Northern Moonlight

by Anisa Claire West

  “Oh Sabrina, tell me everything! Remember, I have to report all the details to Mom and Dad. You know they really wanted to pick you up at the airport, but your trip coincided with their New Year’s vacation in Colorado, so, here I am! What was it like in Paris?”

  Cara had never left the country and secretly envied Sabrina’s jet setting lifestyle. A studious young woman, Cara was a third year law student in Manhattan but swore her graduation gift to herself would be a getaway to someplace sunny and exotic.

  Stifling a yawn, Sabrina said, “Paris was wonderful, Cara. I’m so grateful to have spent the holidays there. And I was able to take hundreds of photos for the magazine.”

  “Enough about that, Sabrina! I don’t want to hear about your work. Tell me about France…and the French men.”

  “Cara, I told you that Paris was wonderful. As for the men, some twit on the plane kept me from reading by trying to flirt and asking me all sorts of inappropriate personal questions, even though he was catching a connecting flight for a business meeting in Seattle. See, French men are no different from any other men…especially when it comes to going after what they want. Now I promise to tell you everything else once I’ve gotten some sleep.” Sabrina rubbed her temples in a circular motion, attempting to ease the mounting stress and fatigue caused by entering another time zone.

  “Sabrina, you’re like an old lady. I mean, first you move out of New York City. New York City! The most thrilling place in the world…”

  “I beg to differ.” Sabrina sniffed.

  “Oh, well I suppose you’d know from all the places you’ve been to.” Cara wrinkled her nose with obvious envy. “But to choose country bumpkin land. Don’t you ever miss that Big juicy Apple?” She implored passionately.

  “I miss Mom and Dad…and sometimes even you, Cara, shocking as that may sound. But I love living in Vermont. Think about it. New York is the Empire State, and Vermont is the Green Mountain State. New York has countless skyscrapers while Vermont has gorgeous mountains. Some people prefer a landscape of buildings, but I prefer one of mountains.”

  Cara interrupted, “You should work for their tourism bureau with that sales pitch. So Vermont has mountains, but what about men?”

  “Don’t you ever think of anything other than men, Cara?”

  “Sabrina, you’re twenty-seven. Mom and Dad are worried about you all alone living in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Burlington is not the middle of nowhere! It’s the most populous city in the state.” She said, hedging Cara’s references to her single status. “What about you, Cara? There’s no ring on your finger either.”

  “No, Sabrina, but I’m two years younger than you and still in school. Plus I think Bruce is getting closer to proposing every day.”

  Bruce and Cara had met and begun dating in their first year of law school. After nearly three years together, Mr. and Mrs. Montrouge were becoming impatient for him to make a more solid commitment to their daughter.

  “Really? Well, I hope he does. I’d be very happy for you, Cara.” With that, Sabrina shut her eyes and drowned out her sister’s prattling. Soon she was asleep and did not awaken until they arrived in Vermont.

  With Cara lugging her suitcase, Sabrina walked into the house to find her cat, Softy, furiously meowing for that magical combination of attention and food. “Oh, poor kitty. I missed you!” She obligingly pet the pure white cat just as a knock sounded at the door. Frowning, knowing instantly it was her nosy neighbor/house sitter, Mrs. Benjamin, she opened the door a crack.

  “Bonjour, Sabrina! Or is it bonsoir? Yes, it’s after dark now. Welcome home and hello to you Cara!” The pudgy old woman said in a screeching faux French accent that made Sabrina cringe. “Did you meet any French amours? I guess you haven’t developed your pictures yet, or did you take Polaroids? Tell me everything!”

  “Mrs. Benjamin, I’m a little jet lagged, so I hope you don’t mind if I retire to bed. I do appreciate your watching the house this past week…”

  “Anytime dearie,” the woman interrupted. “I also watered your plants…and I hope you don’t mind, but I took a look inside that refrigerator of yours. Really, young lady, I mean ginger ale and pound cake? How can anyone live off of that? I left you some of my famous macaroni and cheese with ham chunks.”

  Sabrina resisted the urge to gag at the mention of ham chunks. She also refrained from explaining that she would have had more food in her house had she not been on another continent for over a week.

  Instead, Sabrina was characteristically tactful. “How kind of you, Mrs. Benjamin. Thank you so much.”

  Within a few minutes time, Sabrina had hustled the inquisitive woman out the door. Cara was wide awake, so Sabrina left her in the living room to watch television. She gratefully retreated to her soothing bedroom, bathed in soft pastel colors and decorated with breathtaking photographs that she had taken on various international assignments. With a murmur of relief, she plopped into bed, sliding under the luxuriant, cream-colored comforter. Outside her window, just as she was drowsily drifting into an enveloping sleep, the distant sound of fire trucks blaring their horns startled her. Quickly, she closed her eyes again, not bothering to unpack or disrobe, but instead letting the abyss of sleep claim her for the next ten hours.

  That Same Night…

  Giovanni was laboring to the point of a drenching sweat inside his sixty-two pounds of fire gear, fighting desperately to extinguish a house fire before it raged out of control. While he worked, he pushed flashbacks from his mind about the blackened rubble he had found all those years ago. His mouth tightened as he determined not to let history repeat itself with this poor family’s abode.

  Hours later, Giovanni was back in his loft, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling happy that no one had perished or been seriously hurt in the fire, but curiously on edge. It was a long time before sleep finally claimed him.

  The next morning, as the blinding winter sun streamed through his bedroom windows, he felt a surge of heat. Giovanni’s energy level was already, inexplicably, stoked, and he didn’t require his usual caffeine injection to launch the day. It was a Saturday morning, one of the few weekends that he wasn’t scheduled to work, and he felt unusually restless. He had no plans for the day but was overflowing with an odd, nervous energy whose source was unidentifiable. Running a hand roughly through his short black hair, he blew out a heavy breath and proceeded to disrobe for a quick shower.

  Hastily, Giovanni ripped off his green tee-shirt and peeled off gray pants and matching boxers, so he was standing nude on the cold hardwood floor. His body was utterly male, from the thatch of hair over sculpted chest to the imposing broadness of his shoulders. He showered briskly, scrubbing every inch of his flesh with a lather of soap that smelled of cedar and citrus. Emerging from the shower, Gio dressed quickly in a flannel shirt and khaki pants. Running a comb through his close-cut hair, he tried to forget how much he needed a woman.

  A Few Days Later…

  Rubbing his exhausted eyes with one hand and steering his truck with the other, Giovanni pulled into the Evergreen Diner, hoping for a strong cup of black coffee to revive him. He had spent the previous night tackling a massive motel fire. Rescue efforts had been swift and successful, but the motel was not so fortunate. Half the building was nothing but soot and ashes now.

  Giovanni groaned as he briskly massaged the back of his neck while walking into the diner. As he made his way to the counter, he did a visible double-take as a strikingly beautiful woman leapt gracefully out of a vinyl swivel chair at the counter. As the jukebox in the corner drifted into a new song, she passed quickly by with a brown paper bag in one hand, jingling car keys in the other.

  Trying not to gape, Giovanni drank in the bewitching sight of cascading mahogany hair, sweet pink lips, a delicate but lushly formed body, accentuated by a winter-white sweater and tight dark blue denims with brown suede boots zippered almost to her thighs. He felt his heart thudding madly as he watched the woman leave without so
much as a glance in his direction. Giovanni was still staring after her, bemused, as she hurried to her silver sedan.

  In a rush, Sabrina hopped into her car, opening the brown bag to unveil an enormous cranberry muffin. She picked at the muffin distractedly while backing her car out of the diner’s parking lot. It was 10:40, and she was already ten minutes late for her appointment with her photo editor.

  *****

  Giovanni left the diner that morning in a haze of bewilderment, wondering who that captivating, chestnut-haired woman was and where she was rushing off to. As a boy, he had always been fascinated by mystery books, often sneaking a peek to the last page to see how the case would be resolved. But this was one case he couldn’t so easily crack. He deduced that she must live in town because no one but locals ever frequented the rustic Mom and Pop’s eatery. Surely he had never seen her before because her face and voluptuous form were already embedded in his memory. He felt her swimming in his subconscious and knew that he would dream of her. That he wanted to dream of her. But more than that, he wanted to see her again, hear her voice, undoubtedly sweet and lilting, oozing cream and sugar.

  As Giovanni drove down the road, he mindlessly turned on the radio, positively unable to shake her image from the boiling cauldron of his imagination. Love was not a notion he would welcome into his life, but the touch of a woman certainly couldn’t hurt…And the woman he saw at the diner would more than fulfill his growing needs. Sailing through an amber light, he resolved to comb every square inch of Vermont until he found her.

  Chapter 2

  April 1980

  Spring was slowly beginning to bloom and melt gigantic mounds of snow all across New England. Sabrina, camera in tow, was taking a refreshing stroll along Lake Champlain, admiring the placid waves and cloudless sky. She frequently took these lakeside walks as a source of inspiration for her photography, to collect her thoughts, and simply to keep her shapely figure in top condition. Just once Sabrina had tried an aerobics class and nearly guffawed the whole way through. Never one to follow trends, she had been aghast at the fuchsia legwarmers, lime green headbands, and incessantly bouncy music. No, she would take the solace and tranquility of a waterfront promenade any day.

  As she walked, an ancient looking vehicle parked by a coffeehouse grabbed her keen photographer’s eye. It was a pick-up truck with dark blue paint chipping off the sides and a coating of rust on the front and rear bumpers. Sabrina estimated it to be a 1960’s model if not earlier. Always on the prowl for a unique photo opportunity, she whipped out her camera and adjusted the lens for a close-up shot.

  Just as she was about to capture the image, a gruff male voice behind her demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?!"

  Nervously, she turned around to face the man and her eyes widened like saucers at the disarming sight of him. He was commandingly tall, with an impeccably muscled physique filling out the brown leather jacket he sported. His complexion seemed naturally bronzed, with the shadow of a heavy beard distinctly visible on his arrestingly handsome face. She barely noticed the steaming paper cup of coffee in his right hand, but she did notice the lack of a wedding band on his left.

  How could this man not be married? Sabrina wondered. Must have a horrible personality. She was nearly breathless by his appearance alone, but the disturbingly intense, appraising look in his sepia eyes completely unnerved her. Why was he looking at her that way?

  “I---um---was just going to take a picture of this vintage truck. I guess it’s yours?” She said in a small voice, inwardly furious for her lack of composure.

  “Why would you want to take a picture of my broken down truck?” His voice was a masculine baritone without inflection.

  She explained spitfire, “I’m a photographer---usually I take pictures of travel destinations, not transportation. But this truck is so unusual---and old---that I thought it would make an interesting shot.” She suddenly felt simultaneously hot and cold as he continued to rake his unreadable but penetrating eyes over her flushed face and form.

  “Well, then, go ahead and take your picture.” He said blankly, though his eyes betrayed ferocity.

  Sabrina gave the stranger a quizzical look, but readily accepted his invitation to photograph the vehicle. With trembling fingers, she focused her apparatus on the truck, hastily zooming in on the lake for a natural backdrop. After capturing the image, she looked back at him, uncertain what to say next. She managed a quick, muffled “thanks” and began to walk away, still feeling his eyes boring into her from behind.

  “Would you like to go for a ride?” He inquired in a low, unintentionally seductive tone that she could not ignore. Yet the brazenness of his words scandalized her. Would she like to go for a ride? With this intimidating, unsmiling, two hundred pound stranger? No, she most certainly would not.

  “Excuse me!” She exclaimed. “What kind of question is that?! I don’t even know your name!”

  “Giovanni Salvatore.” He provided.

  Sabrina stiffened her posture and tilted her chin up as she replied, “Well, Mr. Salvatore, thank you for the offer, but I’ll have to politely decline.”

  He seemed slightly amused by her formality as she again turned to strut away.

  “I’ve seen you before…” Giovanni called after her as she whirled around, long mahogany hair flying in the bracing wind.

  “You’ve seen me before?” She asked, perplexed.

  “Yeah. Back in January at the Evergreen Diner.” This crumb of information was all he offered.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember seeing you,” she said cautiously, still feeling puzzled.

  “I know---you seemed to be in a rush that day…what’s your name anyway?” Giovanni prodded, his eyes paradoxically intense and guarded.

  She was hesitant to reply, still conscious of the fact that he was a total stranger. Yet, she also flattered that he had remembered her from months earlier. With an air of dignity, she replied, “I’m Sabrina Montrouge.”

  Some semblance of a smile came over his grave features as he shifted the coffee cup to his left hand and extended his right for a shake. She placed her soft, delicate hand in his rough, masterful one and squeezed, aware of an invisible current of electricity that passed between them at the brief contact.

  “Do you live in Burlington, Sabrina?” He inquired curiously.

  “Yes,” she replied, not wanting to reveal any details about her address.

  “Have you been here all your life?” He pursued with an imploring and magnetic gaze.

  “No, only for the past five years since I graduated from art school in New York.” Sabrina answered, instantly realizing that she had just unveiled her age. Wanting to divert attention from that pesky detail, she rebounded with a question of her own, “How long have you been in Burlington?”

  He inexplicably averted his eyes and replied vaguely, “Oh, quite some time now…” then, interpreting her displeased expression, Giovanni took a breath and clarified, “I grew up in a small town called Mount Hollow and moved to Burlington shortly after high school to join the fire department.”

  This revelation greatly impressed Sabrina. “That’s a very noble line of work.” She said sincerely.

  Giovanni lowered plentiful black lashes to hood his eyes and seemed deep in contemplation as though her simple compliment had affected him. But he merely said, “Thank you.” Returning his eyes to lock with hers, he added, “I guess I was a bit presumptuous before asking you to go for a ride in my truck.” Sabrina nodded emphatically. “Maybe we could continue this conversation in the coffee house?”

  Glancing at her watch, she frowned. “Actually, I have to get going to check in at the office.”

  “Office?” He echoed. “When you said you were a photographer, I assumed that translated as starving artist.” He grinned slightly.

  Half amused, half indignant and completely hypnotized by the sight of his full lips twisting playfully, Sabrina replied, “All these presumptions and assumptions, Mr. Salvatore. It just
so happens that I work downtown at a magazine.”