Chapter 10 #2
Sure, Honey is priority, but depending on how things play out over the next couple days, I should be able to spend some time here with Mom—in between consultations with Cliff back in Chandor and visits to the hospital, that is.
“Nope, nothing better. I want to do it. For old time’s sake. It’ll be fun.”
Poignant cheerfulness brightens her eyes, hitting me in the heart. “Alright, if things work out, we’ll tackle the tree. Let’s play it by ear, okay?”
“Deal.”
I stretch my leg and drag my foot along Dozer’s brindled coat. With a rumbling grunt, he tips onto his back, hinting that his tummy wants in on the action.
What a life.
The gingerbread scent from the candle Mom lit as the coffee brewed makes its way from the breakfast bar to mingle with the aroma of our morning coffee. The twined fragrances shout home for the holidays, yet the usual joy of the season continues to elude.
She taps the cup, making the giant diamond Dad bought her on their thirtieth anniversary flash. “When are you and Rand going to talk?”
Mom has always been a mind reader. Retracting my bare foot, I rest my ankle on my knee. “No plans at the moment.”
“But you will sit down with him eventually, right?” She frowns, making no attempt to disguise her disapproval. “Do not let this thing fester, Knox.”
The onus for making things right rests on me? Don’t see how that’s fair.
On the kitchen table, Mom’s phone, in silent mode, dances. A pic of her and Dad in Santa hats two Christmases ago brightens the display. Seconds after answering, a smile breaks across her cheeks and she reaches for my hand.
Honey is awake and talking.
By Friday, the unseasonably mild weather of early week has followed the route of the snowbirds. Leaden clouds sag from the sky, shrinking the feel of our earthbound world. The weatherman calls for snow by the weekend.
The halls of Mom and Dad’s house are fully decked.
The foyer tree sparkles merrily across the marbled floors and bounces off the beveled glass of the double front doors.
Decorating, just me and Mom with a Christmas playlist and mugs of hot apple cider, is a memory I’ll cherish.
She laid off about Rand—and I didn’t confess my preoccupation with another tree-trimming episode featuring a certain pretty, waitress-not-a-waitress.
Despite the drama of my week at home, Everly has lingered stubbornly about the nooks and crannies of my mind.
Leaving without a word was a bad look, I know, but I panicked when Mom called with the news about Honey, using terms like coma and brain activity.
I was about to stick my head in the kitchen to find her, but then Mom texted with flight information and I had no choice but to run. I hope she’ll forgive me.
Does Everly even care that I pulled a disappearing act? Given her tepid reaction to my cantata invitation, it’s hard to imagine. The woman is an open book one moment and a hieroglyphic scroll the next.
Do I care? Relationships take effort, and I’m still exhausted from Becca.
“You’re on another planet today.”
I drag my palm down my cheek, scuffing the stubble I’ve neglected for two days. Bad of me since old-school Honey is partial to the cleanshaven version of her grandson. “Nah, I’m here.” I flash the grin she seems to love.
She flaps her veiny hand. “Now, that was just pathetic, young man. The phoniest smile I’ve seen since I opened my eyes to my hovering children four days ago.”
Huh. I thought I’d pulled it off.
“At least your father has finally started to let you boys share the load, but you and your brother work so hard all the time. You look tired, sweetie.”
She runs her fingers through her hair, the pretty style from the weekend mashed and warped. “Tell me how you’re really doing, now that we have a moment alone.”
Honey’s private room has teemed with family and church friends ever since she was rolled down from ICU Tuesday evening. Every horizontal space is filled with a poinsettia or some other floral display, a balloon or two thrown in for good measure. “I’m doing fine.”
She stares at me with fiercely drawn in brows, then stretches out her hand for me to take. I haul the vinyl chair closer and comply.
“This thing with Rand…”
I roll my eyes up to her face. There’s nowhere she can take this opener that works for me.
“I pray you won’t let it separate the two of you.”
My teeth begin to ache. What is it with everyone shoving off responsibility for the rift on me? Since when is it cool to take up with your brother’s ex? Seems to me if anyone owns the responsibility of righting this ship it’s Rand.
“He has tried to speak with you, hasn’t he?”
She knows the answer. She was watching two evenings ago when I shut down Rand’s suggestion I take a walk with him. He hasn’t been around since, not while I was here.
“Do not let Becca separate brothers.” Honey huffs. “That girl is not worth it.”
My eyes expand. Her tone digs with the ring of a truth I’ve sensed regarding her true opinion of Becca but that she’s never spoken explicitly.
She presses slightly trembly fingers to her mouth. “Oh, dear. I did not mean to say that.”
I lean and point. “Ah-hah. I always knew you didn’t like her!”
“Well, now, it isn’t that I don’t like her…”
I dip my chin.
She glances toward the ajar door and curls her shoulders as if the huddled posture will keep her words from carrying. “Alright, fine. She’s never been a favorite of mine.”
Honey is the sweetest, most gracious woman, so the confession, while not shocking to the part of me that always suspected as much, is startling.
“Why did you never say anything?”
She pinches the back of my hand. “Would you have listened?”
I stare into the heavy sky beyond the window.
“Most people don’t when it comes to matters of the heart. Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted the responsibility if I were wrong. And the truth is, Becca is not a bad person.”
A few beats of dead air draw me back inside the warm hospital room.
“She was simply bad for you.”
Honey and I have always been simpatico, but her statement riles me. First Mom, then Dad last night at dinner, and now Honey. So much knowing in my family, yet equal amounts of silence these last weeks from every last one of them.
Her bony fingers, once strong and busy with the tasks of raising a family and spoiling her younger grandson rotten, cinch around my arm. “I know your pride was stung when she left you.”
Reducing my pain to simple wounded pride hits like a low blow.
“But here’s the way I view the matter—and you should listen to an old woman. Instead of looking at Becca as the one that got away, you might try viewing her leaving as you dodging a bullet.”
For all Honey’s grandmotherly awesomeness, she’s a quiet lady. She isn’t a person of flowery speech, nor is she the stereotype of the old woman with a sharp tongue and pointed words of wisdom that slice through the fog of one’s confusion.
I spike my eyebrow. “Been saving that one up for a while, haven’t you?”
Pride bobbles her head as she precisely adjusts the sheet across her lap. “I have. It came to me on the fringes of sleep yesterday after you stiff-armed your brother.”
“Must be the drugs. Make sure the doctor sends you home with a prescription.”
She swats at me. “I’m serious, you stinker!”
I squeeze her fingers. “I know, Honey. And I’ll think about what you said.” Boy, will I. The suggestion is already pinging off the cell towers in my brain.
“Good. Let Becca go. Forgive your brother. And…”
I think I know what’s coming.
“Get back out there and get serious about finding your Miss Right so you don’t miss her when she shows up!”