Once in a Blue Moon (3 page)

Melissa drove easily
around a blue Mustang and accelerated the Lexus past the worst of
the traffic. “Don’t worry,” she spoke into the hands-free phone.
“The designs are beautiful, and I can’t wait to show them to you on
Monday.”

“I’m looking forward to
it,” said Tamara, in her trademark breathy voice. “See you
day-after-tomorrow.”

“All right, until
then.” Melissa pushed the off button and grimaced. The designs
weren’t even close to being finished; but she wouldn’t disappoint
the up-and-coming actress. They’d be done on time.

Glancing at the
briefcase on the seat, she blew out a long breath. With tons still
to do, she should have stayed at the office, but with Richard
angry, didn’t feel she had a choice.

She’d just have to get
home as fast as possible, watch Jeremy’s silly science
presentation, then work on the designs until they were done. It
wouldn’t be her first all-nighter, and her clients needed to be
kept happy at all costs.

She glanced at the
time; nine-fifteen. She sped up. Twenty miles out of downtown Los
Angeles felt like forever on some nights, especially when traffic
was bad. Why couldn’t they live in a condo like everyone else she
knew?

She turned on the
radio. “Go outside and take a look at the blue moon tonight--”

She
pushed the off button, sick to death of hearing about the stupid
blue moon. When she finally pulled off the freeway she glanced at
the time and calculated she’d be home by nine-forty-five, which
made her late. Tension and resentment gripped her. She’d tell
Richard it was
his
fault. If they didn’t live so far out in the sticks she could
have arrived home much sooner.

And
living out here
was
Richard’s fault. He’d insisted. He’d inherited the property
before they’d married and always planned to build on it. At least
she’d selected the house plan; very modern, very happening. If he’d
had his way they’d be living in a ranch house. Or worse, in
the cabin
. She shuddered
at the thought. How had this part of her life turned out the way it
had?

Sometimes she wondered if she’d made a mistake. She only had
one life, but was she living it the way she wanted? Here she was,
practically dwelling in the country, with a husband, and two
twelve-year-old children. She still wondered how children,
plural
, had happened.
She’d agreed to a child,
one
child, and ended up with twins.

Guilt
tightened her chest. Of course she loved her children.
She did!
But she’d been
so young when she and Richard had made the decision to get
pregnant, and she hadn’t been as focused then.

Finally, pulling up to
the house, she parked in the driveway and, hands on the steering
wheel, looked at their home; a combination of old-him and new-her.
She had to admit it wasn’t bad.

The
front yard was beautifully landscaped, the aspen and pine trees
complemented by short bushes and flower beds. From the driveway she
could see around to the back yard and the large, grass covered hill
behind it. At its base, a swing hung from the large oak tree,
and
that
she
could have done without. The tree too. But when she’d insisted on
having the ugly old thing cut down, Richard had dug in his heels
and refused.

If it were light, she’d
be able to make out the roof of the log cabin that Richard’s
ancestors had built on the other side of the hill. It was falling
apart, but still there after all these years and Richard was
wasting time trying to restore it. Another point of contention
between them. The structure needed to be razed. Of course, only
over her mother-in-law’s dead body.

Clasping her briefcase,
she got out of the car and noticed the moon shining brightly in the
sky, not a cloud in sight. A wave of dizziness and a sudden ringing
in her ears made her stumble. She clutched the car door and
continued to stare at the moon, feeling almost hypnotized.

She
couldn’t look away
.

She couldn’t breathe.
Her muscles locked tight as the dizziness grew worse until she
actually fell, first to her knees, then face forward onto the
grass, finally able to yank her gaze from the sky.

Gasping air, she fought
the nausea, swallowed, fought to retain consciousness. Fear beat at
her, and she forced herself to her knees, her heart thudding hard
in her chest. What was happening to her?

She
pressed a hand to her stomach as it wrenched.
Dear God, help me
! She tried to
scream the words, tried to cry out for help, but couldn’t. She
needed a doctor! Abandoning her briefcase on the lawn, she crawled
slowly toward the front steps, fighting for each inch gained. Was
she dying? Was she having a heart attack from too much
stress?

Her
white ruffled skirt caught under one knee and she fell to the grass
again, rolling onto her back, hands pressed to the grass on either
side. The ground rolled underneath her--
an
earthquake
?-–and the ringing in her ears
grew louder.

Nauseous, stomach
heaving, her eyes once again focused on the moon as it swam into
her line of vision; it seemed to vibrate, pulsate, its shape
distorting like a huge white heart in the sky.

The
blue moon
.

Fear,
primal and intense, grabbed hold of her as she remembered the words
of the weatherman.
Strange events
supposedly occurred on the night of the blue
moon
. She had to get up! Get out of the
moonlight!

Through sheer force of
will she rolled herself over, pulled up her skirt, and resumed
crawling toward the steps, until finally, after eons, she reached
them.

She tried to cry out,
to get help, but a choking sensation allowed only a squeak to pass
through her lips. She hauled herself up the stairs, scraping arms
and legs painfully, until she was on the porch and out of the
moonlight.

Immediately the
weakness faded, the world straightened out, the nausea diminished,
and the ringing in her ears receded. Breathing heavily, gasping for
air, she lay curled in a ball on the front porch for several
minutes, until finally she grabbed hold of the doorknob and pulled
herself up.

She
stood, shaken. What had just happened? Taking a few steps, she
leaned against the stucco and tried to catch her breath. Again she
thought about what the weatherman had said.
Strange events occurred on the night of the blue
moon.

A chill ran up her
spine and she shuddered, shoulders jerking. She stood for a moment,
letting her breath regulate, then finally reason took over and she
shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She needed to make an
appointment to see the doctor. Obviously she was under too much
stress, or perhaps wasn’t eating enough.

She glanced across the
expanse of grass; her car door was still open, the briefcase
abandoned on the lawn, one high-heeled shoe half-way between.

She was a little shaky,
but other than that, felt fine now. She took a step toward the
stairs, but stopped just short of where the moonlight hit the
porch.

Panic hit hard. She
didn’t dare go. Making an impatient sound in her throat, she glared
at the briefcase. She needed it, and she needed to pull herself
together, not dwell on hocus pocus. She took one more small step,
but still couldn’t make herself walk down the stairs.

She rubbed her hands
over her face and let out a shuddering breath. Fine. It was fine.
She was sick and shouldn’t go back out there anyway. She turned,
walked slowly to the front door and opened it.

As she walked into the
house, she stumbled, grabbed at the wall to hold herself up, and
almost knocked the painting by the front door to the floor.

She righted the
landscape, then stared at the lame depiction of a field, trees, and
some rolling hills in the background. The artist was some ancestor
of Richard’s, a guy who’d moved to Europe to learn to paint before
coming back to the area.

Her lip curled as she
read the signature. Andy Sullivan, California, 1890. Andy should
have stayed longer and worked harder at his craft. And Melissa
should have let the picture fall. If she ruined it, perhaps they
could put some modern art on the wall. Richard usually left the
decorating to her, but occasionally turned stubborn over the
strangest things.

“Are you all right?”
Claudia, the new maid, stood by the stairs in the huge entryway, a
scarf tied around her head. A chubby German woman in her fifties,
she held a big Tupperware bowl, a plate of cookies, her handbag,
and was obviously just leaving. She hurried forward.

Melissa waved a hand to
ward her off. “Of course. I’m fine.”

The maid looked into
her face, glanced down at her shoeless foot, then into her face
again, a look of skepticism in her blue eyes. But she only nodded.
“Your dinner is in the oven.”

Melissa opened her
mouth to announce she’d already eaten, then hesitated. After the
weird experience she’d suffered, she’d better actually eat
something. Besides, she needed the energy to finish her designs
later. She closed her mouth and nodded. “Thank you. Did you get
everything done on my list?”

Claudia nodded. “Yes,
ma’am.”

Melissa raised her
brows skeptically, glad to have something else to focus on. “The
bathrooms? Did you use a toothbrush around the faucets? And the
cupboards in the kitchen are washed down?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s why
I’m here so late. I finished everything you gave me to do. Mr.
Kendal seems very pleased with my work.”

“Richard is easy to
please.”

Claudia lowered her
gaze. “Yes ma’am. Is that everything?”

“I’ll have a new list
of chores on the kitchen counter for you tomorrow.” Melissa
hesitated, and suddenly uncomfortable, she lifted her head high,
looking over the top of Claudia’s head. “Uh. I left some things on
the front lawn. My briefcase and a shoe. Could you bring them in
and shut my car door before you leave?”

The maid was silent,
and when Melissa finally glanced at her, Melissa noted her surprise
and glanced away again. Claudia finally answered. “Yes, ma’am,” and
opened the front door.

Melissa took a deep
breath and glanced in the ornate mirror behind the front door. Her
small, angular face was pale, causing her green eyes to stand out
and look larger than usual. The red lipstick she wore slashed
brilliant color against her white skin. She ran a hand through her
short, spiky black hair and turned away. The shaking had almost
stopped. She glanced toward the den, drawn by the muted sounds of
the television. She’d better talk to Richard.

Taking off her
remaining shoe, Melissa dropped her hand from the wall and moved
toward the partially open door. The phone in her skirt pocket rang
at the same time her daughter Jessica vaulted down the stairs.

Jessica took one look
at Melissa, turned and walked back upstairs. Irritation flared.
Didn’t she even rate a hello? “Jessica, come here.”

Jessica stopped, her back to Melissa. “
Mother
--”

The phone rang again
and Melissa dug it out. “Come down here, I want to talk to you.”
She checked the screen. It was a client. “But give me just a
minute, I have to take this.” Melissa lifted the phone to her
ear.

Jessica sighed loudly
and stomped down the stairs, turned off her music and pulled out
her ear buds.

Melissa talked for a
moment, reassuring and bright, as she watched Jessica cross her
arms and tap her toe, major attitude emanating from her.

Claudia came in,
quickly deposited Melissa’s things, shot Melissa one last glance,
and left.

Finishing the
conversation, Melissa hung up the phone and studied Jessica. With
her long blonde hair, light skin and vibrant blue eyes, she didn’t
resemble Melissa or Richard. She wore all black, as usual. Melissa
made her vast amounts of classically beautiful clothes and still
Jessica chose the gothic grunge look. At least she hadn’t dyed her
hair, yet, but her eyes were outlined in black too, and she oozed
bad attitude. She was twelve going on sixteen, completely skipping
the sweet years. Melissa refused to rise to the bait. “Have you
practiced your piano? Done your homework?”

Jessica gave her a fake
smile. “Why, hello, Mother. Nice to see you today. How are you
doing?”

Melissa arched a brow.
She couldn’t do anything right with Jessica anymore. She nodded,
acknowledging the rudeness, then attempted a smile. “Hello,
Jessica. How was school today?”

Jessica smiled, shoving
her hands into her back pockets. “School was great. We had a drug
bust.”

Melissa winced. She’d
prefer to enroll Jessica in a private school, but her husband and
Jessica both insisted on public. An old argument and one she didn’t
have time for right now. She turned her attention to Jessica’s
black jeans, ragged, with holes gaping in knees and thighs. “What
are you wearing?”

“They’re called jeans,
Mother.”

“What happened to the
outfit I brought you yesterday?”

Jessica shrugged.

Ignoring the spear of
hurt, Melissa groped for something to say, somehow feeling that
Jessica waited to hear something, but not sure what. “Are you going
to self-defense class with me tomorrow night?”

Jessica shrugged again.
“Nope. I’ve got plans.”

“Jessica. You need to
learn self-defense. What if something happened at that school of
yours? You need to be able to defend yourself.”