Share the Moon. Sharon Struth
up to by returning here. Even the resort seems far-fetched. Who’d want to vacation in Northbridge?”
“We’re forgetting the most obvious way to size up this guy.” Bernadette twisted her mouth into an eager grin directed at Sophie. “What would Nana have said about him?”
Sophie laughed. “I’m ashamed to admit this. I Googled the meaning.” She popped a pitted, oily olive into her mouth.
“And…” the ladies chimed in unison.
She licked the salty remnants from her lips. “Duncan means ‘dark prince.’”
“Ha!” Bernadette’s palm slapped the tabletop. “Prince Duncan. How fitting…. He pranced into town like he already owns the place.”
Meg shook her head. “He’s a prince, all right, but not the way you’re seeing him. Mr. Jamieson’s been a delight to work with. If I were single…well, I’d be all over him like an egg noodle.”
Bernadette’s mouth dropped open with a ready blast. Sophie kicked her under the table.
“Ow.” Bernadette scowled at Sophie but clamped her lips tight.
They all understood Meg meant wet noodle. Besides, when Duncan helped Sophie with the boats, she’d walked away with the same opinion.
* * * *
Duncan pulled into the driveway of his parent’s whitewashed brick colonial. The lamppost cast a spotlight on an arrangement of various-sized pumpkins and wilting mums near the walkway leading to the entrance. The charming houses in the quaint town of Bronxville sold for far more than they were worth anywhere else in the country, a fact he’d never realized growing up.
His gut swirled as if a herd of butterflies had come to life inside. He parked behind his dad’s Mercedes sedan and took a second to calm down. Only his parents could cause this much unease. Not true. Sophie’s speech in the parking lot left him uneasy, too, with all the awkwardness he’d possessed as a teenage boy. Giving her the brush-off when she called the next day and directing her to Carl for future questions might have soothed his beaten ego, but days later, the act seemed petty. He blew out a breath. Stop thinking about her and focus on tonight’s hurdle.
He stepped out of the car. After a quick knock on the front door, he wandered in, never quite sure of the formalities in his former home, a place where attachment had never come easy.
“Mom? Dad?”
His mother’s disembodied voice traveled from upstairs. “Be right down.”
Duncan shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over an antique chair in the marble-floored foyer. The kitchen door at the end of the hallway popped open.
Dad walked out nibbling on a julienned carrot stick. “I’m glad you’re finally here. I’m starving.” He furrowed his dark brows, threaded with strands of gray, into an annoyed pose as he held up the carrot. “Your mother has me on a diet. All she’ll let me have before dinner are these damn things.”
“You look great, Dad. Not sure why she’s worried.”
As a child, Duncan thought his father slept in his three-piece suits. The fast-growing international law firm of Jamieson, McDonald & O’Reilly rarely allowed him time at home. Today he wore a heavy cardigan, filled out in the midsection, and casual slacks. His once-dark hair had turned mostly white and seemed more disheveled than usual.
His dad offered a hand to Duncan. The greeting somehow evolved into an awkward, back-patting hug. Duncan’s height and sturdy build had always been much like his dad’s. Today, however, Duncan towered over him and he took more care as he embraced the frail shell of his father’s once firm frame.
Duncan handed off a bottle of wine. “Sorry I’m late. You know how Friday night traffic is on the Saw Mill Parkway.”
Footsteps tapped on the wooden spiral staircase. His mother came down, each step carrying the sophisticated gait of an actress from a 1940s movie. Graying bronze hair touched her shoulders and bounced as she stepped down the last steps to the foyer, her willowy frame always graceful.
“Hello, dear.” She placed a distant peck on Duncan’s cheek and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll tell Annabelle we’re ready to eat.”
The next half hour dragged. They sat at the end of a formal mahogany table large enough to sit sixteen comfortably. The vacant chairs reminded Duncan how lonely he’d often felt in this spacious house. So many times during his childhood, he and his brother had stayed with the live-in help while his dad traveled for work and his mother was off on a philanthropic cause. Everybody in town knew if Norma Jamieson got involved in any charitable effort, it would get attention.
Between bites and casual conversation, his gaze drifted to the étagère. A family photo sat at eye-level, taken when he was in ninth grade and Trent a sophomore. His mother wore a chiffon gown and stood close to Trent, near the fountain in the lavish hotel where his cousin had thrown her wedding. Mom’s arm draped Trent’s shoulder. Duncan stood on her other side, leaning close but not quite touching. Both the gap and his posture summed up their relationship. His father stood on the other side of Trent, glancing to the side, barely engaged with the foursome. The snapshot might represent any day in their lives.
When their utensils scraping the plates filled the void in conversation, he lowered his fork. “I have some news.”
They both peered up with mild curiosity.
The pulse in his throat quickened. “I’m going to try to cut down on my work hours. Spend more time with the kids, enjoy life for a change. Between my executive assistant and Trent, I’ve got two strong hands to help at the firm.”
Dad grunted. “Good luck with your brother.”
His mother cast a silent reprimand in her husband’s direction, always Trent’s advocate, even though he was now a grown man.
Duncan sipped his merlot. Why hadn’t he simply slipped a note under the door to announce his move? He’d never get their approval. Never had. Since losing his wife, he’d vowed to treasure the things in life that really mattered. Family mattered. All the love he had for his children flooded his heart, somehow making his mother’s negative attitude less important.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve also decided to move out of Manhattan. To someplace quieter.”
His mother’s face brightened. “Oh? There’s a lovely house for sale about three streets away. We’d see more of Patrick and Casey.”
A jealous twinge nipped at Duncan’s heels. His mother had spent the better part of his childhood barely noticing him but now found time for her grandchildren. He swallowed the comment. “I meant quieter than Bronxville too. I’m moving my headquarters out of the city to Connecticut. Hartford, actually. I’ve also purchased a house in Northbridge to live in year-round, on Blue Moon Lake.”
Dad chewed slowly, but looked up from his plate. His cold gaze pierced Duncan, the age lines surrounding his eyes not wilting their power. He returned his attention to the food and cut another piece of roast beef.
Duncan met his mother’s judgmental gaze and raised his brows. “Hey, you’re the one who sent me there in the first place to buy the land for Trent.”
She stared at her plate, pushing the green beans around the fine china, but didn’t come to his defense.
Dad brought the loaded fork close to his mouth then stopped. “Move to Northbridge? I don’t even understand why you agreed with Trent’s idea to turn the land into a resort.” He cut an irritated glance to his wife. “Or your idea, Norma, to buy that land for Trent.”
“I told you, Frank. Trent’s therapist believes his substance abuse ties into feeling inadequate over being adopted into this family. Buying the land of his birth father is a perfect way to hand him a little piece of his past.” A dark flash crossed her face. “The purchase of Tate Farm doesn’t involve you because you wanted nothing to do with it.”