JANE HOPPE - BLUE MOON

Jane Hoppe’s stories and novel, Beyond Betrayal, portray little choices that shape our lives and suggest questions we could ask of the voices we hear. Her fiction and nonfiction have appeared in Ruby for Women magazine, The Perennial Gen blog, and Today’s Caregiver magazine, among other publications. Her sequel to Beyond Betrayal is almost finished! Jane lives in Illinois.

Blue Moon
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​“What I don’t know won’t hurt me, what I don’t know won’t hurt me,” chanted Julia under her breath. She had already passed six low, sprawling blueberry bushes. Their purplish orbs would be a temptation to bears here in northern Michigan. That much she knew. Did bears prowl around at dusk?
Her dim Maglite cast amber triangles on coppery pine needles whose fragrance smoothed her sharp-edged nerves as she padded out of the forest. At least she hoped she was headed out and back to the campfire. She hadn’t drunk enough Riesling to get too lost.
She cast her gaze ahead toward treetops split by the path, but she dared not glance sideways. What I don’t know won’t hurt me, what I don’t know won’t hurt me. Shouldn’t I be able to hear Dave’s guitar and loony lyrics from here? And loosey-goosey Lindsey’s squeaky peeps? And my Matthew’s clear, sweet tenor?
Maybe everyone suffocated inhaling marshmallows and graham crackers. She smiled, then moaned aloud, “Why didn’t I ask Lindsey to come with me?”
She knew why, of course.
An amber triangle exposed yet another blueberry feast. “That’s seven,” Julia muttered, refusing to yield to the temptation to dart her eyes into the brush on the left or the right. I’ll just be as quiet as I can. So far, so good on that score. Her gym shoes on the pine needles carpeting this forest’s sand dunes were soft. Odd that everyone has stopped singing. Why don’t I call out to them?
She knew why, of course.
Dark feathery foliage above parted to reveal early evening stars twinkling on a periwinkle canvas. The moon that might direct her back to camp had not yet risen. Julia was eager for tonight’s moon, which would be the rare second full moon of the month—a blue moon. Since she’d first heard the decades-old song “Blue Moon,” she’d applied it to hopes she dared not dream.
On the drive to their state park picnic that afternoon, “Blue Moon” had burst from the radio of Matthew’s Jetta, and Dave had cranked up the volume. As Matthew had crooned the tune to her and Lindsey in the backseat, Julia burned to embrace this cosmic sign as her own. Since she was seated behind Matthew, Julia could see his playful eyes in the rear view mirror as he sang. He had turned his head slightly to meet Lindsey’s eyes directly.
Maybe this cosmic sign doesn’t belong to me, she had sulked in the car. She sighed, thinking, Shy thirty-somethings shouldn’t have to contrive coworker picnics. So I’m not flirtatious like Lindsey … Why couldn’t I just ask Matthew for coffee at the corner café?
She knew why, of course.
Julia stomped the next few steps in frustration, and the sand squished beneath her. When she came to a hiking trail sign, Julia realized she’d headed the wrong direction after her little necessity visit in the forest. She backtracked and picked up her pace. She was confident now she would find her way before the Maglite’s amber triangles burnt out. Still no singing was audible.
Soon a clearing was in view with the impossibly huge yellow moon resting on the horizon. Their campfire was gray ash with embers weakly flickering gold against the cobalt Riesling bottle, as though fireflies had gotten caught inside. Her coworkers were not in sight. Her shoulders stiffened, then relaxed to note the Jetta still parked beyond the picnic table.
Kicking sand from her shoes, Julia jogged toward the deserted site. One lawn chair lay folded on top of Dave’s guitar. Another had fallen onto the rusty rim of the fire pit. Everywhere she looked, sandy grass tufts were strewn with ripped bits of cracker boxes, marshmallow bags, sandwich scraps. Was that a trail of potato chips heading off into the woods? As Julia took in the scene, she didn’t know what to think. She approached the Jetta where Dave slumped in the front passenger seat. The driver’s seat was empty, so she opened the door and slid in behind the steering wheel.
“What happened?” she quizzed a dazed Dave. Hugging a Merlot bottle, he slurred, “Bears,” and tossed her the car keys. Julia considered retrieving Dave’s guitar and cleaning up the litter but instead gritted her teeth, fired up the engine, and spun the car backward toward her blue moon. Although vaguely aware of two enmeshed lumps in the backseat, she did not check the rear view mirror. The last thing she wanted was the sight of Matthew’s and Lindsey’s romantic moment emblazoned on her brain. What I don’t know …