Harvest Moon

by Sharon Struth

  “No, and you’re right. Buzz has been grouchier than usual lately. Last week he was in there complaining about the Tate’s land deal falling through. Said the original resort plan was better than a vineyard. More tax revenues, blah, blah, blah. I mean, move on, right?”

  Veronica nodded. The rest of the ride, she stared out the car window, her thoughts her own. Buzz had supported the land deal. However, his disdain toward Trent couldn’t be related. Something didn’t fit. Veronica considered Trent’s confident persona, the way he’d tossed out a nickname for her in a heartbeat or how he assumed they’d dance so intimately—despite how they barely knew each other. Yet nowhere did “troublemaker” jump out at her.

  * * * *

  Large fans spun feverishly from the gym corners inside the Northbridge Municipal Building, casting a warm breeze across the room. Trent dumped his satchel on a small folding table against the wall and removed handouts he’d printed earlier. While stacking them, he glanced at an updated attendance list Marion must’ve left. A few names were scribbled on the bottom, the last minute signups.

  He moved four thick blue floor mats stacked against the wall to the bleacher front, kicked off his flip-flops, and stretched to warm up.

  “Is this the self-defense class?”

  Trent stopped mid-lunge and turned to the door. A short, white-haired woman, who wore a T-shirt reading, “I Love Connecticut,” moved toward him with another woman at her side.

  “Yes, welcome. I’m Trent Jamieson. The instructor.”

  He walked to the table and removed blank stick-on nametags and a marker. “Could I ask you ladies to fill these out?”

  The other woman squinted at him through small eyes, giving him a thorough once-over. “Funny. Marion said you were that developer’s brother, but you two don’t look anything alike.”

  Trent smiled. “No, we don’t. How do you know Marion?”

  “We work in the town clerk’s office,” they said together, pointing at each other.

  “Hey there, Trent.” A tall woman with a long neck and blunt haircut walked into their small group and extended a hand. “Wanda McCann, Buzz’s secretary. We met once.”

  “I remember. Nice to see you again. I’m asking everyone to wear nametags.”

  A few more ladies of varying ages came in. Over the next five minutes, he crossed names off the roster and made small talk. As he crossed off a name at the bottom, he took a closer look at the two additions Marion had handwritten onto the list. He caught his breath. Veronica Sussingham had signed up for this class?

  Before he could digest the information, he glanced to the doors and saw she’d just walked into the gym. A teenage girl, who bore a striking resemblance to Veronica, followed at her side. She had a daughter? He checked the name below hers. Cassidy Turner. Did she have her father’s last name?

  His breath shortened as she neared. Even dressed in yoga pants and a baggy T-shirt, she made him stumble. A short strand of pearls touched the collar of her shirt, and he almost laughed, but the serious expression on her face made him refrain from any sudden moves.

  She neared, eyeing him with obvious skepticism. “Are you here for the class?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I’m the instructor.”

  She stopped in front of him, an odd mixture of confusion and anger crossing her face. “The brochure listed someone from New Milford.”

  “He canceled.” Trent shrugged. “Parks and rec offered me the class. I’m qualified.” Trent pretended to be studying the roster for a second, then met her gaze and grinned. “Strange. There’s nobody by the name of Pearls on this sheet.”

  Her expression didn’t budge. He was striking out tonight.

  “Pearls?” The young girl giggled. “That’s a perfect name for you, Aunt Ronnie.”

  “Are you Cassidy?”

  She nodded. “You know my aunt?”

  “Sure. We go way back—”

  “We met at Sophie’s party,” Veronica said to the girl. “He’s Pat Jamieson’s uncle. You met Pat when we visited the farm after the baby goats were born.” She turned back to Trent, still no smile.

  His next strike, deflating his usually unflappable approach with women.

  “Do we need to sign in?” she asked.

  “I’ll cross you off. Go ahead and fill out a nametag over there on the table, then join the others.”

  He checked off their names. As he walked over to close the gym doors, he gathered his fallen confidence. What was it with her? She carried suspicion the way most women carried a handbag.

  He stepped toward the bleachers. “Welcome. My name—”

  The gym doors burst open.

  “I told you we were late, Mom.” A teenager with straight brown hair held the door open, impatiently waiting for someone, as her voice floated across the open gym space.

  Bernadette Felton walked through them. “All right, Katie. Chill out.” She spotted Trent and her face brightened. “You’re our instructor?”

  “I am.”

  She tipped her head toward her daughter. “Got any self-defense tips for mothers to use against teenagers?”

  He laughed. “Sadly, no. Grab a nametag and join the others.”

  When they finished, he stood on the mat and faced the group. “Again. Welcome and I’m Trent Jamieson. The original instructor canceled so I’m your man for the next few weeks.”

  He paused for a few seconds, scanned the group. “If someone attacked you, would you be able to defend yourself?”

  The uneasiness of the question settled in the room. “It’s a hard question, one most of us don’t want to think about, but you never know if you’ll find yourself in a violent situation. With a little preparation, though, anyone can learn some self-defense techniques, no matter what your strength or size. Prevention is the best self-defense. Attackers try to find vulnerable targets, people in dark parking lots, those not paying attention to their surroundings. So a little awareness of what’s going on around you can help.”

  Wanda raised her hand. “Is it okay to try to talk to someone if they want to hurt you? Like try to reason with them?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Trent’s gaze drifted over to Veronica. She sat more rigid than the others, her jaw set firm, same as the rest of her body.

  “If words can stop someone from physically assaulting you, then by all means, give it a try. Offer your wallet or purse. Maybe all they want is money and they’ll take it and leave.”

  Wanda seemed satisfied with the response.

  “Back to awareness. What do I mean by being aware? Say you have to return to your parked car at night after a class. First, try to remember to park in well-lit areas. This preventative step alone might keep you safe. An attacker doesn’t want to be in a place where they’d be noticed.”

  Many women nodded and scribbled down notes.

  “Second, if you are walking to your car alone at night, keep your keys in hand as you approach your door or car. A key is a handy weapon if someone tries something. While I’m going to show you methods to fend off an attack, keep this in mind; I truly believe if physical contact is avoidable, then do so. Nothing is worth risking your life.”

  He went over to the table and picked up a handout, one showing body parts, which, when struck, could do the most damage: the eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knee, and legs. Splitting the pile in two, he let the class distribute them.

  For several minutes, he discussed the handout. Every so often, he’d glance at Veronica, who studied the paper with great concern and never once lifted her gaze in his direction.

  “Tonight I’ll show you some basic moves to get away from someone. Remember, before an attacker has gained full control of you, you must do everything you can do to inflict injury, even hurt him. That said, while we practice, let’s try to remember not to hurt anybody.”

  Most class members chuckled or smiled. Not Veronica, though. She chewed on her lower lip and stared off into the distan
ce. The lines of her expression twisted into something resembling pain.

  Was her angst because of him or something else?

  * * * *

  Bernadette leaned close to Veronica and whispered, “He’s the last person I expected to see here.”

  Veronica tuned out Trent. “Yeah, me too.”

  One worry had consumed her since signing up for this class; the subject might bring all the horrible details to the surface. Now Trent’s comments threatened the safe cocoon where she’d been sheltered. Worse, she’d never have signed up for this if she’d known he was the instructor. Marion should’ve told her there’d been a change.

  Every time Trent glanced her way, something inside her weakened. He faced the class with his arms folded across his broad chest, long legs spread apart in a firm stance and bare feet firm on the mat.

  Bernadette appeared at her ear again, a reminder of her incessant whispers during every movie they’d ever attended together. “Come to think of it, so are you.”

  Veronica glanced over her shoulder. “What?”

  “You’re the second to the last person I expected to see here tonight.”

  “Cass wanted to take it and asked me to go, too.” Veronica pressed her index finger to her lips and turned away.

  Trent’s voice rose. “Okay, if you’re a victim of an assault, you have about thirty seconds to show the attacker he may have selected the wrong person. That you’re not an easy target.”

  A tight ball grew inside Veronica’s gut, increasing in size every single time Trent used the words assault or attack. She tried not to listen, and instead, studied his tall frame and nicely muscular arms—not overdone. When they’d danced at the party, his hold felt safe, and his body fit perfectly with hers.

  While talking to the class, he looked directly at her, and she quickly dropped her chin to study the sheet he’d handed out earlier, but this time she listened to his instruction.

  “The first thing you should do is yell.” Trent paused for a millisecond, then screamed, “BACK OFF!”

  A few women gasped and he chuckled. “Got your attention, didn’t I? Ladies, there is nothing nice about this, so don’t worry about the attacker’s feelings or how you look to others. You need to let an attacker know you mean business. Startle him. Just like I startled most of you.”

  Nervous giggles spread amongst the participants, but Veronica didn’t find anything funny about the idea of startling an attacker. She’d asked hers to stop. No, she hadn’t screamed, been forceful, or loud. More like a terrified request. That night, fear had immobilized her. She considered sharing the insight about how panic can sway your reaction, but didn’t.

  “The second thing to do is to become a moving target. Again, you’ve got thirty seconds. Thirty short seconds to try to get away. I’m going to show you how you can get out of a hold if someone grabs your arm. With this, I could use a volunteer. Anybody interested?”

  Wanda raised her hand. “I’m game.”

  Trent waved her down, and she stepped down the bleachers, the volunteer’s tight gray yoga pants making her linguine-length legs seem even skinnier than Veronica had imagined them. Wanda went to the mat and faced Trent, pushed her curly bob cut behind her ears, and lifted her fists like a boxer. “Ready.”

  “Duke’s down, Rocky.” Trent grinned. “I’m going to grab your arm, and you try to get away.”

  Trent wrapped her wrist with his hand. Wanda pulled, pushed, and wiggled, but she couldn’t escape. He finally let go.

  “Believe it or not, there’s an easy way to get out of this kind of hold. But not using Wanda’s technique.” He extended his arm toward Wanda. “Grab my wrist. Hold there as hard as you can. No matter what I do, don’t let go.”

  She reached out, grabbed his wrist. “You’ll be sorry.”

  Trent’s lips crumpled into a playful grin. “Okay. You’re holding tight, right?”

  Wanda nodded, and before her head could stop moving, Trent pulled himself free.

  “What the he—” Wanda frowned.

  “Everyone watch closely. Again.” He stuck out his arm, and this time she grabbed, determination obvious in her set jaw and narrowed eyes. They repeated the struggle over and over, yet every single time, with only a little movement, Trent escaped.

  “Did anybody catch how my elbow moved to line up with Wanda’s? Watch again.”

  He stuck out his arm and Wanda held tight. Trent stepped toward her, lowering his elbow to hers, leaving her no choice but to release his wrist as their arms lined up parallel to each other. He asked her to try the same move on him and, this time, Wanda escaped.

  “Practicing this helps, but keep in mind that fear is a natural reaction to an attack. It’s how we’re built to survive. However, practice and a little education goes a long way. We need to face the fear, push the emotion aside, and remember what we’ve learned.”

  Face the fear and push emotions aside? Veronica wanted to scream at him, ask if he’d ever been pinned in place, touched in intimate places you wanted to hide, and kissed so hard you could barely breathe. She inhaled deeply. The terror eased.

  “How about everyone come down to the mats and we can try this exercise.”

  Cassidy jumped up. “Coming, Aunt Ronnie?”

  Veronica searched for words, something to bury the chaos building up inside her body. “Honey, I don’t feel so hot. Maybe you can pair up with someone else.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Katie started down the steps, and Cassidy passed a glance of concern to Veronica, but followed her friend.

  “Are you okay?” Bernadette rested a hand on Veronica’s shoulder.

  The room closed in on all sides. Veronica’s mouth went dry, her skin all of a sudden clammy and warmer than a minute ago. “Can you pair up with someone else? My stomach is queasy.” She waved her hand near her face to cool down. “Maybe it’s the heat.”

  Before Bernadette could answer, Veronica stood, rushed down the bleacher stairs, and hurried across the gym. She ran down the dimly lit hallway to the ladies’ room near the Public Health Department, and burst through the door.

  She leaned her hands on the sink, her weak knees quivering against each other. The urge to cry wedged like a rock stuck in her throat. She stayed still, took several deep breaths. Finally, her tense muscles relaxed, and the air-conditioned bathroom cooled her body temperature. She splashed cold water on her cheeks, cupped some in her palm, and took a drink. Her reflection stared back in the mirror, her curls a little wilted and her face sad, showing all the disappointment she held close to her heart. She pinched her cheeks, adding some color, and ventured back to the gym. The sounds of practice echoed behind the wooden double doors. She reconsidered her plan to go back inside.

  One door clicked open, and Trent stuck his head out. “Hey, Pearls. There you are.” He stepped into the hallway, and the door clicked shut behind him. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Just hot. They should air condition this gym.”

  He frowned, studied her with concern. “Listen, if you’re uncomfortable about anything, just say the word. I once had a student who attended a class after she’d been—”

  She raised her hand in front of his face. “Let me stop you there. I’m not here for me. My niece wanted to take this class.”

  “Oh?” He lifted his brows. “Well, as long as you’re all right. The way you ran out, I worried it was…never mind. The exercises will reinforce the lesson, so I hope next time you’ll give them a try.”

  “Look, I don’t want to sound rude, but don’t expect much from me in here. Like I said…” She paused, hoping he couldn’t detect her next lie. “I’m simply here for my niece.”

  “Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here.” He opened the door and swept his hand toward the opening. “Ladies first.”

  Chapter 10

  “I can’t believe you didn’t wear heels tonight.” Meg glanced at Veronica. “It goes with the theme.”

  “
Sophie said even if the theme is “Sex and the City,” the usual dress code for ladies’ night still stands as casual.” Veronica used the visor mirror above the passenger seat of Meg’s Jeep Cherokee to apply her new lipstick, a shimmery pink. “Your shoes are pretty, though.”

  Meg lifted her foot off the gas pedal. The car slowed while she peeked at her cobalt blue satin stiletto pumps with a diamond shoe clip in the center. “They are gorgeous, aren’t they? A Manolo Blahnik knock-off. Cheaper than the real thing.” She dropped her foot and the car accelerated. “Plus they match the dress I’m wearing to Sophie and Duncan’s wedding.”

  “Unless we get snow. Then you’ll have to wear boots.”

  “I still don’t know why they picked a New Year’s Day wedding.” Meg shook her head and her auburn locks swayed. More solemnly, she said, “Although maybe Sophie wants something good to think about in January.”

  Veronica shut the visor and dropped the lipstick in her purse. The horror of that January, when Sophie’s eldest son died, lingered for the whole town.

  “I’m sure that plays into her decision.” Veronica swallowed her own ache from the loss. At times the accident still seemed surreal, despite having happened so long ago. “I just hope they aren’t rushing things.”

  “Like you do?”

  “Me? I don’t rush…” Veronica glanced at Meg, who stared ahead at the road with a wide grin on her round face. “Oh, you’re joking.”

  “Why should they wait?” Meg turned at two stone pillars marking the start of Sophie’s driveway and followed a tree-lined path. “Those guys are literally head over heels.”

  “Well, maybe figuratively.”

  Meg furrowed her brows as she pulled next to Bernadette’s minivan and stopped.

  “The size of Duncan’s place still overwhelms me.” Veronica studied the cedar shingled front facade, with multiple arched peaks and several stained glass windows. “It’s strange coming here to visit Sophie, not the house her grandmother sold her years ago.”

  Meg nodded and they both opened the car’s back doors on each side, reaching in to get what they’d brought.