CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ON SATURDAY, TOM cornered Honor just after her shower. Little was more appealing than a woman wrapped in a towel, her skin damp and pink. Lose the towel, and life would be perfect.
But his unofficial stepson was waiting. “Want to come out with Charlie and me?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said, and he watched as a flush spread into her cheeks. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
They stopped at Lorelei’s and got sandwiches and iced tea from the sunny owner, then picked up the lad and headed north. Charlie was plugged into his phone, listening to music, but he wasn’t sullen, Tom thought. Just a teenager. He had Spike in the back with him; the dog reserved her animosity for Tom and seemed quite content to sprawl on Charlie’s leg in exchange for a belly rub.
The boy’s face was changing, Tom thought as he glanced in the rearview mirror. He’d lost the softness of a little kid, and his bone structure was becoming more pronounced. His freckles had faded, and his eyes were more observant.
He looked a lot like Melissa.
Someday, he and Honor might have a baby in the backseat there with Charlie and Spike. A car seat, a diaper bag, a knapsack, all that.
The image made his hands a little sweaty. But that was the deal, was it not?
Besides, he liked kids. He could handle a baby.
It was the family part that made him nervous. Perhaps not nervous in a bad way, though.
Speaking of family, he’d spoken to his father again this week. He should get Dad to move over here. Since he’d be staying and all.
“All right, darlings,” Tom said, pulling off the highway. “Three guesses as to where we’re going.”
“Brigham Airfield?” Charlie asked as they passed the sign.
“Genius,” Tom said. “Thought we’d take little project of mine out for a ride.” He turned onto the airport road, and ten minutes later, they were standing in front of the Piper.
“So what did you do to it?” Charlie asked.
“We put in a bigger engine, modified the wings, adjusted the rudders. The owner wants to do some stunt flying.”
“Cool.”
The plane looked quite cheery. Tom walked around, explaining the preflight check, the different parts of the plane, and much to his surprise, Charlie seemed to be listening—no headphones, no sullen staring. When he was done, Tom opened the door. “Charlie, mate, up here. You’re my copilot.”
“You have your pilot’s license?” Honor asked.
“I do. But I don’t fly too much, so hang on tight.” He winked at her, and she smiled, her dimples flashing.
In the cockpit, he showed Charlie which controls did what, checked the switches, valves and the rest of it, then radioed the tower and started the engines.
It was a bumpy ascent, though not too bad. Everything felt worse in a little plane, of course, and Charlie was a bit pale. But once they’d gotten level, the kid was glued to the view.
“This is awesome,” he said.
Below them spread the soft green hills of western New York, the lush fields and red barns, thick forests and the occasional white steeple. The sky was utterly clear today.
“What happens if a Canada goose flies into an engine?” Charlie asked.
“We pray,” Tom said.
“Do you ever watch those airplane disaster movies?”
“As a matter of fact, no.”
“There was this awesome flick last year,” the kid said, then launched into a rather disturbing description of the plot. Tom glanced at Honor. She was smiling.
Something moved in Tom’s chest.
“All right, Charles, you ready to fly this little darling?” Tom said. “All you have to do is keep a steady hand here, right? Nice and level, hands at ten and two, just like in a car.”
“I don’t drive,” Charlie said, his voice a little panicky.
“I’m right here,” Tom assured him. “You can do it, mate. And if you like it, we’ll get you a pilot’s license. You can fly before you can drive. Ready? The controls are yours.”
Granted, he wasn’t about to let Charlie do anything stupid or risky; the kid had a lot less control than he knew, but the expression on his face was priceless. Somber, focused, and then, miraculously, he flashed Tom a smile. “Am I doing okay?”
“You’re brilliant, mate.”
Tom took the controls back after ten minutes or so, then circled the plane out so they could see Lake Canandaigua, the nearest of the Finger Lakes. The water was cobalt blue this morning. “That’s where we’ll have a picnic,” Tom said, pointing to a field below.
“Are we gonna land on the water?” Charlie asked.
“No, no. This isn’t a water plane. The engine’s too heavy. But they do have amphibious planes that land on both, right, Honor?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “There’s a fantastic water plane show in June on Keuka. We’ll have to go.”
A short time later, they were back on land, in the field Tom had shown them from the air. The lake shimmered, and birds wheeled and sang. They ate their picnic lunch, the sun warm.
If someone had told Tom two months ago that he’d be on a picnic with his fiancée and Charlie, and that Charlie would be speaking to him, Tom wouldn’t have believed it. A night like the sowing ceremony, the solidarity of the Hollands, the history and closeness, the welcome for him and Charlie...Tom wondered what he’d done to deserve it.
Charlie was lying on his back, and Tom did the same. Honor, too. A few fat clouds drifted by; Honor murmured that there’d be rain by tonight, and she should know. There wasn’t much she didn’t.
He looked at her, her short blond hair ruffling in the breeze. She’d been quiet today, popping in with a comment here or there, but mostly watching the two of them, as if understanding that this was a momentous day.
Today, the old Charlie was back. Well, not really. There was no going back, Tom knew that. He knew that Melissa’s death had changed her son irreversibly. But the boy Tom had always imagined he’d be—smart, friendly, focused, decent—that kid had shown up today, even without Abby to impress.
A lot of that had to do with Honor.
In all this time, she hadn’t once complained about Charlie’s manners, sullenness, stomping, refusal to eat, slamming of doors. She never rolled her eyes, never expressed anything other than pleasure when he came over, never sighed or muttered. She’d given him a family, a friend in Abby. She even seemed to like him.
Tom reached out and took Honor’s hand. Kissed it, and watched as her eyes grew soft.
Two hours later, after one of the best days of Tom’s life, he dropped Honor off, kissed her briefly on the mouth and said he’d be back in fifteen minutes or so. “She’s nice,” Charlie said as they pulled away.
“Yes,” Tom said. He glanced at the boy. “Feel like being my best man?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
Charlie shrugged. “Okay.”
It was enough. It was more than enough.
Tom pulled up to the Kelloggs’ house.
A dark blue, vintage Mustang was out front, and for one second, he felt like he’d just been hit with a particularly brutal uppercut, right under the chin.
Charlie was out of the car in a blur. “Dad!” he yelled. “Hey, Dad!”