Page 25 of Lost in the Moonlight

Willow

CRAZY DREAMS

Performed by Carrie Underwood

After Lincoln left, my emotions andthoughts were all over the place. Excitement at the idea of seeing him again. Regret knowing it was stupid to play with fire. Hope that I couldn’t quite squash. With my mind whirling, it was impossible to nap, so I threw my restless energy into my dessert art. By the time Mom finally made it home well past dinnertime, it was finished.

Analyzing it critically, I could see where it fell short. The tarts needed more color to really stand out, and the miniature pies made the faces a blurry oval reminiscent of a George Seurat painting. I’d have to stick to impressionist art unless I found a way to add more detail to the pastries. Still, the dessert looked surprisingly like the mosaic on the wall at the cemetery.

Accomplishment zipped through me. I’d done it. Which meant I could do even more. Another thrill ran up my spine.

After setting her stuff down, Mom came into the kitchen, looked over my shoulder, and gasped in delight. Satisfaction zipped through me at her reaction, and my smile only grew as she said, “It’s beautiful, kiddo.”

I turned and hugged her.

She laughed quietly as I released her, tucking a soft strand of blond hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. Her eyes were a bluish gray that landed somewhere between Lincoln’s stunning sapphires and my mist-colored ones. I looked like her in a nesting-doll kind of way, the same but only two sizes smaller. I felt lucky to have any of her features because she was beautiful.

Dad used to tell Mom she was the belle of his ball. He’d whirl her into his arms, swing her around the kitchen, and kiss her softly. I’d never been grossed out by it. Instead, I’d thought it was sweet and been reassured by the love I felt drifting around them. It was the cornerstone of our family. I wanted Mom to experience it again. I hoped we’d both be able to seize love and joy with both hands.

At the moment, I didn’t have anyone in my life who I’d ask to take the leap into the unknown with me. Lincoln certainly didn’t count, but Mom had Hector just waiting to shower her with adoration.

“What are you going to do with this?” Mom asked.

I shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. All I know is that I love it.”

I’d left a few of the tarts, pies, and petit fours out, and I handed one of the butterscotch bites to her. She bit into it, eyes closing in pleasure, which only made me prouder. Happier.

“You just get better and better,” she said. “You should bring this to Hector. He’ll know what to do with it.”

My stomach fluttered with nerves. Anticipation. Hope. “It doesn’t exactly fit The Tea Spot’s brand.”

“Brands change,” she said. “And you know Hector would adore showing you off.”

He would. He’d be just like a parent putting a kid’s stick-figure drawing on the refrigerator. But that was exactly why it made me nervous. Would I really know if it was good enough if it was just a parent bragging about a child’s amateurish design?

Mom tugged at the braid I’d twisted my hair into while I’d been working.

“Show him. He won’t blow steam up your ass.”

“Mom!”

She laughed, finished the treat, and reached for another before taking it with her and sitting on a barstool. Her energy shifted, away from teasing and happy to serious. I’d gotten really good at reading her moods over the last six years. She’d never once taken any of her anger or loss out on me, but for a long time, her grief had felt like it was my fault. As if I could have done something to stop what had happened when I knew, logically, I couldn’t have.

My throat bobbed.

I needed to tell her about what had happened with Poco. I wanted to, and yet I also wanted to protect the last vestiges of her good mood. I’d just worked up the courage to tell her, was just inhaling to let it all out, when she said, “Deputy Marshal James called today.”

I bit back my words, waiting for her to finish with a dread much larger than Poco had caused when he’d grabbed me this morning.

“Roci Vitale died in prison last week.”

My eyes widened, body tightening automatically at Roci’s name on her lips. Roci had been the youngest of the Vitale brothers who’d attacked Dad. He was my age and had attended my high school, but we hadn’t hung out in the same circles. I’d known to stay away from him even before that awful night. Everyone at school had known he was part of the Viceroys street gang.

“What happened?” I asked.

“He was shivved in the showers and bled out before they could save him.”

Goosebumps sprinkled my skin, and panic tried to swallow me as the memory of hate-filled eyes flashed before me. Evil eyes. Not Roci’s but his brother Aaron’s. He’d been Roci and Danny’s defense attorney, and when the jury had read out the guilty verdict, he’d sent me a look that would have left me dead if it had taken real form. It had been sharp. Brutal. Cold.

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