The Sweetness of Honey (A Hope Springs Novel) (12 page)

Oliver didn’t mention his parts-versus-the-whole observation, still brooding over what, if anything, it might mean. And when Munro regretfully took his leave and returned to his duties, Oliver found himself guiding Indiana toward the door. “We should probably go.”

“Do you want to say good-bye to your father?”

Orville was standing in the center of at least a dozen admirers, gesturing with both arms as he held his audience captive. “No need,” he said, knowing his father had already forgotten he’d been there at all—a reality he’d lived with for most of his life.

Indiana was quiet on the drive home, leaving Oliver to sift through the remnants of the night, and the thing that stood out above everything was how she hadn’t let his father or Munro whisk her out of his sight. She’d stayed close, including him in the conversations. She’d listened to him, she’d smiled, she’d initiated physical contact.

She’d left no doubt she was with him, even though they weren’t dating and she was free to enjoy Munro’s—or anyone’s—attention. Even though theirs was not a romantic relationship. This had been an experiment. A test of compatibility. A night without sex. He hated what it was, as much as what it wasn’t. But he wasn’t ready to examine why.

Pulling to a stop behind her Camaro in her driveway on Three Wishes Road, he put his BMW in park and opened his door, leaving the engine running while he circled to open hers. She took his hand and swung her legs from the car, then stood and let him go.

She held her clutch in both hands between them, as if using it as a shield, or warding him off, and he shoved his hands in his pockets to let her know she had nothing to worry about. He was Merrilee Gatlin’s son. He was an expert in being a gentleman.

“Thanks for the evening. Your father’s absolutely lovely. I had a wonderful time.”

“I’m glad you came.” Really glad. “Though I don’t know that I got to know you any better.”

“That’s okay. I got to know you.”

He wasn’t sure he liked things going that way. “I’ll see you on Thanksgiving, then? If not before?”

She nodded, waved him off when he started to accompany her to the door, then waved again as she went inside, leaving him standing in her driveway, wondering why he didn’t know whether the night had been a success or a failure.

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
he days between Indiana’s date with Oliver and the Thanksgiving holiday were insanely busy at the farm. H
er pumpkins and winter squash and green beans went like mad, and her small
market building was a veritable beehive of activity, with candied pecans and cranberry relish and other seasonal goodies in high demand.

She made the drive to Hope Springs twice, telling herself she needed to check on the cottage. Lying to herself, really, because Tennessee was in constant contact, keeping her apprised of the progress. Will, too, surprising her, in fact, by driving to Buda one morning, and hunting her down in the equipment-repair shop to talk to her about flooring options—something he could just as easily have done over the phone.

They hadn’t spoken in person since she’d gone to his loft the week after Halloween, so looking up from a tractor that had just bitten the dust to see him walking through the shop surprised her. She’d watched his approach, taking in his long, lanky stride, the wolfish grin pulling at his mouth, twinkling in his eyes. A slash of hair falling over his forehead.

She realized that, as happy as she was to see him, her heart wasn’t pounding, her fingertips weren’t tingling. She wasn’t hit with the urge to run into his arms, to have him lift her and twirl her and lower her against his body, to slide into his kiss. The realization left her torn, mourning what they would never have, celebrating the friendship they did.

In reality, her visits to Three Wishes Road were about seeing Oliver, though she’d missed him both times. On the second trip she did find a note taped to her front door, one he’d obviously left, because it was from his father. Orville was sorry to have been distracted during her visit to the gallery, and invited her to his studio to see his newest piece.

Oliver had scratched a quick accompanying note of his own: “Let me know.” That was all it said, and the only contact they’d had in the nearly two weeks between their gallery visit and the holiday. Which had her looking forward to Kaylie’s dinner. Because that night she’d finally been given a glimpse into Oliver’s life.

She’d met his father. She’d learned he was friends with Adam Munro. He’d confessed his snobbery, though she considered his list of sins to be more about excellent taste and less the snooty airs his mother displayed. Interesting, too, that his mother had no care for his father’s show. Almost as interesting as the fact that he painted. Or had painted.

She wanted to know if she was right about why he’d given it up, when he’d given it up. The medium in which he’d painted. His subject matter. And she would have hours today to find out, because this holiday would be nothing like the past.

Last Thanksgiving, Indiana had spent a quiet day alone. She’d roasted a turkey breast, baked a pan of cornbread for dressing, made gravy, tossed a salad, and dug a fork into the center of a store-bought pecan pie while watching Kevin Costner as Robin Hood.

The year before had been spent similarly, though instead of a salad she’d gone to the effort to put together a green bean casserole. And the pie, which she’d eaten while watching Kevin Costner as Robin Hood, had been cherry.

The year before that, ditto to the turkey, gravy, and dressing. Broccoli casserole. Chocolate cream pie with a four-inch meringue. Kevin Costner as Robin Hood.

She didn’t mind spending the day alone, though with Kevin on her TV, she never really was. But a whole pie to herself—because face it: Who bought half a pie, or a small pie, or only a slice?—was not a good idea, even if she was active enough that she could afford the calories.

The problem was that Thanksgiving came right after Halloween, and she always overbought the M&M’s and Tootsie Rolls. And Christmas followed almost immediately, the season arriving with cookie exchanges and vendor gifts: caramel popcorn, creamy fudge, iced gingerbread men, and Danish butter cookies. She was getting too old to eat her way out of one year and into the next and was thankful she’d have no leftovers.

Stepping from her car parked behind a dozen others, she wound her way to the back door of Two Owls Café, though technically where she was headed was simply Tennessee and Kaylie’s home for their friends and family get-together.

Reaching up to smooth back her hair, then smooth down her skirt and her sweater, she took a deep breath before pulling open the screen door into Kaylie’s kitchen. The room buzzed with activity, Kaylie and Dolly and Luna all flitting by, along with a couple of women Indiana didn’t think she had met.

And the smells. Oh, the smells. Everything Thanksgiving should be was in this room. The rich, savory aromas of turkey and gravy, the yeasty scent of Kaylie’s famous softball-size hot rolls, and that of pie dough, like buttery flour, and warm. Sweeter smells: yams and cranberries and desserts oozing lemon and coconut, sweet apple, spicy pumpkin, cherries both tangy and tart.

She was in heaven. Who needed Kevin Costner as Robin Hood?

“Indy! You’re here!” This from Kaylie as she tossed a pair of elbow-length oven mitts to her dad. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

Mitch gave Indiana a smile and a wave as he tugged them on, then turned for the huge roasting pan and the turkey, a blast of heat and so many smells pouring into the room as he opened the oven door.

Indiana set her contribution to the meal—six bottles of wine in a rustic jute carrier—on the counter, and said, “What can I do?”

“Find a corkscrew, then find Tennessee. He should be in the main dining room,” Kaylie said before being swallowed up by the crowd.

Indiana did as instructed, winding through the smaller eating areas toward the front of the house. But her brother wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Instead, he stood looking out the open front door, his arms crossed, his shoulder braced on the jamb.

She nudged him with her hip, then held up the corkscrew and indicated the wine carrier she’d brought from the kitchen. “I come bearing gifts.”

“And not a minute too soon,” he said, wrapping her in a hug. “Glasses are this way.”

She followed him into the largest dining room, where Angelo sat deep in conversation with Luna’s parents at the end of the long row of tables. Two men Luna didn’t recognize, and who most likely belonged to the women in the kitchen, stood talking in front of the room’s picture windows.

Smiling at Angelo and the Meadowses, she waited while Tennessee opened a bottle and poured them both a glass without offering one to his guests. “Cheers,” he said, downing half of his in one long swallow.

She didn’t think she’d ever seen her brother drink anything but beer. Or drink as if trying to drown his sorrows. “What’s going on?” she asked, leaving her glass on the table set up with the coffee and iced tea dispensers slated for use in the café, along with cups and glasses for both as well as for water and wine.

He turned his back on the rest of the room and lowered his voice. “You can’t say anything. Not yet.”

She did her best to keep a straight face though her stomach fell, and she had to swallow to find her voice. “You haven’t given me anything yet not to say.”

“We’re going to tell everyone at dinner, but I wanted you to know first.” He took a deep breath, rubbed at his forehead. “Kaylie’s pregnant.”

Pregnant? As in a new little Keller? As in more family to love? She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Tennessee! That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah. It kinda is,” he said, but nothing in his voice or his expression—he was frowning when he should’ve been grinning like a loon—led her to believe
wonderful
was what he was feeling.

The door chime sounded, and she glanced over in time to see Will walk in, returning his wave as he headed toward the rear of the house, then giving her attention back to her brother. She guided him to an empty chair at the table’s near end, then pulled her own around so they sat knee to knee. “Now, tell Sister Indiana what’s wrong.”

He leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, his hands twisted together, his chin tucked all the way to his chest. If she hadn’t just seen Kaylie in the kitchen, she would’ve sworn he’d just lost his best friend. “What do I know about being a husband, much less a father? I’m going to screw everything up. I just know it.”

Ah. Silly man. “Socks will help with that.”

“Socks?” He looked up, frowned, then rolled his eyes. “This isn’t about cold feet.”

“Sure it is.” She refused to let it be anything else. “The cold feet of uncertainty. You didn’t come into this world an expert at everything the way you are now,” she said, earning herself an arched brow. “You’ll be a master at diapers in no time. Just put on your socks and shoes, one at a time like everyone else. You’ll be fine.”

Sitting straight now, he crossed his arms over his chest. “So you’re the one who got all the smarts in the family.”

“Yep. That would be me,” she said, and this time when the front chime sounded, it was Oliver walking through the door. She started to stand, stopping because her brother deserved better than a fraction of her attention. But then Dolly came into the room, shepherding everyone into their seats, giving Indiana time to do nothing but catch Oliver’s gaze and smile.

The afternoon passed in a whirl of food and drink and conversation. There was turkey and gravy and cornbread dressing, homemade cranberry sauce with pecans and whipped cream and red grapes. There was coffee and tea, water and wine, something for those who were expecting and those who were not. There were Two Owls huge hot rolls, and pumpkin muffins, and thick slices of warm honey wheat bread.

With so many at the table involved, talk turned often to the Caffey-Gatlin Academy, and then moved across the street to the Gardens on Three Wishes Road. Dolly put dibs on the first crop of zucchini for the café. Luna begged for tomatoes. Kaylie’s face blanched, and Indiana refilled the expectant mother’s water, giddy with the news.

Tennessee chose that moment to rap his knife on his tea glass and stand. “Kaylie and I have an announcement—”

“I knew it,” Dolly said, clasping her hands beneath her chin, her new wedding band sparkling in the candlelight. Tears welled as she said, “You’ve finally set a date to get married.”

“No date yet, though it’ll be soon,” Tennessee said, his face, always ruddy from his time in the sun, coloring. “But that’s not the announcement.”

“We’re having a baby,” Kaylie said, and the words were barely out before the dining room erupted in cheers and tears and cries of joy and congratulations. “We’re due late in May, so I’m hoping the café gets its sea legs before I’m too unwieldy to navigate.”

“Listen to you,” Dolly said, having left her chair to give Kaylie a hug, her eyes glistening, “worrying about Two Owls when you know your father and I will be here to handle every little thing.”

Mitch appeared speechless, rubbing a hand back and forth over his crew cut, his own eyes growing red, his accompanying laughter gruff. “A grandfather. I’m going to be a grandfather. Aren’t I too young to be a grandfather?”

Everyone laughed, Kaylie saying, “No, sir, you are not. And I’m going to expect you to spoil this little one rotten every day of his or her life.”

Because he hadn’t been able to do that for Kaylie.

The thought came unexpectedly, and had Indiana wondering if anyone in the room wouldn’t change something in their past if they could. Maybe not Harry and Julietta Meadows. Luna’s parents seemed to have a perfect marriage, a perfect life.

Then again, they’d suffered with Luna as she’d mourned the loss of her best friend in the tragic car accident that had changed so many lives. Yet like every person here, their eyes shone with happiness as they celebrated Tennessee and Kaylie’s news.

Was the Meadowses’ relationship stronger because of all they’d endured? Was Luna and Angelo’s? Kaylie’s childhood spent in foster care had been one of the saddest Indiana could imagine, but she’d moved on, eventually reuniting with her father, making a new life with Tennessee, establishing the business she’d dreamed of.

“And just think,” Harry was saying to Mitch. “You’ll have a grandkid the same age as my daughter. So if anyone around here should be feeling old, it’s me.”

The laughter started up again at that, Indiana recalling that Mitch and Harry had been in the service together not long after Kaylie and Luna were born. She thought about Dakota again, wondering if, wherever he was, he was married, settled down, a father with kids in grade school, or a newborn.

The thought of both of her brothers with families had tears welling in her eyes. Happy tears, yes, but also mournful tears for the time they’d lost, the milestones. If Dakota had children, did they fight over the turkey’s drumsticks? Did they still believe in Santa Claus? Did the tooth fairy leave coins or cash? Did his boys play baseball, following in Daddy’s footsteps? Did his girls love to dig in the dirt like Aunt Indiana?

Aunt Indiana. Oh, how she loved the sound of that. And now her brother would be Uncle Dakota, a realization that had the melancholia she’d been keeping at bay pushing into the room where it didn’t belong. She didn’t want it here.

There was so much here, in this room, to be thankful for. Just like there was so much in her life to be thankful for. She couldn’t lose sight of that, of her business and now her bees, of Kaylie and Tennessee’s news, of this bounty of food when so many had so much less, yet were still buoyed by the spirit of the day.

Just then, Oliver’s phone rang, snagging Indiana’s attention. He lifted a hand in apology to those at the table, then turned in his seat to take the call while the chatter went on around him. He didn’t say much; he mostly listened, and the few words he did speak were terse and exact.

And it wasn’t but moments later when he said, “I’ve got to go,” and scooted back his chair at the same time he clipped his phone to his waist.

“Is everything okay?” Indiana asked, knowing from his voice, the tone as worried as it was sorrowful, what the answer would be.

“It’s my father. Oscar’s . . . He’s had an infection, and it’s worsened. I’ve got to go.”

Around the table, murmurs of sympathy and prayers and best wishes followed Oliver to his feet. He placed his napkin across his plate and looked only at Indiana. “I’ll see you later?”