CHAPTER TWENTY
TOM SPENT THE next morning at the airfield, first extracting a promise from his fiancée that she wouldn’t overdo it getting ready for the fund-raising ball.
He hadn’t slept the night before. Each time he started to drift off, the image of Honor going underwater would jerk him awake. Four times during the night, he’d checked on her, but she was dead to the world—poor choice of words, that. Ratty had growled at him, though. Ungrateful little rodent. Ridiculously adorable, though, he’d give it that, curled up on Honor’s pillow as if watching over her. “You almost got her killed, Ratty,” he whispered. “Do that again, and I’ll put an end to you.”
But sleep-deprived or not, he had work to do. His professor’s salary was adequate, but only that. At university, he’d interned with a small airplane manufacturer. The company had a branch in New York, and a few times a year, Tom was hired to modify a plane for an owner. Those fees about tripled his annual income, and while he did love teaching (when his students were motivated, that was), it was nice to do some actual hands-on work.
Jacob Kearns had been as happy as a puppy when Tom had called him. This job was for an owner who wanted a bit more power for some stunt flying on his Piper Cub. They needed to reconfigure the airfoil, as the bigger engine weighed more and threw off the lift. The rudders would need adjusting, as well.
Jacob was outgoing and cheerful and utterly enthusiastic about the work, doing calculations, listening astutely as Tom described how the airfoil created a vacuum that helped lift the plane. Funny to think the kid was a recovering drug addict.
For a panicky second, Tom wondered if that was what Charlie’s problem was—drugs. That would account for his sullenness and withdrawal, wouldn’t it? But first of all, Charlie had acted like that since his mother died. And secondly, Janice Kellogg had had him tested for that last year at his annual physical, and Charlie had been furious at the assumption that because he wore black eyeliner and listened to screeching noise that called itself music, he was an addict.
“So we can do all this work ourselves?” Jacob asked.
“Yes. It has to pass inspection before we fly it, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Are you a pilot?”
“I have a license, yeah. You should try getting one.”
“Maybe I will. Couldn’t hurt with the cool factor.”
Tom smiled. “Indeed.”
They spent the next few hours working. Jacob ran out for sandwiches and brought Tom back the change and a receipt and asked questions about Tom’s education and work experience, finding it quite hilarious that Tom had been an amateur boxing champion in Manchester.
“Dude, can you imagine if I told all those hot chicks in class?” the kid asked. “They’d go crazy.”
“Don’t you dare,” Tom said. “They’re terrifying enough as it is.”
Around four, he packed up his tools. “All right, mate, let’s finish up for the day,” he said. “I’ve got an event tonight.”
“What is it?” Jacob asked.
“It’s a fund-raiser. Save the farmland.” Except Tom rather hated the farmland after yesterday. Or maybe just the evil little pond.
“Sounds horrible,” Jacob said. “Got some plans of my own. Hoping to bang that babe who sits next to me in your class.”
“You probably shouldn’t tell me that, even if you are both legal adults,” Tom said. “Be a gentleman, use protection and all.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Jacob grinned. “And thanks for letting me help out, Dr. B.” The kid shook his hand, then trotted out to his car.
Yes. It would be incredible if he could get one-tenth of the friendliness from Charlie that Jacob showed so effortlessly. Only at the self-defense class did Charlie seem to tolerate him, and only, perhaps, because Abby was around.
He should be used to it by now. Those ten months of having Charlie feel like his son were a long time ago.
On his way home, he stopped at a florist and, feeling a bit idiotic, asked for a corsage. “A corsage? How old is your date?” the florist asked, frowning.
“Thirty-five,” he said.
“How about a wristlet instead?”
“What’s that?”
“Goes around your wrist. Most women don’t want to pin something on their dresses.”
“All right. Whatever you say.”
“What color is her dress?”
“I don’t know. Black or white, I’m guessing.”
“Are you British?” she asked, eyeing him.
“I am, yes,” he said. “And engaged.”
“Had to give it a shot,” she answered with a smile. “Okay. Give me ten minutes.”
While he was waiting, Tom’s phone rang, a rare occurrence. Perhaps Honor needed him to stop and get something.
It was Janice Kellogg. “Tom,” she sighed, “Walter and I need a break. Charlie has been up my ass lately.” Lovely, especially coming from his grandmother. “Is there any chance you can come and get him? If I have to spend another second with him, I’m going to need a drink.” There was a rattle of ice cubes. Why wait?
“Sure, Janice. I can get him.”
“Oh, wait. You have plans, I bet. The Hollands are having their fancy party.” Her voice oozed the sticky tones of martyrdom. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
“No, Janice, I’d love to come around and pick him up. He can come with us.”
Another rattle. “Well, Tom, I won’t lie. That would be great. It’s just endless, you know what I mean? Same old shitty attitude.”
There was a hint of Melissa in that voice, those words. “I’d love to have him.”
“Great. Bring him back around eleven tonight, okay? He has to go to church tomorrow. You know how important church is to us.”
Yes. The better to revel in martyrdom. Janice and Walter Kellogg, doing their Christian duty and raising their no-good grandson. “Eleven, it is. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
When Tom arrived, Charlie got into the car wordlessly, ignoring Tom in his customary manner. “Glad to see you, mate,” Tom said into the void. “We’ve got an event tonight. Hope you don’t mind.”
Nothing.
“It’s a ball. We can both suffer.”
And still nothing.
“Charlie, is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” Charlie grunted.
Tom looked at him closely. “Are you being bullied?”
“No.”
“If you are, you can come to me, you know.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Yes,” Tom said, his voice maybe a little too forceful. “Yes, you can. And you know things now. You can protect yourself.”
“It’s not like that!” Charlie said. “It’s different.”
“How? Tell me, mate.”
Charlie just rolled his eyes.
They pulled up to the house, Charlie getting out before the car had come to a complete stop. “Careful,” Tom said to his back, then rubbed his forehead, hard. If anything happened to that boy, it would kill him. And why he wouldn’t tell Tom...ah, damn it all to hell.
He picked up the plastic box from the florist and followed the boy in.
Honor was there, wrapped in a bathrobe. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi. How are you feeling?” The scrape on her right hand was still visible.
“I’m fine.” Her tone was careful. “So Charlie’s here.”
“Yeah, Janice called me and asked if he could spend some time with us. I thought he could come to the ball, if that’s all right.”
She nodded. “Sure.”
“If you’d rather not, we can stay here.”
“I’d love for you both to come. That’s great, in fact.” Her gaze dropped to the box in his hands.
“Right,” he said. “For you.”
Her expression softened as she looked at it.
She was lovely. She had no idea, did she? Granted, he hadn’t exactly been struck with lightning the first time he’d seen her (well, the second; the first time, she’d been quite impressive with that right hook). But hers were the type of looks that grew on a person. She had lovely skin and dimples when she smiled, which wasn’t often enough, and her brown eyes were dark and kind.
That was a good face.
“Thank you,” she said, looking up.
“It was nothing,” he answered. “I hope it matches your dress.”
“It’s perfect.”
“Good. What time do we need to be ready?”
“A little before seven.”
“I’d better shower, then. You’re sure it’s all right if Charlie comes with us?”
“Sure,” she said. “My niece will be there, so he’ll have someone to hang out with.”
“I’ll tell him. Should make the evening less painful.” And that came out wrong, as well. He started to explain, realized he had no idea what to say and went upstairs instead.
* * *
HONOR TRIED ON her dress for the fifth time.
It just wasn’t happening. Yes, it was the obligatory black; white made her skin look like a piece of Wonder Bread left out in the rain. So black it was. But this dress was somewhat...nunnish.
She grabbed the phone and hit Faith’s number. “Do you possibly have anything I can wear tonight? Something black?”
“Sure! I bet I do! Hang on, let me check my closet. You know what? Why don’t you come over instead? I can help with your hair and stuff.”
And so it was that ten minutes later, she was standing in Faith and Levi’s bedroom, staring into her sister’s closet. “How many black dresses do you have, anyway?” Honor asked.
“Um, six? No, seven. The problem is, half this stuff will be big on you, and a pox upon your house for that.”
Right. Faith was curvalicious. Honor was not.
“This one? No. That’s even big on me. How about this one? Nope, never mind, it’s cotton. Not formal enough. This one? Um, nah. Too froofy for you. Oh, hang on! How about this one? I bought in a moment of self-delusion that, someday, I’d be a size smaller.”
“You’re perfect,” said Levi from the doorway.
“Thanks, honey. You are definitely getting some tonight.” Levi smiled, and Faith glanced at Honor. “Not that he’s deprived, mind you.”
“Glad to hear it,” Honor said. “I’m really not, you guys are welcome to keep that to yourselves, but you’re nothing compared to Prudence.”
“I know. Did she tell you about make-your-own-sundae night? Honestly, she’s ruined seven desserts for me. Okay. Levi, babe, get out. Honor, try this on.”
The dress was long and sleeveless, high-necked but with a keyhole opening in the front. The black silk fell to the floor in a liquid rush, brushing against her skin.
“Perfection,” Faith said. “I’m so good at this! Do you have shoes? Never mind. You don’t. Here. Try these.”
She handed Honor a pair of strappy black heels adorned with a sparkly decoration. “And let me do your makeup, what do you say? Tom’s gonna die when he sees you.”
“I hope not.”
Faith dabbed foundation on Honor’s cheek and started blending with a little sponge. “So Dad said something, and I’m not supposed to tell you, but here I go.”
Honor frowned in the mirror. “What?”
Faith dabbed some more. “He’s afraid you guys are rushing. He wants you to wait.”
“I’m sure he does,” Honor said, keeping her voice casual. “Maybe twenty years, like him and Mrs. J.”
“Yeah, he’d probably prefer that.” Faith laughed, then opened a peachy-colored eye shadow, held it next to Honor’s left eye, then chose something else. “Don’t take it personally. He didn’t like Levi dating me, either. Close your eyes, hon. No, Dad just said that he wasn’t...convinced.”
Well, this sucked. Her family sensed the lie, apparently. “That’s just Dad,” she said weakly.
Faith paused. “Like I said, I think you guys are good together. And I do believe that, sometimes, love comes out of nowhere and hits you fast. But...you know, Dad does have a point. You just met the guy.”
“I know,” Honor said, her voice sharp. “But the years are precious, okay? I mean, I’m thirty-five, Faith.”
“So?”
“So I’m not you,” she snapped. “Men don’t fall over themselves for me. You know how many boyfriends I’ve had in the past five years? None, that’s how many.”
“I thought you were seeing someone last fall.”
Ah, yes. In October, she’d told Faith there was a special man in her life. That was when she thought things were moving forward with Brogan. Honestly, how had she so misread the signs? “Well, I wasn’t. So if Tom wants to marry me and if I’m gonna have a baby before I hit menopause, I have to get moving.”
You tell her, sister, the eggs said.
“Easy, girl,” Faith said, lifting an eyebrow. “I know what you’re saying—”
“No, you don’t, Faithie.”
“—but it doesn’t mean you have to settle.”
“Settle for what? Tom is great!” she barked. “He carried me, okay? He carried me from Ellises’ pond to your truck. He’s great.”
“He is,” Faith said, putting her hand on Honor’s. “And I really, really like him. But you don’t have—”
“Look,” Honor interrupted. “We can’t all be like you and Levi. Tom and I are happy. We’re...content. Okay? Please back off.”
“Okay,” her sister said. “I just felt like I should say something. I love you, Honor. Don’t be mad at me.”
The little sister shtick worked every time. Probably because it was sincere. Honor deflated. “I’m sorry. I know you’re coming from a good place and all that.”
“Any time you want to talk, I’m here, okay? Now, it’s mascara time. This stuff is great. It takes days to get it off.”
“And that’s great?”
“Trust me. Your lashes will be amazing.”
When Faith was done, Honor didn’t look like herself.
She looked better. She looked kind of...gorgeous, really. Whatever Faith had in her magical basket of cosmetics gave Honor a luminous glow. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes smoky, lips with just a little shine.
“You’re beautiful,” Faith said. “You look just like Mom.” She hugged Honor. “Now get out, because I have to get ready, and I think Levi and I might have a quickie—”
“What is wrong with my sisters?” Honor asked. “They don’t keep anything to themselves.”
“Hey, I was eavesdropping,” Levi said, appearing in the bedroom doorway with Honor’s coat and walking her to the door. “Sorry you have to go. See you at the party.” He managed not to slam the door in her face.
Walking carefully in Faith’s heels, Honor got into the car and drove home. It was time to get up to the Barn; she wanted to get there a little early to check on things, but not so early that Goggy and Pops, who’d doubtlessly been there since five, would pepper her with requests, such as Can I have a small glass of water? Not too big, because I won’t drink it all and don’t want to waste any, and Why aren’t you serving any raw herring?
Tom and Charlie were waiting for her. “Hi,” Charlie grunted.
“Hi, Charlie. You look very nice.” He was wearing a navy blue sports coat—Tom’s, no doubt, as it was big on the teenager. He’d washed off his eyeliner, and changed into black jeans that didn’t look like they were meant for three people. His T-shirt showed a gravestone covered in thorns and a skeleton hand emerging from the soil.
But he’d tried—maybe because Abby would be there tonight, maybe because Tom made him. Either way, her heart tugged.
As for Tom, he looked...edible. He was checking his phone, so she had a moment of unadulterated ogling. Dark and dangerous and very European, in a black suit and black shirt open at the neck. No tie. He’d opted not to shave, and the two days’ worth of stubble somehow made him look more sophisticated.
And he smelled so damn good, spicy and clean. Honor had a sudden, pulsating need to rub herself against him, like a cat.
But the air was thick with tension—he and Charlie must’ve had words, because Charlie was staring at the floor, looking almost literally bored to death. Tom was bristling with energy, and not the good kind. He glanced at her, then did a double take, but his expression didn’t change. On the counter next to him was a glass of whiskey. His first (and last), she hoped. But no, he wouldn’t drink too much with Charlie here. She was almost certain.
He picked up the florist box from the table. “For you, Miss Holland,” he said, holding out her wristlet. He flashed that perfunctory smile, his fingers brushing the skin of her arm, and her knees turned to pudding, despite his blank expression.
“After you,” Tom said, holding the door for her.