Once in a Blue Moon by Eileen Goudge Page A

can’t believe you guys are related.” He caught himself, his cheeks reddening. “Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant to say was that you’re nothing alike. It’s like you grew up on separate planets or something.”
    “It certainly feels that way,” Lindsay confessed.
    “You must’ve about shit a brick when she dropped in like that, out of the blue.”
    “That’s putting it mildly.”
    “Well, if my opinion counts, I think she’s awesome.” He paused before asking, with a casualness belied by the deepening color in his cheeks, “You wouldn’t happen to know if she has a boyfriend?”
    “Not that I’m aware of. Why?” Lindsay was growing uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking.
    “Just curious.” Ollie fell silent for a moment, his porcupine head bobbing as he mulled this over. “It’s just . . . well, I was thinking I’d ask her out. How long is she in town for?”
    “I’m not sure—she wasn’t definite. But I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree.” No sense in encouraging him. “She’s not your type.”
    Ollie grew defensive. “Why do you say that?”
    “Well, for one thing she’s older—we’ve already established that.”
    “I’m twenty-four. How old is your sister?”
    Lindsay did the mental arithmetic. “Twenty-nine.”
    “That’s only five years.”
    “I’m not just talking about the difference in your ages. She’s had a hard life, Ollie. She’s not . . . well, she isn’t the kind of girl you would have taken to the prom. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?” She didn’t want to be unfair to her sister, but Ollie should know the truth.
    He wasn’t so easily dissuaded, though. “So she had it rough growing up. That doesn’t make her a bad person.”
    “I’m not saying she’s a bad person. I’m just saying she may not be right for you.”
    “You mean because she’s not like you?” An edge crept into his voice.
    Ollie’s right , she thought. I’m measuring her by my own yardstick, which isn’t fair. Truth to tell, Lindsay was still recovering from the shock of encountering someone who bore no resemblance to the idealized picture in her mind—that of an adult sister with whom she could share confidences and discuss topics of mutual interest. In place of that was someone who, by Kerrie Ann’s own admission, hadn’t cracked a book in years and with whom Lindsay was as likely to share a confidence or an opinion as the same taste in clothing.
    Once again she felt a twinge of guilt, wishing she were as accepting as Ollie. But wasn’t she, too, a product of her upbringing? The first twelve years of her life had been about waking up each morning with a vague sense of dread, wondering what fresh ordeal was in store for that day. Was it any wonder she’d grown up needing to be in control? That she had trouble making friends—especially with people whose lives were in disarray? People like her former classmate Susie Larson, who’d recently gotten in touch. Lindsay had listened in sympathy while Susie had described the messy divorce she was going through, but she hadn’t followed up when Susie had suggested they get together. Not because she didn’t feel for Susie but because for her, it would have been like accepting delivery of a suspicious-looking package that might contain an explosive device.
    At the moment she had enough turmoil of her own, with the battle over her land.
    She gazed out at the darkening landscape, folding around her like the gentlest of arms, arms that for so long had cradled her against the brunt of life’s storms and that, God willing, would continue to do so in the years to come. The fog of earlier in the day had retreated, revealing a semibarren vista matted with low-lying scrub and, off in the distance, windswept bluffs where the bent and twisted shapes of Monterey cypress stood silhouetted like so many hobgoblins. Beyond lay the ocean, gleaming like tarnished silver and rippling with long swells.
    It