Share the Moon. Sharon Struth
which was decorated with pastel pink placemats and matching floral napkins. They were dressed in the only allowable attire for this event—jeans or sweatpants and a comfortable top. Anybody who gussied up would be sent home to change. Sophie had sufficiently under-dressed in black yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt reading CAPE COD in bold letters across her chest.
Bernadette cased the food like a starving dog. “We’ve been waiting for this.” She tugged up the cuffs of a long-sleeved Red Sox T-shirt and removed the plastic wrap from the platter. “Your antipasto is the best.”
“The one thing we agree on.” As director of the town’s library, Veronica approached everything with the logical order of the card catalog, not with the outspoken passion Bernadette often unleashed. She playfully batted her dark lush lashes at Bernadette and grinned.
“True. I think we also agreed that Hugh Jackman is the hottest man alive.”
Veronica laughed and looked at Sophie. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” She looped a finger through her signature pearls. The group allowed the dressy indulgence, certain nobody ever asked Barbara Bush to remove hers no matter what the occasion. “Things okay?”
“Yeah.” Sophie nodded. “Just busy. Nice haircut, by the way. Edgy. A little Pat Benatar.”
Veronica dropped the pearls and they disappeared inside the opened collar of her fleece pullover. “It wasn’t what I asked for, but I’ll live. I have a blind date this weekend.” She crinkled her nose and the teeny turned-up end lifted. She raised a hand. “Don’t ask.”
Bernadette clanged a fork on her glass. “Ladies, Meg has some scoop to report. Probably on your new friend, Sophie.”
“He’s not my friend.”
“I’ll bet he thinks you are.” She winked.
Veronica giggled.
“I think you mistook his nervous tic for something flirtatious. In fact, I’m starting to think you’re developing a tic.”
Footsteps pounded the basement stairs. Meg hurried in carrying a bottle of wine and scrutinized the table filled with food. “Damn. I’m never going to be able to stick to my diet.”
“Weight Watchers again?” Sophie had joined with her this time last year in order to shed fifteen pounds added from stress eating after Mike moved out. The pounds slid off Sophie like wet soap while poor Meg had looked on with envy.
“Yeah. I’ve got those rules down pat, could probably run the meetings. Too bad I can’t stick to the plan.” Meg’s rosebud lips pouted. “Roy made a not so subtle remark the other day about the size of my wedding gown compared to my size now. I’ll show him.”
Sophie had never liked Roy, a jerk even when they were teenagers. “You worry too much. Nobody had more boys after her in our younger days than you.”
Meg uncorked the Chianti. “You’re exaggerating.”
Meg’s extra childhood pounds now molded into nicely shaped curves, a voluptuousness Sophie had admired in those early years of developing. Topped off with her beautiful round face, shiny auburn hair, and positive outlook, most boys in high school had found her quite approachable.
“Hurry up and sit, Meg. We want your scoop.” Bernadette patted the empty chair to her side.
Meg put the wine in the center of the table and did as commanded. “Well, we have a very wealthy, very single man who’s about to call Northbridge home.” Her emerald eyes widened.
Bernadette smirked. “Sophie already knows him.”
“Is it Duncan Jamieson?” Sophie lifted the napkin over a basket of focaccia and inhaled.
Meg frowned. “You knew?”
“Kind of. So he really does want to buy a house here?”
She nodded and her mid-neck blunt cut shook. “I took him out Tuesday afternoon, right before the hearing. Boy, oh, boy, was I glad when he offered to drive while I showed him places. I couldn’t have concentrated on the road with him sitting nearby. He sure made me want to drink a large glass of water.”
“Were you thirsty?” Bernadette’s sarcastic lilt filled her voice. “Because if you’re trying to say he’s a handsome man, the expression is ‘he’s a tall glass of water.’”
Sophie recalled the day in tenth grade English class when Meg anointed herself the queen of idioms. For the most part, their group of friends overlooked her incessant misuse of the clichéd quotes, Bernadette the one exception.
“Whatever.” Meg narrowed her glance at Bernadette. “You knew what I meant.”
“He’s wealthy?” The white Camry he’d been driving—the one he’d pointed out seconds before wrapping his warm hands around hers—certainly didn’t fit into her image of wealth. “Why would a rich guy be driving a Toyota?”
“It’s a rental.” Meg bobbed her head. “He travels a lot. He flew into Bradley Airport, rented a car, and then drove here. How’d you know what he drove?”
Sophie revealed all the details about their first meeting. “When I realized he owns RGI, I thought he lied to me about moving here.”
Veronica paused with a forkful of eggplant just outside her slender lips. “Is that why you were arguing with him by your car after the hearing?”
“Jeez, are there hidden cameras all over town?”
“Guess again. I ran into Viv Taylor. She had coffee with your neighbor, Sue, who claims to have passed you and Mr. McMoneybags in the parking lot after the meeting. She’s quoted as saying ‘Sophie snapped at the nice-looking resort guy so badly I thought she’d take his head off.’” Veronica chuckled softly. “True or pure fiction?”
“A slight exaggeration, but he got an earful.” She turned to Meg. “Did he find a place to live?”
“Yup. We checked out six places, but he fell in love with the old Burnham estate. Said he loved its Craftsman style and seclusion. Plus, it’s empty. He wants to move in ASAP. Before Christmas. We signed the papers yesterday.”
“That’s fast.” Veronica speared a chunk of Italian sausage. “Where’s he from?”
“New York City. His wife died three years ago.” Meg’s usual cheery optimism melted. “Poor guy. He has a daughter who just started college and a son in high school.”
“Are you sure he wants to stay here year-round?” Bernadette opened her palms and wavered like an antique balance scale. “Manhattan or Petticoat Junction.” Her right hand plopped on the tabletop. “Manhattan wins.”
“I’m positive. He wants a simpler lifestyle. His family visited here when he was younger. Said everything is still quaint.” She poked Bernadette’s arm. “I heard about your aggressive posturing toward our First Selectman at the hearing. Thank God you didn’t scare my client off.”
“Meg, not everyone believes the masses should stay silent and the government will run fine on its own.” Bernadette flipped her head and her bangs shifted, revealing her thin brows. “Dissention is part of the process.”
Veronica pushed around a piece of eggplant with her fork. “Didn’t a Jamieson own a summer house here years ago?” Her voice mimicked a snobby tone. “I believe they lived on ‘the upper east-side.’”
Sophie grew up on the other side of town from the high-priced, private community. Her father told her it had come to life in the early 1900s when the lake gained fame and the new name, thanks to Harry Langstrom’s column in the Hartford Courant. Local folks began to refer to this enclave of the rich using the same name as the affluent NYC neighborhood. Most estates were only occupied in the summer.
Veronica didn’t wait for an answer. “I think they lived here around the time we started high school. I remember my parents