Blue Heron: The Perfect Match Part 45

Dana looked at the table. "I loved him. Who wouldn't?"

"Then why did you lie to him?" Dana shrugged, and all of a sudden, Honor was tired. "How about if I tell you what I think, hmm? From my point of view, there's only one reason why a woman would pretend to be pregnant, and that's because she wasn't sure the guy would stay with her otherwise."

A tear slid off Dana's face onto the table. "You're right. Congratulations. As usual, Honor, you know everything."

"What do you want, Dana?"

Dana's face crumpled. "It was so stupid," she whispered, still not looking up. "You ever feel...I don't know. Like you're on the outside, looking in?"

"Everyone feels like that sometimes."

"Well, me, too. Ever since I met you, you and Brogan were a thing. You had a special relations.h.i.+p, and he was so awesome and all that. And you had this big fun family, and such a cool job. And I was jealous. I mean, there it is. I was." She swallowed. "And I really did like him. I always did. But I wasn't about to make a move when you guys were together, even if it was kind of a f.u.c.ked-up relations.h.i.+p."

"Gosh. Thanks."

"But then you broke up, and you were done with him. So yeah, I made a move. I mean, single men don't exactly grow on trees around here. And imagine my surprise when it seemed to work." Another tear plopped onto the table. "Men like to sleep with me, Honor. But men love you."

Honor snorted.

"Look at Tom. Right? He comes to town and boom. He falls for you."

"It's not exactly working out for us," she murmured.

"Whatever. There's not a guy here who doesn't respect you and like you and think you're smart. That doesn't happen with me. Brogan was one of the few who seemed to want more than s.e.x. But you're right. I was afraid that the more time he spent with me, the less he'd like me, because that seems to be the way it goes. So I made up a baby, figured I'd get pregnant fast. I didn't think beyond that."

"I thought you didn't want kids."

"With him I did. Never thought I'd say those words." She wiped her eyes discreetly.

All of a sudden, Honor wanted to be truly done. For way too long, Brogan had been a huge part of her life, bigger than even he knew. And for the past few months, Dana had been, too.

It was time to end that.

"Listen, Dana," she said. "It was the wrong move, obviously. So own it, take responsibility for it and see where that gets you. I think Brogan really loves you. I don't know why, but he seems to. If you tell him what you just told me, I think you might have a shot."

Dana looked up, her green eyes watery. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna go now, okay? Top Ten Tumors is on."

Dana gave a snort of laughter, then grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry, Honor. I really am."

"It's really okay. Don't think about it anymore. And good luck with Brogan."

Strange, that she meant it.

"Honor?" Dana said. "Listen...I called Immigration on you. A while ago. I just wondered if you were marrying Tom because of a green card thing, and...well. I hope it didn't screw things up."

Ah. Mystery solved. "No. It wasn't that."

As she fished her keys out of her purse, she looked over to where Tom had been, but he was gone.

ON SAt.u.r.dAY, HONOR decided to take a bike ride, because that's what people who had weekends did.

May was so beautiful, the fruit trees blossoming in the small orchard the family still kept. There was Goggy, hanging out wash, waving as Honor rode past the Old House. Tomorrow, hopefully, she'd sneak some c.r.a.p to the dump-Pops's newspaper horde was taking on terrifying proportion, but that was tomorrow. Today was all about exercise and fresh air.

"We will be cheerful," she told Spike, who was nestled in the handlebar basket on a fleece blanket. "We are cheerful people, Ratty." Spike yipped in agreement. She loved bike rides.

Dogwood and crabapple trees were in full glory as she pedaled up Lake View Road to where the hill flattened out. She pa.s.sed Bobby McIntosh mowing his lawn, and the smell of cut gra.s.s made her smile. Life was good. It wasn't entirely complete, but it was a happy life. This beautiful town, the job she loved, her family, her faithful little doggy...it was enough. For now, it was enough. More would come in its own time.

After a few miles, she pulled into a shallow parking area at the foot of the Keuka hiking trail, pushed down the kickstand and clipped Spike's leash on. "Come on, baby, let's take a walk."

Birds hopped and twittered in the trees, and Honor could hear the rush of water from a nearby stream. The sun was warm, the breeze gusted.

There was a bench up ahead, and a lovely view of the Crooked Lake. A familiar figure was sitting there, clad all in black. Spike went crazy, pulling on the leash, barking away.

"Charlie?"

The boy turned, then jerked his gaze back to the view.

"Hi. How's it going?" she asked, sitting next to him. Spike jumped up on the bench and wagged.

Charlie said nothing, but he extended his hand so Spike could sniff it, making the little dog whine in joy.

"Are you back for a visit?" she asked, wondering if Tom knew. G.o.d, it would mean the world to him if Charlie had come to see him.

"I'm back for good," Charlie mumbled. He picked at a hole in his jeans.

Oh, c.r.a.p. She'd never met Charlie's father, but she had the sudden urge to throttle him. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Why? So my dad couldn't make it work. Big deal. It doesn't mean anything. What's it to you?"

"Does Tom know you're back?" she asked carefully.

He shrugged.

"Have you called him?"

"No, okay? Jees.h.!.+ Leave me alone."

"You should call him, Charlie. He cares a lot about you."

"I don't care! I don't care about Tom, okay?" Spike barked madly. "He's not my father. I never asked him for anything! I didn't want to learn how to box! I never asked him for that. He treats me like an idiot baby with those stupid model airplanes and presents, like he can buy me! Like I can't tell that he hates me!"

Yark! Yark! Yark! "Spike, be quiet," Honor ordered, scooping up the dog. The dog obeyed. She looked at Charlie and squinted. Teenagers. Att.i.tude. Yawn. "So you're not a baby?" she said.

"No," he snapped.

"Then stop acting like one." Huh. Hadn't planned on saying that.

"What do you know about anything?" He kicked his shoe in the sand.

"A lot more than you, apparently. Tom has spent three years trying to stay in your life."

"I never asked him-"

"Shush. Now I know it must be incredibly hard to have had your mom die. My mom died when I was young, too."

"My mom didn't just die," he said. "She...left."

Honor softened. "I know, honey."

"And what if she wasn't coming back?"

"I bet she was."

"Yeah, well, you don't know that."

What was it about teenagers, that they loved thinking of themselves as the single most tormented individual on the face of G.o.d's earth? "From what I've heard, she loved you, and even if she went away for the weekend, I imagine she was coming back." Charlie said nothing, and Honor sighed. "Mothers do die sometimes, and it does suck, and you never quite get over it. I'm sorry it happened to you."

"Wow. Thanks, lady."

Oh, the att.i.tude. "And I'm sorry your father is such a s.h.i.+t."

"He's not! He's not at all!" Spike barked again. "My dad is great."

"You want to be treated like an adult? Then you need to grow up. Open your eyes, Charlie. Your father breezes in and out of your life when he feels like it, then dumps you off at your grandparents' when he's got other plans."

"It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that, and pretending it's otherwise doesn't help you one bit."

Charlie opened his mouth to protest, then shut it, his eyes filling. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looked at the ground. A tear fell on his black jeans. She put her arm around his skinny shoulders. "I hate you," he said.

"I'm sure you do. But, Charlie, Tom...Tom loves you. His whole life has been about you since the day you first met, and he was willing to marry a stranger just to stay near you."

Oops. Maybe shouldn't have mentioned that. Charlie gave her a sidelong glance. "What are you talking about?"

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Wickham College wasn't going to renew his work visa, and to stay in this country-to stay near you, Charlie-he had to find someone to marry to get a green card. Me."

"I don't believe you."

"Fine. You don't have to. You can spend your time being bitter and hateful because your mother went away and died and your father is an a.s.s, or you can acknowledge that there's a person who's loved you since the day he met you and moved heaven and earth and was willing to risk being sent to jail for fraud to be near you. Your choice."

He didn't answer.

She'd tried. Maybe she shouldn't have said what she did, but it was a little late for that.

Taking Spike's leash, she stood up to leave, then paused. "Do you need a ride home? I rode my bike here, but I can call my dad."

Charlie didn't look at her. "I'll walk home."

"I'll call your grandmother in an hour and make sure you got there."

He rolled his eyes. But he didn't protest, either, and after another beat, Honor left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

WHEN JANICE KELLOGG called, telling him in a whisper that Mitch.e.l.l Kellogg had returned Charlie, Tom's fist clenched so hard around his coffee mug that it broke, and the red haze colored his vision.

"Can you take him for a few hours? He's killing us," Janice said. "Honestly, how did we get into this?"

"Of course," Tom said.

"We'll drop him off in ten minutes."

"Brilliant."

Tom's heart was roaring in his ears. A shard of coffee mug was sticking out of his palm, and without feeling it, he pulled it out.

That f.u.c.king Mitch.e.l.l. Did he have really so little heart that he'd return his son, his boy, back to the Kelloggs like a dog who hadn't quite worked out being brought back to the pound? No, that wasn't fair. The pound had standards. They wouldn't let a person like Mitch.e.l.l DeLuca take a vicious pit bull, let alone a lovely boy like Charlie. He'd been lovely once, at any rate. He was probably ruined now. How much could a child take, after all?

He cleaned up the broken mug and spilled coffee and bandaged his hand. Then the front door opened, and Charlie walked in.

"h.e.l.lo, mate," Tom said as gently as he knew how.

The kid didn't even pause, just shuffled past, his horrible jeans dragging on the floor, the chain from his belt clinking, and went upstairs, ninety pounds of hate and misery. After a second, Tom followed.

Charlie stood in his room, looking around as if he'd never seen it before.

"I'm sorry about your dad," Tom said.

The boy turned and looked at him, his expression incredulous. Then he turned to the bureau, where the Stearman PT-17 waited, still unfinished, seized it in both hands and hurled it to the floor. It exploded, pieces flying everywhere, and Charlie picked up his foot and stomped on it, again and again and again, obliterating it, the crunching sound sickening, his screaming far worse. Then he ripped down the Manchester United poster, then flew to the nighttable, to the photo of Charlie and Melissa, and hurled it against the wall.

He tore the comforter from the bed, kicked the nighttable over and then, having run out of things to destroy, collapsed to his knees, the sounds coming from him soul-shredding, and then Tom was kneeling there among the shards of airplane, wrapping his arms around the boy.

"Get off me! I hate you! I hate you!" Charlie struggled against him, but Tom didn't let go.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, mate. I'm so sorry."

Charlie punched him, tried to wrench away, but Tom was bigger and stronger, and for once, it mattered. Charlie punched him again. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you," he said, but the last one was just a sob.