Harvest Moon

by Sharon Struth

  Real trumped a virtual relationship any day. Besides, Ry never really outright romanced her, although little hints suggested he viewed her with true fondness. A dose of honesty about her life might go a long way to clearer communication and eliminate this silly guilt she’d forced upon herself.

  At her desk, she opened the computer and went straight to e-mail. Time to separate reality from fiction.

  To: Ry@eclecticexpressions.com

  From: Musetta@yahoo.com

  Subject: Your lyrics, my thanks and other news

  So much has been going on lately, but I didn’t want you to think that I’d forgotten about my promise to take a stab at some lyrics. Inspiration hit recently, and I’ve got a rough draft. Patience is all I ask. I’ll work more on them soon.

  First, I want to say thank you. Don’t think me crazy when I tell you that our conversations have been life changing for me. Thanks to your great listening and spot-on advice, I’ve started a new chapter in my life, one not ruled by my attack or my attacker.

  Now, some more good news. Maybe because of the confidence you’ve given me, I’ve been more open with a man who I recently met. Chance seems to be pushing the two of us together at every turn, and the old me would have been reluctant to accept his overtures, were it not for your friendship and support.

  Today while out kayaking, I ran into him again. Another sure twist of fate! He shared some of his past so I told him my story—well, pieces—not as much as I did with you. Yet for the first time in twenty years, I spoke about what happened to me. Perhaps someday I’ll even tell him more, like I did with you.

  But this guy is special. Very special.

  I will be forever grateful a random Google search brought us together.

  Fondly,

  Etta

  She reread the e-mail and hit send before she could nitpick the content or change her mind. A few quick keystrokes took her to Gail’s online party invite. During the week, she’d considered checking to see if Carin had accepted the invitation, but each time she’d stopped, not wanting to ruin her day.

  She took a calming breath and followed the list of names, stopping cold when she saw Carin’s name appeared with those guests who were attending.

  Dread flooded Veronica, making her fingers go limp on the keyboard. Her gaze drifted to a comment left by Carin.

  Hi, Gail! I’m saying yes, but we have another party that afternoon. We’ll try to make it. Gary’s excited to meet you all! We’ll do our best to juggle our time and get there!

  A maybe, not a firm yes. Veronica’s tense guard didn’t relax. There was a strong likelihood they’d get there.

  Near her own name, she spotted another comment from Carin.

  Ronnie, it’s been too long! We hope to see you at Gail’s house.

  Veronica’s stomach curled into a knot. Over the years, she’d hoped the details she’d offered to Gary about herself were forgotten, like her last name or hometown. Panic pulsed through her body, making her skin hot and her throat swell.

  Had Gary seen her profile picture on the PartyTime site? She imagined Carin showing Gary the invitation and asking, “Did you ever see Veronica around campus?”

  Would he even remember her?

  The onset of dusk combined with a cloudy sky made the room darker than usual for this time of night. The screaming silence of the house suddenly became unbearable, raising the hairs on her nape. She turned on a lamp, flipped on the TV for some sound other than the thud of her heart, and locked the front door, something she rarely felt a need to do in Northbridge.

  At the living room window, she paused and stared at the outline of the thick woods surrounding her house. A perfect place for someone to watch her, but she’d never even know they were there. She quickly shut the curtains.

  Fear wrapped its tendrils around her, blocking all common sense and making her unable to move. She couldn’t shake Gary’s image—both his face in the photo and that of the younger man, who’d caused her such pain. She finally hurried to the computer and shut it off.

  Walking into her bedroom, she searched her purse for her cell phone. There was one thing in her control still. She dialed Gail’s number, all while forming a lie inside her mind about a family gathering she needed to attend. Before she could tap the last number, she stopped.

  She could have canceled the first time she saw this invitation, but hadn’t for one reason; Gary’s attack had held her in a headlock for the past two decades. She wanted out of his grip. A return to being the woman who used to live inside her.

  She tossed the phone back into her purse, her eyes burning with the onset of tears. Isolation and affection, fear and assurance. Veronica couldn’t separate old needs from new desires. She wrapped her arms around her body and eased herself onto the edge of the bed, allowing the tears to flow.

  * * * *

  Twice in the past hour, Trent had reached for the phone to call Veronica. He considered it again, but instead he reread the e-mail Etta sent to him…to Ry.

  Her story about meeting a man she liked while out kayaking couldn’t be a coincidence. It simply couldn’t.

  He slipped off the peninsula stool and went to the cottage window. Gray clouds played peek-a-boo with the moon, the same way little clues about Etta—Veronica—had dodged him over the past weeks. Fragments of conversations now made sense: the book both women were reading, their need for a self-defense class, an attack in their past, and a reluctance to share the tragedy with their loved ones. More obvious clues sharpened in his mind. Poetry, singing in a chorus.

  It was at once possible and impossible!

  He’d asked Etta about Boston, right after Duncan had shared some facts about Veronica’s past, but Etta claimed never to have gone. But so what? Veronica’s caution would prevent her from a completely honest answer.

  Had she put the pieces together about him? For some reason, he didn’t think so.

  What would happen if he called her out of the blue and said, “Do you sometimes go by the name Etta?”

  He returned to his computer, sat, and typed “Veronica Sussingham” in the search engine. Entries materialized for several professional networks and the white pages. He narrowed the search to Connecticut. The library website was listed first, and he found a monthly column Veronica wrote in her job as director.

  He hesitated, then typed next to her name “sexual assault” and “Boston.” Many hits came up about the topic, as well as a “Veronica” with a different last name. Page after page, nothing appeared to confirm if Veronica had been victim to a crime like the one committed against Etta.

  He paused. The reveal Etta had offered in her e-mail was a gift of sorts. The connection made by the kayak outing offered a perfect reason to raise the question to Veronica about her dual identity. Even point out the true destiny-driven nature of their relationship together.

  Trent’s heart tripped all over itself, giddy over the idea for the past six months he’d been talking to Veronica. He threw on a sweatshirt, searched his cargo shorts for his keys, and raced out his front door.

  * * * *

  For thirty minutes, Trent sat down the road from Veronica’s house in his dark car, illuminated by the beam of a streetlight. Thank God he’d given this some thought on the way over and played out the delivery of his so-called good news.

  Hidden behind the Internet, Etta had safely handed the fictitious Ry details about her rape. Veronica, on the other hand, very pointedly didn’t wish to disclose the particulars to Trent—or anybody. If he walked in her home, dangling his latest find under her nose…

  He closed his eyes, sick over the idea of what she might do. Humiliation would be a natural reaction, one that might make her end things between them—before they really even got started. Worse, she might think he’d always known and hid it from her. There was no way to prove he’d only made the connection between the two women that day.

  Then again, if she weren’t Etta and he mentioned the relationship, s
he’d have nothing to be angry about. For a brief moment, the idea elated him, making him ready to race from the parking lot. All the concerns again swarmed him, held him back.

  His heart constricted, so tight he drew in a deep breath. If he said nothing, what if she figured it out down the line, questioned why he hadn’t spoken up the day she mentioned meeting a man on her kayak? Damn that kayak e-mail! Without it, he could honestly say the connection had eluded him.

  But he couldn’t start this relationship based on a lie. He threw the car into drive, sped out of the parking lot, a renewed commitment to seeing this through. No matter what.

  At a metal mailbox marked “Seventy-Four” he turned, remembering a few days ago when Jay had told him this was her house.

  Trees lined both sides of the driveway, woods everywhere. He entered a clearing. Bright lights made the small ranch-styled home glow, and her car sat near the garage.

  He parked and got out. As he approached the front stoop, Boomer’s deep bark bellowed from inside the house.

  The curtain near the bay window fluttered, and Veronica peeked out. He waved and yelled. “Hey. It’s Trent.”

  She dropped it shut and seconds later, the porch light flipped on and the door opened. Boomer worked hard to squeeze through the crack, barking until she shushed him.

  “Hi. What a nice surprise.” She held the dog by the collar.

  “Sorry I didn’t call first. I… I wanted to see you.”

  “Come on in.”

  As soon as he stepped inside, wetness lingering on her lashes told him she’d been crying.

  He patted the dog’s side. “You okay?”

  She nodded, wiped her cheek with a brush of her fingertips.

  “Would a hug help?”

  “Can’t hurt.” She offered a half-baked attempt at a smile, so he gathered her to his chest, rubbed her back, and stroked her soft hair. When they’d gone for coffee, she’d told him about breaking up with Jim. Did she have regrets? “Did something happen with Jim?”

  “No,” she spoke into his chest. She sighed and pulled back to look at his face. “Listen, the book that fell out of my backpack, about the past… I’m reading it for me, not work. The attack I told you about, it still rules me some days.” She blinked but more tears escaped along her cheek. “I’m kind of a mess. You sure you want to be with someone like me?”

  Trent’s heart ached to see fresh tears fall over this simple admission. It showed how much terror she held inside over what happened to her long ago. The boldness guiding him to her door to tell the truth now teetered. How would she feel at this moment if he blurted out that he knew the intimate details of her rape? Their closeness—so new, so fragile—might easily rip at the seams.

  “Pearls, I’m a mess, too.” Using his fingertip, he wiped away the wetness. “Maybe we’ll untangle each other.”

  She gazed at him and finally let out a long sigh. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Of course.”

  Her dark eyes studied him, now with some concern. “I could use some company at a party I’m going to next Friday.”

  “Next Friday? Sure. I’m free.”

  “Great.” She offered a strained smile.

  “A special occasion?”

  “Just some friends from grad school. I sometimes go alone, but this year, I’m just not in the mood.”

  “Then you won’t.” He hugged her tight, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair and enjoying her soft body against his. Etta’s e-mail. Hadn’t she said the rape happened in grad school?

  Veronica stretched up and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad to see you, but why’d you stop by?”

  The guilt of a lie jabbed at him. However, avoiding the truth until he considered all angles of this strange reality seemed smart. He didn’t want to do anything to risk losing her. “I was in the mood for some ice cream and hoped you’d join me.”

  Her gaze dropped to the dog, who sat and watched them talking. “Can Boomer come? I usually treat him to a small cup of vanilla swirl.”

  Boomer wagged his tail and stared at Trent with the most pitiful eyes he’d ever seen. “Sure, let’s bring him along.” He kissed Veronica softly on the lips, with the promise he’d tell her everything when the time was right.

  Chapter 17

  Veronica neared the Litchfield Hills Vineyard entrance, nearly pitch black except for the porch light on the colonial where Jay lived, her thoughts still playing out the strange scene she’d witnessed between Trent and Buzz at tonight’s monthly Harvest Festival meeting.

  The meeting at the firehouse had started as routine, with Buzz lauding over the committee chairs in all his glory. Everything was pretty normal, but when Trent had walked in late, stating he was taking Sophie’s place to represent the vineyard, Buzz’s easily aroused disposition flared at Trent for being late. Even during the meeting, he’d been in-your-face rude to Trent, surpassing anything she’d ever witnessed from Buzz to date.

  The second the meeting ended, Trent had rushed out the side door.

  Veronica turned into the driveway, and about halfway up the hill, exhaled her relief to find Trent’s cottage windows lit up and his car parked outside. After all the care he’d given to her, surely she could offer him the same.

  She pulled next to Trent’s Jeep and shut off her car. Quiet gave way to beautiful guitar music coming from the cottage’s opened windows. Trent’s skill was far better than she’d imagined. She shut her eyes, letting the cool night air and melody soak inside her skin.

  Each soft chord of the hopeful music lifted her heart, and she couldn’t remember where she’d heard the song before. Then he sang, a strong, almost smoky tone to his voice. Despite the uplifting music, the song painted a sad picture of drug addiction. She’d heard this song before, and then recalled Cassidy showing her the music video a few months ago on her iPod, leaving her more solemn about his song choice.

  The song’s sentiment came alive, both in Trent’s singing and accompaniment: agony, need, doing the unthinkable…all driven by an all-consuming craving. Thickness swelled in her throat. He’d glossed over the details of his addiction, but it must have been as painful as this song.

  He finished and she opened her car door, but stopped as the awareness she’d eavesdropped on a private moment took hold.

  She considered leaving just as the porch light came on. The door opened, and Trent stepped on the porch. “Veronica?”

  She stepped from the car. “Surprise.”

  He came over. The confusion on his face matched the jumbled emotion she carried, unsure about coming here to begin with. “Have you been out here long?”

  “A few minutes. I was worried about you. You rushed from the meeting.”

  “Were you there?”

  She nodded. “Seated on the same side of the table as you.”

  “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.” He took her hand, drew her into a hug.

  “I heard you playing. The song…” She hesitated. “It’s about addiction?”

  His arms tensed around her, but he answered. “Yes. I play it sometimes to remind me of why I need to stay clean. Playing my guitar soothes me. I could use a little soothing tonight.”

  She lifted her head off his chest. “Want to talk?”

  “Just in a bad mood, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t sound like yourself in the meeting. I was worried.”

  He half-smiled. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Maybe I want to.” She cupped his face in her hand, kissed his lips. “You seem like you could use a friend.”

  The porch light highlighted his face, his muscles tense. “It’s that damn Buzz.” He studied her for a moment. “I could use a friend. Let’s go inside.”

  He led her by the hand into the house. Sophie had shown her the place after the renovation, but now with Trent’s furniture, it had taken on a life that belonged to him. A modern edge, yet comfortable, casual.

  Trent r
emoved his guitar from a leather sofa and placed it onto a stand in the room’s corner, near two other guitars. “Why don’t we sit and talk. Want something to drink?”

  “No.”

  He settled near the sofa’s end and patted the space next to him. She positioned herself sideways, facing him, and took his hand. “What happened with Buzz tonight?”

  “Not only tonight.” He turned over her hand and ran a finger along her palm. “I’m going to be honest.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Because I like you, Pearls. A lot. But this needs to stay between us.”

  “Of course.”

  A range of emotion flickered across his face, and then his intense blue eyes settled on her. “Duncan isn’t my only tie to Northbridge.” He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled a tired sigh. “My birth mother lives here, too.”

  Veronica tried not to react, but had always suspected more to the Jamiesons return to Northbridge last year. “Is that why Duncan’s firm came to town last year?”

  “Sort of. It’s a long story. I’m pretty sure Buzz doesn’t like me because my birth mother is Marion.”

  “Marion?” She examined Trent’s face. Yes, the shape of his profile showed a resemblance. “Is your real father from Northbridge, too?”

  He frowned, more sadness sweeping across his face. “Most of my life, I was led to believe it was Elmer Tate. That’s one reason Duncan wanted to buy the Tates’ vineyard land. He thought I was the unofficial heir of that property. The theory unraveled when Sophie did some research on our family. She never reported on her findings, though.”

  Sophie’s silence toward the end of her investigation on Duncan had been noticed, but when asked by their group how it ended, she’d only said she wasn’t at liberty to say.

  “So you’re not the heir to the land?”

  He shook his head. “On paper, Elmer Tate is my birth father.” He turned his head, staring into the corner where he’d put the guitar. “Around six months ago, we learned Marion had been having an affair with, well…” He blew out a loud sigh. “It’s complicated but her affair was with my adopted father.”