A Man of Honor Page 9

  Grace gasped. “You wouldn’t.” What would Gavin say if he knew how close he was to the truth?

  “I might, and then again. . . .”

  She laughed, and waited for him to explain.

  “Think of it this way . . . you’ll either clear your mind of something that’s obviously bugging you, big time, or I’ll spare you the trouble of figuring out how to tell that motorcycle-riding preacher cousin of mine that you’re crazy about him.”

  “I wish you’d told me that you suffered head trauma in that accident. . . .”

  He leaned forward as far as the seatbelt would allow. “Bet you didn’t know I’m like a nosy old woman, did you?”

  “No, but I should have known. On the first day of Psych 101, my professor told the class two things. First, that crazy people marry crazy people, and they have crazy kids who grow up and marry crazy people.”

  “Astute. I’d like to meet that guy. I think. What was the second thing?”

  “That you can define anyone involved with the psychiatric profession in two words: Nosy and nuts.”

  “Ha. You’re a riot. But if you think that little trick distracted me, you have another think coming.” He made a rolling motion with his hand. “You should know that I’m at least as persistent as I am nosy. . . .”

  Grace sighed. She hadn’t talked about Leslie—to anyone—ever. Maybe it would be therapeutic, sharing the story with Gavin.

  “I was thinking about Leslie,” she began, “my best friend in all the world.”

  “Before me, you mean.”

  Snickering, Grace said, “Yes. Before you. I met her in kindergarten.”

  She told him how they were together, nearly every day, right up until they were sixteen. “That’s when my parents died,” she said, “and I went to live with my grandparents.”

  “Ahh, the infamous angels, who made you the proprietress of Angel Acres. . . .”

  Yes, she thought, the generous act that turned every male in her family into greedy—

  “So anyway,” she continued, “we managed to stay in touch, and Leslie spent the next two summers at Angel Acres. She liked it so well that when it was time to enroll in college, she chose the University of Maryland. We shared a room, and a car, and a boyfriend or two before graduation.”

  That’s when Grace took a job teaching English and Art in a Howard County middle school, and Leslie’s degree sent her to New York, where she spent her days, wheeling and dealing with the Wall Street crowd. “And then 9/11 happened. . . .”

  More than a year had passed, she told him, since they’d seen one another. They hadn’t even had time for a phone call in more than a month. “I’d taken that day off to nurse a stomach virus. While I was in the bathroom, my principal called and told me to turn on the TV. By then, both planes had hit the Towers, and the first person I thought of was Leslie. My hands were shaking so hard from trying to remember which floor she worked on that I misdialed her cell number three times before I got through to her.”

  Grace took the exit to Route 100, remembering how at first, she thought she’d dialed a fourth time. “I didn’t recognize her voice. She was scared. And crying. Talking nonsense. Saying how sorry she was.”

  “For what?”

  “I’d loaned her a black dress for her initial interview with the firm. She swore up and down it brought her luck. Couple of times, she made plans to visit, using the excuse that she needed to return it. But things came up, so she started promising to box it up and mail it to me. And that day . . . that day she was wearing the dress. ‘I’m up for a promotion,’ she told me; ‘figured it couldn’t hurt to wear my lucky dress.’ That’s when she apologized. For not returning the dress. Said she was wearing my red scarf, and that she was sorry she hadn’t returned that, either.”

  “Gracie,” Gavin said, “pull over. There,” he pointed. “Long Gate Shopping Center. Right now. And I’m not kidding.”

  She did. And until the car stopped, she hadn’t realized that she’d been crying.

  He handed a starched white hanky over the seat. “I hope you weren’t on the line with her when . . . at the end.”

  “No. No I wasn’t.”

  “Well, thank God for that.”

  “Half a second after she apologized about the dress, we were disconnected. I tried and tried, but never got through to her again. And then . . . and then I sat on the floor in front of the TV. I don’t even know how long I sat there. My stomach went crazy again, and when I got back from the bathroom that time, I saw her. The camera zeroed in on a window on one of the upper floors. There was black smoke. Flames shooting out. A woman, standing on a beam or something. She was wearing a black dress. And a red scarf.”

  “Leslie. . . .”

  Grace nodded. “The wind picked up her bright red scarf and carried it away. Then she blessed herself, held out her arms, and jumped.”

  Gavin reached up and squeezed her shoulder, and she lay her hand on top of his.

  “So,” she said, “bet you’re really ready to get into that buffet line now, aren’t you?”

  “I was wrong. When I said you and Dusty have one thing in common. Turns out, you have two things.”

  She used the hanky to blot her teary eyes, and when she saw that her mascara had smudged it, Grace said, “If this won’t come out in the wash, I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “Make that three things.” He counted on his fingers. “You lost your parents in an accident, you’re both resilient, and neither of you wants to feel beholden to anyone else.”

  While she was trying to think of a snappy comeback, he added, “I’m wrong. Four things. He’s dedicated to kids, and so are you.” He smacked his forehead. “Five things! He’s nuts about you, and you feel the same way about him.”

  “I hope this doesn’t sound ungrateful coming on the heels of exposing you to my blubberfest, but you’re the nut. Dusty and I barely know one another!”

  He sat back. “You seem fit to drive now. You may go.”

  Grace cranked up the engine, and, blending into traffic, said, “Thanks, Gavin, for letting me get all that off my chest. It might interest you to know that you’re the first—and only—person I’ve ever shared that with.” She’d left out the part about how, for months, she nursed a grudge against Leslie; if the girl hadn’t been so all-fired determined to become a big name in finance and banking, she wouldn’t have been in New York on that awful day. Or that for months after that, Grace asked herself how bad it was up there on the 95th floor that Leslie preferred leaping to her death to whatever was on the other side of that window.

  “I’m honored.”

  “You’re also the only person I’ll ever share it with.” Hopefully, he’d take the hint, and keep the long, sad story to himself.

  “I have one thing to say, and then you have my word, I’ll never mention it again.”

  Grace tensed. “No announcement worth hearing ever started like that. . . .”

  He waved her comment away. “You’d be good for one another.”

  Dusty and me, you mean. . . .

  “That’s my opinion, anyway. And you know what they say about those.”

  She didn’t, but Grace had a feeling Gavin was about to enlighten her.

  “‘Opinions are like armpits . . . everybody has a couple, and mostly they stink.”

  10

  Grace,” Dusty called from across the room, waving as she and Gavin walked in. “When you get that crippled cousin of mine settled,” he said, “join us. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “Cripple?” Gavin echoed. “Is your ponytail so tight that’s it’s affecting your thinking? Who says ‘cripple’ these days?”

  But Dusty hadn’t heard him, because he’d gone back to talking with the pretty redhead beside him. “You’re taking notes, I hope,” he said as Grace helped get him into the recliner.

  “I’m not following. . . .”

  “If that’s his idea of an apology, he’ll make a terrible husband.”

  A
nervous giggle popped out. “Good grief. Let’s not put the cart before the horse, shall we?” She leaned his crutches in the corner and glanced at the buffet table. “So what are you in the mood for? Fried chicken? Lasagna? Swedish meatballs? I think I even see roast beef over there.”

  “Yes,” he said, smirking.

  “Well I’d better round up a TV tray or something first, or I pity that chair. And the carpet under it.”

  “Hmpf. With your talent for knowing what a man needs, maybe you could make it work with that buffoon.” He snickered. “I was just wondering if I’d leave here with more food in my belly . . . or in my lap.”

  She glanced around the room. “Good grief, Gavin . . . give it a rest, will you? What would Dusty think if he heard you say—”

  “Heard him say what?”

  Dusty. . . .

  Heart thudding, her cheeks went hot and her palms grew clammy. How much had he heard? “Oh. Hi. I thought you were way over there. Didn’t know you were right behind me.” She was rambling, and knew it, and yet the words kept tumbling from her mouth. “Good thing I didn’t back up. I’d have tromped all over your shiny shoes. Or turn around too fast, and elbow you in the stomach.” Shut up, Grace. Just. Shut. Up!

  “So what got to you? The tolling of the bells, or Tate and the girls, taking roses from the bouquet?”

  “What . . . ?”

  “You’ve been crying.”

  “Oh. That.” Memory of her self-pity party flashed in her mind. Should have kept your big mouth shut, Grace. “It’s allergies, mostly.” The plan had been to get Gavin settled, then find a bathroom and do her best to repair the damage her self-pity party had done to her makeup. But then Dusty had called her name and completely distracted her. She smiled, and like her rapid-fire dialog, Grace had a feeling there was too much of it, too. “Soon as I get your crippled old cousin something to eat, I’ll—”

  “Hey,” Gavin broke in. “I’m lame, not deaf.”

  Grace patted his hand. “Sorry. No offense intended.”

  “Aw, don’t fall for his sensitive act. He’s got a shell like a turtle.” And before Gavin could respond, he said, “I’d like you to meet Honor Mackenzie, best search and rescue dog trainer this side of the Mississippi. She’s here from New York.”

  A man Grace hadn’t met joined the group. “She was up there training SAR personnel to work with rescue dogs,” he said, kissing Honor’s cheek. “Broke my heart when she left me to advance her already advanced career.”

  Was it Grace’s imagination? Or did she hear a tinge of sarcasm in the man’s statement?

  Honor said, “But I came back. . . .”

  “To stay?” Dusty asked.

  “To stay.”

  “For good, I hope.”

  “Forever,” they said together.

  Even Grace, who’d never met them before, could see how in love they were. Had career aspirations really been the thing that put so many miles between them, or had other issues caused the separation?

  “And this is Matt Phillips,” Dusty said.

  “He’s a reporter,” Gavin said, “for The Baltimore Sun.”

  “Not the Pulitzer-winning—”

  Smirking, Matt stuck out his hand. “You may kiss my ring.”

  “You aren’t wearing a ring, you idiot.” Gavin laughed. “And you’re keeping Grace from fetching my food.” He knocked on his cast. “I’d do it myself, but. . . .” He shrugged.

  “I’ll go with you,” Honor said. “I promised to fix Mr. Pulitzer, here, a plate.”

  As they made their way down the table, Grace said, “Were you part of the search for Missy Logan a few weeks ago?”

  Honor stopped loading Matt’s plate. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your sweatshirt and sneakers on. You’re to be commended, girl, for keeping up with Daddy Longlegs over there.” She grabbed a biscuit and broke it in half. “He doesn’t make it easy on first-timers,” she said, slathering it with butter, “and just between you and me, I think it’s on purpose.”

  Grace remembered all too well how she’d almost had to run to keep up with him. She also remembered that he hadn’t said a word about that day, since. . . . “Probably just his way of separating the wheat from the chaff,” she said. “I don’t suppose you guys would get much done if every Tom, Dick, and Harry was allowed to tag along on missions.”

  “I don’t know about those three,” Honor said, slathering gravy over Matt’s roast beef and potatoes, “but you surely held your own.”

  Oh, right, Grace thought. Obviously, Honor hadn’t been around when she nearly fainted dead away after her first glimpse of Missy’s body. Even now, the image alone was enough to make her wince. “Did they ever find the guy who did that to her?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  Tucker’s wife walked up, rested a hand on Honor’s shoulder. “Sweetie,” she said, bussing her cheek, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “Sorry I missed the service. My train got stalled on the tracks, someplace outside of New Jersey.” She raised Matt’s plate slightly. “I’d hug you, but you know me . . . I’d dribble gravy on your shoes or get mashed potatoes in your hair.” Then she glanced at Grace. “Have you two met?”

  Grace shook her head. “Not officially. It’s a pleasure, though I wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

  Tate sighed. “Me, too. But I have the comfort of knowing Tuck is in Firefighter Heaven.” She grinned. “Probably giving the angels fits . . . reminding them to change the batteries in their smoke alarms.” Her smile faded a bit when she asked Honor if she planned to attend Keith’s services in the morning.

  “Absolutely. And you?”

  “Yes. Hannah isn’t handling Keith’s death well. Not well at all, I’m afraid.”

  “Not every woman is cut out to be a firefighter’s wife. I’d heard through the grapevine that she’d been nagging Keith to quit.”

  “I heard that, too.” Tate shook her head. “Tucker came home one night last week, talking about how upset Keith was that she’d given him until the end of the month to resign . . . or find a good divorce attorney.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s rough.”

  Because Keith’s widow is probably wondering if her ultimatum had distracted him enough to play a role in his death.

  Honor sighed. “Tuck was lucky to have you. Real lucky.”

  Tate’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she was smiling when she said, “No, I’m the lucky one.” Then she winked. “Not every woman gets to sleep with a real live hero!” She squeezed Grace’s hand. “But listen to us, chattering like a couple of chipmunks without including you. You must think we’re horribly rude!”

  “Not at all,” Grace admitted. “It gave me time to load up Gavin’s plate.” She glanced in his direction. “Guess I’d better get over there before he sends someone else to do it, and he’s stuck with two dinners.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about him,” Tate said. “Under that cast is a hollow leg.”

  A child’s voice rang out. “Mo-o-om. . . .”

  “Uh-oh . . . I recognize that whine . . . it’s one of my girls. Better see what’s up. Will you be at Keith’s services tomorrow, Grace?”

  “No, I never had the pleasure of meeting him, so I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “Well, if I don’t see you again before you leave with Stumpy over there,” she teased, using her chin to point toward Gavin, “it was nice meeting you. It’s good to see Dusty so happy, so thank you for that. I hope you’ll use your influence to get him over here a little more often!”

  When she was out of earshot, Honor said, “I thought it was just me.” She looked at Dusty. “You must be some kinda special, girl, ’cause Tate’s right. I’ve never seen him look happier.”

  Grace looked at Dusty, too, and he did look happy. But what could she have possibly had to do with it?

  “I can’t remember ever seeing him look at a woman the way he looks at you.” Honor laughed. “That’s s
aying a mouthful, because back in the day, Dusty looked at a lot of women!”

  Her face was probably glowing like Rudolph’s nose. And she wondered if Honor could hear her heart, knocking against her ribs.

  “Look, I know this isn’t any of my business, but. . . .” Honor glanced at Matt, “. . . but he’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I came this close to losing him. In fact, I’m not sure yet that I haven’t lost him, after everything I put him through. But months of long distance therapy with Dusty helped me come to terms with the real reasons I ran away, and see that if I don’t at least try to make things right with Matt, I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting it.” Now she looked at Grace. “Whatever demons you’re struggling with, Grace, trust me—fight them off. He’s worth it.”

  Grace looked at Dusty, who for some crazy reason, had assumed the Karate Kid’s one-legged stance while two little boys, each toting a full plate, ran circles around him. One little guy crashed into the other, and they both fell into Dusty, who landed on his back. For a moment, it seemed that someone had hit a Pause button, because everyone froze as a hush fell over the room.

  The guilty-faced young offenders darted into the kitchen as Grace unceremoniously handed Gavin his food. “Hey,” he groused, “you expect me to eat with my fingers?”

  “I’ll be right back with your silverware,” she said, kneeling beside Dusty. “O my goodness,” she said, plucking salad bits from his hair and roast beef from his chest, “are you hurt?”

  He levered himself onto one elbow and scraped a fingerful of mashed potatoes from his cheek. “Only my ego,” he said, popping it into his mouth.

  Grace peeled a slice of beef from his tie. “I hope it isn’t ruined.”

  “If you find a fork down there,” Gavin called from his chair, “I could sure use one. . . .”

  Two of Dusty’s boys stepped up. “Whoa, man,” Montel said, “you look good enough to eat.”

  Laughter exploded around the room as Grace got to her feet. “You’ve got gravy on your knees,” he said, then stood beside her. Dusty reached across the small space that separated them and ran his fingers through her hair. It wasn’t until he held up a tomato seed that she realized the splash had hit her, too.