Free To Catch the Moon by Diana Dempsey Page B

led to Palo
Alto and Stanford, an off-ramp she knew well from her undergraduate
and business-school years. Noise-abatement walls along this stretch
of freeway prevented any view, though the adjacent commercial strip
was hardly scenic. The campus was a few miles west, red tile-roofed
mission-style buildings grouped in quadrangles, set among sweeping
lawns and groves of eucalyptus.
    Even now, it angered her to think of those
years. So what if she hadn’t actually graduated from business
school? Her parents made so much of that. She’d gotten most of the
way through, hadn’t she? She still couldn’t believe her father had
made a huge donation to the university right before she applied, as
if she wouldn’t get in otherwise. She remembered walking through
the Quad, looking up at the Venetian mosaic on Memorial Church and
imagining a time when people would no longer think of her as Web
Hudson’s daughter but as Joan Hudson in her own right. But all
she’d done since was become Daniel Gaines’ wife.
    God, she’d been such an idiot to be so easily
taken in by Daniel! Handsome, charismatic Daniel Gaines, who went
from star quarterback at U Penn to megasuccessful Manhattan
financier.
    It embarrassed her to remember how she’d been
bowled over. She accepted Daniel’s very first proposal. And though
she secretly found it easy to say good-bye to her
investment-banking job, she hadn’t liked leaving Manhattan. But
Daniel said Headwaters was such an opportunity, and wouldn’t it be
wonderful to be close to her parents, and she’d bought into every
last word. She imagined children, at least three in rapid
succession, a big, boisterous family, the polar opposite of her
own.
    Tears stung her eyes. If only Daniel had been
different. If only he’d been the man he seemed to be, instead of
the egocentric, using bastard he was. Now she was forced to pretend
to grieve a husband she could barely make herself miss.
    Joan made herself calm down and focus on the
yellow legal pad on her lap. On it she’d jotted notes for a
statement to the press, her top to-do item for the day. She would
order Daniel’s campaign to release it the following morning and was
sure it would dominate the Christmas Eve news shows. She would then
get another round of coverage with Daniel’s funeral on Friday. She
wanted to create an impression of dignified sorrow, like a
modern-day Jackie Kennedy. Joan believed that appearance would
serve her well down the road.
    Carmel-by-the-Sea, California. Christmas Eve.
At this hour of profound grief for my family, and for the family of
my beloved husband, I wish to offer my sincerest gratitude to those
many Americans who have offered their prayers and sympathy.
    She bit her lip. For this next section, she’d
have to lay it on thick if it killed her. She thought for a minute,
then resumed writing.
    My husband was a man of extraordinary
judgment, intelligence, and commitment. I am sure that had he lived
to continue my father’s tradition of selfless political service,
not only California, but all America, would have benefited from his
efforts. A brilliant light has been cruelly dimmed, and I shall
never rest until I understand why. To that end, I am offering a
hundred-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the
arrest of the man who calls himself Treebeard, whom law-enforcement
authorities have charged with my husband’s brutal murder.
    She reread it and smiled. Very good! Now all she needed was a closing line, preferably something upbeat.
Ronald Reagan proved that voters liked a positive note even on the
saddest occasion. Minutes later, she again put pen to paper.
    I am reminded in this Christmas season that
hope shines like a star in the night sky, even in our darkest hour.
I seek that light for my family and for all Californians as we cope
with this loss and move forward into the promise of the new
year.
    She capped her pen and took another sip of
her fizzy water. She would make people see that everything