfectly still, she stood inside the attic, breathing in the scents of yesterday. A few bolts of lightning provided enough light for her to locate the fragile chain hanging from the slanted ceiling. With one pull, the lone light bulb illuminated the exposed beams, the dusty, slightly warped wood floor and all the worn boxes stacked in the center of the room. Ducking to avoid the low beams, she found a place on the floor, the s
ame way she sat as a child when she was here, exploring her grandmother’s life. Gently, she touched familiar things: Grace’s favorite hats, stored neatly in hat boxes; her gloves, joined to the matches with straight pins; favorite costume jewelry, wrapped carefully in tissue; a few pairs of stockings; Chesney’s father's baby clothes; Charlotte’s doll cradle and Chesney’s first pair of shoes.

  “I miss you, Grace,” She held the bodice of one of her grandmother’s favorite dresses to her cheek. “If you were here, I know you would help me move on with my life. You were such a strong woman. But Grace, I'm not like you. I’m not strong like I should be. I've allowed my life to belong to other people. I must be such a disappointment to you.”

  Bitter tears ran down Chesney’s face as regrets washed over her. She wiped her nose and carefully unpacked a couple of the boxes. Gently sifting through memories, she smiled at Christmas ornaments she and Charlotte had made from clay as children. There was the silver tea set that belonged to Grace’s sister. She also found a pair of Grace’s eyeglasses tucked inside a hard shell case. “I can't explain why I stayed so long in that relationship with stupid Jack the Ass,” Chesney said aloud as if Grace was seated beside her. “And who knows why I waited so long to write novels? I guess I was afraid of failing. I was never willing to take a risk. I dated stupid men, knowing all along that they were not even worth my time…”

  A crack of thunder sent the puppy tunneling again under Chesney’s nightshirt. She chuckled, imagining Grace smiling sweetly. “Look at me now, Grace. I’m so alone. I’m so lost. And the only place I wanted to be was back here. Even though you’re gone, I feel safe here.”

  As she gingerly unpacked, inspected then packed again her grandmother’s most cherished belongings, Chesney said, “You know what my problem is, don’t you? I have no backbone. And until yesterday, I never spoke up. But I finally told Jack to hit the road. And you know what, Grace? It felt awesome!”

  Chesney reached for the stack of photo albums, knowing from memory what she would find on each page. Grace as a child, with her sisters, Mary and Georgia, and one older brother, Walt. Grace with Chesney’s father as a chubby baby, smiling for cameras on his first birthday and every other birthday and Christmas until manhood, even his high school graduation day. Grace was always there beside her child, smiling proudly. She expertly hid the heartache of stepping alone through parenthood. “When Dad moved away from Bean Blossom, did you feel abandoned?” Chesney asked the smiling woman on one of the scrapbook pages. “Grace, did you regret spending your life alone? Did you try to find that no-good Richard Blake? Didn’t you ever want to know how he could walk away from you and my dad?”

  As Chesney returned the dusty album to the box, a small envelope tucked between album pages, slipped out and fell on the floor. Thinking the envelope held carefully folded letters written by Chesney and Charlotte as little girls, Chesney reached inside. But this wasn’t the yellowed envelope where Grace saved the letters written with green crayon at Christmas. She found two photos inside the envelope. Chesney squinted and wrinkled her nose, deep in thought. She had never seen these photographs before.

  She stared at the first one, a man smiling in a meadow. He was wearing dark pants and a knit shirt. This man… Chesney leaned back against the wall. Why did the older man look familiar? White hair, neatly combed. Blue eyes. Odd, how she couldn't stop looking at the man's eyes. It was as if Chesney had seen those eyes before. She drew her knees closer to her body and stared intently at the photograph. “Where have I seen you?” She whispered as she studied his face. “Through the years, Grace and I looked through these scrapbooks hundreds of times. But I never saw your picture.”

  As she continued to study the first photograph, Chesney realized the background was also familiar; that large tree, next to a low fence covered by honeysuckle. “This picture was taken by Gracie's pond,” she breathed. “Oh, my gosh, who are you?”

  Somehow she knew this man was not a neighbor or maybe a husband of one of Grace’s friends. He was a secret. He had to be, or Chesney would have heard the story of him and seen these photos. Anxiously, she flipped the photo over, hoping to see a name neatly printed on the back. Nope. No name. No hints. She exhaled and stared out the tiny attic window, still watching lightening stomp in a zigzag across the gray sky.

  Suddenly, Chesney remembered that face. She snatched up the photo and stared hard. “You’re the elderly man who cried beside Grace’s casket,” She said excitedly. “I heard you whisper an 'I love you' as you passed the coffin.”

  She placed the tip of her finger against the man’s face. Could this be Richard Blake, her grandfather? Was Grace seeing him before she died? Maybe secretly, to avoid her son's wrath? Chesney stared harder, deciding that her father shared none of this man’s features. But still, something about those eyes. Why did the old man feel like someone Chesney knew? “Oh hell, maybe I am losing my mind,” she grumbled.

  In the second snapshot, Grace was beside the man on the porch swing at Chesney Ridge. Maybe he was a long lost cousin Chesney never heard about. She stared intently at the sweet something in their eyes. They sat so close together on the swing that their hips touched. His hand was curled around Grace’s. They looked like a couple. They looked like they were in love. Before returning the scrapbooks to the box, Chesney tucked the mysterious photos into her palm. When she returned to her bedroom, the photographs were placed in the top drawer of the bedside table for safe keeping. “Who is he, Grace?” Chesney whispered as she perched on the side of her bed. “Why didn't you ever tell me about him?”

  It was no longer raining and dawn tried slowly to find a crack in the clouds. Chesney wiggled into a pair of shorts and changed into a tank top. “Let's go outside for awhile,” she said to the puppy. “You need a potty break and I need some fresh air.” Together, they bounded down the stairs. Each step got lighter as Chesney scanned the newly furnished parlor, an oatmeal colored overstuffed chair, plants and dried flowers, pillows. All of it was perfect medicine for her injured heart. “It feels so good to be here,” She whispered. “It feels right. No matter what else is out of balance in my life, it feels right to be right here.”

  That early morning downpour left a sparkle on the grass with the new sun. Chesney took in a deep breath, loving that clean fresh scent of rain. Then her eyes traveled toward the pond. “What's that?” A sick feeling bubbled in her stomach. She grabbed the puppy and cautiously walked through the weeds for a better look. A doe floated lifeless near the middle of the pond. In horror, Chesney’s hand went to her mouth. She turned away from the sight and stumbled back inside, not even reacting when the puppy danced muddy paw prints all over the kitchen floor. She glanced at the kitchen clock. Where was Dalton Moore? He was nearly two hours late. “What am I supposed to do about a dead deer in the pond?” Chesney asked the silent room. “I am way out of my league. It doesn’t bother me a bit to admit that I'm not a 'Wild Kingdom’ kind of chick.” She shivered, took a deep breath and leaned against the kitchen counter to analyze the situation. When her cell phone rang, Chesney hoped to hear Gloria’s voice, calling to gush about how she loved the book draft. But the handsome handyman was on the line.

  “I guess you're wondering why I'm not there,” he said.

  “No,” Chesney lied. “To be honest, I hadn't even noticed. I've been, umm, busy.”

  “Everything okay?” Dalton asked.

  “Yep,” she lied again.

  Everything is okay except a dead body is in my pond. And while I’m listing problems, allow me to also throw in the fact that you don’t offer me the time of day but I still dream every night about kissing you. Other than that, my life is a big fat party.

  “I need to be at home with Rose this morning,” Dalton said in a low voice. “I apologize for the late notice. And I hope you don't mind.”

  Right this very moment, my heart is bending over in my rib cage. Dalton, why do you insist on rubbing my nose in your relationship with Rose? Damn you anyway.

  Anoth
er deep breath and Chesney said, “Take all the time you need. In fact, why don’t you take the whole day off, Dalton? Don’t worry at all about coming here today.”

  I am not mentioning the dead deer. I refuse to present myself as a little damsel in distress for you, Dalton Moore. Stay with Rose all day if you want to, I don't care.

  “Take the day off, if you'd like,” Chesney said again crisply. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  “Maybe I will,” Dalton said dryly.

  “Okay, well, gotta go,” She hung up and stomped across the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee and slurped it down. Then she looked down at the puppy, now destroying one of her flip flops.

  As my dad would say, ‘I’ve got bigger fish to fry.’ So have fun, little puppy. That wasn’t my favorite pair, anyway. Dang it. What in the hell am I going to do about the dead deer?

  “Obviously, my first impulse would be to seek a male opinion about dead stuff in the water. But that was the old me. This is the new me and I certainly don't need a man,” Chesney said to the dog as she began to pace. “I have a brain. I am able-bodied. Of course I can deal with a dead deer, right?” The puppy promptly peed on the rug and hid under the cabinet. “That’s exactly what I want to do, too,” She felt nauseated.

  “Well here’s the truth about me, little puppy. The truth is that I don't bait fishing hooks. I don't touch mice or spiders. but I'm the captain of this ship now.” She stopped pacing and sucked in her breath. “A dead deer is in my pond. Obviously it must be removed. And since it's my pond and my problem, well, it's my job to remove the deer. I don't have a man. And I don't need one. I can handle this.”

  She walked over to the kitchen window, praying that the deer miraculously came back to life and escaped from the pond. “Shit,” she hissed. “It’s still there. And it’s still really, really dead.”