Always the Moon

By Dana Michelle Braun

I wish I knew then what I know now…

Fortieth birthdays have a nasty habit of self-reflection. The Brewer triplets are no strangers to regret. Brilliant neurologist April traded the chance to have a family for her celebrated career. Sunday, already a grandmother at 40, regrets getting knocked up in high school and giving up on her dreams. Recovering from addictions and illness, Lily wishes she could change…well, everything.

A well-intended birthday gift unwittingly sends the trio careening back in time to 1988, a crucial time in their lives where they make significant choices that place them onto the paths they’ve chosen. Trapped in their 17-year-old bodies, with their adult minds—and memories—intact, the sisters have the opportunity to do things differently. With their knowledge and experience, they could have anything their hearts desire. But what if their heart’s desire is back in 2011?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365647536

Book preview

Part One

April 11, 2011 - April

Dr. April Brewer didn’t seem to mind the flour that dusted up the front of her Chanel suit jacket when she leaned across the bakery counter. One of her Jimmy Choos was off the ground as she reached as far as she could over the counter and around the back of the display cabinet, trying to snag one of the yellow frosted cookies from behind the glass. Even the three-and-a-half inch heels didn’t elevate her diminutive height enough to make it an easy grab. If her skirt wasn’t so tight, she could probably reach a little further, but her tight skirt was actually a pretty good reason not to have the cookie.

With a sigh, she gave up. April did yoga three times a week, went spinning twice a week, and worked out with weights five days a week, and still had more junk in her figurative trunk than she would like. She knew that she’d have to work harder on her metabolism once she hit 40, but she’d only hit that milestone a few days ago, damn it.

Two police officers sat at the counter, eating scones and sipping tea like English gentlemen while they watched her attempted theft with great interest. One of them tried to catch April’s eye, but she pretended to ignore him, self-consciously straightening her clothing and smoothing her immaculate short blond curls.

A loud, booming laugh came from the back room when she was finally spotted by the owner of the bakery. My dear! My April! My favorite! Frank D’Angelo, rushed to the counter and grabbed her slender hands in his big, flour-covered ones before leaning over to kiss both of her cheeks. So beautiful you are!

Hello, Papa. April laughed, kissing him back. Looking pretty good yourself! She wasn’t really his favorite—he would’ve said the same to either of the other triplets. He did look pretty damn good, she thought. He was nearly 70 years old and still had thick wavy hair, although mostly gray now, and those clear blue eyes that always sparkled with mischief and humor.

It had been an entire year since she had seen the dear old man in person, and she felt pretty guilty about that. After all, he was the closest thing to a father that she and her sisters had ever known.

The first time they had come into the bakery, the Brewer triplets were melting down over a difference of opinion on the flavor of the cake for their fourth birthday. The young mother was trying to keep the three small preschoolers from a complete tantrum, which didn’t usually occur with all of them at once. The triplets, April, Sunday, and Lily, named such for being born on Easter Sunday, looked nothing alike, except for their petite size and the startling green eyes that they all shared with their mother.

Frank D’Angelo, the handsome Italian baker, had soothed them by promising each triplet that she could have whatever flavor cake, and whatever color icing, that she preferred. Their mother had protested; being a young widow, she didn’t have money for three separate cakes. Ah, the baker had said, wagging a finger at her. With three princesses like this, surely you must believe in magic! What a cake it had turned out to be! The cake was round, and one third of it was banana with strawberry icing, which was April’s favorite; another third was chocolate cake with chocolate icing as Lily had requested; and Sunday’s third was carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, which had been Daddy’s favorite cake before he died.

The little girls were certain that Mr. D’Angelo must have used magic to make the cake, since the flavors and colors did not run together. He also placed a carefully formed sugar duck on the pink icing, a lamb on the chocolate icing, and a bunny on the cream cheese. The girls had stared at their cake for a good ten minutes before daring to cut into it, memorizing every detail.

When their mother, Joanna, lit the candles, four in each section, the girls were certain that their wish would come true with such a magical cake. I’m going to wish for a Baby Chrissy dolly! Sunday had chirped. Lily wanted a flip-top art desk that she saw on TV. April had thought long and hard, and then asked her mother what was something important to wish for. World peace would be nice, their mother had replied gently, smiling. The other two girls, looking ashamed at their greed, nodded slowly. They held hands and wished for world peace, blowing out their candles solemnly.

The following years, Mr. D’Angelo welcomed them back into the bakery with his hearty laugh and playful wink. Is it Easter already? One magic triplet cake coming up! Then their mother would slide the money over the counter, and Mr. D’Angelo would touch her slender hand with his flour-covered fingers as he pushed the money back into her hand with another wink.

Of all the adults present, he had cried the hardest at Joanna’s funeral. The triplets were twenty-five when their mother had passed away suddenly. Frank D’Angelo had stood at the front of the church and declared himself the world’s biggest fool. That he had loved her for decades, and should’ve married her long ago. The triplets had embraced him, telling him that they loved him like a father, and they were certain their mother loved him, too. But of course, it was too late.

April held his hands across the counter, so much love and history in their eyes as they smiled at each other. I think it’s a good thing that you waited until today for the cake! There is a full moon, which is very lucky, the old man teased, squeezing her hand. Lily, Sunday and April always celebrated on Easter Sunday, instead of their actual birthday, which was April 11. Unfortunately, this year they had to split the difference due to scheduling conflicts with Lily’s chemotherapy treatment and April’s award ceremony. I made this cake special this year, for the big Four-Oh! More magic than usual, he added with a wink. She glanced at the policemen at the counter, irrationally hoping that they hadn’t heard him announce her age.

She smiled wryly. He was still trying to convince them that the world was full of magic and mystery. She felt the stress and exhaustion of her life melting away; he had always had that effect. I think we could definitely use a little extra this year, Papa! she joked, using the nickname they had given him when he began hand-delivering the cake to their birthday dinner in fourth grade. Using his first name was disrespectful, Mom had always told them, but they loved him too much to call him Mr. D’Angelo. He would always put the cake on the table with a hearty Ta-da! and heavy winks to all three of them, the biggest wink always saved for their mother.

Papa Frank furrowed his brow. Ah, everyone could use a little more magic. My wish is to erase those frown lines from your forehead and replace them with laugh lines here, and here. He pinched her dimples the way he did when she was a girl. April did notice that the muscles around her mouth felt tight and tense when she smiled. She brushed the flour from her cheeks where he had touched her, knowing it was crazy to think she could put anything past Papa.

I know, I haven’t had a lot of time for fun and games lately, but my team is so close! She was the lead neurologist on a study on a new treatment for suspending the deterioration of Parkinson’s disease. It’s really important, Papa.

He shook his head. "More important than your smile? That’s too much for an old man to follow, bella."

April knew her research was important. More significantly, the hospital, the donors, and the pharmaceutical companies recognized it. Friday evening, she had been handling some last-minute paperwork when her stoic personal assistant, Janet, tapped on her office door.

Um, I’m sorry, Dr. Brewer, but there are some people here to see you. Dr. Randall, a few of the researchers. She bowed her head apologetically. I told them you were busy, but…

Nonsense! Dr. Cliff Randall’s voice boomed. You’re not too busy for your own Chief of Staff, not when he comes bearing gifts! The large, gray-haired man elbowed into the room, a bottle of Dom Pèrignon thrust ahead of him, and a gaggle of young research fellows in his wake. Janet stepped aside to avoid being trampled. Wise move, April thought wryly, forcing a smile as she stood up.

Cliff, what a nice surprise. She held her hand out in greeting, but he snatched her arm and pulled her into a hug. Awkward.

I just got off the phone with Jim Phillips from Phillips Pharmaceuticals, and he confirmed that we’re getting the grant money, in full! The research fellows cheered in response. You’ve done it, April. You’ve finally gotten their attention. Dr. Randall looked like he might hug her again, so she stepped away, accepting a champagne glass from one of the young doctors. Alice? Allison?

"We’ve done it," she corrected, waving her champagne glass to include the six young men and women standing shoulder to shoulder in front of her desk. Her office was large but was dominated by bulky furniture: a huge mahogany desk with matching cabinets and bookshelves, oversized leather chairs around a giant mahogany coffee table. Standing room was slim, so she motioned the group to the seating area. Janet stood in the doorway, waiting for instruction. April nodded at the woman, who then swooped in and acquired the champagne bottle, skillfully removing the foil. The fellows cheered again when the cork popped. Kids. They held out their glasses excitedly as Janet stooped to fill them with the bubbly champagne.

Dr. Randall stood and put his hand on April’s shoulder. He must have already started drinking; he isn’t usually so touchy-feely. We will have a formal get-together with everyone in a couple of weeks, but I wanted to have this moment with just this group. Janet, pour yourself a glass, I insist. Janet obliged, although April suspected that she likely wouldn’t drink a single drop. It’s not every day that you find out your boss is getting a $10 million lab named after her.

April nearly dropped her glass. Excuse me?

He lifted his glass, champagne sloshing onto the fine leather of the sofa. To Dr. April Brewer, the fiercest champion of Parkinson’s research since Mohammad Ali, and to the Brewer Center for Neurological Study!

The research fellows cheered, hugging each other and drinking $300 champagne. April stood slightly off to the side; she was The Boss, and never pretended to be a friend. April felt overwhelmed with the honor and the celebration, but still clinked glasses with her enthusiastic staff whenever they approached her. She met Janet’s eyes across the room, and Janet nodded with a slight smile. All of this festivity was outside of Janet’s comfort zone, too. April knew she could trust her to keep the upcoming gala small and simple. Janet held her untouched champagne glass up in a silent salute, and melted into the reception area.

* * *

Papa Frank squeezed her hands, bringing her back to the present. Do Papa a favor, and make a wish for happiness tonight. Your sisters, too. Nothing is so important that you can’t make time for love and laughter.

You’re absolutely right, Papa, and that is why Sunday, Lily and I have dinner for our birthday every year. Love and laughter. She hoped she sounded sincere. She loved her sisters, very much, but they had their… challenges. Do you want to come over, too?

He waved his hand. Nah, big delivery tonight. But I’ll take a rain check on dinner with my beautiful girls.

Deal! You must let me pay you for the cake, Papa, she insisted. He shook his head stubbornly, a cloud of flour releasing from his already white hair. Nah-ah! he protested. I make this cake for my girls because I love them, not for money!

April glanced around the bakery. The building was well built, but old. The vinyl coverings on the bar stools were the only cosmetic change in thirty-odd years, and that was only because the previous vinyl had cracked and split. The electricity needed to be updated, and there were times when Papa had to work in the dark when the building would have a brown-out. The old man would joke that he preferred his dim lights and gas stoves, but April knew the bakery didn’t really bring in a large income. Like many old towns in urban Michigan areas, the historic downtown district of Clawson was disappearing; many older stores had either been replaced or simply boarded up. The old seamstress shop at the corner was now an H&R Block, and the little Coney stand where Sunday worked in high school was now a Starbucks.

April pursed her lips, trying to think of a clever way to get the dear old man to take some of her money.  I need to ask you a favor, Papa, she said slyly, adopting a look of pure innocence. He patted her hand, urging her to continue. The hospital is giving me an award for my Parkinson’s research—

Frank clapped his hands together. Wonderful! Our brilliant doctor. Your mother would be so proud! I am so proud of you, too! He came around the counter this time, hugging her and kissing her cheeks again.

Thank you, Papa. That means so much to me. She meant it.  She was pretty sure that the two police officers were talking about her. They were leaning towards one another, smiling and looking right at her, and she tried in vain to ignore them. Now, they are going to want a cake, a big one, and I want them to order it from you. I don’t want to eat cake from anywhere else. And we will need cookies, too. Can we hire you?

"I’ll be happy to do it, bella, but you don’t have to—"

"Listen. This is my award banquet, and I want the biggest, most expensive cake they can get. I expect you to charge them way too much, and if you don’t, I will be very sad." She stuck her bottom lip out to demonstrate.

Frank rolled his eyes with a chuckle. Fine! Fine! I will do it.

Good. I’ll have Janet call you in the morning. She kissed him again, and grabbed her purse.

"April, piccolo, your triplet cake!"

Her eyes widened in surprise that she had almost forgotten the cake. Thanks, Papa!

"My pleasure, and tanti auguri! Be sure to give big birthday kisses to my other girls!" He demonstrated those big kisses to her in the air as she walked away, smiling.

The bell jingled as she pushed the door open with her hip, and a glance over her shoulder proved that the handsome policemen were still checking her out. She blushed like a schoolgirl, and then hurried out front to escape, buckling the cake into the passenger seat of her little silver Audi.

Lily

Yep. I’m going to miss the damn bus. Lily tried to get the stupid, ugly, dick of wig to sit straight on her head. Okay, so it wasn’t ugly. Her sister Sunday had probably spent a lot money on it, and it was about as nice as a dead human scalp could be. Somehow, knowing that it was real human hair was supposed to make it less skeezy? It was lighter than her natural hair, which had been a thick, unruly, chestnut brown, like Daddy’s in the photos Mom had given them. This hair was more of a medium brown, like the color of that poor little creature they killed in the mousetrap in the tiny, neat studio apartment that Lily shared with her boyfriend, Andy. It wasn’t a mouse. It had a pointy face and stubby arms. It was actually kind of cute in a rodent-y sort of way. Andy said it was a vole and teased her that she had a thing for short, stubby brunettes. He did have a point.

Lily glanced at her unmade bed and the imprint of Andy’s small body still on the sheets. He had gone to the Ed, which was what they fondly called their teen rehab center, at the crack of dawn—no pun intended. It was crazy how happy she was. It almost didn’t seem real. Loving Andy was better than heroin, better than whisky, better than chocolate. He was the first guy she ever met that really got her, and obviously he didn’t judge her based on her past or her addictions. And despite his struggles with his own addictions and his physical restraints, he was one of the biggest reasons why she was back among the living.

He wasn’t exactly a user, although he was certainly an addict. He was born addicted to various drugs, including cocaine and heroin, and suffered from seizures and muscle spasms, as well as dwarfism. He spent the first years of his life bouncing around hospitals and emergency housing, but was placed into permanent foster care at five. His foster family fell madly in love with him, and adopted him when he was ten. He considered himself blessed, despite all of his problems. Lily admired him most for that, and he helped her find a positive outlook during her recovery. Then, the cancer came a-knockin’ and she was sure he’d hit the road. He didn’t. In fact, without him she didn’t know how she could’ve coped with another crisis. She smiled wryly, thinking of the day, several weeks ago, where she was certain he would leave.

* * *

Lily had been sitting on the closed toilet seat in a big Detroit Lions t-shirt, brushing her teeth while Andy was in the shower, singing some silly opera song. She was smiling around her toothbrush, because she was pretty sure it was from Bugs Bunny, a sentiment that was confirmed when he sang, I’m going to kill the wabbit! She had to be careful with the toothpaste, because her nausea was pretty sensitive then. She had been receiving new chemo meds for about two weeks, and the doctors assured her that the nausea would pass soon. She peeked in the shower at him, and he squealed melodramatically and splashed her, laughing. Then he reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her in.

Lily’s wet t-shirt was discarded, and Andy sat her down on the shower bench. The handicap-accessible features were there when they moved in, but they came in handy at times. He lathered up his hands with her hospital-grade body wash and gently washed her. Ooh, what have we here? he said, wiggling his eyebrows as he washed her breasts. She laughed weakly; he certainly wasn’t about to make a move on her with her being so frail and sick. Still, she wrapped her hand around the grab bar and leaned back, enjoying his touch.

He poured some shampoo into his hands and ran his fingers through her wavy, dark hair. It fell past her shoulders when it was wet. She moaned with pleasure, since her headaches had been pretty fierce the last couple of days. Smiling, Andy started humming Rossini’s The Barber of Seville as he massaged her scalp to the tune, and Lily knew he was picturing Bugs Bunny giving Elmer Fudd a haircut in his head. He took his time, enjoying her expression of contentment. When he finally pulled his hands away, he startled, but recovered quickly, trying to hide his hands behind his back before she saw the clumps of hair that were dangling from his fingers. Andy was the only person who saw Lily cry during the whole ordeal.

After she had lost the rest of her hair, Andy told her that he couldn’t really see anything above her boobs anyways. His self-deprecating humor always made her smile, but also made her a little sad. His family might’ve been great, but kids suck, and school could be pretty rough when you’re different. She saw a picture of him from middle school. His tinted glasses were nearly as big as his head. She would’ve loved to have been beside him in high school, the hot punk girl and the nerdy dwarf. He had laughed at that. What I lacked in height and good looks, I definitely made up for with social awkwardness and chess club.

Lily wasn’t awkward in high school; she was a social outcast. She would either hear, Aren’t you Sunday Brewer’s sister? or Are you a genius, too, like your sister April? Even their mother was always comparing her with her sisters, leaving Lily to deal with her teenage woes on her own while she boosted April up the ladder and stroked Sunday’s immeasurable vanity. Lily found another way to get the attention she was lacking: she dumped her sweet, safe best friend and made new friends of the wild and crazy variety.

Back then, Lily dyed her hair black and wore green lipstick and shredded black denim, and that was for church. Today, her group would be called Goths, but in the 80s they were Punkers, or Burnouts, or just weirdos. Lily had her ears and nose pierced, but her friend Jackie had five piercings in her ears, plus her eyebrow, lip and nipples pierced. Her sister, Sunday, would turn her nose up, literally, when she would walk past Lily’s group at school. Sunday was the Princess of Clawson High School. Cheerleader, popular, trendsetter… if Sunday wore it, the next day everyone would be wearing the same thing. If someone Sunday found uncool was wearing it, though, then Sunday would never be caught dead in it again. All that mattered to Sunday and her friends were boys, makeup, hair, boys, and designer jeans. She could still imagine Sunday lying on the floor, undulating and arching and twisting, trying to get her jeans over her hips. Her other sister, April, didn’t really have many friends, but mostly because she was always so busy. Busy being the smartest at school, the fastest at track, the nicest to Mom, blah blah blah. Sunday was the pretty one, April was the smart one, and then there was Lily. The cool one, she thought derisively, with a small sigh.

Her skin felt like paper as she touched up her makeup. She usually didn’t wear much more