In a Moon Smile (10 page)

“I’m leaving,” Chesney said quickly.

“What does that mean?” Becca squinted and shoved her glasses down her nose. “You’re leaving your job? You’re leaving your apartment? What are you leaving?”

“I’m leaving almost everything,” Chesney said.

As she realized the ways this decision would change her life, fear burned in her chest. Quick breakfast and lunch meetings with Becca would end. Just like last-minute jogs through the park and late-night trips to see a movie. Even the greetings to neighbors in the apartment building, all of it would end. “I bought my Grandmother’s house.”

“I told you not to do that,” Becca wailed. “I told you to
think
about it.”

“I did think about it,” Chesney said. “And I found myself thinking about it so much that I bought it.”

“You’re irrational right now because Jack hurt you,” Becca said. “Running away is not the answer, Chesney.”

“I am not running away,” Chesney said with a smile. “I’m beginning again.”

“What about your work?”

“I can write anywhere,” Chesney shrugged. “I’ve already spoken with Gloria. I’ll fly to New York for meetings as usual. But I’ll finish the chapters of my next book in Bean Blossom, Indiana.”

“You’re doing this because of Jack,” Becca said.

“No,” Chesney shook her head. “I’m doing this because of me.”

They cried that day, right there in the middle of assorted chocolate pastries.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Becca dabbed at her eyes.

“I’ve got to find a place where I belong,” Chesney said. “I’ve got to find some answers about my life. Although I have loved a lot of parts about living in Chicago and New York, I’m still lost. I’m confused about my life. And I am now convinced that I can’t find my answers here.” She picked at the sprinkles on a chocolate iced donut “Please try to understand,” Chesney said. “I really want this.”

“Alright,” Becca sighed. “I’ll try. But I’m not making any promises, Chez. I’m really not.” Then she glanced at her watch. “Hate to go but I’ve got a massage.”

As they walked toward the exit door, Delilah made her way around the counter. “May I speak with you?” she caught the arm of Chesney’s heavy winter coat. “Do you have time?” Even though Becca made a bad face, Chesney followed Delilah behind the counter and through a door which led to a small, windowless room painted a deep shade of purple. “I feel the need to speak with you about your life,” Delilah said. She sat down on a faded red velvet love seat and pointed to a straight back chair which was covered with colorful scarves. “Won’t you have a seat?”

Nervously, Chesney sat on the edge of the chair and smiled at Delilah, who smelled of cinnamon, flour and sugar. “I’ve never met a…a fortune teller,” she said. “And so I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Don’t be nervous, love,” Delilah smiled. “And please don’t call me a fortune teller. I much prefer to be referred to as a psychic.”

As Chesney mumbled an apology, Delilah asked her name and then smiled quizzically. “My first name is my grandmother’s maiden name,” Chesney said quickly. After more than three decades with this unusual name, she was more than experienced about quickly explaining while she wasn’t a Cathy, Debbie or Mary.

“Chesney,” Delilah said softly. “Yes,” she nodded then Delilah closed her eyes, revealing the last hints of blue eye shadow, the crayon kind, with sparkles.  “Spirit tells me that big changes are coming. You are very nervous, maybe even frightened. But Chesney, it is important for you to know that only good things await you.”

Dumbfounded, Chesney’s mouth dropped open. How did Delilah know she was moving away? She quickly retraced earlier steps inside Delilah’s bakery. After ordering, she and Becca chose their favorite table, the one by the window with the pink metal chairs. Delilah hadn’t left her place behind the counter. There was no way she overheard their conversation. Chesney took in a deep breath, pressed her lips together tightly and studied Delilah, whose eyes were still closed with fluttering eyelids.

“That last man? Pig. That’s all I can say,” Delilah shook her head. “He was worthless and he hurt you deeply. You are a smart girl not to love him anymore.” She paused a moment as if invisible people with inaudible voices were speaking. “You didn’t really love that man the way you told people you did. You love to read. You are a natural born storyteller.” Delilah’s eyes flew open suddenly, startling Chesney. “Oh my goodness!”

“What?” Chesney timidly leaned toward Delilah. “What is it?”

“Another man,” Delilah grinned and nodded knowingly.

“Nope.”

“Oh yes, dear,” Delilah said. “And he is the one...the perfect one.”

“No more men, Delilah,” Chesney shook her head. “I’m cursed. I am an Ass Magnet.”

Delilah laughed loudly and her eyes scrunched into the wrinkles of her weathered face. “Oh, how I love your spunk, dear. But you must know that your one true love will appear. He will come into your life when you least expect it. And while you will certainly be skeptical, you will not be able to resist him. You understand?”

Do I understand bullshit? Yes. Yes, I do
.

Chesney stood and offered her hand as a good-bye gesture and a thank you. But Delilah embraced her, snugly pressing Chesney’s petite body against those torpedo boobs.

“Your grandmother is with you,” Delilah whispered against Chesney’s hair. “Do not ever forget that she is with you. She watches over you. She helps you find your way. You understand?”

Tears burned in Chesney’s eyes as she wordlessly nodded and backed out of the small purple room.

“Don’t start getting weird on me,” Becca said with an eye roll as they left the bakery to walk home. “I’ve never met a donut making witch. Have you? Sounds like a big line of bullshit.”

“That’s what I thought too, at first,” Chesney confessed. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Just stop thinking about something so silly,” Becca scolded. “Don’t think about the psychic reading when you can think about something equally as stupid, such as your decision to purchase Grace’s home.”

Wounded by the harshness in Becca’s voice, Chesney focused on the slushy sidewalk. She probably should tell Becca that her attitude was hurtful. She should maybe ask Becca if she was being so negative because she was upset about Chesney moving so far away. But because she had no back bone, Chesney did nothing. That was her usual response when other people were hateful. She closed up like a turtle. She buttoned up tight, became untouchable. For a moment, Chesney wished that Becca would move with her. But that was unrealistic since Becca would never leave her accounting firm in the city. Moving to Bean Blossom was a journey she guessed she had to make alone.

Their elbows knocked occasionally but there was no more conversation. Becca seemed angry and Chesney was irritated and hurt. As Chesney unlocked the door of her apartment and stepped inside, Becca whistled under her breath.

“Wow, you’re really serious,” Becca scanned her best friend’s small abode, which was nearly empty. Boxes were neatly stacked in a corner. House plants had been given to Mrs. Felletti, two doors down. Living room furniture was toted away by Caroline and Vincent, a newlywed couple from the third floor. Becca wandered along behind Chesney, weaving around boxes and stacks of belongings all over the cheap carpet.

In the bedroom, Chesney walked over to a pile of colorful high heels. “I don’t plan to wear these fancy New York clothes again,” she whispered as she began to fold a few skirts and jackets. Designer sling-backs were tossed into a box. Costume jewelry was carefully tucked into a black velvet bag.

“Keep some of your things, Chez,” Becca said as she taped one of the boxes shut. “When you return to New York to meet with Gloria, I don’t want you to show up wearing overalls and a straw hat.”

“Maybe I’ll start a new trend,” Chesney said with a laugh.

“Did you tell Jack that you are leaving?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Chesney said with a shrug. “He made his choices. And I am making mine.”

A
few days later, a tearful Becca waved from the sidewalk as Chesney climbed into her very packed car for the long drive to Bean Blossom. Out the car window, she hugged Becca close. They exchanged a couple of I love you’s and Chesney drove away without looking back. She chose not to say good-bye to her parents. She didn’t speak to Charlotte about it, either. Let all three of them figure it out on their own. After the way they behaved during that awful family dinner, Chesney already knew how they felt about her decision and she didn’t have the energy to deal with them again.

During the two-day drive toward a new life, Chesney had more than enough time to think about the failed relationship with Jack. So she analyzed it carefully, beginning with how they met two years ago at a fundraiser for the public television station. Jack caught Chesney’s eye because he was handsome, with a deep dimple in his chin. He laughed easily and touched other people often, on the shoulder, on the arm. He was a connector. He seemed to be an affectionate, driven guy who sweetly, protectively accompanied her twice to the crowded dance floor to rumba. Then he asked questions about her life when they stood together on the terrace of the Medford Inn, where the event was scheduled inside a sprawling old mansion filled with ornate woodwork, a spiral staircase and a terrace facing the sunset. After dating so many immature and financially unstable men who rarely wore suits, especially designer ones, Chesney admitted privately that she enjoyed watching Jack work a room. When they started dating, he arranged to dine at the best tables in the most popular restaurants. He wooed her with who he knew and how well he hustled around the city, working his entrepreneurial magic on all types of failing businesses. Jack was well respected in the firm where he worked and across the nation. He was known for walking into flailing messes, studying the mistakes and walking out with either another success story or a buy-out.

“You worked your magic on everything except our relationship,” Chesney whispered.

A year into their relationship, nosy dreaded questions crept into their life. Every time they attended family activities or social functions, nosy people crowded around to put them both on the defensive. Last Christmas Eve, even Madelyn joined the group of pushy, tactless people. “Do we hear wedding bells, dear?” Madelyn asked Chesney when Jack wandered into the living room to share some warm brandy with her father.

“I’m not sure,” Chesney said nicely even though her mother’s interrogation made her uncomfortable. She avoided her mother’s eyes for fear that Madelyn had a sixth sense. The truth about the relationship was that Chesney enjoyed the opportunities to travel. Last year alone, she accompanied Jack to Budapest and Munich. She sometimes liked the elaborate parties and the networking events in Jack’s world. But she didn’t want a steady diet of any of those activities. She wondered frequently if the feelings she and Jack had for each other were the kind that lasted forever. Though Jack had a charismatic side that seemed to draw other people to him, he could often be self-absorbed. His busy schedule left him preoccupied to the point that when they were together, they might as well be apart. Far too frequently, Jack’s focus was on computer research or preparing for important long distance conversations with colleagues.

And the sex…well it didn’t matter how wealthy and friendly and ambitious Jack might be, he could never be described as an over achiever in the bedroom. When he felt amorous, Jack signaled his interest with deep kisses. That was a problem and a definite turn-off since the passionate smooches involved Jack’s teeth clashing against Chesney’s. There was certainly no foreplay. Jack pounced on Chesney like an inflexible cat, did his business and rolled over on his side of the very expensive bed linens on the king-sized bed. Long after Jack was snoring, Chesney spent far too many hours trying to convince herself that fireworks in the bedroom did not have to be a priority. That she was perfectly content with Jack’s lousy kisses and the three-minute wonder thrust. Chesney had never experienced mind-blowing sexual experiences anyway. She had nothing to offer to the juicy conversations when Becca or other friends vividly described their moments of hyperventilation, brought on by multiple orgasms. Secretly, Chesney worried that maybe Jack wasn’t the problem. If he was, then that meant all the other men before him were lousy lovers, too. So she wondered that something might be wrong with her own body. Maybe her clitoris was broken. Maybe her expectations were unrealistic. But when she finally confided in Becca, Chesney learned that Jack was exactly like zillions of other men.

“He’s afraid of your genitals,” Becca said confidently as she filed her nails.

“What? No he isn’t!” Chesney squealed, knowing that her face was turning a blinding color of red with a purple cast for mortified.

“Let me ask you something,” Becca said with a sigh. “Does Jack diddle down there for very long?”

Unable to open her mortified mouth, Chesney shook her head.

“You know what? With no more information, I can already describe how sex goes with Jack,” Becca said. “He barely grazes the vajajay, offers a couple of chicken pecks to each nipple and then climbs aboard for friendly five-thrust fun.” She looked at Chesney for a long moment. “You know why? Because he is scared to death of your clitoris. He doesn’t have a clue what to do with your vagina, either. It’s the designated holding pen for his penis and that’s all he cares to know.” Becca pushed her hand away from her body to admire the self-manicure. “Men who are selfish in bed are selfish outside of the bedroom, too. Remember that.”