Harvest Moon. Sharon Struth

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СКАЧАТЬ Girlish features had disappeared, replaced by subtle curves and the outline of a chest. Her maturing features also showed how she bore a striking resemblance to Veronica, both with the same pert nose and dark eyes. They could pass for mother and daughter, a fact people loved to point out, often making Veronica’s sister silently scowl.

      Eleven-year-old Missy hugged Boomer, her strawberry-blond flyaway hair a real contrast against the dog’s dark fur. She smiled, showcasing new turquoise colored rubber bands on her braces. “Did you bring us anything?”

      “Am I that predictable?” Veronica dangled the candy bars over their heads, and their eyes widened, arms stretched to grab the candy. “Promise you won’t eat these until after dinner?”

      “Thank you! I swear.” Cassidy nodded.

      Veronica raised a brow at the younger girl. “You either. Okay?”

      “I promise and thank you.”

      “I’ve got an idea.” Veronica walked over to a bookshelf and put the candy on top. “I’m putting these up high, so Boomer can’t get them. Okeydokey?”

      They both nodded but seemed more interested in Boomer’s attempt to wedge a decent space for himself on the sofa between them.

      Veronica went upstairs to the kitchen. The ceiling fan spun on high and made a clicking sound. A new wooden sign hanging above the sink read, “Happiness is Homemade.” One of many little reminders that Emily worked four days a week at Homestead House, a downtown retailer specializing in décor for those who loved the country ambiance.

      “More candy?” Emily stood at the counter near the sink, dumping a bag of pre-cut lettuce into a bowl. She glanced over her shoulder.

      “Come on. Doesn’t an aunt have a right to share her love of chocolate with her nieces? It’s like grandparent privileges.”

      “Even Mom knows better than to bring them candy, and she has real grandmother privileges.” Emily went to the trashcan and tossed out the plastic bag. “Oh, Mom texted me. They arrived in Paris. And the month-long tour begins.”

      “Glad they got there safe.” Veronica stole a cherry tomato from the salad. “She struck gold when she married Harry. He’ll do anything for her. Can I help?”

      “Table’s been set, pasta is cooking…” Emily looked around the counter while brushing aside the longish bangs of her short haircut. “You could pour us some wine.” She tipped her head to an opened bottle and two glasses, then returned to the cutting board and started to slice a cucumber. “How was your luncheon yesterday?”

      “The keynote speaker was great and the food was good.” Veronica poured the wine. “My morning was like one big bad omen, though. My hot water heater went, and Boomer ruined the blouse I got on our shopping trip a few weeks ago.”

      She’d purposely left out the part about Gary’s return. Her sister didn’t know about Gary. Nobody did. All night long, Veronica had fought sleep, wishing there were one person who knew her secret about him, about why she’d turned down the job in D.C., and about why she’d raced back to Northbridge after getting her graduate degree.

      “Oh, and when I stopped at RGI to drop something off to Duncan, the elevator broke and I was trapped for a few minutes.”

      Emily stopped cutting and adjusted the strap of her sundress. “I always worry I’ll get stuck just when I need to pee. Did that happen to you?”

      “No. Probably the only blessing of the moment.” The hopeful look on the man’s face when he’d said good-bye stirred the kind of emotion Veronica usually tried to block, and yet she couldn’t quite shake his image. “I wasn’t alone, either. Some guy got stuck with me. He was nice enough to point out the dried toothpaste on my dress. Right on my chest. I’ve got to stop doing other things while I brush my teeth.”

      Emily lifted her brows. “You sure he was looking at the toothpaste?”

      “No, and I wasn’t about to ask.” She handed Emily a wine glass. “The whole episode was embarrassing from start to finish. When the elevator stopped suddenly, I fell and knocked him to the ground. Ended up on his lap. A little too up close and personal for me.”

      Emily chuckled. “Was he cute?”

      “Really, Em? For all I know, he was married.”

      “You need to broaden your horizons. No offense, but Jim is boring. Not really your type.”

      “Geesh, tell me how you really feel.” The man she’d been seeing for six months didn’t make her heart soar, but they usually had fun going out. She sat at the round kitchen table.

      “I’m sorry, but he’s so, well…” Emily stopped cutting, lifted her slender chin, and squinted while she thought. “Straight-laced.”

      The word dangling on the tip of Veronica’s tongue about Jim was—safe. The single trait had been her primary criteria for the men she dated, at least after meeting Gary.

      “So what if he’s straight-laced? Look, Jim’s quiet, a bit reserved, but treats me nicely. Our dates are pleasant.”

      Emily rinsed her hands, dried them on a dishtowel, and came over to the table, plunking in a seat across from Veronica. “If Jim were a flavor, he’d be vanilla.”

      “What’s wrong with vanilla? It’s a solid flavor choice. You know what you’re getting.”

      “Exactly. Predictable, lacking in any excitement.”

      “Jim is nice. The pickings get slim once you pass thirty-five. It’s companionship. If I don’t mind the lackluster taste of vanilla, why do you care?”

      “Because you’re my sister and I want the best for you.”

      Emily wasn’t completely wrong. Besides being predictable, Jim could be a snob about movies and only read nonfiction books recommended by the New York Times. He didn’t like to dance and scoffed at any music not classical or more traditional, unlike Veronica who enjoyed all forms. And then there was the bedroom. Bland as vanilla ice cream and yet, it was ice cream.

      “Jim’s not the only fish in my pond.”

      Emily’s brow rose while she sipped her wine. She lowered the glass. “I’ll assume that isn’t some weird sexual euphemism.”

      Veronica rolled her eyes. “Do you want to know more or not?”

      “Hell yeah. So tell me, who else is in your so-called pond?”

      “There’s a man I talk to regularly. We’ve grown quite close.”

      “Someone from Northbridge?”

      “No.” She stared into Emily’s questioning gaze and readied herself for the reveal. “We talk through e-mail. A lot.”

      “Dear God! Are you…oh what’s that called…sexting with someone?”

      Veronica laughed. “No! You need to take a step into the new millennium. I know your store still uses those old cash registers and you СКАЧАТЬ