Long Snows Moon (6 page)

She went into the study afraid to find her
father there but knowing she would not. He was a rare ghost that
haunted the house. She was sure it would take him weeks before he
knew her mother was gone for good. She picked up the phone on his
desk to call him but replaced the receiver without even trying.

Her steps echoed through the house that last
night had been teeming with people making merry. Now all evidence
of the party was gone. The house was a tomb, a numbing hollow
mausoleum. Devon made herself a drink at the wet bar and took it
upstairs to her mother’s bedroom. She sat at the bathroom vanity
and frowned at the bleak counter-top. If the creams, puffs, and
powders were gone, her mother had truly made her bold move. All
that remained was a magnifying mirror and a bottle of Chanel opened
and sprayed once. Devon spritzed some on her wrist and wrinkled her
nose in distaste. No wonder her mother left it. She downed her
drink and left her glass there. She went for her mother’s
closet.

It was as empty as a schoolyard on Sunday.
Devon walked inside and looked around for a clue. She slid down the
wall to the carpeted floor and held her head in her hands.

“You could have told me,” she whispered. “I
would have understood.”

Moon came in and nudged her, licked the tears
from her face. She took Devon’s sleeve in her teeth and tugged.

Devon sighed. “You’re right, let’s go.” She
got up and followed Moon out of the house and back into her Range
Rover.

* * * *

When the sun surrendered to the night sky,
Devon checked into a motel and asked for a room in the back. As she
walked under the waxing moon, she realized she’d been stroking the
arrowhead in her pocket. She took it out and smiled.

“Am I crazy?”

Moon barked once.

“You’re right I am crazy. Hell, I’m so crazy
I think I’ll put it on.” The arrowhead swung on thin piece of
leather that had seen its best day. Devon tied it around her neck.
“There, I just turned back time. I’m a kid again.”

Moon howled with obvious delight.

The hotel room reminded her of a thrift store
with mismatched furniture and dirty retro curtains. Twin
nightstands pockmarked with cigarette burns flanked a king-size bed
with a dip in the middle the size of a kiddy pool. The television
was an archaic beast hunched on the dresser, a gargoyle standing
sentry over the eighties time capsule. She grimaced as she stripped
the comforter off the bed and placed it on the chair. Her college
roommate, Emily Lang, told her side of the road motels rarely
washed their comforters. She checked the sheets with a scrupulous
eye before flopping on the bed. Moon joined her, nestled in the
crook of her arm, and fell asleep.

Devon stroked her head. “A dog’s life,” she
whispered, “a life without worry.”

She couldn’t get comfortable thinking about
the dirty sheets, or ‘hot sheet’ as Emily called them. She hadn’t
thought of Emily Lang in years. She’d tucked that memory out of her
mind the day she said ‘I do’ to Trevor Danforth. She realized she
was good about pushing things out of her mind. It was a real
talent.

Devon felt a rush at the memory of their
first kiss. Why would she have suppressed a delicious reminiscence?
Emily’s kisses tasted like wintergreen gum and spiced rum. Devon
remembered being drunk on both until the morning sun intruded.

She shuddered at the thought of her mother
kissing Claire. Hers had been a one-time encounter, no big deal. In
fact, she hadn’t had any viable connection since, except for Moon.
It was hard to guess how long the relationship between her mother
and Claire had been going on.

She thought of the girl with the wolf puppies
whose name she couldn’t quite hear that day. The girl who gave her
the amethyst and visited her dreams as a child, who later starred
in sweltering, pubescent daydreams. Devon's hand drifted to its
usual place when she thought of the girl. She withdrew her hand and
went for her bottle. She shelved the feelings into the same
shameful place she kept her memories of Emily Lang.

Devon slid out from under Moon, careful not
to wake her. She wrestled the bottle of bourbon from her overnight
bag, smiling. Oh, yes, Jack Black had made the cut, oh faithful
friend. The bourbon served her better here than on the bar at home
in a huge empty house with no one to appreciate its comforting
attributes. She didn’t bother with a glass with no one around to
impress. Moon peered up and sighed in disapproval.

Devon made a face at her and slumped in a
chair. She picked up her cell phone and shook it like a rattle.

“Call me, Mom, call me!” She took a long pull
from the bottle and threw the phone on the bed. It hit Moon on the
rear end. Moon raised her head. She seemed as perturbed as a dog
could.

“Sorry,” Devon said as she swaggered to
retrieve her phone. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Your Majesty the
Queen.”

Moon buried her head under the covers and
gave her a muffled bark.

“Where did they go? Why didn’t they tell me?
Why the hell did they turn off their phones?”

In response, her phone rang. She sighed and
rolled her eyes.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Where is my mother?” he demanded.

“Where is my mother?” she mimicked. “I have
her tied to a chair right in front of me showing her pictures of
you in my gowns and heels.”

“Don’t be bitchy, what’s going on?” Trevor
demanded in the growl that would rival Moon’s. “I need to speak
with her.”

“What’s wrong, did your shoe come
untied?”

“Devon, be serious, Mom is gone, my father is
freaking out. Both her cell phone and Analise’s have been
disconnected.”

“I don’t keep track of them every minute of
the day. I have a full schedule, you know,” Devon stated. She
upended the bourbon.

“Of shopping and boozing,” he replied. “Full
schedule indeed.”

“I have my hobbies, what’s your point?” Devon
sneered. “They left this morning for Italy, a trip they’ve been
planning forever. If you didn’t have your head in someone else’s
crotch you would have known.”

“Why do you hate me?” he asked, is voice
weary. “Are you drunk?”

Devon sighed. “One has nothing to do with the
other. Wait, maybe one has everything to do with the other.”

“Are you blaming me for your alcoholism?”

“I’m not an alcoholic. I am a booze
enthusiast, a liquor liker, a cocktail connoisseur. I don’t hate
you but it’s easy to blame you for my shitty life, especially since
you are the reason for it. And, no, I’m not drunk, but I’m working
on it.”

“That’s always your answer, isn’t it?”

“My life, my liver. Bye now, you’re ruining
my buzz.”

“Wait! Devon, I’m sorry about the divorce
thing but it’s time for me to live my life.”

Devon giggled, “I don’t give a damn if you
want a divorce. I’m mourning the past nine years of my own life.
I’ve lived as a nun for almost a decade, but without the dedicating
myself to God part.” She hiccupped and started laughing.

“Oh, Jesus, you’re wasted,” She heard him
sigh, the same sigh he exhaled each night before taking his pillow
and trudging to the guest room, the room that eventually become his
permanent space.

She imagined the disdain on his face in the
furrow between his brows, the pout of his mouth. Her drinking
soured his beautiful face, an unforgivable crime.

“You know I never loved you,” she stated.
“Not like I should have. Not like you deserve.”

“I know that, Devon. She made me marry you. I
still don’t know why it was so important.”

He sounded fraught. She wondered if he wore
his lemon face.

“They probably thought you were going to be a
flaming queer and didn’t want you to ruin your father’s political
chances.” She raised her brow and smirked, enjoying riling his
temper. “Instead, you were a womanizing man-whore.”

“And you are a frigid lush, my dear.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Devon snickered but the
sting of his comment made her flinch. He made it easy to polish off
the rest of the bottle.

She felt him smile. “Where are you,
anyway?”

“I’m on my way to the cabin.”

“Mom sold the cabin years ago. I can’t
believe you forgot you threw such a fit.”

“Oh,” Devon frowned. How could that detail
have slipped her mind? She had been upset about Claire’s decision
to sell it. “Wow, oh yeah. I remember now. I guess I’ll get a
hotel.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Sure,” Devon said. “So who is she? Who is
the super-hero who untied you from your mommy’s apron?

“Lynette Carson.”

Devon snorted. Lynette Carson was Trevor’s
financial planner. She was a perfectly lovely woman with fair skin
and dark hair. She had a broad step and an easy smile. She
resembled Devon but was practically the image of the matriarch of
the family, Trevor’s own mother, Claire Danforth. Talk about mommy
issues.

“Does Claire know?”

“I was planning on telling her but as you
know, I can’t.”

“Well, I hope it all works out for you.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with us,”
Trevor said.

“Oh please, you were never in love, either,”
Devon said. “We never had any chemistry between us. You’re like a
brother to me.”

“Well then why didn’t you ever find
anyone?”

Devon clutched the arrowhead. “Maybe I’m not
relationship material.”

“Everyone needs love.”

Moon woke up when she heard his voice. She
stood on the bed and barked at the phone.

Devon put her finger to her lips.

“Yea, tell Moon thanks for tossing my shoes
into the garden.”

Devon smiled. “What makes you think it was
her?”

“The teeth marks.”

“Again, what makes you think it was her?”

Trevor chuckled. “Actually, I always thought
you were a lesbian.”

“Why the hell would you think that?” Devon
demanded.

“Just a feeling.”

“Why, because I didn’t want to screw you?”
Devon snarled. “Well screw you!”

Devon hung up on him and glared at the phone.
What a pompous ass. She turned off the light. If she had known what
her life was going to be like she would have climbed out the window
on her wedding day.

* * * *

“Watch this, Mother.” Devon smiled amid a
billow of white lace. “Claire, watch. Moon, come here please.”

Moon obeyed and sat before Devon, awaiting
her task.

“Moon, please find my garter. It is blue,
like this handkerchief.” She showed the handkerchief to Moon. “It
goes here on my thigh.”

Moon began to look around to the delight of
everyone in the room. She snuffled around the dressing table,
around the layers of silk that flowed from Devon’s bodice. She
sniffed around until she discovered the garter behind the wing
chair. She brought it to Devon and placed it on her lap.

“What a good girl!” Claire exclaimed. “She’s
a good puppy, oh, yes she is.”

“We don’t do that, Aunt Claire. Just tell her
she did a fine job. Thanks, Moon,” she kissed her dog’s nose. “Now
will you bring us a bottle of champagne?”

“Oh, this I have to see,” Claire, gushed.

Moon left the dressing room and returned
carrying a small tote bag.

“Thank you, Moon, would you like a sip?”
Devon asked. She removed the bottle of champagne from the bag.

Moon barked twice.

“She doesn’t drink,” Devon said. “I put
bottles of wine and cold drinks in the bags for her. She knows how
to open the fridge she even knows the difference in soda. I’ll show
you.

“Moon, will you please bring Linda a can of
soda? She can’t drink champagne because she’s pregnant.”

Moon left the room and returned a few minutes
later carrying a small bag with a can of cola in it. She brought it
to Linda, one of Devon’s bridesmaids. She barked a few times and
finished it off with a yowl.

“Moon offers congratulations on the news of
your baby,” Devon interpreted.

Everyone laughed.

“She is a wonder,” Analise said, opening the
champagne. “What an astonishing amount of training in a short
period of time, dear. I am proud of your dedication and
commitment.”

“She makes it easy,” Devon smiled at
Moon.

Claire retrieved some glasses and filled them
for a toast. She raised her glass with a shaking hand.

“To Devon. I am proud to call you
daughter.”

“Beautiful sentiment,” Analise cheered.

Devon could have sworn she saw real emotion
in her eyes, but, Claire had a talent to manipulate. Devon felt the
Puppet Master pull the strings to draw the pose that would animate
her for the next nine years.

She forced a smile and touched Claire’s
glass. She watched as Moon padded to the window. She howled at a
black bird on the outside ledge. The bird squawked and took off.
Devon sighed, lucky bird, free to fly. The future Mrs. Trevor
Danforth, a bird in a cage, gulped down her glass of champagne and
was in dire need of a refill.

* * * *

She was still unable to fathom why they
forced her to marry Trevor, or why she agreed to it. Analise was
devastated when they found out Trevor was sterile. She hounded
Devon for grandchildren from the second she married Trevor. The
fact was she did not want kids. Claire agreed with Devon, which
caused a rift between Analise and Claire that lasted almost a year.
Why did her mother care whether or not she reproduced and why would
Claire be so against it?

She was already accustomed to the idea of her
mother and Claire. She stroked the arrowhead, its texture
comforting and familiar, and although she hadn’t worn it for so
long, each serration still remained etched in her memory.

She kissed the arrowhead and snuggled against
Moon. It was as if Jameson was with her.

Chapter Eight

Devon woke up in the
dingy motel. She went to rustle up some breakfast. She found the
motel diner to be as grungy as the room but the coffee was hot and
strong and the cheese omelet she got for Moon didn’t look half-bad.
Devon took the food back to her room and nibbled on toast as she
watched Moon gobble the omelet.