The Perfect Match
Page 43
“It’s the son,” Mildred announced as Janet Leigh drove toward Bates Motel. “He killed his own mother and kept her body. He dresses up in her clothes.”
“Thanks for ruining it,” grumbled her husband.
“You’ve seen this! You just forgot. We saw it with the Merrills when it first came out. You remember, at the theater before it burned down?”
“I’d rather have someone stab me than live here,” Goggy said, sniffing.
More wine? asked the eggs. Thanks, I’d love some, Honor mentally answered, and poured herself a second glass. The day called for it.
Once again, she was in love with someone who didn’t love her back. Once again, she’d managed to tell herself a pretty little story with butterflies and Lindt chocolate truffles and a devastatingly wonderful man who adored her but just didn’t quite know it.
And, she sensed, once again she was about to be dumped.
Something had happened with Charlie, that she knew.
That ten days (ten and a half) after the ball had been...everything. Tom had brought her flowers one day (and yes, pathetic female that she was, she saved a rose petal, because dang it!—no man had ever brought her flowers before, if you ruled out Dad). He pressed her against the wall and kissed her till her knees wobbled, and they did it on the kitchen table. The kitchen table, people! Come on!
The sowing ceremony with her family...had she ever even pictured being the woman chased by her honey so he could steal a kiss? No. She hadn’t. Then, the day of the plane ride, the culmination of everything. For a little while, it had felt so perfect that the air itself shimmered. They’d been a family, a couple and their teenage son, biology be damned. And when Tom had kissed her hand and smiled at her, there’d been something in his gray eyes she hadn’t seen yet.
Peace.
And maybe a little love, as well.
I believe that’s called wishful thinking, said the eggs, their eyes glued to Anthony Perkins as he peered through the knothole. Is there any popcorn?
“Oh, no, she’s getting in the shower,” Mildred observed. “Honey, don’t do it! He’s about to kill you!” Honestly. It was like watching a movie with Faith.
“I can’t see,” Margie Bowman said. “Juanita, why did you get that perm? Your head is too big now. Sit in the back next time.”
So far as Honor could tell, there were two possible scenarios for the future. One, she’d marry Tom and live in pathetic hope that he’d come around. Have a baby if she was lucky. Yearn for Tom to love her. Gradually adjust to the fact that he didn’t, or couldn’t. Work out a divorce when the time came. Move back in with Dad and Mrs. Johnson and raise her child, always a little melancholy to see those pieces of Tom Barlow in him or her, always blue when Tom came to pick up the kid for Wednesday night dinners and every other weekend. She’d come to Rushing Creek and do Watch and Whine and gradually add her own aching knees and lactose intolerance to the list of complaints. Send her child off to college and move in here and talk to her shriveled ovaries, the eggs long since committed suicide.
Two, see above, minus the kid.
“Anthony Perkins would’ve made an attractive woman,” Frank Peters said as Norman Bates killed the detective. “He has nice eyes.”
“My mother had that same dress,” murmured Louise Daly.
When the movie ended, Honor turned up the lights, wincing at the sight of Victor Iskin and Lorena Creech making out in the back row. Emily handed Spike back. “She’s an angel,” she said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Gianfredo,” Honor said. “It’s true,” she murmured to her dog. “Hey, where’s everyone going? We still have the discussion.” Pathetic, that she’d rather stay here than head home to face the tension there.
“Sweetheart, the Girl Scouts made grape pies for their baking badges, and we don’t want to miss out,” Goggy said.
“We? Are you eating here? What about the food poisoning?”
“That’s different,” Goggy said. “This is the Girl Scouts. They’d never poison me. Your grandfather is meeting me here, so you go along. Tell that handsome Tom I said hello.”
“Okay,” Honor said. She waved as the Watch and Whine audience tried not to trample one another in their rush to get to dinner.
With a sigh that she couldn’t suppress, she put Spike in her bag, stood up and started packing the movie projector.
“Honor?”
She startled, banging into the cart, and Spike barked, then whimpered. “Brogan!” Honor said, clearing her throat. “Hey. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” he said. “I called your office. Ned told me you were here.”
“Yes. Psycho. Part of the movie club.”
He gave a ghost of a smile. “Do you have a second?”
His face was drawn, jaw tight. She glanced around; the auditorium was empty even of Victor and Lorena now. “Sure. What’s going on?”
Brogan ran a hand through his thick hair. Bent down to pet Spike, who really only resented Tom, come to think of it, then straightened up again. “I’m really sorry to do this to you, On. It’s just...” His voice broke. “It’s just that you’re my best friend, I think.” He swallowed.
The wine and cheese had yet to be cleaned up. “Um, want a glass of merlot? It’s really nice. Velvety texture, currant and blackberry jam overtones, dark chocolate and tobacco in the finish.”
He smiled, more genuinely this time. “Thanks, On. You’re the best.”
That was true. She got him a glass and sat down, glancing at her watch. Six o’clock. Tom would be done with the boxing club. She wondered if things would be easier at home tonight. Kind of doubted it.
“So what’s up?” she asked. Her dog had already curled up on Brogan’s shoe.
“I did call you,” he said. “Your cell phone was off.”
“Yeah. The movie and all. I’m old-school.”
He looked at her with those brilliant blue eyes. Much to her surprise, they were filled with tears. “Dana’s not pregnant.”
Without thinking, she reached out and gripped his hand. “Oh, Brogan, I’m so sorry.”
Poor Dana! A miscarriage, just when—
“She never was.”
Honor’s mouth opened. “What?”
Brogan covered his eyes with one hand. “She lied, Honor. This morning, she told me she thought she might’ve had a miscarriage, and so I rushed her into Jeremy’s office, and she was being all weird and resistant and stuff, and then she didn’t want me in the exam room, and I was freaking out, you know? I wanted to take her to the hospital, but then Jeremy asked me to come into the room, and she told me. She never was pregnant.”
“But...did she think she was?”
“No.”
“Why would she lie about that?”
Brogan shook his head. “She said I put all this pressure on her and she maybe thought for one day that she was pregnant, and then she kind of ran with it because I was so happy. So we had this huge fight, and I just don’t know what to think.”
“Wow,” Honor breathed. “I’m really sorry.” She paused. “Where did you leave things?”
“I don’t even know,” he said, his voice shaking. “I mean, can I marry someone who’d lie like this? Should I? And, On, the thing is, I really wanted to be a dad.”
She squeezed his hand. “I know how you feel.” She paused. “I really want kids, too.”
“I hope you and Tom have a bunch,” he said, trying to smile at her.
Oh, poor Brogan!
“I guess you need to talk things over. Maybe cool down a little,” she said.
He nodded. Then, abruptly, he covered her hand with his and held it hard. “You know what I wish, On?” he said. “I wish I’d fallen in love with you. I wish it so much.”
“Gosh. Thanks.”
“No, I mean it.” His eyes were brimming. “You and I, we’re perfect for each other. I don’t know what was missing. We like the same things, we can talk for hours, and with Dana, maybe it’s just sex. Just a primal, physical reaction. All we do is screw—”
“Okay, that’s probably too much information, big guy. Listen, I’m really sorry about all this, but I think you should be talking to Dana.”
“I’ve always loved you, On.”
She took a breath. “I seem to remember being compared to Derek Jeter’s old glove. Anyway, you’re upset, and—”
“Maybe I just didn’t appreciate you.”
“Yes, that came through loud and clear.”
“But I would now. Especially after being with Dana. I can’t believe she lied to me! I told everyone I knew, Honor! Everyone! You’d never do something like that.”
Honor sighed and extracted her hands. Patted Brogan’s knee. “Look, Brogan, you’ve had a big shock, and I’m really sorry. But you have things to work out, and I should go.”
“I love you. I really do. We’ve stayed friends for a reason, after all. Maybe we should give it a chance.”
“This is so uncomfortable. And you don’t mean it.”
“I think I do.” With that, he leaned forward, hesitated and kissed her.
She could’ve stopped him. Maybe she just wanted to see if he still had any hold over her. Maybe it was just years of reflex, accepting whatever affection Brogan had seen fit to bestow. Maybe her brain was just too slow to react. Whatever the case, she kept her mouth firmly closed, and didn’t feel anything at all. Well, no, that wasn’t true. When she’d been in seventh grade, she’d practice-kissed the cement pole in the church basement. It felt rather like that, a cold nothingness.
Brogan pulled back. “See?” he said.
“Hallo, darling.”
And then she did feel something, oh, yes indeedy.
Tom’s face was dangerously calm. That face, which could convey more in the quirk of an eyebrow and the slightest smile, had nothing on it now, and Honor felt ice wrap around her heart. “Hi,” she said. “Um, how are you?” Great question.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt. Your phone was off.” His eyes were as cold as the lake in December.
“Listen, man, I’m sorry you had to see that,” Brogan began.
“Not at all. It was quite educational.” He looked at her for another beat, but his eyes were blank. “Right.” With that, he turned to leave.
“Tom,” Honor blurted, “it’s not what you think.” Her heart was jangling in her chest, panicked and cold. “Tom, I—”
But he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.
“I’m sorry, On,” Brogan said. “I’m all messed up. I didn’t mean to make trouble for you. Well, I guess I did, maybe. I don’t know. I mean, I do care about you. Maybe it’s for the—”
“Oh, shut up.” She grabbed her purse and hurtled up the aisle toward the doors.
“On, what do you think I should do about Dana?” Brogan called.
“Figure it out yourself, Brogan! I have problems of my own.”
But by the time she reached the parking lot, Tom was already gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TOM WASN’T HOME. Honor threw some food in a bowl for Spike and dashed back out, then ran back in, wrote a note that said “Please call me ASAP” and taped it to the front door. Called his cell. He didn’t answer. She didn’t blame him.
Should she go to Wickham? Better yet, maybe she could call before driving all the way up there.
“Dees ees Dr. Dragul speaking,” came the voice. “How may I help you dees evening?”
“Oh, Droog, hi, it’s Honor Holland. I’m looking for Tom. Is he there, by any chance?”
“Ah, Honor, how nice to hear your voice! No, I em afraid that Tom is not here, but I veel tell him you called eef I see him. I must talk to him myself, as a metter of fact, but I heff date tonight. A luffly young woman named Clarissa, and I feel very—”
“Good luck,” she said, cutting him off. “Gotta run. Sorry, Droog. See you soon.”
She bit her lip.
Okay, this was all very juvenile—she hadn’t really been kissing Brogan—but her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might levitate. Tom would understand once she explained things to him.
She just had to find him, that was all.
Just then, her phone rang, making her jump so much she dropped it, causing Spike to pounce on it. “Give that back,” she said, pulling it free of her dog’s tiny mouth.
“Hello? Tom?”
“Hey, it’s Pru. When’s your wedding again?”
“Um, I’ll call you back.”
“Fine. I’ll just ask Tom. I meant to, but I was distracted when he took off his shirt. Those tats do something to me. I wonder if Carl would get one.”
“Okay, I’ll— What? When? Where did you see him?”
Prudence paused. “You okay? You sound weird.”
“Where’s Tom, Pru?”
“He’s in the bottling room, fixing something for Dad.”
“Talk later. Bye.”
A few minutes later, Honor pulled into the parking lot of the vineyard. Tom’s car was there.
Maybe he wasn’t mad, after all. He was here, being a good almost-son-in-law. He probably understood. How mad could he be?
Very, apparently.
He was lying on the floor in jeans and a T-shirt, and Pru was right. It made a very nice picture indeed, her college professor gone all handyman on her. “Hi,” she said.
“Thanks for ruining it,” grumbled her husband.
“You’ve seen this! You just forgot. We saw it with the Merrills when it first came out. You remember, at the theater before it burned down?”
“I’d rather have someone stab me than live here,” Goggy said, sniffing.
More wine? asked the eggs. Thanks, I’d love some, Honor mentally answered, and poured herself a second glass. The day called for it.
Once again, she was in love with someone who didn’t love her back. Once again, she’d managed to tell herself a pretty little story with butterflies and Lindt chocolate truffles and a devastatingly wonderful man who adored her but just didn’t quite know it.
And, she sensed, once again she was about to be dumped.
Something had happened with Charlie, that she knew.
That ten days (ten and a half) after the ball had been...everything. Tom had brought her flowers one day (and yes, pathetic female that she was, she saved a rose petal, because dang it!—no man had ever brought her flowers before, if you ruled out Dad). He pressed her against the wall and kissed her till her knees wobbled, and they did it on the kitchen table. The kitchen table, people! Come on!
The sowing ceremony with her family...had she ever even pictured being the woman chased by her honey so he could steal a kiss? No. She hadn’t. Then, the day of the plane ride, the culmination of everything. For a little while, it had felt so perfect that the air itself shimmered. They’d been a family, a couple and their teenage son, biology be damned. And when Tom had kissed her hand and smiled at her, there’d been something in his gray eyes she hadn’t seen yet.
Peace.
And maybe a little love, as well.
I believe that’s called wishful thinking, said the eggs, their eyes glued to Anthony Perkins as he peered through the knothole. Is there any popcorn?
“Oh, no, she’s getting in the shower,” Mildred observed. “Honey, don’t do it! He’s about to kill you!” Honestly. It was like watching a movie with Faith.
“I can’t see,” Margie Bowman said. “Juanita, why did you get that perm? Your head is too big now. Sit in the back next time.”
So far as Honor could tell, there were two possible scenarios for the future. One, she’d marry Tom and live in pathetic hope that he’d come around. Have a baby if she was lucky. Yearn for Tom to love her. Gradually adjust to the fact that he didn’t, or couldn’t. Work out a divorce when the time came. Move back in with Dad and Mrs. Johnson and raise her child, always a little melancholy to see those pieces of Tom Barlow in him or her, always blue when Tom came to pick up the kid for Wednesday night dinners and every other weekend. She’d come to Rushing Creek and do Watch and Whine and gradually add her own aching knees and lactose intolerance to the list of complaints. Send her child off to college and move in here and talk to her shriveled ovaries, the eggs long since committed suicide.
Two, see above, minus the kid.
“Anthony Perkins would’ve made an attractive woman,” Frank Peters said as Norman Bates killed the detective. “He has nice eyes.”
“My mother had that same dress,” murmured Louise Daly.
When the movie ended, Honor turned up the lights, wincing at the sight of Victor Iskin and Lorena Creech making out in the back row. Emily handed Spike back. “She’s an angel,” she said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Gianfredo,” Honor said. “It’s true,” she murmured to her dog. “Hey, where’s everyone going? We still have the discussion.” Pathetic, that she’d rather stay here than head home to face the tension there.
“Sweetheart, the Girl Scouts made grape pies for their baking badges, and we don’t want to miss out,” Goggy said.
“We? Are you eating here? What about the food poisoning?”
“That’s different,” Goggy said. “This is the Girl Scouts. They’d never poison me. Your grandfather is meeting me here, so you go along. Tell that handsome Tom I said hello.”
“Okay,” Honor said. She waved as the Watch and Whine audience tried not to trample one another in their rush to get to dinner.
With a sigh that she couldn’t suppress, she put Spike in her bag, stood up and started packing the movie projector.
“Honor?”
She startled, banging into the cart, and Spike barked, then whimpered. “Brogan!” Honor said, clearing her throat. “Hey. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” he said. “I called your office. Ned told me you were here.”
“Yes. Psycho. Part of the movie club.”
He gave a ghost of a smile. “Do you have a second?”
His face was drawn, jaw tight. She glanced around; the auditorium was empty even of Victor and Lorena now. “Sure. What’s going on?”
Brogan ran a hand through his thick hair. Bent down to pet Spike, who really only resented Tom, come to think of it, then straightened up again. “I’m really sorry to do this to you, On. It’s just...” His voice broke. “It’s just that you’re my best friend, I think.” He swallowed.
The wine and cheese had yet to be cleaned up. “Um, want a glass of merlot? It’s really nice. Velvety texture, currant and blackberry jam overtones, dark chocolate and tobacco in the finish.”
He smiled, more genuinely this time. “Thanks, On. You’re the best.”
That was true. She got him a glass and sat down, glancing at her watch. Six o’clock. Tom would be done with the boxing club. She wondered if things would be easier at home tonight. Kind of doubted it.
“So what’s up?” she asked. Her dog had already curled up on Brogan’s shoe.
“I did call you,” he said. “Your cell phone was off.”
“Yeah. The movie and all. I’m old-school.”
He looked at her with those brilliant blue eyes. Much to her surprise, they were filled with tears. “Dana’s not pregnant.”
Without thinking, she reached out and gripped his hand. “Oh, Brogan, I’m so sorry.”
Poor Dana! A miscarriage, just when—
“She never was.”
Honor’s mouth opened. “What?”
Brogan covered his eyes with one hand. “She lied, Honor. This morning, she told me she thought she might’ve had a miscarriage, and so I rushed her into Jeremy’s office, and she was being all weird and resistant and stuff, and then she didn’t want me in the exam room, and I was freaking out, you know? I wanted to take her to the hospital, but then Jeremy asked me to come into the room, and she told me. She never was pregnant.”
“But...did she think she was?”
“No.”
“Why would she lie about that?”
Brogan shook his head. “She said I put all this pressure on her and she maybe thought for one day that she was pregnant, and then she kind of ran with it because I was so happy. So we had this huge fight, and I just don’t know what to think.”
“Wow,” Honor breathed. “I’m really sorry.” She paused. “Where did you leave things?”
“I don’t even know,” he said, his voice shaking. “I mean, can I marry someone who’d lie like this? Should I? And, On, the thing is, I really wanted to be a dad.”
She squeezed his hand. “I know how you feel.” She paused. “I really want kids, too.”
“I hope you and Tom have a bunch,” he said, trying to smile at her.
Oh, poor Brogan!
“I guess you need to talk things over. Maybe cool down a little,” she said.
He nodded. Then, abruptly, he covered her hand with his and held it hard. “You know what I wish, On?” he said. “I wish I’d fallen in love with you. I wish it so much.”
“Gosh. Thanks.”
“No, I mean it.” His eyes were brimming. “You and I, we’re perfect for each other. I don’t know what was missing. We like the same things, we can talk for hours, and with Dana, maybe it’s just sex. Just a primal, physical reaction. All we do is screw—”
“Okay, that’s probably too much information, big guy. Listen, I’m really sorry about all this, but I think you should be talking to Dana.”
“I’ve always loved you, On.”
She took a breath. “I seem to remember being compared to Derek Jeter’s old glove. Anyway, you’re upset, and—”
“Maybe I just didn’t appreciate you.”
“Yes, that came through loud and clear.”
“But I would now. Especially after being with Dana. I can’t believe she lied to me! I told everyone I knew, Honor! Everyone! You’d never do something like that.”
Honor sighed and extracted her hands. Patted Brogan’s knee. “Look, Brogan, you’ve had a big shock, and I’m really sorry. But you have things to work out, and I should go.”
“I love you. I really do. We’ve stayed friends for a reason, after all. Maybe we should give it a chance.”
“This is so uncomfortable. And you don’t mean it.”
“I think I do.” With that, he leaned forward, hesitated and kissed her.
She could’ve stopped him. Maybe she just wanted to see if he still had any hold over her. Maybe it was just years of reflex, accepting whatever affection Brogan had seen fit to bestow. Maybe her brain was just too slow to react. Whatever the case, she kept her mouth firmly closed, and didn’t feel anything at all. Well, no, that wasn’t true. When she’d been in seventh grade, she’d practice-kissed the cement pole in the church basement. It felt rather like that, a cold nothingness.
Brogan pulled back. “See?” he said.
“Hallo, darling.”
And then she did feel something, oh, yes indeedy.
Tom’s face was dangerously calm. That face, which could convey more in the quirk of an eyebrow and the slightest smile, had nothing on it now, and Honor felt ice wrap around her heart. “Hi,” she said. “Um, how are you?” Great question.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt. Your phone was off.” His eyes were as cold as the lake in December.
“Listen, man, I’m sorry you had to see that,” Brogan began.
“Not at all. It was quite educational.” He looked at her for another beat, but his eyes were blank. “Right.” With that, he turned to leave.
“Tom,” Honor blurted, “it’s not what you think.” Her heart was jangling in her chest, panicked and cold. “Tom, I—”
But he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.
“I’m sorry, On,” Brogan said. “I’m all messed up. I didn’t mean to make trouble for you. Well, I guess I did, maybe. I don’t know. I mean, I do care about you. Maybe it’s for the—”
“Oh, shut up.” She grabbed her purse and hurtled up the aisle toward the doors.
“On, what do you think I should do about Dana?” Brogan called.
“Figure it out yourself, Brogan! I have problems of my own.”
But by the time she reached the parking lot, Tom was already gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TOM WASN’T HOME. Honor threw some food in a bowl for Spike and dashed back out, then ran back in, wrote a note that said “Please call me ASAP” and taped it to the front door. Called his cell. He didn’t answer. She didn’t blame him.
Should she go to Wickham? Better yet, maybe she could call before driving all the way up there.
“Dees ees Dr. Dragul speaking,” came the voice. “How may I help you dees evening?”
“Oh, Droog, hi, it’s Honor Holland. I’m looking for Tom. Is he there, by any chance?”
“Ah, Honor, how nice to hear your voice! No, I em afraid that Tom is not here, but I veel tell him you called eef I see him. I must talk to him myself, as a metter of fact, but I heff date tonight. A luffly young woman named Clarissa, and I feel very—”
“Good luck,” she said, cutting him off. “Gotta run. Sorry, Droog. See you soon.”
She bit her lip.
Okay, this was all very juvenile—she hadn’t really been kissing Brogan—but her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might levitate. Tom would understand once she explained things to him.
She just had to find him, that was all.
Just then, her phone rang, making her jump so much she dropped it, causing Spike to pounce on it. “Give that back,” she said, pulling it free of her dog’s tiny mouth.
“Hello? Tom?”
“Hey, it’s Pru. When’s your wedding again?”
“Um, I’ll call you back.”
“Fine. I’ll just ask Tom. I meant to, but I was distracted when he took off his shirt. Those tats do something to me. I wonder if Carl would get one.”
“Okay, I’ll— What? When? Where did you see him?”
Prudence paused. “You okay? You sound weird.”
“Where’s Tom, Pru?”
“He’s in the bottling room, fixing something for Dad.”
“Talk later. Bye.”
A few minutes later, Honor pulled into the parking lot of the vineyard. Tom’s car was there.
Maybe he wasn’t mad, after all. He was here, being a good almost-son-in-law. He probably understood. How mad could he be?
Very, apparently.
He was lying on the floor in jeans and a T-shirt, and Pru was right. It made a very nice picture indeed, her college professor gone all handyman on her. “Hi,” she said.
