In a Moon Smile (14 page)

She tossed the cell phone across the floor and watched it smack into the wall. Then she stood in front of the cloudy antique mirror, left by the last residents of the home. “How do I describe myself? Or do I even want to try?” Chesney whispered as she ran her fingertips along her jaw line, her chin, her eyebrows. Feeling like she might cry, Chesney cleared her throat and stared more intently at her reflection. “I am petite. I have auburn hair that screams for a style. I have gray eyes, the exact color of Grace's eyes and Piper’s eyes. I have my mother's soft voice and my dad's dimples.”

She blinked a few times so the tears would stay away. “But what else?” She bit her lip, thinking. “I have lived my life for everyone but myself,” she stammered. “And now…” Chesney leaned close until her nose made a print on the mirror. “What do you intend to do about the mess you’ve made of your life, Ms. Blake? Any ideas?”

Unfortunately her adult life had been nothing more than a series of starts and stops. Not one single male seemed like someone she couldn’t ever live without. But she tried anyway to develop those feelings. She tried anyway, to convince herself that she had the emotional connection that other people had. Actually nothing in her life had ever felt comfortable or right except her writing career. So through her work, Chesney created the kind of love she wished for but did not necessarily believe in. She created the books for other women like her, to get lost in for a while before they had to return to a rather boring, predictable routine with a man who snorted, farted and never remembered to thank her for all that she did every day for him. Chesney smiled and decided in that profound moment of introspection that she would focus only on her books and creating her new home. She would commit only to make herself happy and calm. She would bet only on herself.

“If someone doesn’t like that plan, they can kiss my skinny ass,” she said to the mirror. “And I mean it.” She leaned away from her reflection and winked at herself. “Got that? This is my show now. I have the starring role. Chesney Blake In Charge.”

Every day, from early morning until late at night she tirelessly worked on the house. But she always made time to rest on the porch swing, to pay special attention to the sunset, appreciating the wonder that not one single setting sun looked like the one on the previous evening. She was learning how to relax, how to appreciate and how to listen, truly listen to the silence. Quite often, she caught herself staring at the ceiling with a blank mind, while soaking tired muscles in a deep tub of bubbles. But it all felt okay for some reason. It all felt like necessary parts of her tomorrow. But while she so intently worked to make tomorrow an amazing place she wanted to be, Chesney was not dealing so well with the stuff of today. In fact, her agent, Gloria, called yesterday to hound Chesney about the draft of the new book. Where was it? Shouldn’t Chesney at least send the first few chapters? And why wasn’t Chesney returning emails and calls?

When family members and friends left messages on her phone, there seemed to be a sprinkling of pity in their voices. She hated that and refused to return the calls.

I hate all of it. No one trusts my judgment. No one respects that I might just have more sides to me than they ever cared to see. Even Becca thinks I’m acting crazy
.

The break-up with Jack served only as a catalyst. This move was about her life. This storm she was now living was only hers, about a life that had never truly belonged to her until now. It had absolutely nothing to do with stupid Jack and his runaway penis.  Every evening as she watched the sun sink, Chesney whispered to herself, “You've got to reclaim your life. Buying Grace's house is your first step. But you need to take plenty of other steps, miles of other steps.”

She had never worked this hard in her entire life. Manual labor was kicking her ass, sore muscles, blisters, scrapes and bruises. But the work was also toning her body, taking off the pudge of belly around the top of her waist band. To admit she was exhausted was an understatement that made her smile. But accompanying all the challenges was a sweet little feeling of luck. Yes, Chesney felt lucky that she wasn’t exactly like her mother and sister. Lucky that she was unique, from the frizzy curls to the slight build to the need to pull away from everything familiar and blaze a new trail. She pulled her hair away from her face with a barrette. “From now on, I will do only what I want to do.”

When the cell phone rang, her mother’s name was on the screen.

Damn it. I’m not in the mood for all this drama.

“We’re thinking about you, dear,” Madelyn’s voice was sweet on the message. “Your father and I wondered if you might need anything.”

I need a complete overhaul. I probably need a thorough psychiatric evaluation.

“I can’t talk to you right now,” Chesney whispered to the unanswered phone. “I can’t possibly explain this metamorphosis. So I’ll spare you the drama, Madelyn. You sit in Chicago, hoping that you never have anything else to explain about me to your friends. And I’ll figure out my messy life on my own.”

On the way down the hall, she considered painting the bathroom a soft, moss green or maybe plum. Her footsteps were strong in the hallway as her bare feet padded along the hardwood floors.

“I am fine,” Chesney said aloud. “I will be fine, damn it.”

In the kitchen, she grabbed a banana and a glass of wine. Heck of a combination. She never drank wine until she moved here, and it was only when Becca visited. “There’s a lot to think about,” Chesney said to the quiet evening as she sat down on the porch swing. “But it’s time to find my answers. Right, Grace?”

She imagined her grandmother’s wise nod accompanied by that sweet, half grin. Grace would have wanted her beloved granddaughter to spew all of her thoughts, no holds barred. She would have listened with an unconditional ear. Grace would never care what other people thought about Chesney’s choices. Her only interest was her gray-eyed granddaughter’s happiness. A sweet sense of warmth and security mixed with adventure and hope brought tears to Chesney’s eyes as she munched on the banana and gazed at the full moon. Its faded color seemed to speak, soothe and encourage her. In the midst of feeling so splintered and lost, Chesney also experienced an odd sense of completeness. She wasn’t exactly sure about that feeling. But it was a nice new something that was quickly making a place in her new beginning. She went back inside, locked the front door and snuggled into the sleeping bag. It was the first time in a long time that Chesney fell asleep with a faint smile on her heart, which now beat much more frequently with a new hope.

Sunshine glinted through the bare window. When Chesney opened sleepy eyes, her face was immediately warmed by the morning sun. She crawled out of the sleeping bag and trudged into the kitchen. Coffee. Immediately. That was another new habit. After working a zillion hours on this house, lame little sips of hot chocolate just weren’t doing it for her anymore. She was hitting the coffee hard these days. Black. No sugar. The hard stuff. Like a veteran java junkie. She opened the window over the sink so that wonderful honeysuckle scent could burst into the room. Then she danced up the stairs and stepped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, Chesney wiggled into a pale blue cotton sundress, slipped her feet into loose sandals and tied her hair back before adding a few swipes of mascara.

“I look like a country bumpkin,” she said happily to her reflection. “And I love it.”

She was taking a break today from all the cleaning. Today she would drive into Bean Blossom, maybe flirt a little with Deke, the hardware store artist, and buy some paint. She climbed into the sensible four-door vehicle with cloth interior and manual door locks. No frills. She had traded that hot little sports car for this granny-type of vehicle, knowing that her new lifestyle would not be friendly toward a cute little two-seat convertible. She parked in front of the hardware store and her stomach grumbled. The delicious scent of fried biscuits wafted from Cathy’s Café. On the corner, the post office shared the town block with a rather abandoned-looking beauty shop called Charm House. Most of the time, ladies with blue-tinted hair walked out of that shop, proudly wearing too-tight pin curls from the 1950s. A video store bait shop combo completed the downtown business district. And all of it thrilled Chesney. She was in love with the simple ways and the smiling yet nosy residents. Subconsciously, she smoothed her hair as she entered Deke’s hardware store.

“Morning, ma’am,” a lanky young clerk smiled and she tried to hide the disappointment that he wasn’t Deke. “What can I help you find?”

“Paint,” Chesney smiled back. “Lots of paint.” She happily made her way to the back of the store, excited to be here, ready to make decorating decisions. In Chicago, she shied away from colors. Her home was filled with washed out, socially acceptable beige. Non-threatening. Indecisive. And very boring. Exactly like her relationships with Jack and her family. “I'd like a sunny, lemony yellow,” she said with a giant grin. “I'm painting my kitchen.” The decision just popped into her head and she envisioned a beautiful, cheerful country kitchen. It was a decorating choice Jack would never allow in his fancy apartment filled with shades of gray. If they had married, Jack would have hired a decorator to tastefully merge their belongings into one highly polished blah.

“Do you like this color?” the young man pried the top off a paint can.

“A little bit softer,” She peered over his shoulder at the paint.

“Let's add some white paint to lighten it.” As the clerk turned to mix the paint, he stuck out his hand. “I'm Luke,” he said with a toothy grin. “And you must be Miss Blake. You're Miss Grace's granddaughter, right? And you bought back the old homestead? People in town are talking about you.”

“You can call me Chesney,” She smiled and he blushed and dropped his eyes. “And yes, I bought Chesney Ridge.” While he mixed the paint, she discovered a surprisingly beautiful selection of wallpaper samples but she didn’t feel quite ready to commit to wallpaper, especially since she was still working to remove so many old layers of it. She tossed a couple of paint brushes on the counter. “So I'm the topic of discussion in town?” Chesney asked lightly as she grabbed two rolls of masking tape.

Luke's face flushed again. “We don’t mean any harm. Everybody loved Gracie. Some people remember when you came around here as a little girl.”

“I loved it here,” she smiled again. “And I love that I’m back to stay.”

“Your family moved north. Then you moved away to New York City,” Luke said. “You married some rich guy. And now, you're divorced.”

“Wow, Luke, the residents of Bean Blossom have really done their homework,” Chesney said crisply. “But actually, those rumors aren’t all correct. I did not live fulltime in New York. And actually I was only engaged to the rich man. I never married him.”

“Small town,” Luke said with a shrug. “We don't get many newcomers.”

She flipped again through the paint samples, considering a deep plum color for the guest bathroom.

“Why did you buy back the Blake homestead?” Luke asked.

“Because I love it,” she answered quickly. And then she felt embarrassed. But why?

Who cares what the hardware guy thinks about my decision.

“You're right about the paint. You'll need a lot of paint,” Luke said with a laugh. “That place needs a lot of work.”

Involuntarily, Chesney winced. Everyone noticed only the weaknesses of the house in the country. Why couldn’t anyone see its charm? She chose a few more paint colors and then some nails and a hammer. Luke carried the paint to the front of the store while Chesney stopped to inspect the wooden barrel filled with garden seed and flower bulbs. She wanted to plan gardens. But major interior work had to be priority. So she walked past the barrel toward the counter. “So where’s Deke today?” she asked casually, careful not to make eye contact.

The last thing I want to admit, even to myself, is that I think Deke’s cute and that I wanted to see him today.

“He’s helping one of the guys deliver some lumber,” Luke said. “Did you want to leave a message for him?”

She shook her head, paid for this first of many trips to town to purchase supplies and shuffled out of the door. But a For Sale sign on the windshield of a beat-up old pick-up truck across the road turned Chesney right back around. “Well Merry Christmas to you,” she muttered happily under her breath as she stepped back into the store. Scanning the aisles, she spotted her new friend as he hoisted bags of fertilizer onto an already waist-high mountain and called out, “Hey, Luke, who owns that old pick-up truck?”

He turned with a toothy grin. “Doyle White owns that old truck,” Luke said. “He wants three hundred dollars for it.”

“Will you let Doyle know that I want to buy his truck?” Chesney grinned. “And will you please tell him I'd like to have it today?”

“No problem,” Luke said. “I could help Doyle bring the truck to your place this afternoon.”

“Perfect,” she nodded.

“What do you want with that old truck, Miss Blake?” Luke asked.

“I need a truck,” she shrugged. “So I can haul mulch in it or furniture...”

“Or paint?” Luke laughed.

“Or paint,” she said with a nod and a giggle. “And please, Luke, call me Chesney. I’m not very fond of that ‘Miss Blake’ business.” Happily, she spun around to return to the car. The next destination for the day was the grocery store in Nashville. She already knew there would be no freshly baked breads or extravagant cuts of meat. No vintage wines or Brie. No sushi. But what she would definitely find there mattered a lot more than a few delicacies. Watching people stop to chat in store aisles or in the parking lot by trucks made her feel warm and safe. She loved the Southern twang in many of the voices and the slowed way they enjoyed life. She walked through the grocery, eyeing reminders from childhood such as tiny cans of Vienna sausages, which her grandmother plopped onto paper plates with soda crackers for lunch. She saw pound cake, root beer, Pixie sticks, apple butter, pickled bologna, Moon Pies. “City girl loses her mind after break-up,” Chesney muttered as she grabbed a jar of apple butter. “Or is it more like I finally found my mind instead of losing it?” She grabbed a couple of cans of soup, a couple of homemade soy candles, more coffee and some soft drinks.