Harvest Moon (13 page)

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.”

“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.

Veronica put her hands on two warm boxes of pizza from Antonio’s, not exactly the New York styled pizza she’d been asked to bring, but the best she could do living in upstate Connecticut. “What’d you bring?”

“Cupcakes with buttercream icing. Remember the episode when Carrie had a thing for those cupcakes from the Magnolia Bakery?”

“Good episode and great dessert choice.”

She walked on the slate sidewalk behind Meg, who’d dressed rather strangely tonight. In addition to the flashy shoes, her gaucho-styled cotton pant legs ballooned with each step, and an oxford blouse tied at her ample hips showcased her enviable curves.

Meg knocked on the door, and while they waited, she eyed Veronica from top to toe. “You’re dressed like Charlotte from the show. The way she’d look during a weekend in Connecticut.” Meg laughed. “Kind of normal for you.”

She’d tossed on navy slip-on sneakers, a white denim skirt, and a dark blue Izod shirt with little thought for anything except comfort and the humidity. “And are you supposed to be Carrie, on her way to brunch with her friends?”

“Yup.” Meg smiled wide.

The door opened. Bernadette studied them from top to bottom. “You’re both overdressed, you know? I should send you home.” She waved her hand in front of her body. “Yoga pants, oversized tee. Proper ladies’ night attire. But I’ll overlook it because you’re also fifteen minutes late, and I’m starving.” She motioned for them to step inside, and they crossed the threshold into the large foyer.

“Sophie’s in the kitchen. Go on back.” She headed for the family room entrance. “I’m on a hunt for vodka for the cosmos.”

They followed a hallway lined with finely finished blond wood floors and creamy ecru walls covered with family photos. The large kitchen was the size of Veronica’s entire main floor, with handcrafted white oak cabinets, dark marble countertops, and folksy pieces of artwork in unexpected places. A trestle table near a bay window, looking out to the back yard, was set with plates, silverware, and fancy martini glasses.

Deeply stored envy wove through Veronica, causing the gentle ache of want. Not due to the material success her friend had recently found. More like the content of Sophie’s new life with Duncan, one that contained elements missing from Veronica’s world. She shoved aside the feeling, ashamed, because more than envy, she was truly happy Sophie had finally found happiness.

Meg hurried to the marble-topped island and peered into the fondue pot where Sophie stirred. “I adore fondue! This is from the episode where Carrie makes fondue for Big, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sophie tucked a strand of her chocolate waves behind her ear. “But if memory serves, Carrie’s didn’t come out too well. Mine’s just right.” She glanced down at Meg’s feet. “Those are pretty shoes, but you could’ve dressed more comfortably.”

Meg placed a hand on her hip. “What’s with you people? I
wanted
to wear them. They’re knock-off Manolo Blahniks.”

Bernadette walked in holding a bottle of vodka. “What? You’re wearing Barry Manilow’s shoes?”

Meg rolled her eyes and Bernadette grinned. “Hon, they’re beautiful. If they make you happy, then wear them.”

Veronica held up the pizza boxes to Sophie. “Where do you want these?”

“At the end of the counter, near the table.”

Veronica set down the pizzas and moved the veggie platter to the kitchen table. The doorbell rang.

“Someone else coming?” Bernadette stole a piece of cauliflower off the fondue fixings platter and popped it in her mouth.

“Probably Trent. He and Duncan are going to Griswold’s to watch the game.”

Duncan yelled from upstairs, “I’ll get it.”

Veronica needed to accept the idea she’d probably run into Trent at every turn. Maybe they’d leave right away and not even come in the kitchen to say hello.

Her hopes vanished as Duncan’s deep voice echoed in the hallway and moved closer.

“This is the place.” Duncan entered with Trent and tipped his hand. “A peek at a sacred Northbridge tradition called ladies’ night. I’m told men aren’t allowed.”

“Hello, everyone.” Trent smiled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy cargo shorts. He panned the group and his gaze stopped on her. “Hey there, Pearls.”

She reflectively reached up to her throat, brushing her fingertips against the short strand she wore today. “Hello.”

Bernadette raised her brow and cast a not-so-subtle grin, but Veronica ignored her.

Duncan wrapped his arms around Sophie from behind as she stirred the fondue. “You sure we can’t stay? Learn what makes you ladies tick.”

“If you don’t know what makes me tick by now, we need to talk.”

The unbridled adoration the pair had for each other left an ache in Veronica’s heart. Her gaze drifted across the room. Trent studied her and smiled. A tender smile. Some part of her wanted to do the same, but her lips seemed frozen, unable to move.

“How do you like Northbridge so far, Trent?” Meg stood at the counter, cutting a loaf of French bread into cubes for the fondue.

“So far so good.” He glanced down toward Meg’s feet. “Fancy shoes.”

“Thanks. At least someone around here has good taste.”

“They’re Barry Manilow’s.” Bernadette laughed at her joke while mixing a pitcher of drinks.

Meg rolled her eyes and glanced at Trent. “Ignore her.”

He seemed confused, but smiled anyway.

“Let’s get going,” Duncan said to Trent. “The game starts soon.” He kissed Sophie. “Matt and Patrick left while you were on the phone. Said they’d be home at eleven. He’s going to pick up Tia at her friend’s house on their way back.”

Right before they left the room, Trent’s gaze latched on to Veronica’s, his expression eager, posing a silent question. Did he wonder why she’d acted so strangely the other night during class? Or was it something more? Before she could decide, he was gone.

The split second the front door closed, Bernadette snickered. “Pearls, huh? You two are on a nickname basis already?”