Moonlight Wishes In Time (2 page)

Mattie’s chest ached in that way it always did when she remembered her mother—
gone over a year ago from ovarian cancer. She pressed her lips together, took several deep breaths, and allowed the pain to ebb—a skill she’d developed when her father had died only a year before her mother.

She returned her attention to the cover and ran a loving finger across her hero’s face
. Lord Ashton’s story had not been in her mother’s collection of paperback novels, and Mattie had happened on it in the library one day—probably a donation from a little old lady cleaning out her house. The book was older, originally published in the 1850s, with numerous reprints over the years. However, Mattie had checked at the library, and discovered it was, sadly, out of print. No biography was included in the book, and the author had used initials, making it hard to determine whether the writer was a man or a woman. She suspected a woman.
I. C. Moon
. Isolde Claire Moon? Isis Catherine Moon? Worse yet…Ichabod Crane Moon? 

Mattie smiled to herself, shook her head, an
d for the next two hours, she reveled in the passionate embrace of Lord Ashton until she reached the end of the book with a sigh of regret, tempered only by the certain knowledge that she would begin at page one again the following night.

A shake of her shoulder-length hair revealed it had dried, an
d she laid the book down with care and rose from her chair to prepare for bed. Six a.m. would come early, and all too soon she would awaken to discover she had only dreamt of being in the arms of the handsome Lord Ashton. The only excitement in store for her tomorrow evening was the thought that after her bath, she would settle back into her chair once again with her novel—and Lord Ashton.

A quick check of her closet satisfied her that her clothes were ready for work the following day
. A light blue blouse and dark blue slacks with matching sweater were free of wrinkles and ready to slip on, despite early-morning bleary eyes unable to differentiate between black and blue slacks.

Mattie stepped into the bathroom, grabbed her toothbrush and loaded it
with organic mango-orange tartar control toothpaste. As she brushed her teeth, she wondered about dental hygiene in the Georgian era. Did they have something like toothpaste? Toothbrushes? Surely they did, she thought. Oh, surely they did!

She rinsed her mouth and surveyed the bathroom—a nondescript standard apartment configu
ration of bathtub/shower combination, sink and toilet. Her book didn’t quite address hygienic matters, and she wondered if she could manage to live in the Georgian era without her favorite organic toothpaste, soft toilet paper, body lotion, makeup remover or hot running water. Not a chance, she thought! Not a chance!

The tinkling sound of her cell phone set her on a run toward the nightstand next to her bed
. She dived onto the luxurious pillow-top mattress and caught the phone on the fourth ring—just before the call went to voice mail. A check of caller identification revealed it was her friend, Renee.

“Hello
. What’s up?” Mattie said, as she rolled over onto her back and stared at the white and brass ceiling fan whirring silently overhead.     

“What’s up is I’m sick and I’m not going to work tomorrow,” Renee said on a ragged voice
, which deteriorated into a deep cough.

“You sound awful,” Mattie said with a wince
. “Did you just come down with this? You sounded fine at the bank on Friday.”

“I was fine on Friday,” Renee wheezed
. “Some customer must have given me the cold. I keep swearing I’m going to use antibacterial hand wipes after every transaction, but I never do.”

Mattie chuckled
. “I already do. I told you to start using something before. And now look at you.”

“Yeah, look at me
. Thanks for the sympathy.”

“I
am
sympathetic, pal. Really. Lots of sympathy. Do you need anything? Medicine, anything from the store?”

“No, thanks
. Mike went to get me some cold medicine earlier. I took a big dose and now I’m going to pass out. I just wanted you to know that you’re on your own driving into work tomorrow.”

“Okay, kiddo,” Mattie said
. “Take care of yourself. I’ll call you tomorrow night and see how you’re doing.”

“I’ll probably be dead
.”

Mattie laughed
. “Okay, well, let me know the date for the funeral.”

A chuckle followed
, which deteriorated into another choking cough before Renee managed to squeak out a good night.

Mattie set her phone back on the nightstand and climbed off her bed to wriggle out of her robe
. She laid it on the foot of the bed, turned out the bedside lamp and slipped under the comforter.

Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed the room seemed abnormally bright
. Moonlight streamed in through the open-curtained window, and she debated climbing back out of bed to close the curtains or pull down the blinds. 

She turned away from the window and squeezed her eyes shut
, eagerly anticipating the arrival of her nightly dreams with Lord Ashton. But the bright moonlight hit the white wall opposite the window, reflecting off it and into her eyes. Restlessly, she turned over onto her back and draped an arm over her face to block the light.

Lord Ashton…
Where are you? Lord Ashton… You can come any time.
She waited and willed, fervently hoping she wasn’t doomed to return to the long, lonely nights of tossing and turning she had known over the past year.

Blissful sleep continued to elude her.

Frustrated, Mattie jumped out of bed, pulled the blinds down with a yank, let the curtains drop, threw herself back under the covers and slammed her eyes shut. Her heart raced with all the activity, and she took several deep breaths to calm down. She waited again, holding her breath, willing Lord Ashton to come. Pent-up air escaped her after a moment, and she settled for some more deep breathing.

Five
minutes passed…or an hour, she wasn’t sure which. Had her luck finally run out? Would this be the first night in months she wouldn’t dream of her beloved Lord Ashton?

Mattie gave up and pushed herself into a sitting position, irritation with herself and angst for her dream lover wreaking havoc with any ideas of serenity
. She contemplated getting out of bed to start the book all over again—even at the late hour—just to get back into the warm mood she’d had earlier. She threw a longing glance at the empty spot in the bed next to her. What did Lord Ashton look like without his double-breasted jacket, pantaloons and Hessians, she wondered? Her toes curled delightfully at the thought. What did he wear under those things, anyway?

No matter what he wore,
Lord Ashton would certainly be better than the last man to inhabit that side of the bed—her ex-boyfriend, Tom. Although Tom bore certain similarities to Lord Ashton—tall with dark hair—he lacked the strong, assertive jaw, flashing gray eyes and English accent of her hero. And he cheated—or so she’d found out a year ago—just after her mother’s death. Lord Ashton would never cheat on his beloved. Never. He was too honorable, too chivalrous, too…gentlemanly.

“You’ve got to snap out of this depression, Mattie
. Your mother wouldn’t want this,” Tom had said a week after the funeral.

“I’m trying,” she’d whispered, helplessly looking for a clean pair of jeans to wear
, as Tom wanted to take her out to dinner to cheer her up. It seemed like she hadn’t done laundry in a month—the month her mother had been in the hospital fighting to stay alive.

“Are you?” he’d said as he stood in the doorway of the bedroom waiting for her
. “I have to tell you, I think you’re wallowing a bit. You knew this would happen. You’ve known for months—ever since she was diagnosed.”

“I thought it would be easier,” Mattie said as she shoved her feet into a pair of sandals
. “Knowing. Planning. But it isn’t.” She searched for some sort of shirt to wear, uncaring.

“Yeah,” Tom said
. “Doesn’t look like it.” He looked at his watch. “Are you about ready?”

Mattie nodded, though she
wanted nothing more than to burrow into a corner of her walk-in closet and cry.

Several hours later, they left the restaurant, Tom in good spirits, and Mattie even more despondent than when they
’d entered the seafood joint.

She’d suspected for some time that Tom had been unfaithful to her, but she hadn’t known for certain until that evening
. The waitress, who always waited on them, seemed unable to avoid touching him at every opportunity—from allowing her hand to rub his when she handed him the menu to covering his hand as she took Mattie’s credit card from him. The gestures had seemed inordinately intimate, and Tom had beamed at the waitress throughout.

“Tom,” she’d begu
n heavily, almost too depressed to even care, “are you seeing that waitress?”

“What waitress?” Tom had said after a moment, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Please,” Mattie had said dryly. Oddly, she had no desire to cry over Tom—not like for her mom. Though they had lived together for about a year, she didn’t feel the sense of loss that she thought she should.

Tom’s heavy sigh gave her the answer before he spoke.

“What do you want me to say, Mattie?”

“Yes or no, that’s all,” she replied wearily.

“You’ve been gone a lot. You know, staying at your mother’s place, then at the hospital when she couldn’t stay home any longer.”

“Yes, I’ve been gone,” she agreed with a pang of guilt
. “You don’t have much staying power, do you?” she said more than asked. She turned exhausted eyes on his profile. Dark haired, maybe not as handsome as she’d once thought, his face fuller than when they met, his chin sort of weak looking rather than strong and chiseled.

“No, I guess not,” he said with a feeble half
-smile as he glanced at her. “I’m sorry.”

Mattie turned away to look out the car window
. The moon rode high in the sky, bright, round and full. What she wouldn’t have given to be up there.

“What are your plans?” she asked as she contemplated perching on the moon and watching the world go by.

“Plans?” he’d asked.

“You have to leave
. You can’t live with me anymore,” Mattie said, too tired to even care about the long nights of loneliness looming ahead.

Although Tom had argued weakly, he’d packed his bags that night and left
. They’d exchanged a few phone calls, but he had quickly moved in with the waitress, and Mattie heard from him that the younger woman was pregnant, and they were planning to marry. Mattie hadn’t dated since Tom had left, preferring to bury her head into her mother’s old romance novels. And then Lord Ashton had come along: charming, dashing, principled and honorable—everything she longed for in a man.

Wide awake, Mattie slipped out of bed, grabbed her robe, stuck her feet into her slippers and made her way down the carpeted hallway to the kitchen
. The incessantly bright moonlight had found its way into the kitchen as well. Just how big was this moon, anyway?
ET
size? She slid open the glass doors and stepped out onto the small balcony of her second-floor condominium.

The full moon shone brightly as it crowned the sky in a large, round sphere of luminescence
. Mattie pulled her robe tightly around her as a cool breeze brought goose bumps to her arms.

“Well, Mr. Moon,” she asked whimsically
. “Any ideas? Where do you think I can find a Lord Ashton?”

She tried again
. “How about it, big boy? You can see everything from where you are. Is there any man like that out there for me? Asking you the same question? Do they even make men like that anymore?”

Mattie leaned her arms against the railing and ignored the lights of the condominiums across the sidewalk—so close she often wondered if she could throw a coin onto the balcony opposite
. She was pretty sure, however, that she didn’t want to throw a coin onto the balcony opposite to test the theory. Coins were pretty dear at the moment, especially since Tom had moved out. He’d helped with a few of the living expenses—groceries, anyway.

“Hey, up there!” she called out
. “Are you listening to me? How about a sign? Some hint that this isn’t the rest of my life!”

A dog barked in the distance and a door slammed somewhere
. Mattie waited, half expecting the moon to actually drop the man of her dreams onto her balcony.

The dog barked once again. Then it was silent.
Mattie held her breath and listened. Nothing. No sign. No riding-booted footsteps. No tall figure in yellow silk pantaloons and a blue cutaway coat magically appeared on her balcony. No raven-haired man arrived to pull her into his arms.

She shivered in the cool night breeze and hugged herself
. Living in such a vivid fantasy world wasn’t good for her—she realized that. She was fully aware she had to stop her obsession at some point in the near future, and return the book to the library. Take up knitting, watch TV, study calligraphy.