~*~
Huck waved to his girls as they left the church parking lot in Jack’s BMW. The cold air bit his ears. He made his way to the truck. Jack was a good guy, but he needed to buzz off. Huck couldn’t tolerate another man flying in and threatening his hive.
The truck door moaned. Huck climbed in and started the engine. While he waited for it to warm up, he opened the folded paper Emma had given him on their way out of the church. A lopsided Christmas tree filled the paper. A stubby stick-figure with pigtails stood beside the tree, wearing a ball gown and holding a taller female’s hand on one side and a cowboy’s hand on the other. Bees flew around the pine tree, while presents filled the space beneath. One present was open, with bright sunlight spilling out.
Did Emma draw pictures for Jack too?
Huck folded the paper and placed it in the seat beside him. He turned on the heater and left the parking lot.
When they’d lived with him, he had the advantage over Jack—spending time with them when Jack wasn’t around, stepping in when things between Jack and Arianne looked too serious, teaching Emma to be tough. Now that they weren’t on his turf anymore, it was all out of control. He was out of control. He’d have to fix that. He could be good like Jack.
Come Friday, he’d prove it.
“One who is too wise an observer of the business of others, like one who is too curious in observing the labor of bees, will often be stung for his curiosity.”
—Alexander Pope
28
Frost coated the windows in Huck’s kitchen. He poured coffee into his thermos and screwed the lid on tight. He missed Arianne’s sleepy-eyed chatter in the mornings and the patter of Emma’s bare feet on the linoleum. Though the silent house drove him to near madness at times, other than leaving for work, he’d stayed home and out of trouble all week.
Last night in the quiet darkness, he’d considered marriage for the first time in his life. He doubted he’d be good at it, and he wasn’t too sure he wanted to go there, but he knew he couldn’t let Arianne go to another man. If he didn’t step up to the job, someone else would.
He stared at Emma’s latest picture hanging on the fridge. Christmas was in two weeks. He’d make sure it was the best one they’d had in a long time.
He went to work with his mind in a haze. Hours passed as slow as cold honey through a spigot. He applied mite treatments and antibiotics to the bees, filled orders for beeswax candles, and filed paperwork in his office. He picked up the electric bill from his desk to file it away and a yellow sticky-note caught his eye. In his handwriting were Giada’s parents’ names, their address, and the cemetery where she was buried.
Six months had passed, and he still hadn’t visited her grave. Seeing her name engraved on the headstone would make it real. It was real, but without visual proof it was too easy to pretend it didn’t happen.
Huck rubbed the knot that formed between his brows. He’d deal with that later. Right now, he had somewhere to be.
He stood, rolling the chair across the floor. He grabbed his truck keys from his bedroom dresser, put on his coat, secured the pet carrier with the kitty inside, and pointed his truck toward Pine Bay.
Huck parked in front of the boutique and walked past the shop. From the corner of his eye, the mannequin danced. He came to an abrupt stop and stared at it. What in the world?
He opened the door to jingling bells and stepped inside. The mannequin’s dress bubbled out and moved, swaying the statue from side to side. Two human feet peeked out from beneath the white dress.
“Arianne?” He set down the pet carrier.
“Just a sec.”
Fabric flew in all directions as she tried to shimmy the dress over her head. Finally, she got down on all fours and crawled out. Huck laughed. The barrette in her hair lay lopsided in a mass of static curls. Cockeyed glasses perched on the end of her nose.
Arianne pushed them back into place and stood. “I’m so glad you’re here. Can you help me with this?”
Huck removed his coat and tossed it on the counter. “What do you need me to do?”
“The lining is caught, and I can’t get it situated with all this…dress.” She reached down, grabbed the bottom of the gown, and hauled it up to reveal two wooden legs that looked like they belonged on a table. “Can you hold this up for me while I straighten everything out?”
He took over. “Shouldn’t you at least introduce us first?”
Arianne swatted his arm and giggled, then ducked beneath the fabric.
The dress hung over her like an umbrella. He glanced around the place, envisioning the remodel he and Lamar had approved. Replacing this girly stuff with sporting goods would be a welcome sight. This was no place for a bridal shop. He’d make sure Arianne and Emma were secured elsewhere.
“Got it.” She backed out from underneath the dress.
He let the dress fall and watched her smooth it into place. A long, white string clung to her hair. He pulled it out, letting his fingertips brush the silky strands.
Her gaze fell to his lips.
He grinned. “Miss me?”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. He’d missed her unbearably. He stepped closer, putting his hands on her waist. His mouth hovered close to hers, giving her a chance to back away.
She didn’t. He leaned in.
“Kitty!” Emma pounded down the stairs.
Arianne backed away. She locked the door and turned over the sign while he helped Emma release the cat from its prison. The girl snuggled it close to her chin and it purred. Arianne rubbed the girl’s head and smiled, clearly flustered. “Let’s go upstairs.”
They led him to their apartment. The walls surrounding the stairs were dingy and scuffed. The door rubbed the frame when it opened, revealing an equally repulsive living room. The apartment was clean, but it needed a serious overhaul. He had no idea they lived like this. What had Uncle Marty been thinking letting them move in here? They deserved better than this.
The kitchen was a joke. It needed to be gutted completely. He wanted to pack up their things and take them home with him right now, but Arianne would never let him. Instead, he set the table while she scooped dinner onto plates.
They gathered around the small table, and Emma said grace, thanking God for bringing her kitty home. The girl’s meal-time prayers had become such a habit, he’d caught himself several times over the last few weeks, bowing his head before eating. Then he’d mentally slap himself since he was alone and wasn’t sure what to say anyway.
Huck dug his fork into his beef and noodles and savored the bite.
Emma sipped her milk. “Mr. Jack is bringing me a Christmas tree.”
Food stuck in Huck’s throat and he swallowed to dislodge it. “That so?”
Arianne kept her gaze riveted to her plate.
“Uh-huh. He said every kid should have a tree at Christmas.”
They should. But the ones who didn’t, survived without them. As a kid, he’d loved walking through town at night in December, spying the colorful lights on the houses, looking in the windows at the decorated trees, wishing he had a real home. A real family.
That his mom hadn’t been cruel and told him Santa wasn’t real when he was four. Was it so wrong for him to believe in something good?
He cleared his throat. “You have plans already, then?”
Arianne raised her head with a half-grin. “Not really. Jack’s flying to Pittsburgh to spend the week with his parents. Who knows what Missy’s doing.”
Huck’s tense shoulders relaxed. “Spend it with me.” Resting his elbows on the table, he pointed his fork at Emma. “There’s a white pine behind my house that would make a mighty fine Christmas tree. And since you’ve been such a good girl all year, helpin’ your ma take care of me and all, I heard Santa was bringin’ some presents for you to my house.”
Emma’s face broke into a wide smile. “Can we, Mommy? Can we?”
Arianne’s mouth hung open as she looked from him to her daughter. “Well�
�I…”
Huck winked.
Arianne smiled. “We’d like that.”
After dinner, they cleared the table, and Huck washed dishes while Arianne gave Emma a bath. Splashing noises and laughter echoed from the bathroom. Sounds he’d missed. He dunked his hand under the soapy water for a plate and noted the chipped porcelain sink. Streetlights blurred through the fogged window in front of him, blocking any view with the condensation trapped between the old panes. He remembered Arianne appreciating the view out his kitchen window at the fields beyond. How could she stand this?
After her bath, Emma snuggled beside him on the couch while he endured some cartoon about a girl who kissed a frog. Her little-girl scent hit his nose. Her damp hair soaked his sleeve. Halfway through the movie, Emma’s head drooped, and he glanced down to find her asleep. Arianne turned on the bedroom light, and he placed Emma in bed, tucking the blankets around her shoulders. If only he could do this every night. He turned on her nightlight and closed the door on his way out.
“Thanks for bringing the cat.” Arianne nodded to the pest curled in a ball in the corner.
“Believe me, it’s no problem.”
She smiled and fidgeted with her ugly green sweater.
He’d known her long enough to know she was hiding something. “What is it?”
Arianne sucked in deep breath. “I…” She blew it out.
“Spill it.”
She walked to the couch and sat, patting the cushion beside her.
He obeyed, though he didn’t like it. He preferred to take bad news standing up.
“Martin—your uncle—and my mother were engaged. Missy discovered it in a newspaper dated 1969.”
The news knocked him against the couch back. Uncle Marty never mentioned that. Math had never been Huck’s best subject, but that would’ve made his uncle pretty young. “Wow.” He rubbed his chin. “Why didn’t they get married?”
“We don’t know.” Arianne picked at her fingernails.
He studied her. “I have a feeling you’re not done with this story.”
She nibbled her bottom lip. “Missy thinks she’s Martin’s daughter.”
“What?” Huck stood. “That’s crazy. Besides, she’s younger than you are. Your mom would’ve been married before she was born. There’s no way.”
Arianne’s cheeks burned dark red. “Maybe they reunited.”
If it was true, that would make him and Missy cousins. Where did that leave Arianne? He shook his head, remembering a conversation between him and Uncle Marty while they worked on Huck’s Mustang one night. “Uncle Marty couldn’t have kids. I think that’s why Aunt Faye left him.”
Arianne gave up on her nails and started picking at a loose thread on the couch. “That doesn’t mean he couldn’t produce children. Some people just aren’t…compatible.”
He narrowed his eyes in thought, searching his memory for that night, bringing the smell of WD-40 and the warmth of kerosene heaters in the small garage along with it. Uncle Marty leaned over the open hood of the Mustang laid up on blocks, waiting for new wheels. Huck dug through the toolbox for a three-quarter-inch wrench.
“I’m sorry your mom let you down.” Uncle Marty twisted the rusty bolt on the carburetor with a grunt. “She should’ve done better by you.”
Huck shrugged and closed the toolbox, uncomfortable with the subject. “Whatever.”
Uncle Marty released the bolt and leaned his arms against the car. “I’m no psychiatrist, and I won’t force you to talk about your feelings, but I’m here if you ever need to sort things out.”
Wrench wrapped in his fist, Huck headed toward the exhaust. “What made her so crazy?”
Uncle Marty sighed. “She didn’t start out that way.”
Silence followed, as if his uncle’s mind had gone back in time or he was choosing his words carefully. Huck couldn’t tell which, since he was now lying beneath the car.
“Somewhere along the way, she traded in her pigtails for sex and drugs. We all did. It was the sixties.” Another bolt groaned, and so did Uncle Marty. “That’s no excuse. Frankly, I’m ashamed.”
“Of the sex and drugs or your pigtails?”
Uncle Marty chuckled. “Very funny, smart mouth.” The spray of WD-40 followed by a cough. “You don’t have to make the same mistakes your mom did. You’ve got a fresh start here, a clean slate.”
Huck dropped his arms from the exhaust and stared at the car’s frame.
“Like this car—she’s gone places, seen and done a lot of things, and has the dents and motor damage to prove it. With some care, a few new parts, and shiny paint, she’ll be like new. But leave her out in the weather, drive recklessly, and she’ll be right back in the same ugly shape she’s in.”
The meaning behind Uncle Marty’s words was similar to the ones the warden had told him. Huck continued working. “If you’re so good at this, why didn’t you have kids?”
“That’s a sore subject, son.” Minutes ticked by before Uncle Marty spoke again. “I can’t. I’ve got the car, but no gas. Makes it hard on a marriage.”
Huck made a face. That was way more than he wanted to know. “Is that why Aunt Faye left?”
“Bad relationships run in our family like a curse. There were a hundred reasons. That was one.”
“Why didn’t you get married again?” Mom always did.
The toolbox opened and metal clanked. “I don’t ever talk about this. With anyone.” Silence. “I was engaged before Faye. Came up here to work on a fishing boat for the summer and met a woman. Bad timing with the war in Vietnam. I joined the Army to do my part. Got real sick. Found out I couldn’t have kids.”
The heater whirred. Nothing else was said.
Huck’s arm burned from the awkward position in his attempt to release the bolt. He let it rest. “What happened to the girl?”
“You ever heard the saying, ‘If you love something, you’ll let it go’? She wanted to be a mother more than anything. I didn’t want her settling for me when I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I let her go.”
“And married Aunt Faye.”
Uncle Marty’s wry laugh. “And married Aunt Faye.”
How Huck missed the old man’s laugh now. He put his hands low on his hips and looked at Arianne. “Uncle Marty couldn’t have kids. He told me.”
Arianne rested her elbows on her knees. “Did he have a medical condition? Maybe he was just saying that to protect my mother.”
Was that why the sheriff hated him and Uncle Marty so much? Why he didn’t want Huck around Arianne? If this was the reason, why not say so? Unless, the sheriff didn’t want the dirty secret revealed either.
“We’re not related.” He waved a finger between them.
“You and I aren’t. I was the reason my parents married so quickly. But if you and Missy are cousins, then we would be related, sort of.”
Huck sank onto the couch and rubbed his forehead while he classified facts. Could this be right? If so, why didn’t Uncle Marty say as much? He’d always been a straight shooter. It wasn’t like him to be so cryptic.
But why else would Uncle Marty leave a hefty inheritance to the daughter of his ex-fiancée? Huck rested his head on the cushions and stared at the ceiling. What’s this about, Uncle Marty?
“Honey, I’m home.”
—anonymous
29
Arianne scrunched her nose at the stale smell in the storage closet. There was barely enough room for herself in here, much less Missy and Emma too. “What are we looking for again?” Missy asked.
Arianne stood on tiptoe to reach a box on the top shelf. “Our old Christmas ornaments. Jack brought over a gorgeous Douglas fir last night, and Emma can’t wait to decorate.”
Missy frowned. “You’re still seeing Jack? I figured you and Huck were exclusive after walking in on you guys—”
“Ahem!” Arianne pursed her lips and nodded toward her daughter.
“Resuscitating.” Missy chuckled.
That word descr
ibed it about right. Huck’s kiss had awakened something dead inside her she could no longer ignore. But she had to. He’d yet to declare any real intentions, and she enjoyed spending time with Jack.
Jack wasn’t intimidated by the fact she had a child, and he was an intelligent man. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about. The more they were together, the more he proved he was the best choice.
Then why had she been so relieved last night when he’d pulled her into a lingering hug instead of moving for her lips? Her prayers for such a wonderful man appeared to have finally been answered, so why wasn’t she embracing this relationship with her whole heart?
“It’s complicated.”
“I guess it must be.” Missy opened another box, shook her head, and put it back.
Though Jack would be gone for Christmas, Arianne had promised to spend New Year’s Eve with him.
Emma opened the box nearest her. “Is these them, Mommy?”
They all peeked inside. A Bruins sweatshirt, an autographed hockey puck, some photos, and a man’s watch.
Arianne groaned. “No.”
Emma started to slide the box back into place, but Arianne picked it up and tossed it out the closet door. “Trash.” She looked at Missy and mouthed the word “Adam.”
They continued the search. Missy pushed bridal magazines aside and grabbed the box behind it. Inside were some certificates, newspaper clippings, a fishing hat with rust-colored stains, and a police badge. Arianne swallowed the lump in her throat. “Dad’s things.”
Missy stared into the box, biting her bottom lip. “I didn’t know you’d kept anything.”
“Stuff I couldn’t part with.”
“Hey, look what I found.” Emma held up a white shoe with a broken heel.
Arianne chuckled. “Trash.”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “Can I throw it like you did that box?”
“Go for it,” Missy and Arianne said in unison.
Emma chucked it into the hallway with a giggle.
Missy reached into the box and rubbed her thumb over the worn badge. Then she fingered Dad’s fishing hat with a large hook sewn onto the bill. Dried blood stains spotted the fabric. Arianne remembered offering to wash it for Dad after his Canadian fishing expedition in ‘98, but he’d set her straight on that. Something about a seaman ritual, yet another thing she’d never understand about men.
How to Charm a Beekeeper's Heart Page 22