Lavender Blue

by Donna Kauffman

  At her sincere confusion, Will’s implacable manner faltered slightly. “That was actually what he mentioned. He said it seemed as if you were avoiding him and he wondered if he’d done or said something to offend or annoy you.”

  Hannah felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment, and maybe a little bit of shame tossed in. She ducked her chin for a moment, gathering new thoughts, then looked at Will and said, “That is on me, and I apologize. It’s just . . . given what happened between us, and you not wanting to talk about it . . . I—” She broke off for a moment, unsure just how candid she should be with Jake’s father, but what did she have to lose? “I just . . . I could be misreading things entirely, but I think Jake was developing a little crush? Completely innocent,” she hurried to add. “Very sweet actually. Endearing. But then I had my breakdown out in the barn, and you and I had . . . our moment. Then you seemed to want to step back, way back. And I just thought maybe it was best to keep my distance. I didn’t come out and say that, but Jake is busy with school, and the winery, and the upcoming music festival. I didn’t think he’d really notice.”

  “I can see why you’d figure that,” Will responded after taking a moment to think on what she’d said. “I take some of the responsibility for that, too, then.” He paused, as if he was trying to decide how candid to be, and admittedly that got Hannah curious all over again.

  “My dilemma—and I agree with you that Jake might be a little sweet on you. I appreciate your taking his feelings into consideration.” He looked at her directly, and for the first time since they’d kissed, he seemed to be talking to her like the man he’d been that day. The man who’d smiled more, talked more, and offered to accompany her to the stable. The man she’d begun to like almost as much as she’d already begun to lust after him. Dangerous thoughts, Hannah. Which is it going to be?

  “I wouldn’t have brought it up except Vivienne has asked Jake if he’d like to help with serving at your upcoming Welcome to the Farm party. He wouldn’t be serving any of Seth’s wine, of course, due to his age, but she did invite him to serve some of his grape juice, along with the food and things you all will be having.”

  Hannah’s lips immediately curved. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. He’s a charming young man, Will. I think he’d do a wonderful job.” Will didn’t look as if he’d been put at ease by her enthusiastic response. Her smile faltered. “Does Jake not want to do it? Or would he rather not serve his juice? I know he’s still perfecting it. If so, Vivi won’t be offended, none of us would be. I’m sure she just thought it would be a nice fit since he’s been helping you out here and we’re featuring Bluestone & Vine’s wine label. Please don’t let him worry if—”

  “It’s not that,” Will said. “He was flattered to be asked. Excited even.”

  Hannah was confused. “What’s the problem then?”

  Will looked a little uncomfortable now. “It ties back to Jake wondering if he did something wrong, if you were avoiding him. He wants to take the job, but not if you’d be upset.”

  Hannah was instantly crestfallen. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. That’s not at all what I intended,” she said. “I’ll have a talk with him, assure him things are fine.” She looked at Will then. “If that’s okay with you. I just . . . I honestly wasn’t sure how to proceed.”

  “It’s not you. I know you were doing what you thought was right. Kids can be really simple, and really complicated, all at the same time.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Hannah replied with a light laugh, thinking back to some of the brain-bending conversations she and Liam had had, when she’d been trying to get him to understand something and he’d come back at her with his adolescent pretzel logic.

  She noticed Will was looking at her then, looking into her, but his expression was completely unreadable.

  “You illustrated children’s books,” he said after a beat, “or still do. Sorry, I’m not prying. I guess you must have come into contact with a lot of them. Children, I mean.”

  Well, here you are anyway, her little voice said. Avoiding the truth now would just be adding one layer of prevarication on top of another. Just tell him.

  “I did,” she said, a little more softly, but with a steady smile. And it was an honest one. “At book signings and other events. It was an education in and of itself, to be sure.” She took a small, steadying breath, hoping she didn’t spoil what détente they’d achieved, but he needed to know where she was coming from. She held his gaze steadily and let the warmth of her love for her son shine through in her expression and her voice. “I also know what it’s like raising children, young children anyway. I had a son. Liam. He was a delight, a dervish, my perfect child, and a handful, pretty much every day.”

  Clearly, Will heard the past tense, because she could see the moment he registered what that meant. That flash of bleakness in his eyes, the utter devastation that came right after imagining such a thing, then the fear that was instinctive and normal, personalizing it, imagining what it would be like if that same thing were to happen to you. She didn’t like telling people for that reason alone. She didn’t want anyone to experience even a moment of the pain she had known, even if it was just imagined.

  She continued, saving him from having to find the right words. She needed him to know all of it. “I lost him when he was seven. Car accident. I was in it, too. We were hit by someone who ran a stop sign. I never even saw the other car. It was instant, for him, for which I’m forever grateful.” She took a short breath, let it out again. “It wasn’t recent, it was seven years ago. Sometimes that feels like yesterday, but I’ve worked hard in the years since to find a perspective that I can live with, move forward with, that still honors him, but gives me the strength to live a life we could both be proud of.” Her expression warmed. “He’d be Jake’s age now,” she said, and saw Will had already put that much together. “So . . . that’s been a bit of a thing for me. I haven’t spent time around anyone his age, and the comparisons are natural, of course.” She hurried on when she saw empathetic pain on his handsome face. “It’s not a bad thing, Will. Your son is so lovely—my hope is my son might have turned out half as well. It’s made it a bit rocky for me at times, but that’s how life is. There are smooth times, bumpy times, joyous times, and sometimes downright terrible times. Like out at the lamb house. Some of those times are about Liam, but not all. Life doles out pain and joy in regular fashion for all kinds of things.” She smiled a bit more widely then. “Take this house for instance.”

  He looked gutted on her behalf, and she instinctively stepped forward, wanting to make it easier for him to deal with her stuff. “It’s been smooth more often than not for a good while now, so I was a little rusty handling the bumpy stuff. That’s why I fell apart in the stable. I think I was maybe glossing over a bit more than I thought I was, and I should have dealt with it more directly. Given myself more of a break. But”—she lifted a shoulder—“it’s a process. And there is no guidebook. So, I’ve been all over the map, especially with Jake. And I’m very sorry about that.”

  She did stop talking then, because she suspected that, while he’d never suffered the loss of a child, he had suffered loss. Of his wife, she was almost certain. Would he say something now? Reveal his understanding? That was up to him. His story to tell now. And she wouldn’t be insulted if he didn’t, or never did, because that wasn’t about her. That she knew all too well.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “For anything.” He looked away for a moment, and she caught the sheen in his eyes.

  “I am sorry, though,” she told him. “Jake doesn’t need to have his emotions jerked around—even by someone doing it unwittingly. I should have been more thoughtful in how I handled the situation. I would like to talk to him, if that’s okay. I won’t tell him about Liam, if you’d rather I not. Although . . . I don’t know. I think he’d handle it well enough. Kids tend to better than parents do. And it might help put things into perspective.” Her expressi
on gentled and a hint of a wry note snuck in. “Probably take care of that crush, at any rate.”

  Will glanced down, shook his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

  He’d said it quietly, but Hannah wasn’t sure how to take his response. Her smile faded. “If you’re afraid I befriended him because I saw him as some kind of replace—”

  Will’s gaze shot up at that, and she broke off when she immediately saw that that hadn’t been his thought at all. She immediately relaxed, relieved and grateful for that much at least.

  “Maybe I’ve only made this more awkward,” she said. “It wasn’t my intent. I just . . . when you brought up children, it seemed wrong not to explain. I didn’t want to pretend I didn’t understand what you meant. I didn’t—don’t—share my story lightly though. However you’d like me to handle things with Jake, just tell me and I will. His well-being comes first.”

  Will nodded and took another moment to consider what she’d said.

  She liked that he was thoughtful and didn’t immediately jump in before thinking his responses through.

  “The only thing I will add is that I know in time people will learn my story. Not from you, but . . . relationships form and conversations happen, like it did today. I don’t go around announcing my loss for obvious reasons, but also because I want folks to get to know me as me, separate from that. I will forever be a grieving mom, but I’m so much more than that, too. Unfortunately, but understandably, when people hear about what happened, that one fact tends to overshadow everything else. I want folks to get to know the rest of me, before that information gets factored in, but I know it will at some point. And I only mention that because Jake will hear about it somewhere, from someone, eventually. So, you may want to share it with him yourself. Or I can, if you think . . .” She trailed off then. “Anyway, whatever you think is best. I just don’t want Jake thinking that I don’t have his best interests at heart and I definitely don’t want him thinking that he’s done something wrong, or that I’m unhappy with him for any reason. I wish I’d handled it better.”

  Will nodded, and finally spoke. “Please don’t worry about that. I’m just sorry if being around him has made any part of your life more challenging. You’ve been nothing but kind and generous to him. I can have him stay up at the winery helping Seth while I finish here, so you don’t have to—”

  “No, no, that’s not necessary.” Hannah did frown then, realizing she was really mucking this up. “Not at all. Please let Jake be Jake. Tell him or don’t tell him, whatever you think best. I can simply put myself in his path and we can be our normal selves, and he’ll know from that that I harbor no ill will.”

  “Okay,” Will said, but he was clearly still thinking the whole thing over. “Thank you. For your thoughtfulness.” He looked like he wanted to say something more, and she felt doubly bad for putting him in that unasked for position.

  “It’s okay, Will,” she told him, knowing he’d understand what she meant. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me or that particular subject, okay? Just . . . act as you normally would.” She smiled, then grinned. “You know, ignoring me when possible and speaking in monosyllabic sentences at all costs. Definitely no smiling, and God forbid we should laugh.”

  He looked startled at the teasingly offered dig, and finally—finally—a hint of a surprised smile played at the corners of his mouth. She’d meant to shock him out of the moment they’d found themselves in and was happy to see it had worked.

  “You’re a special force, Hannah Montgomery,” he said, almost to himself.

  “I try to be,” she told him, believing he’d meant it as a compliment. “Keeps folks on their toes. Makes life more interesting.”

  He met her gaze then, and she had no idea what he saw now, when he looked at her. There was a trace of humor in his eyes, and a healthy dose of respect.

  She was relieved.

  “I’ll talk to Jake. Tell him it was a misunderstanding, that you’ve just been busy with the event coming up.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Will held her gaze. “And you can stay ‘too busy’ if that’s best for you. Your well-being matters, too. I’ll make sure he knows it’s not personal.”

  “Thank you,” Hannah said again, touched. “I appreciate that.” She smiled. “How about if we just take things as they go?”

  He nodded. “That sounds fine.”

  She walked to the door then, so she could leave him to his work.

  “Hannah.”

  She paused and turned back.

  “I just want you to know, if you do spend time with Jake, and a moment happens, and you think it’s the right time to mention your son . . .” He broke off, and a hint of that pain, and his empathy for her, shone clearly in his eyes. “Please do,” he said. His throat worked then and he added, a bit hoarsely now, “I’d be honored to know you thought enough of my son to share something of yours with him.”

  Chapter Nine

  He was a flat-out coward. Of the white-bellied, lily-livered variety. Will nodded and lifted his hand as Jake turned and waved to him before crossing the gravel lot toward the rear entrance of Blue Hollow Falls’ new music amphitheater.

  The grand opening festival was still close to two months out, but the local musicians who would be performing that day were already getting together to start working on the program, figuring out playlists, and helping the technicians set up and install all the soundboards, the lighting, and the myriad other minutiae that went into setting up a such a venue.

  Jake had invited his dad to come sit in on their jam session but hadn’t been at all surprised when Will had begged off, claiming an avalanche of work. The workload was real, but they both knew it was a convenient cover story, as well.

  The fact that his son continued to ask him, always casually, never wheedling or demanding, or giving Will attitude at his lame dodges . . . just made Will feel every bit the small, selfish man he knew he’d become when it came to confronting that particular ghost from his past.

  He knew Jake understood. Which just made it all the worse. What father wanted his son’s pity? Not this father, and yet . . . His son showed courage by continuing to give his father a chance to man up. Maybe you can reward that courage by mustering some of your own.

  Will climbed back in his pickup truck and his thoughts went, as they seemed to do every single waking moment these days, to Hannah. Talk about courage. Her courage, her strength, her . . . everything, humbled him to his core. His heart clutched in a painful knot as his gaze went back to Jake, and he tried to fathom what it would do to him to lose his only child. He’d never gotten over losing Zoey, but as tragic and awful and utterly life altering as that had been for him, the idea of losing his child . . . ? Not that any tragedy could be—or should ever be—compared or ranked next to another, but he couldn’t deny the fact that thinking about the loss Hannah had suffered had helped him to put the loss of his wife in a whole new perspective.

  Hannah seemed to have found some way to manage her unimaginable grief. She was a testament to not only forging a brave path forward, but an admirable, purpose-driven one as well. He might have thought her super-human, had he not witnessed the wrenching grief that had swallowed her whole that day in the lamb house. He knew she was all too human, a grieving mom, figuring out her life as she lived it. But something else she’d said had struck him in the days that followed, digging deeper, and deeper still, taking root.

  I will forever be a grieving mom, but I’m so much more than that.

  Will thought he’d become more than a grieving husband. And he had. He was a father, a son, a good friend, a Marine, and a damn good mason. But somewhere along the way, he’d let the grieving husband take the lead, become the face of who he was. He’d convinced himself he’d put fatherhood first. Being a good provider who was proud of his day’s work, and a good friend were also top priorities. He’d have said those were the focal elements, the purpose on which he’d built his life. He’d merely opted to put becoming a
partner to someone new on the back burner. Or on no burner. And that choice didn’t affect anyone but him. Right?

  Will watched his suddenly too tall and too mature son disappear inside the venue and accepted that he might have become all of those things, but first and foremost, he’d let his grief guide him, control his actions, his decisions. All these years later he was still doing that, as if it was his right, still believing that the only one paying for his grief was him, that how he handled that part of his life was purely his own business. He had the important bases covered.

  The truth of it was he’d been the only one benefitting from his choice to let his grief guide him, rather than the other way around. That choice had allowed him to avoid doing the hard work Hannah had done. Had allowed him to simply close off what had once been the most important part of his life. And the ones who’d paid for it had been everyone else but him. His son in particular.

  How was it he hadn’t seen that?

  His son—his teenage son, who should be at an age when he’d be mortified to have him share in some hobby or passion of his—was inside that venue right now creating something he wanted his dad to be part of, but no. His dad would rather cower behind his shield of grief.

  He squeezed his eyes closed. “You sorry son of a bitch.”

  Last summer, when Jake had sung and played the fiddle for the first time, had also been the first time Will had allowed his grief so much as a toehold in him since Zoey had died.

  And because he hadn’t done the hard work Hannah had, that night his grief had consumed him, swamped him, as if the tragedy had just happened to him all over again. He’d known then that he needed to change. And he’d intended to. But he hadn’t initially known how to reach out for help, or where to turn. So he put it off. Then off again. And one day turned into the next, and then another, and then a week went by, then a month, and here he was, almost a year later and he’d made no effort at all. Once again, he’d taken the easy path.