“Have you ever thought about trying to find your dad?” he asked.
Where had that come from?
“I have nothing to go on. Not a name or a location. I’m not even sure my mother knew who he was.” Some of her earliest memories were of waking to an unfamiliar pair of shoes near the front door of her trailer.
She looked out the window. A breeze fluttered the leaves of her orange tree. Shadow had moved to the patio table and was currently giving himself a thorough washing. “When I was still with my mom and she was having a good day, she’d make grilled cheese sandwiches with that weird oily fake cheese.”
“My dad thought that stuff was the devil.”
“I remember.” That had been one of many of Hugh’s good-natured rants. She could see him behind the bar waving his towel around to make his point. “I loved his rants.”
“I didn’t.” Zane smiled, obviously remembering with fondness the moments he claimed to dislike. “It was so embarrassing when he’d go on like that in front of my friends.” He finished his sandwich and pushed his plate aside. “Do you remember much about the time with your mom?”
“The day I remember best is when they took me from her.” Her mother had been crumpled on the porch of their trailer when she’d came home from school. Green carpet that was supposed to mimic grass covered the porch floor, and her mom wore a lavender dress, frayed and ripped on the bottom like she’d had a rough night. Honor had thought she looked like an Easter egg in a basket. “The neighbors called the police. I think they thought she was dead. When the cops saw how it was there, they called the state people. They came for me.” She’d flung herself on her mother’s prone body as the entire trailer park seemed to gather around to watch the show.
Her mouth was suddenly dry. Without asking, as if he read her mind, Zane brought her a glass of water. She drank from it and set it next to her plate. A drop of water meandered down the side of the glass and onto her table. She placed the glass on a napkin. No rings. Not on her table.
“I kicked and screamed for all I was worth, but they hauled me into the back of a car and locked the doors.” She’d cried and fought so hard she’d broken blood vessels in her eyes. “Through it all, my mom never stirred. Not even a twitch.” Honor had climbed to the top of the backseat, still screaming for her. “We turned the corner and I lost sight of her. I never saw her again. She didn’t fight for me. Just let me go.” Her voice caught. Don’t cry. She crushed her napkin into a ball and placed it on her half-eaten sandwich. “All I wanted was my mom. No matter what she did, I still loved her.” The sympathetic look in Zane’s eyes almost undid her. “It’s fine now. I’m good. Mostly because of your dad.’
“When did you learn she died?” he asked.
“When I was ten. I was with the Gorhams at the time. Her death meant I could be adopted. That’s what prompted me to come forward about the abuse. The Gorhams wanted to adopt me. I panicked. I knew if that happened, I would never get away from him.”
Zane’s gaze remained on her. When she looked over at him, tears glistened in his eyes.
“I don’t understand how they could let him out,” Zane said.
“Something about too many prisoners. It’s like everything. Expect the worst.”
He jerked from his chair and pulled her onto his lap. “Listen to me. Expecting the worst stops now. You expect everything good. The very best, because that’s what I’m going to give you.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her nose in his hair. What he said was impossible to do, but they could try. “Grilled cheese sandwiches?” she asked.
“With the best cheese I can find.”
“Tomato soup in the winter?”
“I’ll grow the tomatoes myself,” he said.
“Take me upstairs,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think about any of this anymore. It’s you and me now.”
“You and me, baby. I’ll never let you down.”
Later, after they had fully exhausted themselves, Zane fell asleep. Honor lay on her back and watched the ceiling fan. Mesmerized from the monotonous rhythm of the fan, she drifted back in time.
She’d been in Cliffside Bay only two days when she saw the HELP WANTED – SERVER POSITION sign hanging in the window of Hugh’s bar and grill. The weather was warm, but a gentle breeze from the ocean made it pleasant even in the sunshine. She couldn’t get enough of the sun since she’d arrived, spending hours out on her patio staring at the sea. Since chemo, she was often cold, and the rays of sun were a balm to her thin skin. Her hair had started to grow back—it was about two inches long and blond and stuck up in tufts. She looked like a baby chick.
Her situation wasn’t great. Hospital bills had mounted during her cancer treatments. Even though the surgeon, Doctor Norton, had donated his services for the hysterectomy, the other cancer costs had piled high. She couldn’t imagine a way out of debt. But at least she was alive. They’d ripped out the parts of her that could make a family. But she was alive. Dammit, she was alive. And she had a house. A house stuffed with an old lady’s junk in every square inch. However, she had a house. Now all she needed was a job.
Around mid-morning of her third day in Cliffside Bay, Honor stepped inside The Oar. The warm room smelled like beer and grease. The wood floors were scuffed and faded. An ancient jukebox circa 1982 sat in the corner. A giant oar hung on the far wall.
They were clearly not yet open for lunch, even though the doors had been unlocked. Trays of ketchup and mustard bottles lined the bar. Chairs were upturned on tables.
A young blond man dressed in shorts and a faded t-shirt cleaned the floor with angry swipes of a broom. Earbuds were stuck in his ears—she could just make out the flamingo pink wire that hung down his neck. For a split second she considered walking right back out the door. She didn’t talk to men. Not even young, attractive ones. No, she told herself. You must get a job. This is the only one in town you’re probably qualified for.
She took off her glasses and polished them on her shirt. How could she get his attention? She cleared her throat. Nothing from the young man. He kept punishing the floor with the end of the broom. She tugged at the fringe of hair that hung just past the base of her skull and stood there—a ghost unsure how to engage in the land of the living. She was as small and thin as one of those wafers they served at communion. Her cheeks were hollow, like her face permanently held its breath. If a strong sea breeze entered the open windows, she might be carried away and lost to the tide.
Why hadn’t she dressed nicer? Because she didn’t have anything nice. She wore jeans so old they might disintegrate with one more wash and her nicest blouse, which had a hole at the bottom where she’d caught it in the zipper. Not exactly interview ready. She could see right away that this man with the angry sweeping was intimidating. Be brave.
“Excuse me. I’m here about the job.” She said it as loudly as she could.
The man stopped sweeping and yanked the buds from his ears. She’d annoyed him. This was obvious by the scowl. However unpleasant his expression, it could not disguise his beauty. Longish blond curls tumbled over his forehead. A square jaw with a dimple right in the middle. A mouth that hinted at a good sense of humor.
The most startling blue eyes she’d ever seen blinked, then widened. “What did you say?”
She must look like a freak. He couldn’t have been much older than her, but the bulk of him scared her. He was like the sea, wild and untamed and a little dangerous, maybe even angry.
She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“I’m sorry. I had the music playing. What did you say?” His voice was deeper than she thought it would be and not unpleasant. Almost kind.
She pointed at the sign. “The job. I’m here about the job.”
A smile transformed his face. Nothing frightening about him, other than he looked like a Greek god. Could he see her legs shaking? “Oh, yeah. I’ll get my dad. He owns the place.”
She squeaked a thank you. He
raised his eyebrows in a look of befuddlement but didn’t wait around to see if she had anything else to say. She had that effect on people.
He came back a few minutes later. “My dad wants you to come to his office.”
She’d imagined they’d ask her to fill out an application. At the diner, they’d had her fill out an application, not asked for an interview right away. God, please let me be able to speak.
She followed the boy through a door. Did all men in California have buns of steel? They passed the kitchen on the right and came to the open door of a small office.
“Dad. Here she is.”
The man stood and held out his hand. He was the older version of the son. Gray hair with a hint of blond. Same blue eyes, only his seemed to twinkle with amusement rather than glitter with annoyance.
“Have a seat, Miss…”
“Miss Sullivan. Honor Sullivan.” She did a little curtsy. Why her legs had betrayed her this way, she couldn’t say. No one curtsied. She stole a glance at the son. A smirk lifted the corners of his mouth.
“This is my son, Zane. And I’m Hugh Shaw. The proprietor. You may call me Hugh.”
Zane rolled his eyes but smiled. “Dad.”
“Zane hates it when I call myself the proprietor,” Hugh said.
“We’re not in an English novel,” Zane said.
“Wouldn’t it be fun if we were?” Hugh asked.
Both Honor and Zane replied at the same time with the same comment. “Depends on the novel.”
Hugh looked at his son and back to Honor, obviously tickled. “You owe each other a coke.”
“What?” Zane asked.
“That’s what you do when people say the same thing at the same time. ‘Jinx, you owe me a coke’,” Hugh said.
“Must be an old-person thing.” Zane winked at her. Her stomach did a weird little flip-flop. She couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers. That was new.
Hugh gestured toward the empty chair. “Have a seat, Honor Sullivan. Let’s chat.”
As Zane moved past her to stand in the doorway, she caught a whiff of soap and a spicy, manly cologne. “Dad, I’ll go ahead and open for the lunch crowd, so take your time.”
“Thanks, son.” He turned back to her. “Tell me a little about yourself.”
She didn’t care for open-ended questions like this one. They made her nervous, embarrassed her. Where did she start? I’m an orphan no one wanted, which makes me kind of like an English novel. “I’ve just moved to town. I inherited a house from a relative I never even knew I had.”
Hugh nodded, as if it made perfect sense. “Caroline’s house?”
“Yes sir.” This was a small town.
“I knew your great-aunt. A bit of a lone wolf. Eccentric, if rumors were correct. She lived in the house since the fifties, but I believe it belonged to her husband’s family originally.”
Eccentric? A hoarder was a better description. “Given the state the house is in, I fully expected Miss Havisham to come down the stairs in her wedding gown.”
Hugh exploded with laughter—that staccato laugh she came to love. “Maybe we are in an English novel.”
Honor found herself grinning back at him, taken in by his kind eyes and sense of humor. “I’ve waitressed before. Back in Tennessee.” She pulled on a tuft of her hair near her ear, about to say, before the cancer. But at the last second, she thought better of it. I’ll start fresh out here in California. The cancer never existed. I’m free.
“I can pick it up fast.” Adapting to new systems, new homes, new schools, new jobs—these were her special skills.
“Do you plan to stay in Cliffside Bay?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to say no, she planned on selling the house as soon as she could get it in decent shape. Instead, she said, yes, she would stay. As she said it, she knew it was true. She would stay. Maybe here under the California sunshine her bones could strengthen, and her hair would grow long and shiny, and she’d find friends like the tanned blond son. “The air smells good here.”
He nodded, like it was a completely normal thing to say. “Indeed, it does. I was born and raised here, but I can still smell the sea the moment I step outside. Some grow nose-blind to it, but not me.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen the ocean,” she said.
“What do you think?”
She grinned. “I’ve never seen anything so pretty in all my life.”
“I’m not supposed to ask, so forgive me, but how old are you?”
She almost said nineteen, but again, thought better of it. The year of the cancer never happened. “Eighteen, sir. I’ve been in the foster care system until a few months ago. I aged out. I’m no one’s problem anymore but my own.”
“If I may make a prediction, Honor Sullivan, you don’t need anyone to take care of you. You’re going to have a very satisfying life from this day forward.”
“Thank you, sir.” She swallowed and bit the inside of her mouth to keep from bursting into tears. The way he spoke made her believe that anything was possible. Even for a girl like her.
“I need someone right away.” His eyes never left her face. This was a man who did not avoid looking into a person’s eye—a man without rancor or schemes. “My son’s going back to USC in a few weeks. I need someone to take his place.”
She detected sadness, but also pride. It must be difficult to let go of family. Did he know it was a gift to miss someone?
“Speaking of college, what about you? We have a community college about a half hour away. You could enroll there and still have time to work. I can manage around your school schedule if need be.” Hugh rested his elbows on his desk and made a tent of his hands.
A little spark lit inside her belly. College. But it was for other people. Not someone like her. “I’m not sure I can.”
“Why is that exactly?”
“Money.” Money was always at the root of everything—the lack of it most especially.
“Once you become a California resident, community college is cheap,” he said.
Another spark of hope traveled from her belly to the rest of her. College was a ticket out of poverty. Everyone knew that. She’d been a stellar student. School was all she ever had, all she was ever good at. “I was good at school. All A’s.” She flushed. No need to tell the guy her whole life story.
“I figured. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you the job here, if you promise to get enrolled in school as soon as possible. I wished I could’ve gone to school, but I was like you. Not much family to speak of. No one to encourage me or nudge me. That’s why I made darn sure my son got to go to college. Almost a full ride, too. He’s smarter than his old man, that’s for sure.”
“No disrespect, sir, I’ve never had an opportunity for much of anything. If it comes my way, I won’t hesitate to snatch it up.”
“Good girl,” he said. “You want to start today? Zane can show you the ropes.”
If a cartwheel had been appropriate, she would have done three.
Now, she left bed as quietly as she could and slipped into Zane’s shirt discarded on the armchair. She went to the windows. The sea remained, blue and steady, unchanged. Unlike her sweet Hugh.
She went to the desk and pulled out a stack of photographs. Unlike most people, she made print copies of special photos instead of leaving them on a computer. It was her way to remind herself of the life she’d made here, the friends she thought of as family. She rummaged through the first few. Lance and Brody with their arms around her in front of the outdoor pizza oven, taken right after Kara and Brody got engaged; a group photograph after Brody won the Super Bowl; one from Kara’s wedding of Honor and Zane dancing. In another, she held Dakota on her lap at the beach. The most recent photo was from a girls’ night out to celebrate Maggie’s recording contract. She bowed her head, humbled by all the gifts Hugh had brought into her life.
Finally, at the bottom of the pile were two photographs of Hugh and Honor. The first was of them in front of The Oar sho
rtly after she started working for him. They stood inches apart. He knew not to get too close. The apron she wore over the restaurant’s blue polo shirt did nothing to disguise her gauntness. Her hair was no longer than a little boy’s. Wire-rimmed glasses and crooked teeth completed her waif-meets-nerd look. Injured bird, indeed. Hugh, on the other hand, looked robust and healthy. This is what Zane would look like someday. The next photo was from her college graduation. What a different girl she was four years later! Her long hair shone in the sunshine. The hollowness of her cheeks had disappeared. Her smile displayed her new straight teeth. Hugh wore a suit and had his arm wrapped around her petite shoulders. He, too, grinned into the camera.
Hugh had closed the restaurant to come to her graduation in the city, which was unheard of, according to the locals. They’d never known him to close the restaurant on a Friday ever in the history of The Oar. After the ceremony, he’d taken her out to eat at a seafood restaurant near the wharf with crisp white napkins and bunches of utensils she didn’t know how to use. Waiters had swiped the debris from the table with a gadget Hugh called a crumber. He’d told her to order whatever she wanted but the prices horrified her, so she ordered a hamburger. Hugh would have none of it. Steak and lobster, he told the waiter. We’re celebrating.
He’d toasted her and exclaimed over her accomplishments. I’m very proud of you. Halfway through their steaks that melted in her mouth, Hugh put down his fork. “I want to talk to you about your future.”
“My future?” The idea of it was like trying to understand the size of the universe. Where did she even start? Business degree, check. What was next? She had no idea other than she wanted to stay in her home.
“I have an idea for you. Zane’s best friend from college is Brody Mullen.”
“The quarterback?”
“Yes. He’s been drafted into San Francisco and is overwhelmed by the attention. Because of that, he bought a piece of property just outside of town and plans to build a home there. He needs an assistant. I told him about you. He wants to interview you.”
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