Half Moon: The moon’s angle between the sun and earth leaves it
bathed half in darkness and half in light.
January
The pre-New Year’s Eve hysteria at Bellantoni’s Market a few days ago seemed like a relic from the past. Sophie pushed her half-filled cart along the aisle. With three hours to cook until the basketball team arrived for a pasta supper, she hurried down the aisles, tossing in boxes of ziti, bags of chips, cookie packages, and jarred sauce.
Petula Clark’s circa 1960s hit, “Downtown” added a lilt to her step as she tossed in a container of parmesan cheese. The store’s Muzak seemed geared for a crowd who wore saddle shoes or those who used “groovy” as part of their vocabulary, but she always enjoy the old tunes.
January had come at her fast. Always did. It hit with the exhausting weight of the last lap of a marathon. The holidays were over, yet Henry’s shadow still followed in her everyday thoughts. Soon she’d have to deal with the day he’d have turned twenty-five. Alone.
The appointment with Dr. Keller two weeks ago had given her perspective, as he’d done after the divorce. Even he agreed her being alone on a significant day could be difficult, yet he’d also remarked how the decision to discuss the matter showed a healthy attitude.
Sophie rounded a corner, half considering Petula’s advice to forget all her troubles and head downtown, when the front end of a cart almost slammed into hers. She froze. One of her troubles stared back.
Val Hoffman blinked. Her small mouth dropped open. “Oh. Sophie.” She pushed out an uncomfortable smile. “It’s been a while.”
“Yes. It has.” She tried to act casual, but Val’s presence wreaked havoc on her mental well-being.
Val looked perfect, as she always did. Not one stitch of her bang-less cut fell out of place, the flip at her shoulders flawless. Her suede jacket and scarf matched perfectly.
In the months following Henry’s death, Sophie had avoided places around town whenever possible. Pitiful looks from others settled like acid on her fragile soul. She’d grocery shopped in New Scotland for close to two years to circumvent moments like this, because a collision with Val brought forth emotions capable of smothering Sophie.
She reached deep to return a pleasant greeting, so deep she thought she’d gag. “How are you?”
“I’m good. We’re all good.” The slight hesitation in her voice belied the words. “Matt graduates this year, doesn’t he?”
She nodded. “We’re working on one more college application due this week.”
“Where’s he looking?”
“He likes the big university setting. Most of the same colleges we took Henry and Doug to see.”
Discomfort spread across Val’s long face as Sophie dared to raise the curtain on their past. Pasts neither of them wanted to mention.
Sophie swallowed to help ease the next words but instead, her throat burned like she’d consumed splintered glass. “How’s Doug?”
Henry’s best friend. The friend Henry had picked up on the fateful winter night to go to a party.
“Good. He just started working at Suisse Bank in Stamford as a quantitative analyst.” Her vision shifted, her guilt misplaced on the rows of yogurt.
Val’s unspoken thoughts showed in her hiding eyes, her dropped chest, and her muscles twitching beneath her skin. Regret. Blame. Disgrace.
“Great.” Sophie forced an enthusiastic lift to her tone even though her heart writhed with pain. “Sounds like a step up from his last job.”
“Yes. He’s a hard worker.” Val shifted her weight away from Sophie.
The details about what had happened on that January night seven years ago would forever haunt Sophie. Five boys left for a party, got bored, and instead decided to hang out at Putticaw Rock. Before leaving home, one of them had confiscated a six-pack of beer from his dad’s supply. How the rest of the night evolved still dismayed her. Kids who grew up around the lake were taught about water and ice safety: not to skate in shallow water areas, to listen for cracking sounds when stepping on untested ice. They were even taught what to do if someone fell through the ice: call 9-1-1.
The clearest of minds could forget the rules in a panic, or even from the slight buzz of a few beers split between five boys. She’d never know what thoughts went through Henry’s head when he made the choice to ignore the rules. Guess when your best friend is drowning, you try to save him. The sacrifice? Henry’s life.
For the rest of her life, she’d never accept her part in allowing him to go out that night. Every maternal instinct she possessed had clanged with the alarm of caution, warning her to make him stay home. The kid throwing the party in the next town and his parents were strangers. The boys driving home on the dark, narrow roads late at night. She’d told Mike she planned to suggest a game night in their family room, where she’d get pizza and soda. Something they’d done a year earlier, before the boys all got their drivers’ licenses.
Mike had insisted she back off, annoyed by what he called neurotic mothering. She’d caved to Mike and Henry left. She’d silently watched him leave, the way a mama bird allowed a baby bird teetering on the nest to spread its wings and fly. Never had she dreamed they’d go drink at the lake. Never had she dreamed they’d walk on the ice. Never had she dreamed it would end with such tragedy.
The weight of Henry’s decision now rested on her, Val, and Doug each day of their lives. For years, its ache consumed her every waking moment. The weight worsened whenever she bumped into Val.
Val cleared her throat. “I heard the deal with the Tates fell through. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. My hope is the zoning board doesn’t approve the changes and RGI removes their bid.” She chewed her lip for a second. “You know, never give up.”
“No.” Val’s mouth crumpled. “Don’t ever give up.”
Sophie had discovered this new mantra after years of soul searching and praying. Henry never got to live his dreams. In a way, neither had she, yet she still had the chance to do so. Memories of Henry would never disappear, but she’d finally been shaken awake from her grief, determined to live her life in a way that would make her lost son proud.
She locked on Val’s distant stare, suddenly sorrier for Val than for herself. On cue, Petula reminded them again how a simple trip downtown would alleviate all their problems.
Sophie opened her arms and they embraced with a tight squeeze, as if they were both still clinging onto a past they could never change.
Valerie went in the opposite direction and Sophie headed down the canned good aisle, toward the register, eager to get out of the store.
Sophie considered her lost bid on Tate Farm. She hadn’t given up, but she wasn’t being active either. Christmas and New Year’s had kept her busy. She’d neglected loose ends, like reminding Jay to call his cop friend or mentioning to Duncan about the memorial gardens planted there in her son’s honor, and the reason why.
Duncan wasn’t an unreasonable guy. He might have questionable taste in women, as evidenced by the way he’d swaggered in with Lucy at Griswold’s on karaoke night. Still, the possibility existed if she mentioned Henry’s death, it might appeal to his human side and make him reconsider his bid.
Or did he already know and not really care? Certainly someone in this town might have told him.
There was only one way to find out.
* * * *
Duncan hurried down the hallway past darkened offices. Once at his office suite, he grabbed a butterscotch hard candy from a glass bowl on his assistant’s desk. Unraveling the wrapper, he popped the sweet, creamy treat into his mouth and enjoyed the way it soothed his anxious nerves.
Trent should be here any minute. Duncan stacked three reports to read at home and stuffed them into his briefcase. He thumbed through some mail, but edginess inside his gut over the planned talk with his brother continued to peck away. He lowered the mail, now unsure if a day’s worth of worry had to do with his brother or the fact he’d volunteered to pick up Patrick from Sophie’s after the pasta supper.
He’d jumped at the chance to get his son when Helen complained about driving the country roads in the dark. It would be a perfect opportunity to smooth over the fiasco at Griswold’s. Awkward barely scratched the surface of how he’d felt when he spotted Sophie in the crowd. He’d gone over to say hello and, while she was polite enough, her tone lacked its previous warmth.
The invite from his neighbor, Teresa, had come as a surprise. He’d arrived home from work to find her chatting with Helen. They’d both insisted he enjoy a night out. Reluctantly, he’d agreed. Teresa’s husband seemed like good company the few times they’d talked. An hour before leaving, though, Teresa had called, asking if he could pick up Lucy, due to car problems. He again said yes to be polite, yet the idea he’d been the victim of a conspiracy theory involving the three women held a high probability.
Sophie’s presence at Griswold’s added another layer to his torment. He was desperate for her approval. Based on the look on her face, he’d lost any gains made in recent weeks, pushing him back in time to become the distraught thirteen-year-old of yesteryear who had so deeply craved her attention.
“You wanted to see me?” Trent strolled into the office and the thoughts of Sophie disappeared.
Trent was giving off his usual rock star vibe, especially today dressed in a dark suit worn with snazzy dress boots and a classic vest, unbuttoned. Duncan could pull off a corporate look in his sleep but sometimes wished to carry cool with his brother’s ease.
“Come on in.” Duncan bit into the remains of the sweet candy and figured some small talk might ease them into the tough subject at hand. “How was the trip?”
“Fantastic. Man, I think our St. Thomas resort is my favorite location.”
“Lola?”
“It didn’t hurt.” He grinned, highlighting his chin dimple.
Duncan never understood how Trent managed to woo a woman in every port.
“I talked to Mom when I got back.” Trent wandered to the window and shoved his hands in his pant pockets, his preoccupied gaze reflecting in the dark glass.
“Oh?” Duncan stifled a quick stab of jealousy. The close bond between Trent and their mother always rubbed a sore spot.
“She said you and Patrick are settled up in the boondocks. Both Mom and Dad wish you’d stayed near the city.”
“The new house is starting to feel like home. I made the right choice.” He softened his defensive tone. “Patrick likes school. Even joined the basketball team. Thanks to his Uncle Trent’s tutelage.”
Trent nodded and faced Duncan. “Good. I’ll visit when he has a game.”
“He’d like that. He sometimes goes by Pat these days. Elizabeth wouldn’t be happy.”
Trent walked toward the desk. “Yeah, she hated when I called him that. Mom said you went to the old tackle shop. Is the place still owned by the same guy?”
“Yup. Alan Moore. I’m surprised you remember.”
“Jesus, you pined over the guy’s daughter for two summers.”
“What?” He chortled, the comment leaving him embarrassed. “You knew?”
“Dude, everyone in the family knew.” Trent chuckled and they joined in a rare moment of genuine laughter. “Why do you think Dad hung out there so much and talked to the owner?”
“I thought he liked fly fishing.”
“He did, but Mom told me he hoped you’d ask that girl out.”
“I had no idea. I must wear blinders.” He cringed at the word “blinders.” He’d lost count of how many times his wife used those exact words. Had he worn them his entire life? “Jesus, why wouldn’t Dad have the old father son talk or something?”
“Dad?” Trent tipped his head. “Did we grow up in the same household?” He plopped into a visitor chair facing Duncan’s desk.
“Yeah, he’d put all the hints in front of us, step back and hope we’d piece together the puzzle. When we didn’t...” Duncan shook his head. “Well, he didn’t hide his disappointment, did he?”
Trent nodded his agreement but a dark shadow crossed his face. “I always disappointed Dad. Back to your old girlfriend, if I recall, she was pretty hot. She still in town?”
“Yup. She’s a reporter for the local paper.” A jolt of jealousy went through Duncan at his brother’s interest. It’d be just like Trent to come to town and the Northbridge women would all fall at his feet. “Interviewed me about the project. In fact, Patrick’s become friendly with her son.”
Trent gave a slow, assessing nod. “Married?”
“Divorced.”
Trent’s brow rose, innuendo way too obvious. “Still hot?”
“In my humble opinion, yes.”
“Carpe diem, buddy. You’re not thirteen anymore. Besides, other than the buyer from Lord and Taylor, your dating life has been pathetic since Eliz—” His gaze fell to his lap for a split second then he looked up. “Sorry. I know it’s been tough.”
“No. You’re right. I should get out more.”
Trent lifted his chin and stilled, similar to an animal sensing impending danger. “So, what’s up?”
“A few things.”
“Shoot.” Trent leaned back in the chair, rested his crossed feet on the desk, and jiggled his foot.
“Are you really on board with the project in Northbridge? I mean, I get a sense you’ve lost interest.”
“Jesus, Duncan. I’ve been traveling. For the firm. When have I had time?”
“I know.” Duncan hesitated. “But you’ve been distant. Now’s the time to speak up.”
Trent rested an elbow on the chair arm and rubbed his finger across his lower lip while he thought. “Since you’ve asked, before we finalize this, I’d like to meet with my mother. My real mother.”
“Sure. Anything wrong?”
Dark circles under Trent’s eyes seemed more pronounced, as if the subject wore him down. “Stepping into my past is tough. Let me deal with this my way,” he sniped.
Duncan overlooked his nasty tone. “I only asked because the Moore family was the other bidder on the property. Sophie, her dad, and her brother.”
“Does it matter?”
“To them. They’re interested in restarting the farm’s wine production. Plus Alan Moore told me the land belonged to his family for several centuries before some great uncle lost everything in a poker bet.”
“Centuries, huh?” Trent paused for a second then waved a dismissive hand. “They’ll find another place to produce wine.”
“Maybe.” Duncan shifted in his chair. “Listen, besides the obvious, can you think of any reason why Marion Harris would be upset about our return?”
Trent’s foot stopped moving. “Nope.” He swung his legs off the desk and sat upright, his lips pressed tight. “If that’s all, can we discuss this later? I’m pretty beat and want to get home.”
Duncan remembered Marion’s odd reaction in the hallway during the zoning meeting.
“This is important to me, Trent.” Duncan’s voice rose with his anger. “Besides what Mom already shared, is there anything I should know about our family ties in Northbridge?”
“I said no.” His eye contact seemed forced. “Are we done?”
“No.” Duncan rubbed the back of his neck, searching for a gentle way to raise his next concern. “A rumor going around Northbridge suggests officials are being bribed over the zoning changes we need.”
Trent’s tanned hue turned crimson. “What? You think… Spit it out, Duncan. What are you saying?”
Built up anger pulsed through Duncan’s veins. Trent never made things easy. “Cut me some slack. You know why I’m asking. Is this Lake Simcoe all over again?”
Fury blazed from Trent’s narrowed eyes, yet it masked a thin layer of pain. Duncan hated to bring up the incident in question, which had nearly cost Trent his job at RGI, but saw no other choice.
“I don’t need this.” Trent stood and shoved back his chair. “You’re exactly like Dad. You never see the good in anybody.”
The comment jabbed at Duncan’s tender Achilles’ heel. “Sit down. I don’t want this to turn into a fight.”
“Then you shouldn’t have asked. Who warned you the time Dad tried to stick his nose into your first project when you started this business? Me!” Trent jabbed his chest with his index finger. “That’s who. Maybe Dad’s up to no good again.”
Duncan’s checks tingled and he dropped his chin to his chest. How had he forgotten Trent’s loyalty to him? Years ago, if Trent hadn’t overheard their father on the phone trying to convince one of Duncan’s competitors to start a bidding war over his first hot property, RGI might never have gotten off the ground. Trent had come to Duncan right away. Frank Jamieson reluctantly admitted what he’d done, hoping the failure would be enough for Duncan to reconsider his career goals and maybe study law.
Duncan suddenly hated himself. The incident at Lake Simcoe had happened during the worst of Trent’s substance abuse, no longer an issue. “I’m sorry. I’ve never forgotten you helped me.”
Trent averted his gaze to the Newport racing photos, the one love the two men shared. “You hired me when Dad wanted nothing to do with me. Plus, you kept me…even after what I did to you at Lake Simcoe. I understand why you’d ask the question, but I swear I’m a changed man. All I can ask you to do is believe me.” He met Duncan’s stare and, for once, Trent’s watery eyes showed true remorse for his past mistakes.
“I believe you,” Duncan said quietly. If the bribery rumor wasn’t Trent’s doing, then how’d it ever get started?