The Girl Who Chased the Moon (5 page)

Out of the quiet came the distinct sound of a door being closed.

She jerked her head up and looked around and realized she was on the residential end of Main Street, standing in the middle of the park facing the old brick mansions. The woods behind Grandpa Vance’s house must zigzag through other neighborhoods in a crazy labyrinth, ending here, by the bandstand with the crescent moon weathervane. She looked up and down the street, then she looked back into the woods. Surely she saw the light end here?

She limped back home the long way, taking the sidewalks. Her mind was whirling. She couldn’t believe she’d just run through the woods in the middle of the night, chasing a so-called ghost. This was so unlike her.

When she reached Grandpa Vance’s house, she remembered the front door was still locked, so she had to go around back. She saw a hint of light as she walked to the corner.

The back porch light was now on.

Obviously, Grandpa Vance had heard her run out and was waiting for her. She sighed. It took running around at night to get him to come out of his room. How was she going to explain this? She hobbled up to the kitchen porch and almost tripped over something as she approached the door.

She bent and picked up a box of Band-Aids.

A crunching of leaves invaded the quiet, and she turned with a gasp to see the white light disappearing back into the woods, as if it had never left.

And she would also soon discover that Grandpa Vance had slept through everything.

Chapter 4

F
rom his bedroom window the next morning, Win watched Vance Shelby walk down the sidewalk toward the business end of Main Street. He was an interesting specimen, if you looked at him scientifically. Win didn’t often look at things scientifically. Proof was something he’d learned not to expect from anyone, nor anyone from him. But Vance Shelby looked like a praying mantis, as if biologically suited to grab things, to hide things, to shield. He wouldn’t like Win’s interest in Emily. It was unfortunate, but it couldn’t be avoided.

“Win!” his father called from downstairs. “It’s light. Let’s go.” Win left his room and walked down the long marble staircase to where his father was waiting in the foyer. Although frequently bored, he didn’t mind these outings with his father so much anymore, not like he did when he was a boy. Morgan Coffey liked to get out bright and early to greet shop owners and tourists. From the time Win was about five, Morgan took him with him on these PR treks, to groom him, Win guessed. To let Win know what was expected of him. They went to a different restaurant every morning, where Morgan chatted up everyone. Win just liked the opportunity to get out of the house as soon as possible, at first light. If it had to be with his father, then that was a small price to pay.

“Ready?” Morgan asked when Win met him by the front door.

“If I said no?” Win said as his father opened the door.

Morgan inspected Win, from his red bow tie to his loafers. “You look ready.”

“Then I suppose I am.”

Morgan took a deep breath, reining in his anger. “Don’t get smart with me,” he said.

And Win had to concede that it really was too early in the morning for such antagonism.

They walked down the sidewalk. Vance had disappeared—no easy feat for a giant. This morning, Morgan had decided to go to Welchel’s Diner. When they entered, he scanned the room quickly, then led Win to a table by the door. Morgan liked to greet people as they came in. He liked to zero in on the tourists, on the people he didn’t recognize, first. Win often watched him in awe. For someone so seemingly content with his cloistered life, Morgan Coffey was genuinely thrilled to meet new people. It gave Win hope that, in the end, his father would understand why Win was going to go through with his plans. That’s what these mornings were really about, after all. They might be masked in public relations, but it was really all about acceptance.

Win didn’t know how long they’d been there—not long, he supposed, because their breakfast orders hadn’t arrived yet—when he saw her.

Emily walked past the diner, staring straight ahead, the sunlight at her back. Her arms and legs were long. She didn’t favor her grandfather in any way but this one. But where Vance looked like he’d grown too long, Emily looked … perfect.

Win turned to see if his father had noticed. He hadn’t. In fact, Morgan had left the table without Win even being aware. He was across the room now, shaking hands with someone. Win turned back to the window, leaning forward to watch Emily walk away. With one last look at his father, he took his napkin out of his lap and set it on the table, then he pushed his chair back and quietly slipped out of the diner.

He followed Emily at a distance, noticing she had on flip-flops that morning, and a Band-Aid on her heel. He stopped when she reached the bench outside of J’s Barbecue. She didn’t go in, and he wondered why. She didn’t look faint, like she’d looked yesterday morning. No, she was waiting. Waiting for her grandfather to come out. The gesture was both charming and uncomfortably lonely.

He was only two or three storefronts away from her, close enough for Emily to look up when Inez and Harriet Jones approached him from behind and said in unison, “Hello, Win!”

He returned Emily’s stare before reluctantly turning to Inez and Harriet. They were spinster sisters who lived next door to the Coffey mansion on Main Street. The sisters went everywhere together, wore matching dresses, and carried one purse between them. Long ago, when the Coffeys wanted to put a driveway between the two houses in order to reach the garage behind their house without having to drive around to the next street, the Jones sisters agreed to it on the condition that the Coffeys invite them for drinks every third Tuesday of the month. So, for over thirty years now, the elderly Jones sisters were a fixture on the Coffeys’ couch between four and five o’clock, once a month.

“Hello, Miss Jones.” He nodded to Inez. “Miss Jones.” He nodded to Harriet.

“We saw you staring at that pretty thing there,” Inez said, though Win wished she hadn’t. Emily could hear every word.

Harriet sucked in her breath suddenly as she clutched her sister’s arm. “Sister, do you know who that is?”

“Could it be?” Inez said, clutching her back.

“Yes, it is!” Harriet answered.

“What brings you two out so early this morning?” Win asked, trying to change the subject.

Inez tsked. “Oh, she does look like her mother, doesn’t she?”

“She certainly does.”

“Can I escort you home?” Win interrupted. “I’m headed that way.” He held out his arm, trying to herd them away.

“Her mother had a lot of nerve, sending her here,” Inez said. “What a thing to do to a child.”

Harriet shook her head. They were both staring at Emily unabashedly. “She’s never going to fit in.”

“And how is her grandfather going to take care of her? He can barely take care of himself.”

“I don’t know, Sister,” Harriet said. “I don’t know.”

Win gestured again. “Ladies, shall we?”

Inez wagged her knobby finger at him. “Don’t turn into your uncle, Win. Don’t get fooled by a pretty face like he did. What a tragedy.” The sisters looked at him pityingly. “Stare at her all you want, but stay away. That’s what we’re going to do. To show support for your family. Right, Sister?”

“It’s for the best.”

That’s when they turned and left him, walking toward home, one arm each looped into the handles of a single handbag, like a yoke between them.

Win closed his eyes for a moment before turning to Emily.

She looked unsettled and he didn’t blame her.

He put his hands in his trouser pockets and walked toward her, trying to seem casual and unaffected. “Hello again.”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes went to the Jones sisters, who were weaving down the sidewalk.

Win hated that they had been so indelicate. “Where is your grandfather? I saw him earlier,” he said, to draw her attention away from them.

“Inside,” she said. “I’m waiting for him.”

“Instead of eating with him?”

“I don’t know if he actually wants … I just thought I’d wait.” She gave him a once-over that tried to be subtle, but wasn’t. “Are you always up and dressed like that this early?”

“It’s sort of a tradition.” He indicated the bench. “May I?”

She nodded. “Where do you come from?” she asked as he sat.

He crossed his legs, trying not to seem too eager, too suspicious. Getting into someone’s good graces was second nature to him, but he was nervous. There was so much riding on this. “Here. I’m from here.”

She hesitated, as if he’d answered an entirely different question. “No, I meant yesterday and today. Where did you
just
come from?”

He laughed. “Oh. Breakfast with my father. Every morning.”

“Does everyone here come to Main Street for breakfast?”

“Not everyone. How is your foot?” he asked, not actually looking at her foot. Instead, he stared into her true blue eyes. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Not at all.

“My foot?”

“It looks like you scratched your heel.”

She turned her right foot slightly to see the bandaged cut. “Oh. I cut it running barefoot through the woods.”

“You should put on shoes next time.” She looked back up to see that he was smiling.

She narrowed her eyes. “Thank you. I plan to. Who were those ladies you were talking to?” she asked.

He sighed regretfully. “Inez and Harriet Jones. They’re my next-door neighbors.”

“Were they talking about me?”

He considered several different answers, but decided to go with “Yes.”

“They knew who I was,” she said. “They knew my mother.”

“Yes.”

“Why would they say I wouldn’t fit in?”

He shook his head. “If you had cause to worry about them, I would tell you. I promise.”

“It sounded like they didn’t like my mother.”

He picked at imaginary dust on his sleeve. He knew he looked calm, but inside, his heart was knocking against his chest. “If you want me to tell you the story, I will.”
God, what was he going to say?
“I think it’s better if you know. I’m not sure I should be the one, though. Your mother should have told you. At the very least, your grandfather should have said something by now.”

“About what? They mentioned your uncle. Is this about him?”

“Yes. We have history, you and I.” He leaned in slightly, conspiratorially. “You just don’t know it yet.”

She tilted her head curiously. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

“Just wait. It gets stranger.” A flashy older woman in heels and shorts clicked by them. He and Emily both turned to watch her walk to the door of J’s Barbecue. That’s when Win saw that Vance Shelby was inside, watching them. Not that anyone who knew him could ever be afraid of him, but it was still disconcerting to have someone that large give him such a forceful look. Did Vance know what Win was doing? Emily hadn’t noticed, so she seemed surprised when he suddenly stood and said, “I think I should go.”

“What? No, wait, tell me about this history. Tell me about my mother and your uncle.”

“Next time I see you, I will. Goodbye, Emily,” he said as he walked away. It took such restraint to keep from looking back at her until the last possible moment. When he did, right before he entered the diner where he’d left his father, he saw her watching him.

No going back now.

The foundation was set.

She was officially curious.

Chapter 5

J
ulia had the day’s cakes baked and was writing on the chalkboard before there were even four customers in the restaurant. Vance Shelby had arrived and was sitting by himself, waiting for the rest of the old men in his breakfast group. He was drinking his coffee from his saucer instead of his cup, because the lip of the saucer was larger and his giant hand could more easily manage it. Julia was tempted to go talk to him about Emily. But then she thought better of it. It wasn’t any of her business. She was only going to be here for a few more months. There was no need to get all knotted up in things. She would be Emily’s friend while she was here, and try to help her get settled. That’s all she could do.

Vance was watching something outside, a frown on his face.

Julia had just finished writing the names of the day’s specials on the board—Milky Way cake, butter pecan cake, cigar-rolled lemon cookies, and vanilla chai macaroons—so she set the chalkboard down and turned to see what had captured Vance’s attention.

As soon as she did, the bell over the door rang, and Beverly Dale, Julia’s former stepmother, walked in.

At least it wasn’t Sawyer.

But it was almost as bad.

“Julia!” Beverly said as she teetered up to the counter in her white kitten heels. “I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. I always try to get here early enough, but I’m not a morning person, as I’m sure you remember. Last night I said to myself, ‘Beverly, you’re going to set your alarm and get to the restaurant early enough to see Julia.’ And here I am!”

“Congratulations,” Julia said, glad that the counter was between them and Beverly couldn’t hug her. Beverly could choke an elephant with the scent of her Jean Naté perfume.

“I see you’re still wearing those long sleeves,” Beverly said, shaking her head. “Bless your heart. I can’t imagine you’re comfortable, especially in this summertime heat.”

“It’s cotton. It’s not so bad,” she said, drawing the sleeves down farther and grasping the cuffs in her hands.

“I understand. Scars aren’t pretty on a woman.” Beverly leaned in and whispered, “I have a tiny scar here on my forehead that I don’t like anyone to see. That’s why I have my hairstylist, Yvonne, fix this curl just so.”

Julia smiled and nodded, waiting for Beverly to get to what she was really there to talk about.

Julia had been twelve the first time her father had brought Beverly home. He’d told Julia at the time that he thought she needed another female around to talk to about girl things, now that she was growing up—as if he’d brought Beverly into their lives for
her
sake. Beverly had been very attentive to Julia at first. Julia had been a baby when her mother died, so she’d begun to think that maybe having Beverly around
would
be nice. But then Beverly and Julia’s father had gotten married, and Julia had actually felt the power shift. Julia’s father’s attention had been inexorably drawn to the person who’d demanded it the most. And that person had been Beverly. No amount of pouting or temper tantrums, and, later, pink hair or cutting, could ever have competed with Beverly, sexy Beverly with her puff of blond hair, the low V of her shirts, and the high heels she wore even with shorts. She’d liked doing things for Julia’s father—cooking his meals, lighting his cigarettes, rubbing his shoulders as he watched television. When Beverly didn’t get her way, she’d stop doing those things, and it had been painful for Julia to watch her father try to get back into her good graces.

Beverly and her father had stayed together until about four years ago. When her father had told her about the divorce during Julia’s annual Christmas call to him, he’d said in his kind, simple way, “Beverly is such a vibrant woman. She needed more than I could give her.”

What she needed, Julia later found out, was a man with cash. Julia’s father never had a lot of money, but he’d done very well for a man with only an eighth-grade education. He’d owned his own home and business, free and clear, by the time he was thirty. And he’d been an excellent money manager, which was why Julia had been so shocked when she’d discovered the extent of his debt after his death. She could only assume Beverly had spent her way through what he had, and when there was nothing left, she’d left him for Bud Dale, who had just opened his second muffler shop in town.

Julia remembered seeing Beverly for the first time in years at her father’s funeral. She’d aged quite a bit, but she still had that power women with big noses have to seem beautiful, even when they aren’t. “I’m sorry about your daddy,” she’d said. “Let me know if there’s any money left. Some of it should go to me, don’t you think? We had twenty beautiful years together.” And she’d said it right in front of Bud Dale.

When Julia sold her father’s house and took what little was left after paying off the mortgage and applied it to his restaurant mortgage, Beverly had been livid. Some of that money could have gone to her, she’d insisted. But once she realized what Julia was doing, staying here and working to get the restaurant mortgage paid off in order to sell it for a profit, she periodically accosted Julia to remind her that some of the money should go to her, naturally. Like they were in this together.

“Is it always this slow at this hour?” Beverly asked, waving one of the waitresses over to her. “I’d like two breakfast specials, to go. I’ll surprise Bud at work. He’ll never believe I’m up this early.”

“The place will fill up soon,” Julia assured her.

“I hope so. It looks like you’re not doing enough to bring in business at breakfast. And you make a lot of desserts.” She pointed to the chalkboard. “Do people really eat it all every day? If there’s any left over, that’s a terrible waste of money.”

“There’s never any left over. I was just on my way out, Beverly,” Julia said. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, stop with that You don’t have anywhere to go. You never do anything but work and go home. You’re so much like your daddy.”

Julia tried to hold her smile. At one point in her life, she would have welcomed the comparison. Now, she wanted to scream
No! I’ve done so much more!

“I know it’s only a few more months until you’re going to sell this place. Rumor has it that Charlotte is interested in buying it from you. I just wanted to tell you that I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh?” Charlotte was the day manager of the restaurant, and the perfect person to sell it to. She not only knew the business, she cared about it. And that meant something to Julia now. When she’d first come back to town, Julia would have gladly sold the restaurant to
anyone
if it had meant a profit. Now that she’d been here awhile, she realized that she owed it to her father to let it go to someone who loved it as much as he had. That’s what staying too long had done to her. It had made her soft.

“I think you might give the restaurant to her for less than you should, just because she’s worked here a long time. But the whole point is to get as much money as possible for it.”

“Thank you for your input, Beverly.”

The waitress brought out a bag containing two covered Styrofoam trays. She handed the bag to Beverly, who took it from her without acknowledgment.

“I’ll see you soon,” Beverly said. “We can go over arrangements. Make it all nice and official, okay?”

Julia didn’t say a word, but she had absolutely no intention of giving Beverly any money from the sale of the restaurant. She didn’t care how mad Beverly would be when she found out. Julia wouldn’t be here to deal with it. It was just easier to let Beverly believe what she wanted to believe. Arguing with her would only make Julia’s time here more miserable, and might even hurt business.

Julia and the waitress watched Beverly leave. The waitress—Julia forgot her name—was new. She was holding Beverly’s bill in her hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” Julia said. “She never thinks she has to pay.”

The waitress crumpled up the bill, and Julia headed for the door.

Only to have it open, and there was Sawyer.

Julia rubbed her forehead. How could a day be this bad so early?

Sawyer was so bright and attentive, even at this hour. She wondered if he ever slept, or if he simply stayed awake all night, pacing with energy and thinking of new ways to sparkle and charm, new ways to get his way. He met her eyes and smiled. “Julia, you look lovely. Doesn’t she look lovely, Granddad?” Sawyer asked the elderly gentleman he was helping through the door.

The old man looked up and smiled. He had deep blue eyes like Sawyer. Alexander men were a sight to behold. “You do look lovely, Julia. That pink streak in your hair adds pizzazz.”

Julia smiled at that. “Thank you, Mr. Alexander. Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Wait for me, Julia,” Sawyer said. “I want to talk to you.”

All sorts of warning signals went up, firework flashes in her periphery. “Sorry,” she said, and slipped out the door as soon as Sawyer’s grandfather had passed by her. “Gotta go.”

She walked down the sidewalk toward home. She thought for a moment that she saw Emily down the street, but then she lost sight of her.

Julia knew she could have driven to work, but with most of her money being funneled into the principal payments on the restaurant’s mortgage, gas was a luxury. Sometimes her walks home reminded her too much of walking to high school because her father couldn’t afford to buy her a car. With envy, she used to watch all the kids who could afford cars drive by. Members of Sassafras, in particular, in their BMWs and Corvettes.

It was all going to be worth it, this sacrifice. She had to keep telling herself that. She had a whole other life waiting for her, one where she could control memories of her past. When she got back to Baltimore, she would pick up where she’d left off and reconnect with friends who only knew her as she was now, not who she’d been then. Nice blank-slate friendships. She’d find a new place to live, get her things out of storage, then find the perfect spot for her bakery. She had worked in other people’s bakeries for a long time. When she got her own place, she would bake with all the windows open and make nothing but purple cookies if she wanted to.
Blue-Eyed Girl Bakery
. That was going to be the name. That Julia’s eyes were brown didn’t matter. It wasn’t about her, anyway.

“Julia!” Sawyer called.

She felt a prickle along the back of her neck and picked up her pace. Regardless, Sawyer soon jogged up and fell into step with her.

She cut her eyes at him. “Did you actually run after me?”

He looked indignant, like he’d been caught doing something uncouth. “I wouldn’t have had to if you had waited.”

“What do you want?”

“I told you. I want to talk to you.”

“So talk,” she said.

“Not like this.” His hand wrapped around her arm and made her stop. “I’ve kept my distance since you’ve been back, because I thought that’s what you wanted. When I heard you were moving back to Mullaby, I had … hope. But the moment I saw you again, and you gave me a look that could kill, I knew it was still too soon.”

“I haven’t moved back,” she said, wriggling her arm free.

“But I’ve been doing us both a disservice,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “This has gone on too long. I want to talk about it, Julia. I have some things to tell you.”

“Talk about what?” she asked.

He was silent.

She tried to laugh it off. “Does this have something to do with thinking I’ve been baking cakes because of you?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

They stared at each other for a moment before she said, “I have nothing to say to you. And I doubt you have anything to say that I want to hear.”

Undeterred, he said, “Have dinner with me on Saturday.”

“I have plans on Saturday,” she said.

“Oh?” His hands went into his pockets and he rocked back on his heels with surprise. This was a man who wasn’t used to being turned down. “With whom?”

“I was thinking of taking Emily to the lake,” she said, off the top of her head.

“You’re showing a remarkable amount of interest in this girl.”

“Does it surprise you that much, Sawyer?” she shot at him. “Really?”

She could tell that hurt him. And it didn’t make her feel as good as she thought it would. He hesitated before asking quietly, “Are you ever going to forgive me?”

“I forgave you a long time ago,” she said as she turned and walked away. “That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.”

His voice carried after her. “Neither have I, Julia.”