CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EVERYTHING HAD CHANGED.
Okay, actually nothing had changed, except that she and Tom were sleeping together. As in doing it. Every. Night. And sometimes first thing in the morning, too.
Life was good. Life was meltingly, sweetly, achingly wonderful, in fact. She wasn’t faking it anymore. This was the real thing.
For fifteen years (fine! seventeen years), Honor had been in love with Brogan Cain. There was no denying that fact. But with Brogan, she always had to work so hard, always putting forth her best face, never impatient or irritable or even just quiet. She turned herself inside out trying to match him, to be the most fascinating, smartest, funniest person she could possibly be, somewhat terrified that Brogan, who flew all over the world and photographed some of the most famous people on the planet, would realize she was not nearly as interesting as he was.
But Tom seemed to like her just as she was.
The other night, tired from a happy lack of sleep, she’d fallen asleep on the couch, waking up to find him looking at her from the other end, her feet in his lap, Spike curled on her shoulder. And his face, while not smiling, had been decidedly...interested. Then he’d crawled on top of her, setting her dog on the floor with only minimal hostility from Spike, unbuttoned her shirt and slid his hand under her skirt, like they were naughty teenagers necking on the couch.
And over coffee the other morning, when she told him about the new sales incentive program and the contest to name the latest vintage, he’d asked some questions, remembered what she said last week on the same subject and hadn’t seemed bored at all. Seemed rather charmed, in fact. Then he kissed her and wished her luck and grinned as he left, taking her heart with him.
So yes, things were different.
As for his feelings, well, maybe it would take a little time for him to fall in love with her, for that locked-away part of him to hand over the key.
For now, she was happy. Happier than she’d ever been.
* * *
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, SHE stopped by the gym to see Tom’s boxing club, which had morphed from a self-defense class into a boxing class for high schoolers who seemed to enjoy all sorts of medieval torture like push-ups and running stairs. Tom was sparring in the ring with a giant boy, both of them wearing helmets and gloves, but when he saw her, he came over, all testosterone-riddled, muscular, sweaty delicious alpha male.
“Don’t you dare touch me, Rocky Balboa,” she said, hoping like hell he’d disobey, and he did. Grabbed her and pulled her against him and kissed her full on the mouth, a hot, soft, killer kiss, until the kids had groaned and complained. A cheeky grin and he headed back into the ring, leaving her feeling like she’d gone a few rounds herself, rather dizzy and weak, Down Under clenching with lust.
“You’re Tom’s fiancée, aren’t you?” a stocky woman asked. “I’m Dr. Didier, the principal at the high school.”
“Oh, hi,” Honor said. “I’m Abby Vanderbeek’s aunt. We’ve met before.”
“We have? Cool. So Charlie’s doing great, isn’t he? He’s come a long way.”
“Yes,” Honor said. It seemed to be true. At dinner on Tuesday, he’d answered a few questions, hardly chatty but not quite so furious anymore. And he had quite a few good moves, Honor thought, watching him demonstrate a combination of hits and pivots on the heavy bag.
“All right,” Tom called. “So for this tournament, which is in three short weeks, mates, I’ve got Abby, Charlie, Bethany, Michael and Jesse all signed up. Anyone else? Don’t worry about your experience level, they take beginners far worse than you lot. Anyone else? Yes, Devin, good girl! Brilliant! I’ll see you all on Friday, then, yeah? Now get out, your parents are waiting.”
Tom bounded over to her again. “I’ve got to run Charlie home. Will you be around?”
“I have to go to my grandparents’ house,” she said. “Still trying to purge.” A drop of sweat ran from his jaw down his neck, and she had to resist the urge to lick it. Huh. Imagine that. She was a nasty, dirty girl. About time, the eggs said.
“Tell me about it,” she murmured.
“What’s that, darling?”
“Oh, nothing. Hey, I forgot to mention it, but we have this thing tonight at Blue Heron. A family thing.” She paused. “So I hope you can come. Charlie, too.”
“Sounds fun. Though I did have plans to cook dinner for you tonight.”
Oh, sigh. Not only could he shag like a friggin’ Olympian, he cooked for her. “You can still cook for me.” If you take me to bed first, that is.
He grinned as if reading her mind and went back to the kids, and Honor headed out of the gym and up the Hill.
Dad was at the Old House, listening as his parents gave closing arguments as to why they didn’t need a downstairs shower.
“We didn’t even have running water when I was a boy,” Pops said. “We don’t need a second bathroom!”
“I don’t know why everyone’s having a problem with me going up the stairs twenty times a day,” Goggy added. “If this old fool would up and die, I could move into his room.”
“You’d mourn me, woman,” Pops said. “Your life would be an empty shell.”
“Try me. Oh, Honor! Honey! How are you, sweetheart? You look exhausted.”
Oh, I am, Goggy. Uh-huh. That’s right. She cleared her throat. “How are you guys?”
“Your father thinks we need a downstairs shower.”
“So do I,” Honor said, kissing her grandmother’s cheek.
“I have a perfectly good bathroom upstairs,” the old lady said.
“She has a perfectly good bathroom upstairs,” Pops echoed.
“You can’t make us have a better bathroom,” Goggy said.
“We hate better bathrooms,” Pops added.
“Okay, you two,” Honor said. “You’re making Dad’s life a living hell. He’s getting married again, he doesn’t want to have to come over here five times a day to see if either of you is lying in a pool of your own blood.”
“So? Don’t come over, then,” Goggy said. “I’m just your mother. I didn’t mean to be such a burden. I thought that three days in childbirth would’ve—”
“And I’m getting married, too,” Honor interrupted. “And Jack is useless, as everyone knows. So let’s talk about what we can do to keep you here safely, or maybe think about spending winters in Florida.”
“Death’s waiting room? Are you crazy?” Goggy sputtered.
“Do I look like I want to go to Disney World?” Pops said.
Honor looked at her grands. “Look,” she said. “We love you. We don’t want you to go anywhere. The best way to stay in this house is to make a few changes here and there.”
“You think we’re old,” Goggy said.
“Mom,” her father said, “you are old. Not decrepit, but old. I’m old. I’m sixty-eight.”
“I know, John. Since I spent three days in childbirth with you.”
Dad sighed and closed his eyes.
“Okay,” Honor said. “I have a list—”
“Of course you do,” Pops muttered.
“—of things that should be done. There are seventeen things on this list. How about if we pick five to get started?”
“Two,” Pops said.
“None,” Goggy said
An hour and twenty-three minutes later, after presenting an argument that would hold up in front of the Supreme Court, Honor had coerced her grandparents into agreeing to two of the seventeen changes. A stair-chair and a new furnace so they wouldn’t die of carbon monoxide poisoning. “Fine,” muttered Goggy. “But I won’t use that silly chair. That’s for old people.”
“You are old, Elizabeth,” Pops snapped.
“And you’re older!”
Dad roused himself from where he’d been sitting with his head in his hands. “Okay, let’s get going. We have the sowing ceremony tonight. Honor, sweetheart, walk with me to the New House. Mrs. J. and I haven’t seen you much this week.”
“You bet,” she said. “See you up there, Goggy. Behave yourself, Pops.”
She walked the short distance between houses with her father, the shrill, sweet sound of peepers rising from the pond. In another hour, it would be full dark.
“How are things with Tom?” he asked.
“Great, Daddy.”
Her father looked at her thoughtfully. “I wasn’t sure about him,” he said. “Not at first, anyway. But he seems like a good guy.”
“He is,” she said.
“And you love him? Are you sure?”
Finally, she could look her father in the eye. “I’m sure.”
Dad put his arm around her shoulders. “You look just like your mother when you smile,” he said gruffly. “Now this doesn’t mean I’m dying to give you away, you know. You can stay with Mrs. Johnson and me forever, so far as I’m concerned. You and Tom both, if you want.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Daddy.”
“You two kids should take the house, and Mrs. J. and I will stay in her apartment. It’s perfect for two, and you and Tom will be having babies soon enough. Right? I’d love more grandchildren. Besides, the New House is where you belong.
She smiled. “I’ll talk to him about it.”
Because that image of her and Tom, and a kid or two...it was a lot easier to picture these days.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, as the sliver of the new moon rose on the horizon, every member of the Holland family, plus Tom and Charlie, gathered up near the cemetery.
The sowing ceremony took place on the rise of the first new moon of April. The origins of the ceremony were unclear, but tradition was tradition.
Tom came up next to Honor, smelling of soap from his shower, and kissed her on the cheek. Abby and Charlie were snickering, Levi was on the phone with his sister, growling to her about something, then passing the phone to Ned (and not looking too happy about it, either). Pru and Carl had their arms around each other, Goggy was fussing with the refreshments, which were laid out on a blanket in the back of Dad’s red pickup truck. She tut-tutted as Mrs. Johnson tried to help, and Mrs. J. tut-tutted back. Dad and Jack were talking pH levels in the latest batch of Riesling, and Faith sat on the ground next to Mom’s headstone, her face dreamy and sweet.
“So what’s this about, then?” Tom asked.
“It’s a blessing for the crops,” Honor said. “We’ve done it for generations.”
“Gather around, everyone,” Pops said, and the family made a semicircle around the little cemetery. Pops stood a little straighter and took Goggy’s hand. “All right, then,” he said. “As father, grandfather and great-grandfather—
“And as mother, grandmother and great-grandmother,” said Goggy. “We welcome you tonight.”
“De liefde van God zij met u.” the rest of them chorused.
“That means ‘God’s love be with you,’” Honor told Tom and Charlie.
“Tonight, we ask for God’s blessing on the year to come. We pray that the rain will fall softly on the fields, that the sun will shine warmly, that the food we grow will provide for our family, this year and in all the years to come.”
“Amen,” they said.
Goggy handed the first bottle of wine to Pops.
“That’s a wine we make only for the family,” Honor explained as Pops wielded one of his many corkscrews. “We call it the blessing wine and only use it for weddings, christenings and the sowing ceremony.”
Tom glanced at her, and she felt a prickle of heat in her cheeks. They’d be drinking the blessing wine again soon, both at Dad’s wedding, and then again at theirs.
And maybe, in a year or so, at the christening of their baby.
“Cool,” Charlie said, watching as Pops deftly uncorked that bottle, then two more.
“First we take a drink, then pour some on the ground,” Honor explained as Pops took the first drink. “That way, we honor the family who came before us, and the soil that provides for us now.”
“Lovely,” Tom said. “I wish my dad could see this. He’d love it.”
“Maybe next year,” she said, and he flashed that grin.
Oh, yes, she loved him so much her heart hurt in a wonderfully sharp ache.
Faith passed the bottle to her, and Honor took a sip. Funny, all the ceremony over the opening and aeration of wine, assessing the bouquet and texture, the myriad flavors...but not tonight. Tonight, they chugged from the bottle, and it was the wine Honor loved most of all, sweet and smoky. One swallow, one slosh on the ground, a little prayer for the well-being of her family. And Tom. And Charlie.
She passed the bottle to the boy, who’d be her unofficial stepson, too, soon enough, whatever her real title might be. He gave Tom a questioning look; Tom nodded, and Charlie took a little sip, grimaced, then swallowed and poured some wine on the ground.
“Good job,” she said. He smiled back at her, then passed the bottle to Tom, who did his part.
When everyone had had a sip, Pops took a box of matches from his shirt pocket and lit the fire Ned had laid earlier that day. As the wood began to crackle and the fire bathed all their faces in a warm glow, Tom took her hand. “I’m very glad I met you, Miss Holland,” he said.
The words were ordinary; the feeling anything but.
“Tom, darling,” Goggy said, “you have to do one thing for us. Since you’re the newest member of the family.”
“Wouldn’t that be Charlie?” Abby said with a wicked grin.
“Well, Charlie and Tom, then,” Goggy said. “Here you go, dears.”
She passed them a plate. “What is that?” Charlie said. “Oh, man, you gotta be kidding me.”
Honor grinned. “It’s tradition, Charlie. Newest family members and all.”
“What is this, love?” Tom asked, tilting his head to look at the traditional Dutch dish.
“It’s raw herring and onions,” Honor said. “Eat up, boys.” Ah, the Dutch. Who else loved what was essentially cat food? She herself hated herring; just the sight of it made her stomach flip. Faith shared the sentiment and gave a subtle dry heave.
“You know, I’m not technically part of the family,” Charlie said. “Tom’s marrying you, but I’m kind of unofficial here.”
“Not in our hearts,” Abby said sternly. “Eat it.”
“It’s only horrible the first twenty years or so,” Ned added.
“What are you talking about?” Goggy demanded. “It’s wonderful.”
“You first, mate,” Tom said.
“Just take a little nibble, son,” Dad said. “You don’t have to eat the whole thing.”
“Someone has to,” Faith said. “Tom. Be a man.”
Charlie held up the bony fish. “Oh, God,” he said. Closed his eyes and took the smallest bite possible, just a scrape of the teeth, gagged and manfully forced it down his throat. “It’s...good,” he wheezed, tears coming to his eyes. “A little strong, maybe.”
“Good job!” Pops said, clapping him on the back. “Tom? Go ahead. Finish it up, son.”
Tom looked at Honor. She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “For you, my love,” he said, and, much to her horror, picked up the fish and bit it right in half, the bones crunching. His face contorted, and everyone laughed. He chewed, swallowed and then ate the other half. Dear Lord.
“Now there is a man,” Mrs. Johnson said approvingly.
“Good job, babe,” Honor said, taking the plate from him. Blick. The smell was wretched. Poor Tom. Time to get to the real food—the casseroles and ham and pies.
“Not so fast, darling.” Tom jerked her back to him. “How’s about a kiss?”
“No! Don’t you dare!” She broke away from him and ran behind Levi. “Officer, help me. That man has fish breath.”
“Far be it from me to come between a man and his wife,” Levi said, stepping away.
“We’re not married yet,” Honor shrieked, dodging and laughing as Tom chased her. She bolted for the nearest row of grapes. “And we won’t be if this keeps up. Daddy, help me!” Her traitorous father merely laughed.
“Go get her, Tom!” Pru called, and sure enough, he caught her arm and spun her around.
“Darling? Don’t you love me anymore?” he said, his sweet, crooked smile flashing.
Then he kissed her, herring breath and all.
And you know, it really wasn’t so bad. Her family gave a cheer, and Honor felt him smile. Then he kissed her again, and hugged her. “This is lovely,” he said, his face growing more serious. He tucked some hair behind her ear. “Thank you for having us.”
“Come get some real food, you two lovebirds,” Goggy sang. “Did I mention that I always knew they’d be perfect together?”