“Blue Moon”
Listen to this chapter, “The Blue Letter.”
Julie wrote this short story during the time she was on vacation with Momma and Grandpa Philip, and Bob Miller was house sitting in their Riverdale house in the summer of 1962. Although Julie had been dating Bob Miller before her vacation, she had already suspected that her best friend Sandra Lee was falling hopelessly in love with him. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.
The night was cool and the breeze refreshing after the scorching summer day. The ebony sky was filled with stars, and an August moon hung low above the mountain. Even the elm trees seemed to whisper, and the nightbird’s lone cry could be heard. To Bob, everything was perfect. Soft music—their song—was coming from the FM set, and Sandra was by his side.
For a long while, neither of them had spoken. Now her sweet voice sharpened Bob’s senses. “Bob?” she said. “Are you happy?”
“Mí cheré!” He spoke almost in rebuke as he hugged her close. “What a question. Of course I’m happy.”
“I’m glad. You deserve to be happy.”
“But I don’t deserve anyone as wonderful as you.” He caressed her soft cheek lightly.
“Bob?” This time her voice carried a light tone of worry.
“Yes?” He caressed her other cheek.
“There’s something that’s been bothering me. It’s—well—another person. And since it is a best friend—well, someone will be hurt, I know.”
A bolt of fear shot through him, but his voice was steady. “Raymond.”
“Raymond?” She chuckled. “You know better than that, silly. Raymond means nothing to me now.”
“Then—then who?”
“I was just thinking of Julie.”
“Oh.” Now the stillness grew thick.
“When will she be home, Bob?”
“I—I don’t know,” he said nervously.
“Tomorrow? That’s what she said in her letter.” She paused. “Bob, I shouldn’t—” But he stopped her protest as his lips touched hers. The kiss was long and gentle….
In the wee hours of the morning, Bob lay alone in his bed, awake. In the dim glow of the streetlight that shone through the window, he saw his wallet where he had left it open several hours before. There was Sandra, lovely Sandra. Close by, there was another picture, a familiar one—that of Julie. “Just thinking of Julie—thinking of Julie—Julie—Julie—” The words kept ringing through his mind. What would happen when she got home? What about Sandra? This couldn’t go on forever. Only a few more hours, and Bob dreaded the unknown with every agonizing moment that passed.
But day broke too soon. The rooster up the street crowed, and the shrill sound of Bob’s alarm clock pierced the quietness. Heavily, he dragged himself out of bed to shave and dress. Mechanically, he opened the refrigerator—Julie’s refrigerator—to set out the milk. He arranged his usual plate, glass, and spoon, and dropped a slice of bread into the toaster. He opened the refrigerator again and finally reached for a cold dish of peaches. For a fleeting moment, he longed for one of Julie’s home-cooked meals. It had been so long—almost three weeks. But then, didn’t Sandra fix dinner each night and rub his sunburned shoulders with lotion—just like Julie used to do?
After brushing his teeth and rinsing his dishes, he sat down in the living room to read the newspaper. But the words seemed to just bounce back off his eyelids. Was he really in love with Sandra? She seemed to be everything a man like Bob could want, fitting into his life like the long-lost piece of a jigsaw puzzle. But there was Julie—young, pretty, innocent. She, too, needed to be loved.
Bob tossed the paper aside and stalked out to get the mail—more from habit than anything. Light bill, grocery ads, and a square blue envelope addressed to Julie. He recognized the stationery, the postmark, and the return address as the same as five other letters that lay waiting on the kitchen table for Julie. He supposed now that he should have sent Julie’s mail to her at her cousin’s, but if it had been important— Suddenly Bob stopped. In a flash, he drew the connections. There had been that long-distance phone call last week from Escondido. It had just been Allen, an old school chum of hers, asking for Julie’s address. Bob thought nothing about it then. Now he wondered why Allen would write to Julie.
The phone was ringing and Bob hurried on in. His heart pounded at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Bob! It’s me—I’m back.”
“Julie! Where are you?” His voice trembled with excitement.
“Downtown—wanted to do a little shopping before I came home. But I thought I’d call,” she told him. “Don’t worry; I’ll be okay—I’m with a friend. See you after while.”
A friend—Sandra! Quickly he dialed her number. It was all happening too fast. “Sandra! Can you come over right away?”
“What’s wrong, Bob?” She sensed his uneasiness.
“I—I’ll explain later. Just—can you come?”
“Yes—yes, I’ll be right over.” And she was gone.
At once Bob realized what a foolish thing he had done. He could see it now—Julie coming home, unsuspecting, and finding another woman—her best friend—in her own house with Bob! Suddenly he knew what he was going to do.
“Sandra!” he grasped her shoulders as she came in the door. “We can’t go on like this!”
“Bob! Will you please tell me what’s going on?” She pushed him away gently.
“Julie’s in town!”
“Oh?” Bob thought Sandra’s reaction was a sort of giggle, but he wasn’t sure. “So now what?”
“Sandra.” His voice was softer and almost calm. “We must tell her—she’ll be home in just a while. I have to confess, Sandra, I have to!”
Sandra was silent. She could see the guilt written in his eyes. “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you, Bob?”
Bob drew a long, deep breath. “No, Sandra. I’m not in love with Julie.” He paused. “But I can’t let her be hurt.”
“She’d probably go back to Allen,” Sandra continued. “And, unless he’s changed a lot, he wouldn’t treat her right.”
“Somehow,” Bob said, not seeming to hear Sandra at all, “somehow, things will work out.” Then he added in almost a whisper, “They’ve got to.”
Just then they heard Julie’s voice outside. “Wait a minute,” she was saying. “I’ve got to think of some way to tell Bob. He doesn’t know you brought me home. He just doesn’t know about—us.”
“Better now than later, darling,” was the masculine-voice reply. “Just tell him.” Then there was the sound of a tender kiss.
In a moment the kitchen door opened. “Well, hi, Sandra! Been taking good care of my boy?” were Julie’s first words as she patted Bob playfully on the back and laughed gaily. Bob and Sandra glanced at each other; they both knew what had happened. Then, with a wry smile Julie said, “Bob, you remember Allen, don’t you? He uses blue stationery.”
