Moondust Lake

by Davis Bunn

  “I researched everyone at the table.”

  Mark liked that enough to smile. “So tell me why I left Stanford.”

  “You were bored. You wanted to do more than make a tiny impact in a new field, moving at a scientist’s gradual pace. You wanted to invent the field. To do that, you had to go corporate.”

  “I’m still trying to find the next way forward. Enter another new field.”

  Buddy nodded, both because it was exactly how he saw Mark Weathers, and because he appreciated the frankness. “You will.”

  “So I checked you out as well. I know you’re responsible for much of the Helms Group’s recent growth. I know your father doesn’t credit you like he should. I know you work the kind of hours I expect from my team.”

  “That’s why you brought me in, isn’t it? You never were after an advertising campaign.”

  “You want the job, it’s yours.” Mark seemed pleased that he had caught Buddy flat-footed, and patted him on the shoulder. “Only don’t take too long deciding. We want to get this idea of yours up and running.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Kimberly woke before dawn to the sound of her ex-husband’s voice. It wasn’t a dream, not really. Nor did it carry all the baggage that used to cling long after she had risen and washed her face and done her best to start another day.

  On this Monday morning the voice had sounded so vivid she sat up in a panic, not clear on where she was, or why. She rose and walked to the front window, and looked out over the rainswept lawn and the jacaranda trees that Preston assured her would bloom in less than two months. She stood there, hugging herself, chilled from the cold emanating through the glass. But she didn’t want to go back to bed. So she pulled a rocker over and wrapped herself in the quilt. The rocker gave off a gentle noise as she moved, almost like it was humming. Over to the east the first faint light of a new day defied the passing storm. If only it could be that way for her.

  The front door clicked, and Kimberly knew Preston had left for morning mass, something he tried to do several times a week. She rocked and let herself remember the sound of Jason’s voice. And those awful days when she had learned Jason was not hers for life.

  Jason had sounded so surprised when she finally confronted him, as though it was Kimberly’s fault for trusting him. How could she not have known how he felt about her roommate? All the time they had spent together, all the laughter, how could Kimberly have possibly missed the fact that he had been head over heels in love with the woman? That was what she remembered now. The affronted way he spoke those words. All the times they laughed together. As though that was enough to explain his infidelity.

  Kimberly made herself a bath and soaked until she heard Preston return. She toweled off and dressed and descended the stairs. Preston had bought this splendid old house in an estate sale. The place was in desperate need of renovation, which was why Preston could afford it. The street was lined by similar homes, all dating from the 1930s and 1940s. The central staircase was made for grand entrances, with carved banisters and polished cherrywood stairs. Preston complained constantly over how the stairwell took up a grand total of eight hundred square feet, what with the downstairs landing and the upstairs veranda-style hall. She entered the kitchen and asked, “Why aren’t you already at the office?”

  “My first appointment isn’t until eleven, and I wanted to welcome you to your new home.” He pulled a second mug from the cabinet. “I heard the rocker going at some ghastly hour.”

  “Jason came calling.”

  He poured her a coffee. “How on earth did he track you down?”

  And that was it. Preston would not say more unless she wanted, which she most definitely did not. So she said, “I think you secretly love that staircase.”

  “Well, there certainly is a lot to love.”

  “I can see you twenty years from now. You’ll be teaching at the local university. Your students will cluster in the foyer for some social function they all dread. You’ll serve them a truly appalling wine. Probably something out of a box with a plastic spigot. They’ll pretend to love it.”

  “They better.” He spooned blueberries over the top of his granola. He did not offer her any, because she never ate breakfast. “One peep of complaint and I’ll hack their grades in half.”

  “Your kids will be upstairs throwing fluffy animals through the railing.”

  “How many?”

  “Three. Two boys and a little angel who stole your heart the minute she opened her eyes.”

  “The boys are a trial, I suppose.”

  “Completely awful. But your wife loves them because they look like you.”

  “And where are you while this is happening?”

  “I’ll be the old maid sleeping in the renovated garden shed out back. Three chocolate Labs trained to attack Jason whenever he shows up.”

  “I’d be worried,” he said around a mouthful of berries and cereal. “But I happen to be a trained professional. I’ve spent years learning the difference between a serious pathological issue and a morning dose of self-pity. Plus, there’s the undeniable fact that my only cousin happens to be drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “Stop right there.”

  “A stunner. Total babe. Stops traffic in neighboring zip codes. The local California lads will be rioting in a matter of weeks.”

  “This is your last and final warning.”

  The silence held as they walked to the center. Proximity to his job was part of why Preston had selected the house and the neighborhood. He loathed commuting. Preston loved cars too much to turn driving into a daily chore. The morning walk was nine city blocks, just under a mile. She knew from the half smile on his face that Preston was just waiting for her to say something, give him another opportunity to comment on her looks. He was the only man who could do so these days. She disliked the idea of her body and face and hair being a lure to strange men. Like so much else, her attitude toward her looks had undergone a drastic change.

  She realized Preston was watching her. She said what was on her mind, surprising them both. “Do you think Jason would have left me if I had spent more time glamming up?”

  He waited until they crossed the street to reply, “Jason was a class-A loon.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “I don’t think there is anything you could have done to satisfy that superficial groper of women. He was the one who lived from his looks. Did you ever think about that?”

  She had, in fact. Jason’s strong, masculine presence had been part of the package. She had simply assumed it was what she deserved. Kimberly Sturgiss. Beautiful and intelligent and capable of overcoming her hard beginnings. “I should have known better.”

  “You were in love.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t belittle your tragedy by pretending you didn’t adore the guy. The shame was, he didn’t deserve you.” Preston stepped around a woman with two corgis on leashes. “Since we’re on the subject, do you want my personal opinion?”

  “I know you never liked him.”

  “Besides that. I think Jason was frightened by you. You were smarter. You cared more. You loved life more.”

  She did not deny it. “He stole that from me, too. Loving life.”

  Preston bounded up the clinic’s front stairs and held open the door. “On that particular point, cousin, I’m happy to say that you are dead wrong.”

  The clinic occupied a postwar building that fronted a small tree-lined park, and only showed a narrow side to the main road. The counseling project brought together the four local churches—Lutheran, Episcopal, Catholic, and the community church, which owned the structure. It smelled of fresh paint and what Kimberly desperately hoped were new beginnings.

  Kimberly liked the receptionist already, an unflappable woman married to the Lutheran church’s associate pastor. Shirley and her husband had spent twenty-two years as missionaries in various Central American nations, and now ran a hugely successful Spanish-language church every Saturday eve
ning. But today her face was pinched up tight as she announced, “There’s a problem. Someone is in your office. I tried to make him wait out here. But he refused.”

  “Why didn’t you phone me?”

  “I knew you’d be coming in.” She lowered her voice. “It’s Jack Helms.”

  Preston winced for them both. “Maybe I should handle this.”

  “No.” Kimberly felt herself instantly snared by the same tension that pervaded every other square inch of the office complex. She did not do what she wanted, which was to go prep herself in the ladies’ room, like she did before seeing patients in mental wards, staring at her reflection in the mirror until her game face was on. There was nothing for her to do but march straight down the hall.

  Reverend Ross Burridge stood just outside her office doorway, nodding at something being said from within her office. The community church’s senior pastor had a face made for television lights and sermons offered to thousands, craggy and stern and gentle all at the same time. His voice carried the sort of assurance that only came from years at the pulpit. “Ms. Sturgiss, how are you this morning?”

  “Uneasy with people being in my office uninvited.”

  The pastor chuckled his way around any possible discomfort. “Maybe I should stay.”

  “No,” came the response from within. “I want to talk to this woman alone.”

  “I’m just down the hall if you need me. Good to see you, Jack. As always.” As he turned away, he cast her a hard warning glance. Saying all he needed to about the handling of church elders who were also major donors.

  Kimberly entered her box-strewn office. “What can I do for you?”

  Jack Helms continued to examine her box of diplomas. “Shut the door, for a start.”

  “It’s fine as it is.” She remained where she was, angled just inside the doorway, positioned so he had no chance to close it himself. “If you wish to make an appointment—”

  “Young lady, I have the power to get you fired before you draw your next breath.”

  The words were made even more chilling by the calm manner in which he spoke. Jack Helms wore a three-piece suit of dark gray. His shoes were polished to a military shine. Kimberly had the distinct impression that everything about him was carefully processed, measured, assessed, and done with deadly intent.

  When he began pacing in front of her desk, Kimberly found herself recalling her first week of private counseling. Students were assigned a mentor, who both walked them through their first patient sessions and served as their own therapists. Kimberly’s mentor was a grand old man on his last year at the university, an author of numerous books and one of the leaders in their field. He had talked endlessly about establishing the four keys to successful therapy: control, distance, honesty, and harmony. But, by far, the most important of these was control.

  Kimberly realized that was why the man acted as he did. Demanding to wait in her office. Ordering her about. Threatening. Pacing.

  Not here, she silently replied. Not with me.

  Her silence unnerved him enough to crack the veneer and reveal a bit of the lava within. “You will sit down.”

  “Actually, Jack, I won’t be sitting down at all.”

  He stopped and showed her the affront of a man in charge of his world. Every shred, every last inch. His domain. Even here. “Did you not hear a word I just said?”

  “Most certainly. Why don’t you take a chair, Jack? You look like you’re carrying quite a strain.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “What would you like me to say, then?”

  “You will address me in the proper fashion!”

  She heard doors opening up and down the hall. Footsteps approached. She swept one hand out into the hall behind her and motioned them away. “First names are proper for therapy, Jack. You can call me Kimberly.”

  “I’m most certainly not here for therapy.”

  “Why are you here, Jack?”

  “Shut that door!”

  “I will consider it. If you sit down.”

  His response was to stalk across the room and crowd in so close, she could smell the coffee on his breath. See the blades of pale gray wrath in his eyes. But the door was still open, and the hall was not empty. Which meant he was forced to whisper his rage. “Stay away from my wife.”

  “Jack, I’ve only met Beth once. Before church on Sunday. Before my cousin went to your house for—”

  “She’s coming here tomorrow. I know all about your little schemes. She won’t go behind my back on this, do you hear me?”

  “Jack, any member of the four churches involved in this project can schedule an appointment. It’s part—”

  “I forbid it.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack. But you’re in no position to forbid any such thing.”

  “We’ll see about that.” His sneer was the ugliest part about him. “Pack your bags, missy. You’ll be on your way before sundown.”

  Reverend Burridge was back before Jack Helms made it to the exit. “What did he want?”

  Kimberly forced herself to show a calm she most certainly did not feel. “I’m sorry. I can’t discuss anything from a session.”

  The people crowding the hall showed various degrees of shock. “Jack Helms is coming in for therapy?”

  “I really can’t discuss it.”

  Kimberly excused herself and began unpacking her cartons of books. Preston waited until the hall cleared to ask, “You’re sure everything’s okay?”

  Because it was him, she offered the one positive thought that scampered about her frantic mind. “That man actually managed to chase Jason away. I should thank him.”

  Preston offered the smile she needed. “Let’s not go overboard here.”

  Preston departed, and she continued to settle into her new space. But every now and then, she found herself wracked by faint tremors, each of which were followed by a thought two words long. Poor Buddy.

  CHAPTER 6

  Buddy had scarcely pulled out of the IS Corporation’s front drive when his phone rang. Bernard Featherstone demanded, “Where are you?”

  “Outskirts of Santa Cruz.”

  “What on earth are you doing up there?”

  “Exactly what I told you. Making the deal.”

  “And did you?”

  “Sort of.”

  “There is no sort of anything at this level. Either you have a deal or you don’t.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I have the president of LA’s largest headhunting firm on one line. My competitor is handling a project I didn’t even know about, until you dropped by. How did you hear about it?”

  Buddy turned onto the freeway and headed south. “I’ve been studying the Hazzard group for years.”

  “Cliff Hazzard was astounded to learn I knew they were hunting for a new executive, and my competitors were incensed. Hazzard’s search is apparently very hush-hush.”

  “Will they see me?”

  “Answer my question first.”

  “I have a deal,” Buddy replied.

  “Then they will see you tomorrow at ten. They have shortlisted two final candidates. I’ve convinced them to give you a chance.”

  “I also have a job offer.”

  “What? Who from?”

  “The company I came out to make the deal with. IS Corp. They want me to become vice president of a new marketing group I would set up, staff, and then lead.”

  Bernard absorbed that, then declared, “This will set the cat among the pigeons. Be on time.”

  * * *

  The second call came so close on the heels of the first, Buddy assumed Bernard was phoning back to say Hazzard Communications had come to their senses and were disinviting him. Instead, his mother asked, “Where are you now?”

  “Heading south on the 101, along with a hundred thousand other cars.”

  “Do you have both hands on the wheel?”

  “That’s why they invented Bluetooth. You’re coming through fourteen spe
akers.”

  “So you can talk?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether Pop put you up to this call.”

  “Your father is not home. I have not spoken with him since this morning.” She paused, then asked, “Did you leave Jack’s company?”

  Buddy glanced at the radio. As though waiting for his mother to come popping out, and show she really was a genie in disguise. “How did you know?”

  “Then you’ve finally done it.” She took a long breath. “I need you and your sister to come over here.”

  “Mom . . .”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ask me to go back.”

  “Is that what you think?” She might have laughed, but there was such a tremor to her voice he couldn’t tell. “I’m leaving Jack.”

  Buddy drove up an exit ramp that he scarcely saw. He pulled through the light and entered a motel parking area. His leg jerked so hard, the wheels skidded to a halt.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, Mom. I heard. What’s happened?”

  “Dear Buddy, I know this comes as a shock. But you need to listen carefully. I have been holding my breath for as long as I can remember. Waiting for you to make your move.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “This was a decision you needed to make on your own. With no help from anybody. To realize that you were strong enough to go it alone. Out of your father’s shadow. And that Jack would never, ever, give you what you needed.”

  Buddy did not realize he was crying until the view through his front windscreen blurred over.

  “Until then, I had to be there for you,” Beth went on. “The calm at the eye of your father’s tempestuous fury. The voice of sanity. But that’s over. Finally. At long last.” Her voice turned tense, urgent. “Now I need to see if it’s possible to wake your father up. He must be shocked out of his rage and his complacency. While there’s still time.”

  “Mom . . .I don’t understand . . .”

  “That’s not the issue just now. But you do need to hurry. And tell your sister to bring her own car. I have to get started on this without an instant’s further delay.”