Honor stared at the blurred image of herself in the rearview mirror. Who was she? Was twenty two supposed to feel this old? Her hair, once a glorious shiny blend of blondes and golds was now a dull dry mess. Her hazel eyes were bleary from a combination of too little sleep and too many nights spent trying to forget.
The middle of the night chill pressed against her and she shivered in the time it took for the old car’s heater to pulse out a meager stream of heat. She slipped the car into first gear and headed towards her cold, lonely bed to finish sleeping out the night before going into work for another double shift at the smoke filled bar she worked at.
One mistake. One bad decision and its reverberations would be felt forever and in ways she had underestimated as a teenager.
The passing streetlights highlighted the small tattoo of Noah’s name and birth date on the base of her right thumb. She rubbed it like a talisman. She could survive this. She had survived worse. She was still standing.
Was she still standing? She couldn’t tell anymore.
Thoughts caught and swirled in her path but she pushed away the memories. No, she thought to herself. No, no, no. she was not going down that path. Not tonight. Not ever if she could help it.
But as old songs came on the radio combined with the late night, she found herself belting out the lyrics to one old love song after another.
And then. Finally. Their song. The opening strands of the timeless love ballad echoed in her heart and she wept as she pulled into the darkened parking lot. Deep, cleansing tears poured down her cheeks as she sang the familiar refrain. She lost herself in the moment and the sweet release of emotions.
It was time. It was past time. She had to forgive herself and move on.
She was the only one beating herself up with the soft tyranny of low expectation jobs and dates that bordered on little more than a way to forget, if only for an hour or two.
Honor’s memories were like smoke – dark and dangerous. They were able to fit in the tiniest corner of her brain. Choking her and poisoning her peace of mind with the blistering, blinding pain.
She pulled a napkin out of her glove box and cleaned up her face. She grabbed her purse and entered her tiny studio apartment. The lumpy mattress of the pullout couch had been left in a sleep-ready position, awaiting another long night of restless dreams and age old regrets.
Milk, her chubby little dilute calico cat, was already curled into a tight ball on her worn pillow. Honor pulled up the last of her resources, took a short shower to wash the stench of the bar and the men from her skin. After braiding her hair, she brushed her teeth and climbed into bed. Milk’s feline warmth pulsed into her and she felt the first stirrings of sleepiness. She lifted her pillow and let Carrots out to see the world. She pulled out her purse in order to count her tip money for the night when a small wad of fifty dollar bills fell out. She stared at the pile of money, mentally counting out $150.00.
What the…
Had those guys, whose names she had already forgotten, paid her?
Realization and shame dawned deep in her soul as she darted out of bed and ran to the bathroom to throw up. Still crying, she adjusted the hot water on the cheap metal shower stall and let the meager trickle of lukewarm water fall over her, cleanse her, wipe away the pain and fear and hurt of the last five years.
When both her stomach and mind were empty and her body washed clean, she returned to her room. She sat on the bed but couldn’t remain seated. She stood. Then paced. Her anxiety through the roof and out of control.
Peace. She needed peace. She washed her few dishes and straightened her personal items. Her hands shook as her anxiety demanded and sought outside order to bring inside peace.
She stopped midway through mashing a banana. She was…baking? She hadn’t baked since that August afternoon, almost 6 years ago. She hadn’t attempted to bake since her confrontation with the midwife.
She hadn’t realized it at the time but that last cake had been good bye - to Spencer, her mother, Emma, and Harper’s Mill.
The joy she found in baking, in her friendships, in her life had fizzled like a 7-Up left out overnight. And yet, here she was, assembling a few sparse ingredients and trying to bake again.
She stared at her collected items and realized she was making banana bread. Did she even own a loaf pan? She rummaged through the meager contents of her pantry before coming up empty.
She grabbed three thrift store mugs, sprayed them with cooking spray, and hoped for the best.
***
Somewhere under the ice, Arctic Circle
USS Seawolf (SSN21)
Spencer rolled into his rack, looking forward to the upcoming solid 6 hours of sleep when the trailing ends of rainbow edged fairy dust called to him, luring him away from sleep and putting him instantly alert.
One minute, he was staring at the underside of the steel bunk inches from his head. The next, he was surrounded by delicate brightly colored contrails of sugar. They danced around, teasing him with their brevity and succulence.
This wasn’t his mother’s baking. That dust was still the pure white of stars on an inky night or it had been when last he’d seen it. His brow creased, belatedly realizing he hadn’t seen his mother’s baking since she’d moved out to San Diego.
He lifted his hand, swirled the bright dust into little eddies, and smiled at the magic of it all. He could still smell and taste and find sweets anywhere. His ability to breakdown a recipe by scent had simply become second nature. But the return of the brightly colored swirls rushed him like a linebacker and left him slightly winded.
His heart raced as he ached to yield to the call of those delicate sparkling sugar crystals. He inhaled, savoring the full bodied sweetness. He opened his mouth, eager for a taste of whatever she was baking.
All this time, all these years, he had assumed that being on a submarine had kept him away from the siren call of Honor’s baking. It was one of the motivating forces behind requesting this duty. He was safe here. Nothing penetrated the ocean or air tight walls.
But what if the lack of rainbow filaments wasn’t because of thousands of land miles, the depth of the entire Pacific Ocean, and the air tight seal of the USS Seawolf’s HY-100 steel outer hull? What if it was because Honor had stopped baking?
And now she was back. Calling him. Luring him once more with the siren’s call of rainbow colored sugar.
He had to know what this meant. What did Honor want? Where had she been? Was this an olive branch, extended and waiting? Or was there danger ahead for any sailor who succumbed to a siren’s call?
***
Allentown, PA
She couldn’t wait for the bread to cool and began nibbling on the too hot corners, blowing as she went. Somehow, between breaking down and baking, she found the tenuous strands of her freedom. Her ability to find her voice and decide on a path.
Trees were parting in the dark forest of her depression. She couldn’t see past the first few, but somehow, just seeing any step after being lost for so long felt like an accomplishment.
After years of absence, thoughts and hopes were coming in much too fast to organize and process.
But for the first time since escaping Harper’s Mill, she had a future. After a five year sabbatical, she was back in her own body. In her own mind.
And it felt fucking awesome.
She cleaned. Folded. Packed. Categorized her assets. She had about $1500 cash. A beat up car. A cat. And a dream. She could do this. Would do this. She smoothed the covers of the three books which had survived with her. They were taped together and a little ragged, but they had survived.
And so had she.
She went to the phone booth at the gas station across the street. She knew the number by heart. Held onto it as a last ditch resort for when she finally bottomed out.
And that time was now.
It was answered on the third ring.
“Hello?” Emma said, her voice sleep thick and groggy.
“Em? It’s
me. Honor.” She paused. “Honor Thompson,” she clarified, in case Emma had forgotten her. Her throat caught. What if the best friend Honor’s memory had clung to had forgotten her?
“Oh, my God,” Emma said, her voice instantly alive. “Honor! Where are you? What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain,” she said, tears or relief and love flowing down her cheeks. “Well. I will explain. Just. Not tonight. I. I need you, Emma. Can I come home?”
Emma was quiet for so long Honor’s nerves almost made her throw up again. “Of course, Honor.” Her voice settled into a crooning tone, as though luring an injured animal. “Where are you? Do I need to come get you?”
Honor’s emotions swirled uncontrollably and tears clogged her throat. A combination of relief and fear clawed at her. Best friends didn’t ask questions. Best friends didn’t abandon you.
Pinky swear.
“No. I mean. I don’t know. I don’t know how far my car will take me. I think I’ll just sell it and get a bus ticket. Maybe. I don’t know.” Words tumbled out as fast as they hit her brain. “I should be there by dinner tonight, okay? Or tomorrow. I’m not even sure what day it is, right now.” She wiped at her damp eyes with useless fingers and snuffled her nose as her feelings overwhelmed her.
“I’m tired, Emma. So tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of being frightened all the time.” Honor cleared her throat, aware she was rambling and her voice had become thick with tears. “It’s time for me to take the next step.”
“It’s okay, Honor.” Emma’s voice remained low and soft, enveloping her in a soft blanket of love. Soothing her like she would a spooked and frightened animal. “Why don’t you give me your address and I’ll come get you. You sound too exhausted to take a drive and the bus takes forever.”
“No,” Honor said, stubbornly. “If I don’t do it now, I might not ever try again. And I have to do it. I have to break the chain and the cycle.” A sob caught at her throat and suddenly, she was crying in earnest. Did anything drain a body more than pretending to be normal?
“And I don’t want you to see me yet. Not like this. Not where I’m living.”
“Okay, sweetie, I understand,” Emma said. “I’ll fill up the pantry and we can spend the next few days inside, drinking tea, and talking. And napping. Okay?”
Some women were born into families of strong women. Others had to find their sisters outside of their family.
She had one in Emma and would never take that bond for granted, again.
In the end, selling the car before her trip took too much of her precious resource of energy. She’d sell it when she got there, if it made it.
Hours later, as dawn began its slow creep in the sky, Honor, Milk, and the last of the banana bread were on their way back home.
***
Harper’s Mill, NJ
“So what you’re saying is that Ruthanne and Simon Spencer stole your child.”
Tears welled in Honor’s eyes. God, her voice was hoarse and she wished she could find the absolute end with the tears.
She was sick and freaking tired of crying but maybe, after being numb for the last five years, she needed them to wash away the pain and hurt. A catharsis that would finally cleanse her of her guilt.
“I guess,” she said, her voice sore and hoarse. “But I can’t prove it. The midwife was one of Ruthanne’s cousins and was supposed to put her and Simon down as the parents.”
“That fucking bitch!”
Honor shrugged, overwhelmed with emotional physical exhaustion. “I don’t know. I couldn’t have taken care of the baby. I have barely taken care of myself these last few years.”
“Depression,” Emma diagnosed. “Depression brought on by their actions.”
“You’re probably right,” she said with a nod. She sipped her hot tea, allowing the honey to soothe her throat. “I need to see a therapist,” she said, softly.
Emma’s eyes narrowed in determination. “Dr. Mills volunteers at the woman’s shelter in town.” She grabbed her phone and punched in a number. After a quick conversation, she said, “Sounds good. Tomorrow morning, first thing.” She turned to Honor. “Done. You have an appointment to see a therapist.”
“How’d you do that?”
Emma shrugged. “I volunteer at the shelter, give some of the women jobs, donate food. I’m sure they owe me a favor or two.”
“You’re being too good to me,” Honor whispered. “Better than I’ve ever been to you.”
Emma shook her head. “You were this beautiful girl, vibrant and full of life. You taught me how to have fun the year you lived here. Taught me to appreciate all the little things and forget the weight of my legacy.” She held Honor’s hand for a moment. “I was a lifelong resident here, but you were my only true friend, Honor. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“You were mine, too,” Honor said, embracing Emma and sighing with the sheer pleasure of touching another human being with gentleness and affection. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Emma said, her blue eyes misting with unshed tears.
“Do the Spencers live here anymore?” Honor asked, unwillingly.
Emma shook her head. “No, they moved to Cali to be closer to Spence.”
In the distance the trilling warble of a finch echoed in the quiet restfulness of the clean spring day. Honor soaked in the quiet and took a deep breath.
Safe.
She was safe.
“Was it a boy?” Emma asked, touching Honor’s shoulder gently.
Honor nodded. “The midwife wouldn’t let me see him. Said I’d bond with him and it was easier this way. But he lived in me. He lived under my heart for almost 40 weeks! How could I bond any closer?”
Emma shook her head. She had no response to that.
“They must have known they couldn’t come back here. They closed the bakery, packed Joey up over Christmas break that year and the whole family moved to San Diego. Their house is still empty. No one ever saw them again.”
“Do you think Spence knows? Figured it out?”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t know. He called years ago and I had an almost-feeling with him. I couldn’t get a solid read and I guess he didn’t trust me, either. Neither of us were willing to say too much and I’ve never been able to find him on Facebook.”
“Yeah, me either,” Honor said with a whisper. A thought stirred in her mind but it was too great. Too big to contemplate as overwhelmed as she was. Could she push past this barrier now that she was older, now that she had Emma on her side and be… something? Maybe not a parent. She didn’t want to disrupt or hurt her own son. She couldn’t hurt her Noah. But she could be something, right? A distant aunt? Get pictures and updates? Just. Something. She longed to be important and involved in her own child’s life.
But surely, if she could find him, Spence would consider it. And if not, maybe she could find a lawyer. She’d been underage at the time, but she must have rights, right? A DNA test would prove she was the mother, regardless of what the birth certificate said.
It was a small bloom, but it was enough. She had hope again and could feel the options spiraling out of control and into her soul.
“I’d forgotten how cool spring mornings could be,” Honor said, peaking out the curtains and admiring the early spring foliage.
“Or how good food feels on an empty stomach?” The kitchen was redolent with the salty tang of cooked bacon.
“It’s bacon,” Honor said, her lips twisting in a semblance of a smile. “Bacon always smells delicious.”
“Eat up,” she said. “I got one of my waitresses to open up so I could be here, but I still need to go in to the diner for a few hours today and get payroll done. I took the rest of the week off, though. ”
“You work at the diner?”
Em shook her head. “No, I bought it last year. My mom and my brother Thorne invested and Thorne did a ton of work to get it up to code.”
“Still calling it the Harper’s Mill diner?”
&
nbsp; “Nah, ditched that the first day,” she said with a smug twist to her lips. “You will find a classic restored 1950s diner called ‘The Breakfast Club’ on Main Street now. We’re open for breakfast and lunch seven days a week and dinner on Friday and Saturday nights.”
Honor laughed. “That’s a great name for a diner! I’m so glad for you. What made you decide to do that?”
Emma shrugged. “Most of my favorite memories were there from senior year. Remember when we’d sneak out for Taylor Ham and cheese sandwiches before school?”
“Hmm,” Honor said, her eyes drifting shut as the last effects of running on sheer adrenaline wiped her out. “And fries and gravy,” she mumbled around her breakfast. She hadn’t lived in Harper’s Mill very long but she and Emma had crammed a lifetime’s worth of memories into her months here. The two women sat in companionable silence as they ate.
“I kept my old phone number,” Emma said, finally. “I figured you’d eventually call and want to come home. I guess that means I can finally ditch my land line and embrace the new century,” she said with a teasing smile. She cleaned up the plates. “I didn’t expect it to take this long.”
Honor helped her clean up before chuckling as she settled into the couch. “Really? I’m surprised I called this soon.”
Milk meowed pitifully and Honor patted the couch, encouraging the cat to share her warmth. More asleep than aware, she ran a hand across the Milk’s soft, warm coat.
Emma covered her with a flannel throw blanket as Honor, belly full, finally gave into the overwhelming exhaustion.
***
Grit creased her eyes and her teeth felt thick and fuzzy in her mouth. “This feels worse than a hangover,” she confided to Milk.
“Looks just as bad,” Emma said from the doorway. She held out a steaming mug of tea. “Chamomile,” she said. “Good for what ails you.”
Honor half smiled as she accepted the cup. “And what ails me?”
“From the looks of you? Pretty much everything,” Emma replied tartly. “Finish your tea. Take a hot shower and come join me for dinner. I have a proposition for you.”
Hummingbird Dreams: A Second Chance at Love (Harper's Mill Book 1) Page 5