Valley of the Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

and I filled your gas tank. No charge.”
     
    ***
     
    Some nights the moon hangs so low above the valley it nestles right between the Sonoma and Mayacama Mountains, which is why the Native Americans called it the “valley of the moon.” From my bed that night, I had a perfect view of the full moon above the hills behind our house. On the worst nights after my mother died, my dad would point up at the patch of sky framed by my bedroom window and tell me she was up there, in heaven. According to a seven-year-old’s logic, a person needed something to sit on, even in heaven, and therefore the moon was the most logical place heaven could be.
    For years after that, I thought heaven was on the moon.
    Then I found out there were things called maria , which meant seas in Latin, on the moon. I would picture her dancing on white sandy beaches ringing pale lunar oceans, making castles and watching over me. I hoped she had a nice house on the shores of the Sea of Tranquility, or maybe the Sea of Serenity. Some of the other seas had ominous-sounding names.
    Much later, maybe in eighth-grade astronomy, I learned the lunar maria are not actual seas. They’re just lifeless craters full of cold, gray dust.
    And Annie Goodwin wasn’t on the moon and she wasn’t in heaven, no matter where God keeps it hidden.

Mare Nubium ~ Sea of Clouds
     
     
    I spent the weekend catching up on sleep. I was not looking forward to two weeks slogging through the rest of my college applications and long days sitting around my dad’s shop. Luckily I had some new books to read.
    I got to work Monday morning only fifteen minutes late. It didn’t matter, really. There were no customers. Since my dad knew no sane person would buy a car from a teenager, he also made me dress up and wear makeup. Not that it worked—I still hadn’t sold a car. Which wasn’t really my fault, since almost nobody walked in off the street to buy an expensive, “one-of-a-kind” car on an impulse.
    The garage in back was closed—Cesar was off. I darted into the office but my dad was on the phone and he waved me away. I wandered into the quiet, gleaming showroom and looked for a place to get comfortable. I saw something sleek and silver parked by the floor-to-ceiling front windows. I checked the badge—an Aston Martin.
    With my book, phone, and earbuds in my hands, I clambered in.
    It was like sitting in a leather bath. I kicked off my shoes and eased the seat back as far as it would go and opened my book.
     
    ***
     
    I blinked around, dazed. I yawned and stretched.
    Some guy was staring at me through the window.
    My body jerked in surprise. “Be right with you!” I called out. You’re supposed to be managing the showroom and instead you’re soiling the merchandise with nap drool. Shoving my feet into my heels, I gathered up my things and pushed the door open.
    “Oh, hello!” I said, as if it was totally normal for people to sleep in cars at the shop. I stepped out of the car like I imagined Audrey Hepburn might emerge from a limo, but my shoe caught under the brake pedal and I fell forward. My paperback flipped out my hand and skidded across floor, coming to rest under a 1965 cherry-red Mustang. I got to my feet and grabbed the roof of the car to support myself. My phone clattered to the ground, yanking the earbuds still in my ears with it.
    “You okay, Miss?”
    “Oh yeah, fine.” I scurried to retrieve my phone. To reach the book, I had to kneel down and feel around under the Mustang with my legs sprawled out an awkward angle.
    “How’s that chassis look?” he asked.
    “Uh, good,” I said, before realizing it was a joke. Finally, book and phone in hand, I stood up, smoothed my skirt down and tried to stuff some loose hairs back into my bun. I stuck my chin out and arranged my most confident face. Better. Now be cool and sell!
    But when I took a good look at him, things got a million times worse. His eyes were soft and luminous and kind. He looked at me like