A Curious Moon

By Mark Anthony Powers

Rachel

It took most of her frequent flyer miles for the round trip flights from JFK to SFO and back. Still reeling from the shocking news, Rachel closed her laptop. Yesterday, when a fellow Cornell alumnus informed her of Henry’s memorial service, her mind came to a full stop for the balance of the day.

How could he?

Just three weeks ago, they’d spent six carefree days seeing Broadway plays, dining in her favorite bistros, strolling The High Line, and sharing breakfast in her Manhattan apartment. Most of those mornings, Henry had slipped out of bed, made coffee, and toasted bagels while she luxuriated between her 600 count sheets, the sheets she saved for his visits.

They’d celebrated that it had been a year since he’d introduced himself over supper at the Cornell Club of New York City. He’d come to town to visit a cousin and then watch the same Cornell vs. Columbia hockey game Rachel planned to attend. She was dining alone before the game, and he politely asked if he might join her. And join her he did in that Henry way of his. They met for drinks after the Cornell victory, then dinner a day later; then he’d made the trip east with increasing frequency and for longer and longer stays. How he enjoyed the city, his childhood home. And how they’d enjoyed each other.

Why did he have to leave her so soon? He was two years younger than she. If only they’d crossed paths as Cornell students. They might have spent a lifetime together.

She tossed her carry-on suitcase on the bed and rifled through her hanging clothes. She wouldn’t know a soul at his memorial service, but she meant to find out who his people were. Why hadn’t she suggested that she reciprocate and take a trip west to visit his home? Yet, she couldn’t recall him ever inviting her, seeming content to visit her among New York’s many other attractions.

Sarah

Sarah wept for two days after Maury’s call. Henry had spent the weekend before his last with her in Santa Cruz. They’d sat on her balcony and sipped the most delicious Sonoma Syrah while watching surfers and shore birds cruise through the vermillion sunsets. Then Henry prepared seafood and fresh salads from what they’d gathered at the nearby markets.

How could he leave her? He was only seventy, eight years older than she.

Just six months ago, he’d been in town to visit his son, Maury, and was wandering among art galleries while Maury worked. She was in the back of her gallery wrapping a painting for shipping, and he’d pulled a chair up to her cluttered table to introduce himself and charm her into lunch. The next morning he brought croissants and coffee to her gallery. The coffee was exactly the way she’d ordered it at their lunch date, a dark roast with a splash of milk and a pinch of sugar. He had such an eye for details and surprised her with thoughtful offerings on each of his subsequent Santa Cruz visits.

And two months ago, Henry arranged a double date dinner with Maury and his wife, Carol. Such a step had made Sarah wonder if Henry might be contemplating relocating from San Francisco. With her work and his frequent visits, she hadn’t felt the need to suggest she visit his place. He’d enjoyed the beauty of the Santa Cruz shoreline so much.

Now he was gone, and Santa Cruz no longer felt so magnificent. Maury and his wife were the only ones she’d know at Henry’s memorial. At least there she’d finally get a glimpse of Henry’s San Francisco world.

Juliette

She’d found Henry. He hadn’t answered her text from the night before, and he didn’t answer the doorbell. He’d always told Juliette when he was going to be away visiting Maury’s family or New York, where he still consulted for a startup he’d helped shepherd into existence years ago as its CFO.

His door lock’s code was her four-digit birthday, 0315. She’d been so touched when he’d shared it with her several months ago. Was he thinking about taking their relationship to the next level? Of finally making an honest woman of her?

She’d shrieked when she found him so still in bed, his white hair combed and his reading glasses perched halfway down his nose. He’d always been in motion, fixing this or fussing with that.

His beloved yellow lab, Sally, was pressed tight against his side. When Juliette said her name, Sally lifted her sad face, barely shifted her thick tail, and let escape a moan that seemed to emanate from a spirit world. Henry’s hand was cold enough to convince Juliette that he wasn’t about to grin and say, “Morning Beautiful.” He’d liked playing those kinds of mischief and surprises.

She called 911 then Henry’s friend Steve, who’d reached Maury. She’d crossed paths only once with Maury and didn’t know him well. He and his wife, Carol, were totally immersed in the care of their infant daughter. A few months ago, Juliette had finally met Maury and a very pregnant Carol when they’d dropped by to see Henry at a free Red Hot Chile Dogs concert in Golden Gate Park. The noisy, crowded event hadn’t lent itself to chatting and personal revelations. But Steve was a regular at Henry’s, and Henry and she’d been regulars at Steve’s. 

Henry’s condominium was such an easy walk from hers that they’d kept pajamas and changes of clothes in each other’s closets. Now she’d have to return his and gather hers.

Things had been going so well. Why did he have to leave her? It was the last thing she’d expected.

Steve

Henry hadn’t been religious since his obligatory bar mitzvah so many decades ago. After he’d retired, his pursuits revolved around good friends, good wine, and Maury’s family. Poor Maury was so devastated with his father’s unexpected death, he’d asked Steve to see to the details of a memorial. They agreed that Henry wouldn’t have wanted a temple service. He’d have wanted his people to enjoy a festive celebration, an opportunity to share upbeat stories of a full life. There would be many. And there was Henry’s extensive wine collection. Maury tasked Steve to share it with folks who’d been attached enough to make the trek from around the continent. 

Steve had shared an apartment with Henry in college and stayed close friends when they both pursued careers in the Bay Area. Each evening since Henry’s death, Steve hunched over his laptop and reminisced over lively tales showcasing Henry’s adventures. There were several Steve could share if others at the memorial were too grief-stricken, shy, or unprepared. There was the time they’d met for dinner only to be caught in the spray from a Chinese gang’s machine guns during an assassination. Despite diving behind an overturned table, Steve had lost a toe, and Henry had taken a bullet in the thigh. For them, ‘telling war stories’ wasn’t just a tired cliché.

Steve had reached out to everyone he could think of who knew Henry and asked those people to let others know the details of the celebration. Still, he fretted he’d miss someone who cared. Henry had so many friends across the country and beyond.

Steve grieved each time he responded by email, text, and cell call to the original members of the Pyramid Moonatics Society, the intimate circle of friends that was founded during their college years, and to others befriended since those heady times at Cornell. During one of those heady times, ten friends had covertly knelt on each other’s backs to form a pyramid and, from a high dorm window, dropped trousers and mooned a crowd gathered for a simultaneous raucous and risqué event two floors below widely billed as The Last Stripper Show.

· ✶ · ─ ·⏾· ─ · ✶ ·

Steve pulled his minivan into the parking space closest to the ornate clubhouse’s main entrance. The caterer’s van was the only other vehicle. Steve felt his wife Jane’s long hair brush his cheek as she leaned close to his ear and said, “I’m going to let you guys carry the wine in. Ellen and I’ll set up the welcome table. Ellen and Kenneth, a Moonatics couple since Cornell, had flown into town yesterday and claimed Steve and Jane’s extra bedroom and now, in rumpled suits, their van’s back seats.

As Steve had requested, tables had been set up near the entrance, one for greetings and name tags and two more to display the wines. Another, longer table along the side wall featured colorful platters of hors d’oeuvres. The scents of smoked fish and strong cheeses penetrated across the empty venue. Steve pulled two folding chairs next to the first table, and Kenneth two more behind the wine. After Ken and Ellen organized the cases by variety, they perused the vintages to familiarize themselves with Henry’s sophisticated offerings, while Jane manned the name tags and Sharpies. Steve paced and scanned, searching for any unfinished detail to keep his unsettled mind occupied. He extracted the index card from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and reviewed ideas for Henry’s eulogy. There was so much he could say, but he wanted to leave plenty of time for others. He hoped to mostly moderate and to invite friends to share their memories.

He wasn’t surprised when the first through the door was Henry’s ex-wife and Maury’s mother, Brenda. She cradled Henry’s only grandchild, baby Martha, bundled in a blanket. Henry had been so thrilled to finally become a grandfather.

The years had been good to Brenda. She’d maintained her youthful figure, and her thick auburn hair overwhelmed the few scattered gray strands. Would she have aged more if she’d stayed married to Henry? Probably. He was a lot for one woman. They’d divorced young but amicably, remaining friends while sharing and adoring Maury through his maturation. Despite the split, Brenda had never stopped loving Henry. No one did.

Maury’s face displayed a mix of fatigue and grief. Gaining a firstborn then losing a parent, he’d seemed to age a decade over a few brief weeks. A prominent wet spot adorned his grey suit jacket’s shoulder, the likely sour remnant of baby Sarah’s recent regurgitation. Close behind him, Carol lugged a bulky diaper bag. Twirled into a tight bun, her long, shiny black hair matched her somber dress.

“I can’t thank you enough…for all you’re doing.” Maury said. His words seemed to catch on the tip of his tongue.

“Henry was my best friend. He’d have done the same for me—or more.” The memorial Steve had planned suddenly felt inadequate. Henry had always taken important events to the next level, to the memorable level.

Steve pulled a freshly ironed handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed his eyes. As he was putting it away, Juliette marched through the entrance, around the welcome table, and hugged him then Jane. A perfect understated perfume matched her black linen pantsuit, and her silver hair was trimmed to rest lightly on her shoulders. The mascara along her right eyelid was smudged a touch toward her thin nose.

“We’re gonna miss him every day,” she whispered. When she stepped back she added, “Now, how can I help?”

Jane handed her a Sharpie and pointed to a page of blank labels. “Write your name and how you knew Henry, then you can pick out a wine and mingle until the service starts.”

Juliette leaned over the table and printed her name and “GIRLFRIEND” then pressed the label to her chest. The broad Sharpie strokes barely fit the sticker, leaving no room for a modifying adjective. Otherwise she might have been tempted to add “CURRENT.” If only she still could be.

“Henry left plenty of wine at my place. I don’t need another bottle.” She spotted Maury’s family setting up in the front row of chairs and left the table to reintroduce herself.

Steve recognized most of the trickle of mourners who followed her, but he didn’t know the middle-aged woman inserted among them. Efforts to conceal her puffy eyes hadn’t fully succeeded. A deep purple jacket complemented her long blond hair. She thanked Steve for organizing Henry’s memorial and printed “SARAH” and “GIRLFIREND” on her label. She seemed visibly relieved when she caught sight of Maury and Carol then hurried toward them. A subtle floral fragrance trailed her.

Jane exchanged glances with Steve and murmured, “Do we have a problem?” Steve looked over his shoulder and noted that Juliette had already moved on from Maury and Carol ahead of Sarah’s hugs and was shaking hands and meeting other new arrivals.

“Not yet,” he answered.

Steve and Jane did their best to keep the line moving while greeting friends they hadn’t laid eyes on other than by Zoom gatherings or at five year college reunions. Most of the faces were familiar, and the others readily connected with Henry’s career stops.

A trim woman with the stylish short white hair one might see on Helen Mirren pulled a roller board suitcase. She apologized for it, saying, “Sorry. I’m Rachel, and I have a red-eye back to New York. I hope it will be okay to leave this under your table.” As she studied Steve’s label, a look of recognition replaced sadness and fatigue. “Henry talked about you, Steve. It’s nice to meet another Cornellian.”

“It’s nice to meet you too Rachel. Sorry I missed you at Cornell.” How had he? He knew just about all of Henry’s Cornell friends.

“I was a couple of years ahead of you.” She bent to print “RACHEL” and “GIRLFRIEND” then pressed the tag high up on her black pinstripe jacket.

Jane manifested a new and acute condition characterized by a short series of coughs.

Steve gestured toward her. “Rachel, this is my wife Jane.”

Jane lowered her fist from her mouth and offered her hand to Rachel. “If you want to bring a bottle of Henry’s wine back to New York with you, please pick one out.” She gestured to the cases on the next table.

“Oh, no thanks. Henry left plenty in my apartment.” She glanced at the line behind her. “I seem to be holding up traffic. I hope we can talk more later. I don’t know Henry’s friends.” She slid her suitcase under the table then claimed a seat at the far end of the front row of chairs.

The whites of Jane’s wide-open eyes fully encircled her gold-flecked brown irises. “I’m glad you’re the emcee. Think we might need security for the girlfriends?”

“They don’t look violent…although Henry did like spirited women.” Steve stood. “I’d better find my way to the lectern and try to settle folks into their seats. Any ideas on how to defuse a potential time bomb?”

“The right words from you might help.” She shrugged. “I’ll see what I can figure out. While you try to defuse, maybe I can diffuse any negative energy that might arise.” She pointed at her temple as if an idea was forming. “Now go get this started.”

Steve shuffled to the lectern and slipped the index card from his jacket’s breast pocket. He glanced at it then studied his scattered audience. One by one, they noticed him and meandered into the seats. Jane had the Sharpie in hand and was intent on printing on a sheet of labels. He’d been hoping eye contact with her would help him corral the courage that seemed bent on drifting away.

He leaned close to the microphone. His loud “hello” echoed through the room, and several pairs of shoulders next to the large speakers in the back of the room twitched. He stood upright and further back. “Welcome” came out at an acceptable volume. “Thank you everyone for coming to remember our friend Henry. I believe that you took the time out of your busy lives to attend because Henry in some way made your lives better. You’re not here just because of his fine wines.”

“His wines help!” A cry from the back was followed by scattered titters.

Steve chuckled. His vice grip on the lectern eased. “Yes, wine helps, but making friends’ lives better was Henry’s way, his real gift to us. When he was with us, he made us feel like we were the most important person in his life. It’s truly tragic his life has ended. He had so much life while we still had him.”

Juliette’s sobs filled the room. The woman with the roller board suitcase, Rachel, was clutching a tissue and staring at Juliette. Vertical lines formed between Rachel’s eyebrows. The blond woman in the purple jacket, Sarah, leaned forward, her face in her hands.

Jane rose from the welcome table and began circulating through the audience unpeeling and handing out more name tags.

Steve recognized the sixtyish woman in an enormous black feathered hat as she took an aisle seat in the second row. She leaned back with a thoughtful smile and pressed her name tag above her ample bosom.

Steve paused until the volume of Juliette’s crying softened. He started anew, “So much life. Yet he almost lost it as a young man. Most of you know about the Silver Serpent Massacre where Henry and I dodged death as young men. Some of you may even know that Henry shielded a young woman, then a stranger to him, with his body—and took a bullet in the thigh as a result.” He paused to allow the audience to imagine the carnage. “Then during the subsequent lengthy trial proceedings, that young woman became a good friend.” Steve gestured at the woman in the enormous, feathered hat. “It’s so good to see you Cora. Thank you for coming today. Henry would be so pleased.”

Cora smiled and waved at the audience. Steve refrained from mentioning that Cora and Henry actually saw quite a bit of each other after Henry’s divorce. Then she’d up and married someone else. When she’d told Henry of her pending nuptials so many years ago, he’d been caught off guard, believing Cora loved only him. But he’d taken the loss of her in stride and moved on. He’d always found ways to move on…until now.

 “I have other stories about Henry, but I’m open to having others share their times with him. I wish I was as gifted a public speaker as Henry was. Help will be appreciated.” 

Juliette leaned forward onto the edge of her chair. 

Steve continued, “So just stand or wave, and I’ll share the podium with you.”

Juliette stood and marched to the front. Steve stepped back as she leaned into the microphone.

“I’m Juliette. I’m Henry’s girlfriend. I was the one who found him.” Her knuckles blanched as she gripped both sides of the lectern. “We lived in nearby condos in the city, but they might as well have been one house. He kept stuff at my place and I at his. I took care of his dog, Sally, for him when he traveled. She was almost as happy at my place.” Juliette glanced at Sally, who’d stationed herself sitting at attention next to Maury’s leg, her soulful brown eyes fixed on the entrance, like she expected Henry to walk right through it.

“Ten years ago, I lost my husband to cancer. That was a hard, but expected loss. I’d given up on love until I met Henry. I…I never expected I’d lose him like I did. He was always so good to me…I’ll miss him as long as I live.”  Her hands shook when she let go of the lectern’s security, but she marched straight back to her seat.

The other women claiming to be Henry’s girlfriends had each tracked Juliette’s journey through narrowed eyes.

Steve waited for Juliette to settle then said, “Thank you Juliette.” He nodded at Maury, “Are you ready Maury?” When Maury rose from his chair, Steve continued, “I think almost everyone here knows Henry’s wonderful son Maury. Maury’s wife Carol, only two months ago, gave Henry his most precious gift, baby Martha. When Martha was born, Henry shared with me that he finally felt complete, knowing that he’d passed on his genes. I think we can take some solace in his words. Martha’s birth had to have allowed him to die a fulfilled and happy man.”

 Maury shuffled to the podium and murmured, “If you remember what it was like having a newborn, you know that I’m totally sleep deprived…on top of grieving Dad…so I’ll keep it short and hope I don’t melt into a gibbering puddle.” He held out his hands, palms up. “Thank you for honoring my father. I believe he’s watching us and is pleased to see how many people miss him.” Maury stared at his wife, as if to find composure and strength. “He was a great father…He made sure I knew I was loved…and never wanted for anything. I hope to do as well for our daughter, Martha.” He pulled a tissue from his suit pocket and wiped his eyes and nose. “Thank you for being his friends.” He hurried back to his seat where Carol put her arm around his quivering shoulders.

Steve stepped back to the microphone. “Thank you Maury. Yes, we do all miss him.” Two women stood, a lifelong Cornell friend Steve recognized, and the New York lady, Rachel. The lifelong friend felt safer. Steve gestured toward her. “Sherry, you knew Henry even longer than I did. Please share some memories with us.” Rachel sat as Sherry came to Steve’s side. A nametag that said SHERRY and GIRLFRIEND covered another nametag. Could Sherry be admitting that she and Henry had once secretly shared more than friendship? 

“Hi everyone. I’m Sherry. Many of you know that Henry used to call me “Cousin.” That went back to our childhood. Our families were that close, like we really were related. Henry and I, being close to the same age, were always together as kids in New York and then at Cornell. We kept in touch after graduation and visited whenever we could. How I looked forward to his visits! He was always so much fun.” Her smiled drooped into a frown. “I’m going to really miss his visits and all the laughs we had together.” She hugged Steve and shuffled to her seat.

The New York woman stood again. This time she didn’t wait to be recognized before she stepped past Maury’s family and over Juliette’s outstretched legs on her way to the front.

Her name tag confirmed he’d remembered her name correctly, RACHEL. In block letters right above GIRLFRIEND. Steve leaned into the microphone. “Next, I’d like to introduce Rachel, who flew in from New York to remember Henry.” He surrendered the lectern to her.

She gripped it like it had wronged her. “I wish I could have met Henry’s friends while he was alive.” She focused a stern look in Juliette’s direction. “He seemed content to visit me in New York, and, dammit, I never offered to visit him in San Francisco. I wish I had. We were having so much fun when he visited me in New York, I never got to know the San Francisco Henry. It sounds like that guy was also wonderful.”

Her stern look dissolved into a tired smile. “We met at New York’s Cornell Club before a hockey game. I’d been widowed and on my own a long time…I looked forward to each of his return trips and hoped he might one day stay…but I can see his home was here. If only he’d asked me to make San Francisco my home too…I just might have. He made me that happy.”

She paused like she might say more, then shook her head once and ambled back along the front row. Juliette had been sitting bolt upright, attentive to each of Rachel’s words. Then she slouched in her seat and gradually extended her legs, as if to impede Rachel’s return, maybe even to trip her. But Rachel stopped and stared at Juliette and her nametag, then she turned and held her hand out to Maury saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

As she reclaimed her seat, there were scattered whispers throughout the crowd.

Steve needed to distract. “I guess it’s my turn to tell another Henry story. Which story is the question…Actually, the one I’m thinking of would be better told by our friend, Sean.” Steve smiled at the familiar face in the second row. “Sean, I know you’d like to share it.”

Sean ambled to the front, sporting a fresh haircut and close trim of his white goatee. He surveyed the audience like it was a jury, making eye contact with many. “Well, the story I want to tell shows how Henry stood up for his friends. You can see that I’m not a large man, and as a young man, I had a bit of a temper, so once when an argument I somehow found myself in the middle of became physical, I got knocked on my—” He looked at the ceiling as if to ask forgiveness. “—on my backside. Well, my friend Henry bolted from his chair and shoved my much bigger assailant away.” Sean pointed at his teeth. “Otherwise, this smile and this face might not be so pretty.”

“Ha!” and “Yeah, right!” came from somewhere.

Sean took half of a bow and hugged Steve. Steve noticed a slim and attractive younger Asian woman standing. He couldn’t remember the name she gave when she checked in, but when she arrived to take her turn at the lectern, her nametag read “DAISY” and “GIRLFRIEND” and had been stuck over an earlier nametag. The fresh printing resembled Jane’s familiar handwriting.

Daisy lifted the microphone from its holder and stepped away from the lectern, like she was about to give a Ted talk. “Henry was my first work mentor. I was fresh out of school and bait for harassment. Henry listened when I explained how someone in the upstairs offices had targeted me. After he went to bat for me, at considerable risk to his own career, the harassment stopped, and work became a happy place for me. My early career hinged on Henry’s courage, and I’ll never forget that.” She held the microphone toward the audience. “I suspect there are others here that he helped. Anyone else want to stand and thank him?”

A half dozen young to middle-aged people stood. Daisy handed the microphone to the closest, a young Black man. He said, “Henry recommended me for my first promotion. Thank you Henry!” He handed the microphone to another. “He gave me the best advice,” and “He cut me some much needed slack when I had a family tragedy,” and other acts of wisdom and kindness followed.

When the microphone circled back to Steve, he returned it to the podium and said, “Wow! Thank you everyone for those comments. I can’t top those. Is it time to toast Henry with some of his wines?” 

“Hell yeah!” and “’bout time.” Came from the crowd.

Steve couldn’t help chuckling. Had he dodged conflict with the welcome flood of praise?  “Well before we adjourn for refreshments, is there anyone else who wants to speak?”

The blond woman in the deep purple jacket stood. The one who’d printed “SARAH” and “GIRLFRIEND” on her nametag. The first to alarm Jane and him. Maury fidgeted and whispered something to Carol then glanced at the ceiling, as if hoping for a helpful divine intervention. Sarah strode to the front and again shook Steve’s hand. A solid, confidant shake. Her tanned and elegant hand then encircled the microphone’s handle.

“Hello everyone. I’m Sarah, and I too was Henry’s girlfriend.” Total silence filled her pause. “I’d like a show of hands. If you have “GIRLFRIEND” printed on your nametag, please raise your hand.” More than a dozen hands went up, some, including Juliette and Rachel, with quick confidence and others with measured caution. How many of those hands had actually known physical intimacy with Henry, and how many loyal friends had urgently been recruited and relabeled as rescue GIRLFRIENDs would never be known. Should never be known.

Sarah scanned the audience. “Quite an attractive group to be included in. Okay. Thanks. You can put your hands down.” She paced from one side to the other. “My first reaction to hearing that I wasn’t Henry’s only girlfriend was one of shock…maybe some anger and jealousy thrown in. If Henry were alive, would we girlfriends now have a catfight over him? Or would we assail Henry himself? Maybe even slap his handsome face?” She paced from one side of the lectern to the other then faced the audience. 

“No…I have to admit…he was never dishonest with me. He never said I was his only love. He lived in each moment, and he made me feel like I was all that mattered when he was with me. I couldn’t have asked for more.”

She put the microphone back in it stand. “Right now, I’m thinking that if all of us come together, we can each share the individual parts of Henry we knew and maybe recreate who he was for us all. I want to hear each girlfriend’s stories and get to know each of you—” She gazed from Juliette to Rachel. “—for he still lives in us, and maybe together, in some small way, we can have him back.”

Sarah hugged Steve, whispered “thank you,” and returned to her seat. He stared at the microphone, hoping for a final wisdom to add to her words but could only manage, “Thank you Sarah. Thank you so much for that.”

From the back came “Can we please drink his wine now?”

Mark Anthony Powers retired from Duke University as an Associate Professor Emeritus of Medicine and began exploring the right side of his brain. His novels include the medical thrillers A Swarm in May, Breath and Mercy, Nature’s Bite, and The Desperate Trials of Phineas Mann (shortlisted for the Hawthorne Prize in Fiction, finalist for The Indie Excellence Award, and winner of an Independent Author Award) and his latest novel, The Warrior and The Woodpecker. His published short stories include Rabbits, The Monsta’, Match.com, The Caddy, and Fledglings.
For more: https://hawksbillpress.com