Honor sipped her tea, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. A hot shower sounded like the best idea ever.
Forty minutes later, cleaned and relaxed, Honor slipped into a chair in Emma’s cozy breakfast nook. “So what’s up?”
Two chicken breasts were sizzling away on the indoor grill and Emma was busy chopping vegetables for what looked to be a stir fry. Honor’s belly rumbled and she giggled, blushing. “Sorry, but I think I could seriously get used to being spoiled like this.”
“Don’t get used to it, chickie,” Emma said, shooting her a little side eye. “I want you to come to work at the Breakfast Club.”
Honor’s eyebrows rose. “As a waitress?”
“No,” Emma said, checking the chicken. “I want you to bake for me. Pies, mostly. Cakes. Cupcakes. Scones. Whatever you feel will sell.”
Honor looked at her and tears welled in her eyes as she realized the gift she was being given.
No more dark bars, avoiding groping fingers. No more resisting the urge to create and feed. No more fighting against the longing of calling Spence back to her.
“I haven’t baked in a long time,” she finally admitted.
“You’re home now,” Emma said. “Take all the time you need.”
Chapter Seven
32nd Street Naval Station
San Diego, CA
“Daddy’s home!” Noah Spencer jumped with glee, pushing his way out of his grandmother’s arms and ran on short little legs towards his father’s uniformed figure. Dodging kissing spouses, cardboard signs, and girls with balloons, Noah charged his father with the single minded determination of a preschooler and the agility of a wide receiver making his way towards the goal line.
“Noah!” Spence yelled, dropping his sea bag and catching his four year old son mid-jump. “Oh, I have missed you so much,” he murmured, burying his nose in the crisp, clean scent of his son’s hair. It was too much, he thought, not for the first time. He was sacrificing too much time away from his son. He’d already started the paperwork to get out and had signed up for the Transition program the Navy required to help him switch into civilian life.
“Mom, Dad,” he said, greeting his parents with courtesy hugs. He was thankful for their help with Noah, of course. But something in their relationship had changed over the past several years and he was never completely sure how to proceed with them. They just always seemed happiest when he was away and miserable and furtive when he was home. And nothing, since they had shown up one cool January day with newborn Noah in tow, had changed.
Surprising him, they had moved and set his brother, Joey, up in school over Christmas break. After a quick trip back to New Jersey later that winter, they had shocked him even further by presenting him with his son.
Honor’s son.
“What do you mean she gave birth and left him?” Spence demanded. Betrayal and hurt stiffened his shoulders and anger pulsed from him in waves. Was this what she had needed to discuss when she sent him that postcard?
Guilt was an ever present guardian, too. Had his behavior forced Honor into giving up her own son?
“Said she couldn’t handle it alone,” his mother said, and Spence’s eyes had narrowed, knowing something wasn’t quite right but unable to put his finger on it.
He’d called Honor’s mother, but Steve reported she had left months ago and he hadn’t heard from Honor since the fall.
He’d called Emma but she had cried, telling him she had no idea where Honor was. He’d pressed for more information reminding her of the Evans’ gift of sight, but she had been adamant. She didn’t know where she was, exactly. Sight didn’t work like radar. Why didn’t he just follow his sugar sight, she had demanded.
He’d been too embarrassed to admit she had stopped baking and he couldn’t find her anymore.
Ultimately, Spence hadn’t pushed because he was unwilling to expose Honor to gossip if she came back. He was smart and could do math – if Honor had left Harper’s Mill before she started showing, it was possible no one else but him and his parents knew about Noah.
And since Mrs. Thompson was never one of those overly maternal mothers, maybe she had forced Honor into giving up the baby.
Maybe his mother was telling the truth. And if he ignored his own instincts, he could let himself live with all these maybe stories and raise his son with a clear conscience.
They had taken Noah, at first. They were resistant to Spence having custody of his own son for the longest time until they had finally hammered out their current arrangement. They got a condo close to base and Spence had him whenever he was home.
“How long are you home for this time, Daddy?” Noah asked, his large hazel eyes, so like his mom’s, already missing him.
“We’ll talk about it at home, okay, bud?”
Noah nodded, clung to him tighter and Spence again felt guilt robbing him of this time with Noah.
He hadn’t told anyone yet, but he was done with the Navy. His six was just about over and it was time to pack up his son and move home to Harper’s Mill.
***
Apple pie, Spencer thought as the swirls of color and fragrance curled around him.
“Read me another story, Daddy,” Noah begged, holding up yet another book. His hazel eyes were sleepy and dull but he didn’t want the reunion to end.
Truth be told, neither did Spence.
“We did four, bud,” Spencer said, curling next to his son. “And you’re falling asleep.”
Noah blinked slowly as the excitement of the long day took its toll. “Please, Daddy?” he whispered and Spencer was helpless against his son’s begging. Spence kept his voice slow and even, hoping this book would be the one to put his son to sleep.
“Do you see the colors, Daddy?” Noah whispered drowsily, interrupting him.
“What colors?”
Noah stared at them for a long time before saying, “They look like colorful hummingbirds, flittering around me.”
The sugar. “Yep, bud, I see it, too.”
“But other people don’t?”
“Nope. Just the first born son of each first born male Spencer.” And only from the woman they loved most.
That was a later lesson, he realized when his mom had pulled a cherry pie out of the oven tonight. He no longer “saw” the bright white crystals. He could taste each ingredient in the air, but could no longer reach through the air and see it or sense it while it was being made.
The swirling fairy lights had been out for so long he has almost forgotten.
Until Honor began calling him – them – home.
“I’ve never seen rainbow colored sugar. What does it mean?”
“It means your momma is thinking about you,” Spencer said, throat closing with his emotions.
“Momma makes the rainbow sparkles?”
“She sure does.”
Noah’s eyes opened. “When can we see her? Can you follow the trail?”
“It’s a long way away, Noah. And I’m not quite sure where she is.” Sugar sight wasn’t exactly like Google Maps, but he had an idea where to start looking.
“But we’re smart, dad, right? We’ll find her, won’t we?”
“You bet, little man,” Spencer said, brushing a kiss across Noah’s forehead. “We’ll find her.”
For a long time, Spencer watched his son sleeping, warm and content. There were no small moments where Noah was concerned. Every one was precious. How had Honor forsaken all these memories?
He had loved her so much and he’d been such a fool – thinking his actions would have had no consequences. Thinking he’d had all the time in the world to fix it and make it right. He should have stood up to his father. Should have insisted that Honor was the woman he loved and that’s all there was to it. Spencer men only love once. That had been drilled into his head since he was younger than Noah. His father would have understood.
Instead, he had let himself listen to reason and logic. When had reason and logic ever had a place in the pursuit of love?
He inhaled, feeling tears seep beneath his lids and vowed to repair what had been broken. He vowed to give Noah the family unit he deserved. Spencer men loved once. Somehow, he had to be strong enough to fix this.
***
Simon Spencer went in search of his wife. He found her, quietly crying on the floor, watching their son and grandson sleeping on Noah’s twin bed.
“We should go,” he said gruffly.
“Did we do the right thing?” Ruthanne asked for the hundredth time.
“We did what we thought was best,” Simon said by way of an answer.
“That’s not really the same thing,” Ruthanne whispered.
“She wasn’t permanent.”
“She might have become permanent. If we had helped her. If I hadn’t been afraid of losing Spence the way your mom lost you.”
“It’s too late now. What’s done is done and we can’t go back.”
“He still loves her,” Ruthanne said, her head tilted to one side. “She is his one true love.”
“He’ll get over it,” Simon answered, unconvinced. “Now, let’s go. Joey is tired and I have work in the morning.”
Ruthanne nodded, her eyes still troubled as her husband of thirty years led her out the door. She locked it behind her, one hand resting on the door knob in a silent, sad gesture. An apology. A regret.
Had she done the right thing? And would she be forever forced to see the sadness etched in her son’s eyes and the desperate, missing hole in her grandson’s life that she had foolishly thought she could fill in place of his own mother?
Would it have been different if Maddie had filled the birth certificate out with Simon and Ruthanne as the parents? Ruthanne grimaced at the screaming fit she’d had when she realized her cousin had given a giant middle finger to her plans by filling the paper work out showing Honor Thompson and Simon Jr. as the parents.
Maybe she had gone too far, threatening Maddie, too. Had she really destroyed so many lives over jealousy?
But Maddie hadn’t been swayed and Noah’s birth certificate was already filed with the state and there was nothing Ruthanne could do about it.
Chapter Eight
The timer dinged and Honor pulled out brownies – rich, chocolatey, and full of walnuts and dried raspberries. As the weeks went on, her skills were showing marked improvements. She eyed the freshly picked rose petals, washed and waiting. English rose cake was next on the list and she prepped her space.
“Omigoodneth,” Emma said, her mouth stuffed with a flakey, buttery soft slice of apple pie, “My bithness ith gonna thripple.”
Honor’s lips twisted in a light smile. “It’s a good thing I speak Apple Pie,” she said.
Emma swallowed and took a long swallow of milk. “Oh, do you ever!”
Honor smiled and removed her oven mitt and broke off a piece of the light, buttery crust to nibble on. “This is really good,” she admitted, smiling. “So you think it will sell?”
“Oh, honey, I won’t have anyone coming in for anything else!”
“Emma Evans, I demand to know who you have in there baking these delicious pies!”
“Hey, Mrs. MacDonald,” Emma said, embracing her favorite customer and former teacher as she entered the kitchen. “You remember Honor Thompson, don’t you?
“Hi, Mrs. MacDonald,” Honor greeted, shyly. “Emma asked me to work for her, so I’ve been here in the kitchen. Practicing after hours.”
“Oh, goodness, honey. If you practice anymore Mr. MacDonald and I will need to get all new wardrobes.” She hugged Honor and pressed her hands against her soft cheeks. “How do you bake like this and stay so skinny?”
Honor blushed. Long term hunger could make even the best chef grey with poor nutrition. “Just lucky, I guess,” she demurred, not knowing what else to say. She had actually thought she was starting to fill out after several weeks of regular meals, steady bedtimes, and weekly therapy.
There was a depression survivor’s round table every Wednesday night, each survivor talking about their ups and downs; their triggers; and their coping mechanisms. Aromatherapy, low dose antidepressants, regular therapy appointments, and group session were part of the holistic approach Dr. Mills used. Honor felt her strength and sense of self returning with each day and each day, she reached for life with passion and purpose.
To bake and to find her son.
She had stopped digging away at the hole she was in. She had rediscovered her passion for baking. She was making whole relationships, free of lies.
“Mrs. Mac, do you and your still husband still run those GED courses over the summer?”
“We do. Why?” A teacher with over twenty-five years of experience, her eyes narrowed and she looked sharply at Honor, “You never completed your diploma?” she guessed.
“No, ma’am,” Honor said, looking at her once white canvas sneakers.
Mrs. Mac pulled out her oversize handbag and rustled through before finding a business card. “Here’s my info, sweetie. We have a class starting next week in the evenings. And don’t worry about the cost.”
As fast as she came, Mrs. Mac blew kisses to both girls, and grabbed one of the cooling brownies with a wink.
Honor’s eyes narrowed at her best friend. “Did you invite her?”
Emma grinned and said, “Of course not. But she and Mr. Mac come by every afternoon. Is it my fault that Mrs. Mac also speaks Apple Pie?”
Emma sat up straight and gasped, her eyes going suddenly wide. She averted her gaze, hoping Honor wouldn’t notice.
“What? What is it? Did you burn yourself?” Honor asked, rushing towards her friend.
But Emma sat there, staring off at some future, fixed point and a playful grin danced around her lips. “No, I didn’t burn myself,” she finally said.
“Did you have a vision?” Honor asked, her eyes narrowing. “Your eyes look weird. Like, super blue. You did have a vision, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” Emma said, dancing out into the dining room with the half eaten apple pie. She placed it in the dessert carousel and did a little happy dance.
***
“Let me get this straight, you had the love of your life as a dumb shit teenager, screwed up and lost her, are raising your son on your own but now you think you know where she is. And your dumb ass doesn’t know if you should go back and try and find her. Did I get all that?”
Leave it to Nuge to summarize so succinctly. “Something like that,” Spence said into his phone. “I mean, I don’t even know if I stand a chance with her, but I need to do something about her and Noah.”
“Yeah, you do,” Nuge said, all teasing gone from his voice. “You done fucked up Pie Man. You find that girl, you crawl to her, give her your son and beg for a future with her. This is a lonely life you chose, long shifts and long deployments.”
“I think I’m done,” Spence said as he watched Noah quietly build a house out of small plastic bricks. “With the Navy, with the west coast. I want to go home, find my girl, beg forgiveness, and make more babies.” He snorted with laughter. “Or at least practice for a bit.”
“Then it sounds like you have some work cut out for you, Spence,” Nuge said. “Just remember, this girl? She gave you her son. She carried a baby inside her for nine months, went through mother fucking labor, and then saw her son taken away from her. Whatever the story is, it sounds like she did the best she could.”
“Yeah,” Spence said, the weight of his teenage decisions weighing heavily on his shoulders. He picked up his tablet and began scrolling through a travel website, looking for a flight home. “Hey, Nuge?”
“Yeah, man?”
“Remember when men used to carry swords and n
ot talk about their feelings and shit?”
“Fuck you, Pie Man,” Nuge said with a laugh.
***
“Do you taste the cinnamon?” Spence asked later that day as he was packing up his kit. He was determined to teach Noah to differentiate the different flavors of Honor’s baking.
“All I taste are the apples,” Noah said, wrinkling his nose.
“The apples are there, too,” Spence said. “You don’t know it yet, but there is an ancient orchard in the hills just south of town and the apples she uses are from there. Sweet. Juicy. Crisp, with just a hint of tartness.” He sighed longingly, remembering. “Can you feel it on your tongue? Along the edges?”
Noah looked at him, seriously. “If it smells this good, what’s it going to taste like? Grandma is always telling me to not eat too many sweets. To not fill up on junk food. But if Momma’s baking smells this good, how will we resist?”
Spence’s regret hang heavy in the air but he didn’t let it interfere with his plans. He snapped the cover on his tablet, two tickets east ready for him and Noah for tomorrow. He’d start with Emma Evans – face to face. Even if he couldn’t crack her, he strongly suspected Noah could.
Noah could crack the shell around anyone’s heart. Unless Emma had changed drastically in the last few years, her shell wasn’t that tough to begin with.
“I wish she’d go back to baking brownies, again. They were awesome.”
“They were, huh? Is that what you’re going to have her bake for you?”
“You bet, Dad,” Noah said, smiling up at and running through the sparkling hummingbirds, as he called them. “After she hugs me first.”
The tightness in Spence’s chest was sudden, denying him of breath. Fuck, he thought, emotion making him momentarily weak.
Noah darted in and out of the magical essence that only he and his dad could see, giggling with joy at the sweet taste of love his mother sent his way while his father silently wept.
***
“Did you do your homework?” Dr. Mills asked.
Honor nodded, pulling out the tattered piece of paper. “I wrote a letter to Ruthanne, like you said.”
Hummingbird Dreams: A Second Chance at Love (Harper's Mill Book 1) Page 6
