Honor Redeemed

by Loree Lough

  Honor put the salad bowls on the table. “Until 9/11?”

  Matt nodded.

  They’d done a good bit of talking, prior to tonight, about his boys and his work, about the Brady Shaw fiasco, and Mercy and Austin’s roller-coaster relationship, but this was the first time that particular date had come up. The very mention of it made him look at least as uncomfortable as she felt, and so she changed the subject. “I’ve lived all my life in Baltimore. Except for my time at St. Johns, that is.”

  He got up and washed his hands, then opened the drawer beside the sink and gathered up two forks, two butter knives, and two spoons. “No kiddin’,” he said, arranging them on paper napkins, “you went to college here in Queens?” He went back to the cabinet for plates. “What was your major?”

  “I enrolled in the EMS program, you know, to become a paramedic?” She did her best to abbreviate the story of how she’d quit school when the active, alert grandparents who’d raised her grew suddenly frail, as if they’d decided to wither and die, together. During the months she cared for them, conversation revolved around medications, adult diapers, and what time “that nice Irish boy, Conan O’Brien” came on. Her grandfather passed first, and within weeks, her grandmother followed.

  “Gee, Honor. I’m sorry.”

  “Water under the bridge,” she said, dumping the pasta into the colander.

  “If I’m not being too nosey, why did they have to raise you?”

  “Long, boring story. In a nutshell, my folks died in a car wreck.” She soaked the noodles with thick red sauce, then discharged a burst of nervous laughter. “And my grandparents had the space.”

  Matt winced. “How old were you? When you moved in with them, I mean?”

  “Eleven.”

  “That’s how old I was when my dad moved out.”

  She met his eyes, saw the pain that still glittered there. One more thing they had in common, it seemed.

  “You must have some genuine Italian in you.”

  “On my mother’s side.” She put the pot on the table. “With a name like Mackenzie, how’d you figure that out?”

  “I dated a girl in high school. Whole family was Italian.” All four fingertips touched his thumb. “This, this-a how real Pisanos, they eat-a the pasta.”

  Laughing, Honor laid the veal cutlets onto a plate, poured the leftover sauce into a bowl, and put both onto the table. “Well,” she announced, “it’s ready. Mangiare!”

  Matt filled her plate, then filled his own, and they spent the next hour talking about her job, about the story Liam had sent him to New York to write. He told her that Steve had figured out how to download photographs from their digital camera onto the computer, and turn them into slide shows. And Warner? “He wasted no time figuring out how to mess it up, just to bug Steve.”

  Laughing, Honor started the coffeemaker, then submersed their plates and flatware into soapy dish water.

  “What, no dishwasher?”

  She wiggled her fingers. “With just one of everything, I don’t really need one.”

  They spent the next hour in the living room, sipping coffee and nibbling at the fudge brownie cake she’d made for dessert, Matt slouched at one end of the sofa, Honor sitting cross-legged at the other.

  “So you were saying, about your grandparents?”

  “Oh. Right. So anyway,” she continued, “Gramps and Gran made my fiancé and me promise to give all of their clothes to Goodwill. So there we sat one sunny morning, surrounded by cartons and bushel baskets and stacks of old clothes, watching TV as we stuffed cardboard boxes with corduroy slippers, flannel PJs, and initialed white hankies. We were holding up a pair of underpants big enough to sail a boat, laughing our fool heads off, when the screen flashed … and we saw the first jet collide with the first tower. Then the second one hit. We sat there for hours, just watching, like somebody had glued our shoes to the floor. By the time he reported for duty that night, the terrorists had already claimed credit for the attacks. John called me from the station—he was assigned to Engine Company 42—and said that half of the guys were in tears when he got there, and the other half were crazy-mad and talking revenge. All of them, he said, felt like they just had to do something, but they didn’t know what.”

  Matt was sitting forward now, elbows balanced on his knees, clenching and unclenching his hands in the space between.

  “And that,” she continued, “is when John came up with the bright idea to go up there.”

  “To Ground Zero.”

  She nodded. “To help with the search for people buried in the debris.”

  A heavy sigh escaped Matt’s lips. “Yeah. I remember digging until my hands bled, trying to help Austin find his twin.” Eyes closed, he shook his head. “Everybody was looking for somebody … cops, firefighters, Port Authority guys, paramedics …” He reached out and grabbed her hand. “So what happened to John and the guys from 42?”

  “They all came back, some a little banged up and bloody, some with broken fingers and toes … except John.” She sighed. “John never came home at all.”

  He reached across the center cushion and gave her hand a little squeeze. “That’s rough. Really rough, and I’m sorry as I can be.”

  “He’s the reason I became a firefighter. I wanted to do something to honor his memory, and his sacrifice. He’s the reason it was so hard, giving it up when …”

  Now Matt was beside her, one big hand on her shoulder, the other cupping her chin. “Hush,” he said, looking deep into her eyes, “I think we’ve talked enough about 9/11, and John, and Austin’s twin.” After pressing a brotherly kiss to her forehead, he got to his feet. “I could go for another cup of coffee. How ‘bout you?”

  “There might be enough for half a cup each.”

  Honor had no reason to feel such disappointment about that kiss. She’d told herself the job change, the move to New York was a sound, rational decision, made after careful thought and heartfelt prayer. But the truth was she hadn’t hit her knees or opened the Bible or anything of the kind. Instead, she’d jumped online to see what jobs might be available and, seeing the quick reply from Buzz as some sort of sign from above, rode the wave of events until one day she found herself unpacking boxes of clothes and Rerun’s favorite toys in a tiny old house in Queens, wondering why anyone in their right mind would slap thick pea-green enamel anywhere, let alone on kitchen cabinets.

  She hurried into the kitchen, knowing even before she slid two mugs from the cabinet shelf that the reason her legs felt like rubber and her feet as heavy as blocks of wood was that if she’d been honest with herself, they might just have had a shot at the same kind of happiness Austin and Mercy had found.

  Now, what chance did they have, with him in Baltimore and her all the way up here in Queens?

  “I’m in the mood for cake,” she said. “And you know what? I think I’d rather have milk instead of coffee.” Turning to ask if he’d like that, too, Honor nearly crashed into him. “Goodness,” she said, fumbling to regain her balance, “I think you need to start wearing a bell around your neck.” The heat of a blush started somewhere at the mid-calf point and crept slowly upward, until her cheeks felt hotter than if she’d spent hours outside in the midday sun. “You move like a cat,” she laughed nervously, wincing inwardly at the harsh, highpitched sound. And good old solid-as-a-rock Matt just stood there, calm as you please, aiming that gorgeous, slanting half smile at her.

  “Sorry,” he said, relieving her of the mugs. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Well, you do scare me, she thought, taking the milk from the fridge. You scare me to death. Her analytical left brain saw the logic of picking up and moving hours from the only place she’d ever called home. Her right brain wanted to go with her gut—or, more accurately, with her heart—and throw herself into his arms and admit that despite her best efforts not to, she’d fallen crazy in love with him anyway.

  He’d filled both mugs and slid them into the microwave before she closed the refrigerator
door. “What’s that for?” he asked when she put the jug onto the counter.

  “I, ah, gosh.” Another round of ridiculous giggling. “I really have no idea, because I know you take yours black, same as me.” Honor put the milk away, wishing she could climb onto the shelf beside it and just chill out before she came right out and said something totally inane, like, “Kiss me like you mean it, you big goof, because I love you like crazy!”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” he said, pressing the Stop button in the microwave. “You said you wanted milk, not coffee, didn’t you?”

  “Um, yeah, come to think of it, I did!”

  And there he stood in the middle of the kitchen, one ceramic mug in each big hand and nose wrinkled like a kid who’d just tracked mud onto his mom’s clean kitchen floor. “You’re not one of those people who saves leftover supper coffee for breakfast, are you?”

  “Um, no, I’m not.”

  “Okay to dump it, then?”

  She felt like the little plastic dachshund that used to sit in the back window of her grandfather’s Oldsmobile, head bobbing with every bounce and bump of the car. “Sure. Of course. And just leave those mugs in the sink. I’ll wash them later.” After you’re back in your hotel room, and I’m here alone, looking for that place in the floor that’s supposed to swallow people whole when they act like complete idiots!

  “Well, no need to dirty two more glasses. I’ll rinse the mugs while you slice the cake.”

  It wasn’t until she uncovered the cake plate that she noticed the time. “Oh, my gosh,” she said, pointing at the clock. “Not that I’m rushing you, because I’m not. Honest. I’m enjoying this visit a whole lot more than you know.” What was it about him, she wondered, that made her run off at the mouth this way! “It’s been great seeing you, really it has, but I wouldn’t want you to miss your train. I mean, I know the daytime subway schedule by heart, but—”

  He stepped up and dropped both hands on her shoulders. “Honor … ?”

  “Matt.”

  “Uh-oh.” A smile tilted his mouth and crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “We’re not going there again, I hope.”

  “Evidently, we already did.” He’d cut himself shaving, she noticed, looking up into his face. Gently, Honor touched a fingertip to the tiny scrape. “What happened there?”

  He wrapped her hand in his and shuffled forward a half step. “Got a phone call while I was shaving this morning. Startled me.”

  “Not my phone call, I hope.”

  A quick shrug was his answer.

  “Oops. Sorry.”

  If he heard the apology, Matt showed no signs of it. He seemed way too busy, searching her face for … Honor would have paid a high price to know the reason for his intense scrutiny.

  When he broke eye contact, it was as if a light went off. She watched him tilt his face toward the ceiling, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, then gave her hand a slight squeeze. “Guess I’d better skip the second dessert,” he said, tapping the face of his wristwatch. “If memory serves, the trains run all night, but what if I’m wrong?”

  It seemed pretty cut and dry to her: if that happened, he’d just have to come back and bunk down on the sofa. He might see it otherwise, but she could think of worse things than falling asleep, knowing he was just a few yards away. Honor wondered if he snored. Or talked in his sleep. Wondered, too, why it felt as though she might burst into tears at any moment.

  Honor took a careful and deliberate step back. “Well,” she said, testing her voice, “if you get there and the last train has left the station, promise me you won’t take a taxi back to Manhattan.”

  He chuckled. “You sure are a demanding little thing.”

  Honor would have asked what he meant—if she didn’t already know the answer. “Sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean to come across as difficult, but I honestly believed it was best for all concerned if you put that whole Brady-Wyatt thing to rest.” She shrugged. “Fact is, I still believe it.”

  “Well,” he said, shrugging into his sweatshirt jacket, “I’m nothing if not obedient.”

  He had his back to her, so she couldn’t tell if his retort had been sarcastic, or if it only sounded that way.

  Matt patted his wide sweatshirt pocket and withdrew a silver-wrapped package. “I can’t believe I forgot to give this to you,” he said, handing it to her. “Sort of a combination housewarming, congratulations on the new job, thanks for dinner kinda thing.”

  Her hands were shaking when she accepted it, and those threatening tears seemed ever closer now. “Matt, I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he teased. “Just open it.”

  Honor left the stick-on silver bow in place and peeled off the wrapper to expose a shiny black box, slightly bigger than a paperback novel. Under its lid, a blanket of white tissue paper that hid a weathered old book. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered, following the contours of each bold letter, etched deep into the worn brown leather. “White Fang,” she read aloud. And inside, just as she suspected, proof that what she held in her shaky hands was a first edition of the classic novel. When Honor looked up, she could tell that he was smiling, even through the misty fog of her tears. “Oh wow, Matt, it’s … it’s just … it’s incredible.”

  “So you like it, then?”

  Hugging it to her chest, she bit her lower lip and nodded. When at last she found her voice, Honor said, “Like it? I love it.” And I love you, for knowing that of all the books out there, this would be the perfect choice. “Thank you seems a pretty lame thing to say after unwrapping a gift this special, but thanks, Matt. I’ll treasure it, always.”

  Rerun sat on his haunches, head bobbing as he sniffed the air around the book. “Times like these, I wish dogs could talk.” Crouching, he gave the golden a sideways hug. “What historic trivia could you tell us, based on what that amazing nose of yours is telling you.”

  Standing, he wrapped his hand around the doorknob. “Well, thanks for supper. Everything was delicious. You were right. This was a whole lot better than a restaurant meal.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “You’ve ruined me, though. I’ll never order Veal Parmesan again. No way any chef could top that meal.”

  “Please. Stop. You’re making me blush.”

  He chucked her chin. “You want me to stop, you’ll have to stop standing there looking so gorgeous, all pink-cheeked and blinking those big green eyes of yours.”

  “You know what?”

  “No, but I have a sneaking suspicion you’re about to tell me.”

  “I think you enjoy embarrassing me.”

  Matt’s smile faded slightly as he opened the interior door. “The truth shouldn’t embarrass you, Honor.” One hand on the screen door’s latch, he squinted and rubbed his chin. “What’s that old saying?”

  “The truth shall set you free,” they said together.

  “Yeah. That.”

  And then they laughed.

  “I don’t want to make you late for your train,” she said, “but before you go, do you mind answering one question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “White Fang is one of my favorite stories, ever. And in my opinion, Jack London is just about one of the best writers who ever lived—present company excluded, of course.”

  He bobbed his head and assumed a haughty expression. “But of course.”

  “How did you know all of that? I don’t remember discussing books or authors with you.”

  One beefy shoulder rose in a quick shrug. “Y’know, I don’t think I can give you a satisfactory answer, because the truth is, that baby found me, not the other way around.”

  Honor hummed the Twilight Zone theme music.

  “No. Seriously. I was standing in line, waiting to pay for that antique platter and bowl set I gave Austin and Mercy for a wedding gift and saw it on the top shelf behind the counter. I could see right away what it was, in spite of the cobwebs. So while the girl wrapp
ed them up, I asked to see it. Sneezed for half an hour after blowing the dust off its cover, but the instant I opened it up,” he said, standing at attention, oath hand in the air, “it called your name.”

  “You mean to say you’ve had this since …” Honor did some quick math. “You’ve had it for eight months?”

  “Closer to nine, but yeah. I wanted to clean it up a bit, give it plenty of time to breathe, so that when I finally gave it to you, it wouldn’t stink of mold and mildew.” Thumb and forefinger nearly touching, he said, “Half a dozen times, I came this close to mailing it to you. After Elton told me you were in New York, I mean. I shopped and shopped for the right card to go with it and came up dry, every time. Now, I’m glad Hallmark hadn’t figured out to say, well … Let’s just say it was worth the frustration, because if the U.S. postal service had delivered it, I would’ve been deprived of seeing that look on your face when you opened the box.”

  She didn’t know which was harder to believe, that it had been that long since the wedding, or that he’d known her well enough to choose just the right gift.

  “I wrote a little something inside,” Matt said, stepping onto the porch, “but now it’s my turn to enforce a promise.”

  “Oh?”

  “You have to promise not to read it until I’m out of sight. Completely.”

  “Okay. I promise.”

  He had one foot on the top step, one on the second when he turned. “Oh. And another thing …”

  “Two promises?”

  “You got two. Why not me?”

  “Can’t argue with logic like that, now can I?”

  It took just two long strides to put him back in the foyer. “For the luvva Pete,” he said, gathering her so close that the corners of the book dug into her ribs. Then he cupped her face in his hands and bored into her eyes with an intensity that sent a shudder of warmth down her spine. His lips grazed her jaw and her eyelids, her cheeks and her chin, and when at last they touched her lips, there was nothing brotherly or “just friends” about it. The kiss seemed to go on and on, and yet it ended entirely too soon, leaving Honor breathless and wobbly-legged and wishing she’d had the presence of mind to bank every touch and breath and sigh to memory, so that when loneliness descended, she could withdraw the lovely memory and revel in its sweet warmth.