The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(50)

But he had Tom. And, whether he liked it or not, soon Charlie would have the Holland family, as well. Honor’s dossier included a niece and a nephew, the girl in high school. And, please God, that might help.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, Tom had managed to get Charlie out of his room at the Kelloggs’ and into the car.

The kid looked like a vampire, with his dark hair and eyes, white skin and Goth clothing and general exhaustion. “You eating all right these days?” Tom asked as they drove to the lake.

Charlie grunted.

“I thought a bit of fresh air would do us both some good. We could take a hike if you want.”

“I don’t.”

Of course. “Okay, we can just sit and breathe, then.”

Tom pulled into a parking area at the edge of an abandoned train track, and they got out. He’d read about the town’s plans to develop a bike trail along here, and wouldn’t that be splendid, being able to cycle through the farmlands and forests? Across the way and up the hill a bit, he could see a red kite against the gray sky. “Look there,” he said, pointing.

Charlie barely glanced. If the kite reminded him of what they used to do together, he said nothing, and though Tom was used to such reactions these past three years, he nonetheless felt his throat tighten.

“So, Charlie, it’s been a while since your mum died. I was wondering how things are for you.”

Charlie shrugged and made a trisyllabic grunt, which Tom took to mean, I don’t know.

“Right. Well, if you ever want to talk about things, I’m always here.”

An eye roll. Charlie looked exhausted from having to deal with the idiocy of adults; Tom half worried he was about to pass out from boredom.

“Listen, I’ve got some news.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m seeing someone.”

Charlie, who was not moving to begin with, seemed to freeze nonetheless.

“She’s really nice.”

No reaction.

“She’s looking forward to meeting you.”

And still nothing. There was maybe a quiver around his mouth.

“Her name’s Honor Holland. She’s Abby Vanderbeek’s aunt. Do you know Abby?”

No answer.

“She’s a couple years ahead of you. A junior this year.”

Nothing.

“I wanted to let you know. And it’s not like I’ll forget your mum—”

“I have homework. Can we go?” Without waiting for an answer, Charlie pushed himself up and trudged to the car, his mood as black as his clothes, a stark contrast to the dancing kite across the hill.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I TOLD YOU he was perfect,” Goggy crowed. “Finally, someone listened to me!”

“You can’t go around bragging about it, Goggy,” Honor warned. “I’m only telling you because...you know...you mentioned the green card issue, and I don’t want anyone to have the wrong impression. Because that would be illegal, Goggy. And I’d be in big trouble.”

“Of course I won’t tell! You think I can’t keep a secret? I can keep a secret. Your grandfather lost ten thousand dollars in the stock market last year, and did I tell anyone? No. I didn’t. When I walked in on Prudence and Carl doing it on their kitchen table, did I mention it to anyone? Not a soul!”

Honor rubbed her forehead. “Wow. Okay. So this time, you really, really can’t tell. And we’re, um, we’re in love. It was fast, but we, uh, we love each other.” Four more hours on YouTube had stressed that little nugget to the thousandth degree. The only reason to marry a non–U.S. citizen is for love, attorney after attorney had warned. And here are some of the questions you might be asked. Who made dinner last night? What did you do last weekend? What is your spouse’s favorite dessert?

“I knew it! I knew you’d love him! He’s wonderful. And so handsome.”

“You still haven’t met him.”

“I don’t need to.” Goggy folded her arms and smiled. “Oh, you’re getting married! I want more great-grandchildren, pronto.”

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you, Goggy. I have to go tell Dad now, so don’t call him, okay?” She glanced around her grandparents’ cluttered living room. Like so many colonials, it had several doors—to the kitchen, the front stairs, the dining room. “Your heating bill will be a lot less if you close those doors.” She paused. “I sure would love to see you in a new place. Or, at least, on one floor, Goggy. I hate having you go up and down those stairs all day long.”

“Oh, pooh. That’s my exercise. Go. Get out of here. You want some cookies? I baked today.”

She wanted them, all right. Any fortification for her talk with Dad, because she sensed this wasn’t going to go well.

* * *

SHE WAS RIGHT. Dad was in the living room, nursing a glass of dry Riesling and waiting for Mrs. Johnson to allow him into the kitchen to eat.

“Petunia!” he said as if it had been weeks since they’d seen each other and not two hours. “How’s my girl?”

“I’m great, Dad. Um, how are you? Excited about the wedding?”

Dad and Mrs. J. wanted to get married fast “in case either of us dies first,” Mrs. J. had said, and so the wedding would be in six weeks, just after the Black and White Ball.