Harvest Moon (22 page)

An ache for intimacy she’d restrained far too long begged for satisfaction, and she shifted her body against his. His firm hand pressed against her lower back, drew her even closer to him.

He slowed the kiss, lifted his head. Distant sounds of motorboats and chirping birds mixed with his ragged breath.

She fingered the loose tendril of hair near his forehead, traced his rugged jaw, and ended at his sturdy chin. “I wish I was a mind reader.”

He cleared his throat. “I was thinking how when I left this morning, I’d never have guessed I’d end up here, with you.”

“No?” She dusted his cheek with a fluttery kiss. “I almost always pick up someone on the lake.”

He chuckled. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” He leaned forward to kiss her again, but the snap of a twig in the woods made them both glance toward the trees.

“Yo! Uncle Trent?”

Veronica recognized the voice of Duncan’s son, echoing from the island’s outskirts.

“It’s either Rocky Balboa or Patrick.” Trent sat up and took her hand. “I’m here,” he yelled. “Stay put. I’ll come to the water’s edge.”

He helped her into a standing position and then slipped his arms around her waist. “I’m sure glad we ran into each other.”

“Me, too.”

The bushes on the trail rustled. Trent gave her a quick kiss and let go just as Patrick broke through the bushes, a vineyard cap covering his sandy colored hair. Duncan came out behind him, brushing off some leaves stuck on his T-shirt.

Duncan’s looked down at the blanket. He curled the corner of his mouth into a grin. “Are we interrupting anything?”

“No,” they answered, in unison, sounding as guilty as kids caught with both hands in the cookie jar. Veronica glanced at Trent, and when he smiled, it made getting caught not so bad.

“Pat and I decided to come out, too. We spotted your kayak but wondered who you were with.”

“We ran into each other on the lake. Pearls said she’d show me the hot spots, where the locals go. I’m sure your soon-to-be wife has some stories about this island.” He glanced down at Veronica, a twinkle in his eyes. “In fact, this place has real promise if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse.”

Duncan’s forehead furrowed. “A what?”

“Dad.” Patrick looked at his father with disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard about the zombie apocalypse?”

Trent laughed. “Better bring your dad up to speed.”

While Patrick explained to his father about the world of zombies, she glanced at Trent. He watched her with the same desirous gaze she’d witnessed before their visitors’ arrival, making her womanly urges burn for more than she’d wanted in years.

Veronica poured detergent into the washer, set the cycle, and headed up the basement stairs, lost in thoughts about a strange movie she’d seen with her sister last year. In the film, a man fell in love with his computer operating system. Both Veronica and Emily found the movie’s concept utterly ridiculous.

Yet now, after meeting a person on the Internet, the idea of falling for a computer system wasn’t so crazy. And as her emotions edged toward Trent, the actions somehow felt like cheating on Ry.

After coming home from kayaking, she’d taken a stab at some lyrics to Ry’s beautiful music. The muse behind her words was Trent’s comment about the optimism of his new life on the farm. He’d painted a lovely picture of how this simpler, rural existence came with its own set of rewards. Only it was Ry’s music. Using Trent’s experience to form her words somehow clashed inside her mind, the cheating notion again tweaking at her conscience.

“Good God! You’re an idiot.”

She opened the refrigerator and stared inside, searching for a something to drink, then removed a can of seltzer and popped open the top. Why was she even worrying about Ry? A real man had dropped into her world. A sexy man. A man who, it seemed, wanted her and was willing to be patient to get her. She gave in to a memory of his touch, still capable of making her insides sizzle with need.

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: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

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, she’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?”