The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(102)

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!”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

MITCHELL DELUCA GOT out of his car in an unhurried manner, smiling as Charlie ran into his arms. Tousled the boy’s hair and glanced at Tom.

Tom got out, his heart thudding sickly against his ribs. Stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked over. “Hello.”

“Hey. Mitch DeLuca, Charlie’s father. Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand.

“We’ve met,” Tom said.

“Oh, yeah?”

Nope, he was sincere. “I was engaged to Melissa.”

Charlie looked between the two of them. “It’s Tom, Dad. Tom Barlow.”

“Right! Dude, sorry. Good to see you again.” Mitchell gave Tom a baffled look—So why exactly are you here? Then he turned to his boy, and the resemblance between them was a little shocking. Yes, Charlie looked like his mum...but he looked a lot like his father, too.