Page 55 of The Sun and the Moon
“She’s good for him,” Pam says, just as we reach the entrance to the barrel room. It’s got a big distressed sliding back door, in stark contrast to the soft peachy white of the stucco building. “I haven’t seen Rick this happy in a long time.”
My face falls. I feel the features tumble, and I see the evidence of it in Pam’s expression. Her brows knit and she tugs me in for a side hug.
It totally deflates my balloon of angry confusion.
“Rick needs someone to help him keep his life straight. He always has,” she says. “You had to take that on after Diana passed, and you handled it well.” Tears sting in the corners of my eyes at the compliment, or the mention of my mother’s name, or a little bit of both. “I’m glad you can let go a little now.” She tucks my cheek into her palm, gently caressing. “Maybe find your own happiness that doesn’t depend on making sure he’s okay.”
I clench my teeth and try for a smile. She chuckles.
“You don’t have to like change. But that doesn’t stop it from calling.”
“Right, well,” I stammer, but I can’t commit to an argument, and Pam knows it. Fortunately Greg calls her over with a wave and a “Sweetheart” and says to meet him at the sommelier station, rescuing me from having to say more on the topic. My brain ping-pongs between the dissonance of the idea that Moira makes Dad happy, could actually be good for him, be what he needs, and the tiny little sliver of info about the night she met Moira at Dad’s.
Greg had something to discuss with Dad. And that something is probably what that text thread Cadence saw is about. What happened to get Moira involved? It could be why this engagement feels so rushed. I hope Cadence learns more than me from her trek around the vineyard with Lola.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cadence
Hawthorne has abandoned Lola and me in our walk through the grapevines after he met the vintner and learned he could go see the machine where the grapes are smashed. He smacked a kiss on Lola’s cheek, requiring him to nearly double over because of their height difference. Even though my main objective in this one-on-one with Lola is to try to get information about Kismet out of her, I have to admit, it’s nice to be in her company. In a lonely childhood, Lola was often my only friend. Even if the three-year age gap meant we never shared any classes in school and were usually out of sync in our development.
“I didn’t see you come by yesterday to go through your boxes in the garage,” she says, in the beat of silence that follows her explanation of how she met Hawthorne and why she isn’t calling him her boyfriend: They met at a Ren faire where she was working a friend’s jewelry booth as a favor. He works at the Ren faire and is leaving soon for a circuit in the Midwest.He’s good in bed and he’s nice to me, but I know it’s temporary. She sounded surprisingly melancholy when she said that last part.
“Oh,” I say, trying to think of an explanation that isn’t an outright lie. “I ran into Rick, and he invited me to take a backlot tour of Universal.”
She nods approvingly. “Getting to know the future stepdad. I dig it.”
I balk openly at the use of the wordstepdadto describe Rick, which garners a laugh from Lola.
“Calm down,” she says, her voice breaking over the chuckle. “You don’t have to call him that or anything.”
Technically, she’s correct. He would be my stepdad, but I find it difficult to wrap my brain around that reality for more than one reason. Thinking of a man as a stepdad because he’s marrying my mother, who I have been estranged from for years, feels weird. Moira only gets the labelMomwhen I let my guard down. Even if they wind up married, it’s not as if I’m planning to come back into her life in a more consistent or permanent way.
But beyond that weirdness, there’s the whole thing about how I never knew my biological father, have never called any manDad, and don’t plan on starting now.
It’s not often that I think about him, the man who helped Moira make me. Not as an adult, anyway. There was a time when his secret identity used to intrigue me, serving as a mystery to fill the space in my childhood and adolescence. But Moira thwarted me at every turn, refusing to let me seek him out; she made finding out his identity a source of tension between us.
I used to care about easing the tension in any way possible. Walking the tightrope she hung for me. And even my realization that I didn’t want to do that anymore—even if it meant I barely saw her—didn’t make me any more sure I could find him withouther help. It’s a cruel joke to know your trust in a person is eroded so deeply that you don’t want to answer their calls but you stilldeeplyfear that one day they’ll actually stop calling altogether.
“He’s a nice dude,” Lola is saying. She’s smiling, and I know I should smile back. I should agree with her. It’s the socially appropriate response. I suck at socially appropriate responses, but I don’t disagree with her about Rick.
“He is,” I reply, seeing a window of opportunity opening up. “I don’t understand what he sees in Moira.” It won’t surprise Lola for me to say something like that.
“You mean besides the fact that she’s an ageless beauty and thoughtful communicator,” she says, and the way her lips jump and flatten in rapid fire makes it clear she’s messing with me.
“Did she pay you to say that?” I retort. Lola owes a lot to Moira, but she isn’t fooled by her. Despite everything she’s been through, Lola has always had a strong sense of self, one Moira doesn’t mess with. My mother made sure Lola finished high school. She gave her work and freedom.
Two things she never seemed to want to give me willingly.
“Cade, come on, when was the last time you saw her like this?” Lola flicks her eyes up, looking over the rows of grapevines to where Moira stands with Rick. She’s smelling the grapes. Rick is looking over her shoulder admiringly, with Chicken on a leash sniffing the same vine, just closer to the ground. Rick leans in, nuzzling her ear with his nose. She giggles, turning to close her arms around him in an embrace. The whole display sets my nerves on edge.
“I’ve never seen her like this,” I say. “That’s why I’m suspicious.” Lola halts at that, face jumping in surprise.
“What do you meansuspicious?”
Fuck. Way to step in it, Cadence.
“I’m always suspicious of her,” I say, trying to save it with my signature bitterness. “I have good reason to be.”
