Moon Dance (42 page)

Georgia laughed, then kissed her sister on the cheek.
"Meet him halfway, Laur," Georgia whispered in her ear. "Don't let him leave without knowing that he matters, that he has a place in your life."

"He does. I don't want him to leave."

"You're going to have to tell him that."

Georgia waved to Tucker and stood back to let Laura pass.

"Tucke
r," Laura called to him. "Wait…"

Whistling, Georgia went inside the inn to look for Matt. It was time for them, too, to get on with their lives, to put the nightmare of the past week behind them, and to go back to Pumpkin Hill.

twenty
-seven

F
rom somewhere beyond the kitchen window, a wren was singing a long and cheerful song. Georgia leaned her elbows on the sill to listen. It was bliss to be at Pumpkin Hill early in the morning, alive and well and grateful for all of it.

Especially alive, she reminded herself as she unlocked the back porch door and stepped outside. She frowned. Matt's truck was gone. He wouldn't have gone back to Shawsburg without telling her. Georgia went back into the kitchen, and scanned the counters. Had he left a note that she had missed? The counters were empty. She was just about to go back upstairs to look for a note there, when she heard the truck drive up.

"Hey!'' Matt called to her as he opened the passenger door and lifted out a dark bundle. "Spammy just had her first truck ride."

Matt placed the little pig on the ground and she raced to Georgia, grunting loudly all the way as if complaining about the fact that she'd been left with
strangers and scolding Georgia for not coming to get her sooner.

"Oh, Spam," Georgia laughed and dropped to her knees, the pig trying her best to climb into her lap. "I'm glad to see you, too. I missed you."
She looked up at Matt. "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be hugging a pig."

"This pig doesn't seem to know that she's a pig. My theory is that she's been spending too much time with Artie. I think he's been trying to teach her how to be a good dog. Maybe she should be hanging out with other little piggies once in a while so she learns proper pig behavior." Matt leaned down and scratched Spam's snout.

"I think you're right. She does become awfully indignant when we let Artie come into the house and we make her stay out on the back porch."

"Maybe you could just let her stay in the kitchen," Matt suggested. "Just give her a try. You're going to have to find a warm shelter for her come the winter anyway. She wouldn't survive the cold out there on the porch."

"Okay, we'll give her a little try while we have breakfast." Georgia picked up the pig and carried her up the steps.

Matt opened the back door, and they went into the kitchen. Georgia put the pig on the floor. Spam did not move. She sniffed at the vinyl tile floor, it's texture unfamiliar, before taking a few tentative steps. She craned what little neck she had this way and that, then, apparently not willing to stray too far from the familiar world on the other side of the screen door,
backed up and sat down with a huff next to Artie and nuzzled him with her snout.

"
If she could wag that tail, she would," Matt laughed.

"
She does look quite pleased with herself, doesn't she?"

"
You know, I owe you an apology." Matt reached out and took Georgia into his arms.

"
That there are no pancakes for breakfast this morning?"

"
No. Remember when I said that I just couldn't see you having a pig for a pet? I have to eat my words. Oddly enough. Spam really does seem to be the perfect pet for you." He kissed her temple.
"
And there's another thing I was wrong about. You really do belong here at Pumpkin Hill. As a matter of fact, I was so wrong
about everything about you…
"

"
I was wondering when you'd 'fess up." She folded her arms across her chest.
"
It's about time."

"
I figured I should do
some penance…
"

"Oooh! Do I get to choose?" Her eyes brightened at the prospect. "Anything I want?"

"
I guess it's only fitting." Matt shrugged.

"Hmmm. I'll have to work on this one. It's important that I come up with just the right thing."

"
I understand. Take your time."

"
I have it." She snapped her fingers with glee.
"
Do you remember me telling you that my mother wrote a series of detective novels?"

"
Sure. The guy's name was Harry or something."

"
Harvey. Harvey Shellcroft."

"
Right."

"
Well, about six or so years ago, they were all made into TV movies."

"
They were?"

"
Yup. All twenty-three of them."

"With an all-star cast, one can only hope,
the best director, producer…"

"Think of the worst B movie you've ever seen. Then cheese it up. Overwrite, overdirect
…
overact
…"

"No. You wouldn't… you couldn't be so cruel…"

"Your penance is to watch every one of those movies over and over again. Of course, I'll have to watch them with you, just to make sure that you don't cheat."

"Oh, of course. I can't be trusted when it comes to things like that."

"Maybe we'll have to watch one this afternoon."

"
Well, that could prove a little embarrassing. You see, the arc
hitect will be here by one…
" Matt reminded her.

"
It's only nine."

"In that case, perhaps we should watch one now."

"I
think that's a really good idea. Yes, that will surely go a long way in teaching me not to make snap judgments."

She pulled him toward the front hall, closing the kitchen door behind them to keep the animals from wandering around the house.

"I should tell you
…
that is, it just occurred to me that I don't happen to have any of those movies with me at this particular time."

Matt looked pensive. "We'll just have to do a practice run."

"Good idea," Georgia grinned. "Upstairs or down?"

"Oh, upstairs. Aunt Hope's old Eastlake sofa just wasn't b
uilt for what I have in mind…"

T
he architect was, thankfully, forty minutes late. Matt and Georgia were just coming down the steps when the dark blue station wagon arrived.

"I guess this means lunch will be a little late," Matt frowned.

"I have to drive into town anyway," Georgia told him. "I haven't been food shopping in a week."

She opened the kitchen door and Artie leaped through it and raced to the front door. Matt grabbed him by the collar on his way toward the front dining room and redirected the dog to the backyard. Spam, on the other hand, sat patiently by the back door.

"Oh, aren't you a good little girl?" Georgia laughed. "Are you trying to prove your manners are better than You-Know-Who's? And that you should be permitted to sleep in the house and he should sleep on the back porch? Well, maybe just in the kitchen. We'll see how well you do tonight. But don't get any ideas about the rest of the house. Strictly off limits to pigs."

Georgia gathered her handbag and her sunglasses, then carried Spam outside where she set her down on the grass. She waved to Matt, who was standing near the ba
rn
door with the architect, to let him know that she was leaving for Tanner's. She got into the Jeep and turned it around, pausing just for a moment to
look at him. His back was to her, and he was pointing out something to the architect. H
e
r heart swelled in her chest. She loved him so very much.

How, she wondered, did anyone manage to contain so much happiness, so much joy, as that which filled her at that moment?

I do believe that that's why music was invented in the first place
, she thought as she turned the Jeep around and took off for town, as a celebration of the spirit. And so that we'd have something to dance to. Perhaps when she returned, she might have time to take a favorite Chopin piece up to the second floor of the ba
rn
, where she could set her joy to music.

S
unday brought an early morning shower, but by ten the sun had burned the moisture from the ground. Georgia had waited for this day. Matt was tense, she could tell, though he denied it, and she tried to set him at ease by telling him blond jokes.

"She was so blond, that where it said 'sign here
'
she wrote
Gemini."

He had given her only the weakest of smiles.

"Did you hear the one about the blond who sent a fax with a stamp on it?"

A slight nod of the head.

"How 'bout the blond who spent twenty minutes staring at the orange juice carton because it said
concentrate?"

A mere twitch of the co
rn
er of one side of his mouth.

Georgia gave up and settled back into her seat. Maybe he just needed to work through his apprehension by himself. Before they left the house, she had assured him that things wouldn't be as bad as he seemed to fear they might be, but he hadn't seemed convinced.

After that, the drive to Riverview was mostly a quiet one. Instead of the raucous music he generally played on the radio, he had slipped a tape into the tape player in the dashboard.

"
Oh, I love this song," Georgia told him as Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" began to play. "It's one of my favorites."

Matt merely nodded absently.

He parked the pickup in the visitors' lot, and sat with his hands across the steering wheel for a long moment before turning off the engine.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"Yes." Georgia nodded.

She reached for his hand as they walked up to the front door, and she gave it a squeeze. The squeeze she got in return was halfhearted.

"Mom's room is down here to the right, but she's usually in the dayroom around this time."

"Then let's just go there."

"Georgia, I should tell you that my mother
…
well, she may say things that don'
t make a lot of sense. She…
"

"Matt, it's all right. You don't have to keep explaining."

"But I wanted you to understand." He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, and paced in front of the dayroom door. "She didn't used to be like this. She used to be
funny and smart and clever…
"

She raised her fingers to his lips. "I know she was, Matt. I'm sorry I didn't know her then. But I can know her now."

"Next time you come, she won't even remember meeting you. She doesn't even remember me."

"Then we'll introduce ourselves." She stood on her tiptoes and took his face in her hands. "I'm not minimizing her condition, and I'm not trying to depreciate the extent of your loss. But we can't change what is. She's your mother, Matt. If we have to reintroduce ourselves every weekend for the next twenty years, then that's what we'll do. Let's just accept what is."

He nodded, and opened the door, holding it for her. They stepped inside the brightly lit room and he looked around.

"There she is. In the whe
elchair. Near the windows…
"

Matt grabbed a chair in each hand and led the way to the back of the room where wide expanses of glass overlooked a broad lawn and beyond, swiftly flowing water.

"Hello, Mrs. Bishop." Georgia took one of the chairs from Matt's hand and placed it in front of the wheel chair, and peered into the sweet face of the tiny white haired woman who sat there.

"Hello." Charity nodded pleasantly.

"My name is Georgia.''

"That's a pretty name."

"Thank you." Georgia dropped her handbag on the floor. "Charity is a pretty name, too."

"I think I used to know someone named Charity, once." The old woman's face skewed into a frown.

"That's your name," Matt told her. "You are Charity."

"I am?" She looked puzzled for a long moment, then shook her head slightly as if to clear it and said, "Are you certain?"

"Yes. I'm certain." Matt positioned his chair next to hers and sat down.

"It seems like such a silly thing to forget
…"
Charity still appeared unconvinced.

They visited for almost an hour, Matt bringing his mother up to date on the family, avoiding, of course, the events of the past week, even though it was clear that she had no idea what, or whom, he was talking about. But he was never quite sure that maybe something—a word, a name—wouldn't spark her memory, so he always told her all the news from Bishop'
s Cove, all the news from O'Hearn
.

"Mom, do you remember the book lady?" he asked as they prepared to leave.

"The book lady?" Charity thought for a moment. "Yes. The book lady."

"Georgia is the book lady's daughter." Matt told her.

"Oh. That's nice." Charity nodded agreeably.

"We're going to get married, Mom."

Charity seemed to ponder this. "You're going to marry the book lady? Will she still come and read to us?"