The Perfect Match (32 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I
T
HAD
BEEN
five days since the return of Mitchell DeLuca, and Tom was losing hope.

Mitchell was staying in a motel down near the Laundromat. Aside from four lunches in three years, Charlie hadn’t seen his father at all since Melissa died. Two trips to McDonald’s, one to Pizza Hut and one to Wendy’s. And now, for some reason Tom did not trust at all, Mitchell was here, all parental interest after fourteen years of essentially ignoring the boy.

It was bloody awful. Honor knew something was off. If he could’ve talked about it, he would have, but the words stayed jammed in his throat. Admitting that he’d lost Charlie, now, after all this time...well, shit. It felt like those words would crack him in half. He wanted to hold her, take her to bed, bury himself inside her, but instead, he was brittle and jolly and fucking exhausted.

Charlie hadn’t wanted to see him on Tuesday, their usual night together. That was understandable, Tom told himself. The kid only got to see his idiot father once every year or so—or less—and naturally, he’d want to spend whatever time he could with Mitchell.

“Is Charlie coming over?” Honor asked.

“His dad is visiting,” he answered, turning a page in his magazine. Which magazine, he couldn’t quite say.

“Really.” She frowned. “How are you doing with that?”

Such an American question. And she didn’t want to know. “It’s fine.” Such a British answer.

She didn’t ask any more questions.

On Thursday, the boxing club met, and by the time it rolled around, Tom was climbing the walls. He had to go up to Blue Heron after this and take a look at the bottling system; John Holland had asked him to check it out, being an engineer and all. And Tom recognized it was a way of Honor’s dad showing his approval, which he’d instantly revoke if he knew just why Tom was marrying his daughter.

But, of course, he’d said sure. He imagined taking Charlie up, maybe having a nice family dinner chez Holland with his future in-laws, give Charlie the chance to remember that he was part of that clan, as well.

But Charlie wasn’t at boxing club. Apparently, he hadn’t been in school, according to the other kids. “All right,” he said. “Start running laps. I’ve got to make a call. Ten times around, mates.”

He went over by the heavy bags and called Janice. Yes, Charlie had taken a day off from school to go to a car race with Mitchell.

“Do you think it’s a good idea, Janice?” Tom asked. “Letting him spend so much time with his father?”

“Of course it’s a good idea,” Janice snapped. “How could it not be?”

“Because Mitchell has a habit of disappearing on the kid, that’s why.”

“So? This time, maybe it’s different.” There was the telltale rattle of ice cubes. “Charlie’s older now and not such a pain. Maybe he’ll want to go live with Mitchell.”

Jesus. He clenched the phone a little harder. “Janice, you can’t be serious.”

“Why? We already raised our child, Tom. We never signed up to do it again.”

“I
asked
you if I could take custody of Charlie, and you said—”

“And you’re not his father, are you? You’re just some guy my daughter slept with for a few months.”

A solid body blow, right in the lungs. “Thank you, Janice.”

“You know what I mean. Listen, I have to go. Talk to you soon, Tom.”

The remainder of class seemed to take hours.

When Tom was packing up his gloves, his phone buzzed with a text. Charlie.

Can’t do the tournament next week. Sorry.

Tom hit the call button. Thank God, the boy answered. “Charlie, it’s Tom.”

“Yeah. I know. Your name comes up on the screen.” The too-familiar tinge of disgust lay heavily over the words.

“Listen, mate, don’t drop out.”

There was a long pause. “Yeah, well, the thing is, it’s not my thing. Boxing and whatever.”

“I thought you liked it.” There was a hateful pleading note in his voice.

“Not really.”

There was music in the background, and a lot of voices, too. “Where are you?”

“With my dad.”

“Can I see you? Talk to you in person?”

“Why?”

“Because, Charlie, you’ve put a lot of time into this. And the rest of the club will miss you.”

“Whatever. I’m still quitting.”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I talk to your dad?”

An exhausted sigh was his answer. “It’s Tom,” Charlie said, and there was a muffled laugh in the background.

A second later, Mitchell’s voice came on the line. “Mitch DeLuca here.”

“Mitchell, listen, um...I’ve been coaching Charlie on boxing, and he’s really—”

“Yeah, he says he’s kind of bored with that, and I don’t believe in making kids do something they don’t want to.”

Oh, so he had a child-rearing philosophy now, did he? “He wanted to very much until you came to visit. I’m sure that if you encouraged him—”

“He’s a teenager, not a baby. He can make up his own mind.”

Tom scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Look, I think it’s great that you’re visiting, and I know how much Charlie loves you.”

“This is sounding very gay.”

“Mitchell, he’s been really struggling since Melissa—”

“Dude, I don’t need some stranger telling me how my son is doing, all right? I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, but we have an unbreakable bond. Right, bud?”

“Sure, Dad.” Tom could hear Charlie in the background, could practically see the hope on the boy’s face.

“And why
don’t
you get to see him that much?” Tom asked, his voice hardening. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, dude, but things may be changing.”

Ice knifed through Tom’s stomach. “Mitchell, if you’re going to be a part of his—”

“Like I said, not your problem. Hanging up now. Bye. Mate.”

And that was that.

“Hey.” Tom looked up from the phone. Levi Cooper stood in front of him. “Everything okay?”

Tom shoved the phone into his bag. “Everything’s brilliant.”

“You up for a few rounds?”

“I am indeed,” Tom said, and, climbing into the ring, proceeded to put a beating on the town’s police chief.

Six rounds later, Levi held up his gloves. “Enough. You’re gonna kill me if I keep going. And if you kill me, my wife will kill you.”

The rage still broiled in Tom. But shit, he hadn’t meant to go quite so hard on Levi, who seemed like a decent guy. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” He gave him a long look, and Tom looked away. “You wanna grab a beer?”

“No. But thank you.”

“All right. If you change your mind, give me a call.”

“Thanks, Levi.”

In the locker room, Tom took a long, steaming shower, his rib cage sore. Levi might’ve thought Tom was going to kill him, but that hadn’t stopped the cop from landing a few significant blows himself.

He got out of the shower and pulled on clean clothes. Six o’clock. The day was endless, as if the hours were swimming through sludge.

His phone rang.
Janice,
the screen said. He answered it fast.

“Oh, Tom. Hi. Listen, I know you’ll be upset to hear this, but Charlie just got home and guess what? He’s moving to Philadelphia to live with Mitchell, and Walter and I are thrilled. I think it’s for the best, don’t you? What’s that, Walter? Oh, Tom, I have to go. Talk to you later, I guess.”

She hung up.

He could follow, of course. He had before.

But that was before Mitchell had decided he was interested in his only child. It was one thing to get Janice and Walter to let him spend time with Charlie. Mitchell wouldn’t. While it seemed that Charlie had been miserable with the Kelloggs, he certainly wasn’t when he was with his father.

No. Tom couldn’t pretend that Charlie wanted him around. For a few short weeks, maybe it had seemed like he had. Boxing club, the Hollands...Tom himself—none of that compared with a father’s love, apparently.

He should be glad for the kid. After all, Tom knew what it was like to have an absentee parent. It was just that he fucking hated Mitchell DeLuca, and not because of what had happened with Melissa. Well, sure, that was partly the reason. But more than that was the fact that Mitchell had broken Charlie’s heart, had walked away from that little boy whose mother had just died, because it hadn’t been convenient. Left him in a pit of tarry black grief, and only now that Charlie was finally a little bit happy, did Mitchell want to swoop in and have some quality time.

But Charlie didn’t see it that way, and it was probably time for Tom to acknowledge that he’d lost the war.

Charlie was leaving.

Tom’s heart sat like a chunk of dirty ice in his chest. He’d done what he could do for Charlie Kellogg. Tried to do right by the son of the difficult woman he’d loved. Maybe it had been worthwhile, despite how it seemed, but one fact seemed starkly, coldly true.

He was no longer required.

Tom bent to tie his shoes. Didn’t quite make it and found himself sitting with his head in his hands, the silence in the locker room underscoring the hollow in his chest.

Mitchell was going to crush Charlie. Again. Or he wouldn’t. He’d take the kid away to a transient life of car racing and bars and school truancy and tattoos in questionably hygienic places. Charlie would never eat a vegetable again in his life. He wouldn’t go to college. He wouldn’t be forced to take hikes and participate in after-school clubs. He’d play Soldier of Fortune and Call of Duty and become fat and careless, and he’d barely remember some guy his mother had slept with.

Tom wasn’t Charlie’s father. He wasn’t even Charlie’s stepfather. He was an idiot who didn’t know when to quit, who didn’t know his place, who rented a house and taught at a fourth-rate college, lived an ocean away from home and was about to commit fraud, just to be near a kid who wasn’t even his.

And what
was
his, exactly?

Nothing.

The bass from the music in the gym thudded through the walls.

Nothing.

But maybe—perhaps—someone.

Someone with gentle brown eyes and a way of listening and not passing judgment. Someone who was waiting for him to see what was right in front of his face.

With that thought, Tom grabbed his bag and strode out of the building.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“I
T
’
S
SO
TRAGIC
here,” Goggy pronounced loudly, causing a herd of scowls to stampede over the elderly faces at Watch and Whine. “All these people, like sore-covered dogs dropped off at the pound.”

“It’s beautiful here. I wish they’d lower the age restriction so I could move in,” Honor said, pouring wine into the last glass.

“We’d love to have you,” Mr. Tibbetts said to her boobs. And hey, God bless him. She could use a little ego boost, given that she’d apparently taken on old baseball glove status with Tom this past week.

“Okay, people, our movie’s about to start,” she said, forcing some good cheer into her voice. “Help yourself to some merlot, please note the bloodred color and sit back and enjoy Alfred Hitchcock’s masterpiece,
Psycho
.”

Sue her. She’d run out of wine-themed movies. Also, this little flick suited her mood. The patrons of Rushing Creek didn’t seem to mind; this movie had come out in their day, after all.

Spike was dozing on the ample bosom of Emily Gianfredo and looked too comfortable to be removed. Honor sat down and tried to watch the flick.

“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.