The Perfect Match (15 page)

“And who’s Jack?” he asked.

“Oh. Um, my brother. He’s three years older than I am. He and my father are the winemakers, and my grandfather, too. My sister Pru runs the farming end, and I handle the business stuff.”

“I see.” He looked around the tank room. “Do you use wooden barrels anymore?”

“We do, though we use the tanks more,” Honor said. “Come on, here’s the bottling room.”

“Oh, more machines,” Tom said, flashing that crooked smile. “Lovely.”

She started to explain how the bottling machine and labeler worked, but it was clear Tom had already figured it out. He knelt down to look at something under the conveyer belt. Nice to have someone who was genuinely interested in the process. Most people on the tours were itchy to hit the tasting room.

“And then we have the cask room down these stairs. That’s where the barrels are. Watch your step. It’s kind of old-school, but it’s pretty, and the tourists like it.”

“I can see why.”

The cask room was a vast, dark room, formerly a root cellar, a stone storage area for potatoes and onions and the like. Now it held several dozen wooden barrels, a long, battered oak table surrounded by leather-upholstered chairs, some low lighting and
voilà
. People felt like they were in the Old Country.

“We use different kinds of wood for each wine. Hungarian oak gives off a nice spicy flavor, French is very mellow, American is fresh and clean.”

“Interesting.” He rapped one barrel. “Feel a bit like I’m in an Edgar Allan Poe story.”

“It’s very private here. I figured we can talk without being overheard.” Her heart was rabbiting already.

“Absolutely.” He sat down and folded his hands. “I don’t suppose we can drink any of this?”

“Oh, sure.” She poured him a glass of the cabernet franc they kept down here for just that purpose, then watched as he gulped it down.

He was nervous, too.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve done some research.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Well, obviously, I have to know what I’m getting into.”

“Of course. Go on, then.”

Honor opened her bag and took out the outline she’d worked up today (and then deleted from her computer, just in case the Feds came looking). “Okay. So INS, which is now called something else—”

“USCIS,” Tom said.

“Right.” Yes, of course he’d know that. “The regulations state that we have to stay married for two years, minimum, or you get deported, and you can never get a green card or be a citizen.”

“I know.”

“And if we get caught and convicted of marital fraud, you get deported, and I could get ten years of jail time. And fined a quarter of a million dollars.”

“That’s a bit stiff, isn’t it? Murderers get off with less.”

“Yes. But that’s what it says.” She folded her hands and tried to put on her business face. “Look, Tom, here’s what I hope. Instead of viewing this as marital fraud, I’d like to think of it as an arranged marriage, sort of. I’d like to go into it with a good attitude.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked over his shoulder. “Just...with the thought that maybe it could work out permanently.”

“You mean, we’d stay married and grow old together.”

“Um, yes.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Are you madly in love with me, Honor? Already?”

“No.” Hell. Time to be brutally honest. She’d pussyfooted around Brogan for years, and where had that gotten her? Nowhere. “Look. I’m thirty-five. I haven’t met anyone—”

“Except Braedon.”

“Brogan.”

“Whatever.”

“Yes, except Brogan. And my views on marriage have changed from when I was a dopey teenager. I’d like to be married. I won’t lie. I’d like to have a baby.”

“Just one? How about two?”

“Um, sure. Two would be nice.”

“Possibly three?”

“Well, I’m thirty-five.”

“So we’d have to bang them out, then, all in a row. Or have triplets, maybe? How about quints?” He grinned, flashing that crooked tooth.

She waited a beat. “Can you be serious? I’m trying to work this out for both of us.”

“Sorry. How have your views on marriage changed, Honor dear?”

She took a slow breath. “I think people expect too much, maybe. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to find the perfect person. Because no one is perfect, of course. You’re nice, sort of. You’re smart. You seem like a decent guy.”

“Don’t forget fantastic in bed.”

“You know, sure. Fine. Yes. Last night was...fun.” She was sweating. It wasn’t hot in here, but she was sweating. “I’d marry you, Tom. But I’d like to think that you’d give it a try. Not just...tolerate me for two years.”

Suddenly his face grew serious, wiping away the ridiculous appeal. “What if you meet someone, Honor? Someone real, that is? And fall in love, just like on the Hallmark channel?”

“I’d still give you the two years. I understand what’s at stake.” She cleared her throat and wiped her hands on her pants. “As for the baby thing, I figured we’d give it some time, see if we’re really compatible.”

He glanced away and rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip. “So you’re willing to give up two years of your life to me, just so I can be near Charlie?”

Honor looked at her hands. “Yes.”

“That’s incredibly noble of you. Why else?”

“Quite honestly, you’re my best prospect in years.”

The smile flashed and was gone. “You don’t have very high criteria, do you?” There was something in his gray eyes...pity, maybe.

“I don’t know about that,” she said tightly. “But I can tell you that I’d try to make things work, I’m an honest person, I’d never cheat on you and...and that’s it. If you can say the same, then let’s give it a try.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to say?” he asked.

Aside from Brogan, you’re the first guy to kiss me in six years. I’d rather have something with a stranger than nothing with no one.
“Nope.”

“What else is on your list there, love?”

Her toes curled in her shoes at the endearment. “We should have a timetable.”

“Very well.”

“Do you think INS will be investigating you?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“In any case, I think we should move in together, the sooner, the better. Your place, by the way. My father’s getting married, and I don’t want to hang around and be underfoot.”

“You live with your dad?”

“Yes. So we should move in, start getting to know each other, then I can meet Charlie, and we can look like the real thing if INS does check up on you.”

“And possibly become the real thing.”

She looked up from her notes. Her heart felt suddenly too big for her chest. “Maybe.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her.

Damn. She already liked that face way too much.

He still said nothing. “So here’s my basic information,” she said, handing over a piece of paper. “You should memorize this—”

“And then burn it?”

“Yes. Oh, okay, you’re making a joke. Very funny, but yes, get rid of it.”

“Honor Grace Holland. Pretty name, by the way. Birthday, January 4. Cornell, Wharton, very impressive, darling.”

“Thanks. We should also make up a story about how we met and, um, fell in love. And we have to make sure your aunt and my grandmother don’t say anything.”

“Right. Aunt Candy won’t, I’m sure. Can your grandmother keep a secret?”

“Goggy?”

“Dear God, you don’t call her that to her face, do you?”

“Yes. She can keep quiet. I hope.” It would be a first.

“Fingers crossed, then.”

“So what should our story be?” Honor asked. Her cheeks warmed again. Everyone in the
universe
had a better story than this. Even the people who met online had cute stories about how their emails had sparked something, or how they met for the first time, smiled and bada-bing, they were in love. eCommitment was much more romantic than a contract negotiated in a stone basement, like some illicit agreement between two shady government agencies.

“Why don’t we just stick as close to the truth as possible?” Tom asked. “You picked me up in a bar, we shagged, you’re getting older, we figured what the hell? Let’s do it.”

She stiffened. “You know what I did this afternoon? I watched YouTube interviews about convincing INS that you’re actually in love. That’s the
only
reason you can marry someone seeking a green card. It has to be a love match.”

He smiled again. “Sorry. I love you, Honor. Will you marry me?”

Her jaw clenched. “This is your ass on the line, Tom. And your relationship with Charlie. So try to be serious, okay? What do you love about me?”

“It’s not your sense of humor.”

Had she thought he was charming? Lonely? Adorable? When was that again?

“Sorry,” he said. “I appreciate this. It’s just...I’m nervous. Not just about getting caught, but about what you’re offering.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck, then looked back at her. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

Oh, yeah, that’s what it was.

Sincerity.

“Well,” she said, and her voice was a little husky. “Let’s give it a shot.” She paused. “But, um, I don’t think we should sleep together. Again. I mean, you know. Until we get a sense of whether or not this is going to work.”

Now why’d you say that, dummy?
her eggs asked.
We just opened that special anti-sag moisturizer.

Because. She was already risking an awful lot. She’d be lying to her family, linking her life with a virtual stranger, committing a felony.

She wasn’t going to risk her heart, too. Not yet. And if last night was any indication, her heart would be following her body and opening right up to him.

“That sounds wise,” Tom said, and yes, she was a little disappointed.

“I’ll need some information on you. Your family and where you went to school.”

“Very well.”

“And you need to meet my family. I thought Wednesday would be good. I can tell them we’ve been seeing each other for about a month. I don’t think I can stretch it further than that.”

“You’re a bit terrifying, you know that?” She gave him a pointed look. “Fine. Wednesday works for me, I’m sure.”

“And then we’ll move in together.”

“And then we’ll move in together.”

They looked at each other from across the table. Then Tom reached out, and they shook on it.

CHAPTER TEN

T
OM
WAITED
UNTIL
the last school bus had gone before he went into the school. Much brighter and bigger than his own high school. Smelled better, too, as there was no tire factory down the block.

“Can I help you?” asked the secretary in the front office.

“Yes, thank you. I need a word with the principal.”

“Are you a parent here?” the woman asked.

“No. But I think there may be a bullying problem with one of your students.”

She gave him a dead-eyed stare and, without looking away, picked up her phone and pushed a button. “Bullying complaint,” she said. A second later, another woman came into the office. She was short and squat with graying hair and an ill-fitting suit.

“Hey,” she said. “I know you, dude. You box at my gym.”

“Hello,” he said. “Tom Barlow.”

“Dr. Didier. Call me Ellen. I was gonna ask you to spot me the other day. I lift weights. Tournaments, stuff like that. I’m a little old to go pro at this point, but I love it. I can press about two-fifty at this point. How about you?”

“Uh, I’m not sure.”

“We should be spotting partners!” She flashed him a broad smile. “So what can I do for you? You said bullying? Come into my office.”

She certainly seemed cheerful, he had to give her that. Her office was typically crowded, and she whipped off her suit jacket, revealing massive shoulders. Flexed her biceps. “Not bad, right?”

“Very impressive,” he said. “Anyway, I’m here because I’m concerned about Charlie Kellogg.”

Dr. Didier sat down and tapped a few keys on her computer, then frowned. “I don’t see you listed here under contacts. What’s your relationship to Charlie?” she asked.

“I was engaged to his mother. She died several years ago.”

Dr. Didier gave a nod, then stretched her hands over her head, cracking her knuckles. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I won’t be able to discuss anything with you.”

“I realize that. I’m a professor over at Wickham.”

“Cool beans!”

“But I did want you to be aware of the fact that I think Charlie’s being bullied.”

Dr. Didier sighed. “So you’re still in touch with this kid?” she asked. “Even though his mom died, what...three years ago?”

“Yes.”

“And do his guardians know you’re still involved? Because when an adult not related to a child expresses an interest, you know...the bells, they go a little crazy.”

Tom blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Are you a pedophile, in other words?”

“Christ! No!”

“I’m just gonna put in a request with the police to check you out, okay? It’s routine.”

“I’m not a child molester! Besides, the police have already talked to the Kelloggs about me.” And didn’t that sound damning. “Look,” he said more calmly, “I lived with the boy and his mum. His grandparents are...distracted, and his dad is barely in the picture. I’m just trying to look after the kid.”

“And by look after, what do you mean?” Dr. Didier asked. “Because it sounds creepy, Mr. Barlow.”

Oh, now he was Mr. Barlow? He was Tom when he was going to be her weight-lifting partner. “What I mean is, I think I should report it to his fucking school when I think he’s getting roughed up!”

“All right, all right, settle down,” the principal said, holding up her hands. “I appreciate your concern, and I’d ask that you appreciate mine. You can’t be too careful these days. I will be calling Charlie’s grandparents to tell them that you came by, for the record.”

“Fine.” Great. Janice would tell Charlie, and Charlie would be furious.

But still.

“So why do you think Charlie’s been bullied?” Dr. Didier asked.

“I picked him up from a party a couple of weeks ago, and his ear was bleeding. He says he’s fine, but he’s not very talkative.”

“Did he tell you why his ear was bleeding?”

“No. He said he got it caught. It’s a piercing. Nasty thing.” Tom swallowed.

“So it could’ve been that.”

“It could’ve been, yes. It also could’ve been some prat who smacked him or yanked his earring or—”

“Look, Tom, our school has a no-tolerance policy on bullying. If it was witnessed, our students have been told since they were in kindergarten that they are not to stand for such behavior, and saying nothing is akin to bullying itself.” She rolled her eyes. “And we all know how well that works. Kids still get bullied. It’s just more subtle these days.”

“So what will you do?”

She pulled a face. “We’ll do everything we can. If you have a name, if Charlie would like to talk to a staff member or the guidance office, if anyone comes forward, or if there’s a witnessed event, we’ll aggressively investigate. We don’t tolerate bullying. But we also can’t control what those little shits do on their own time, forgive the language. And frankly, I can’t do anything with some vague complaint from a person who’s not even involved in Charlie’s custody. I’m sorry. I’ll keep an eye out, and I’ll tell the teachers to do the same thing, but that’s all I can do.”

Shit.

“Is he doing all right here?” Tom asked, unable to help himself.

She gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t discuss it.” She sighed. “Do you talk to Charlie’s grandparents?”

“Yes.” And they’d been as receptive as two fat bricks—Janice staring at his crotch, Walter nursing a drink, both of them feeling sorry for themselves for having to deal with their recalcitrant grandson.

“Wish I could do more.”

“Right. Thanks for your time, Dr. Didier,” he said, standing up and shaking her hand.

“You’re welcome. See you at the gym.” She held up a fist for a knuckle-bump, and he complied.

Walking out into the rain, Tom remembered how, back in the day, fights were held in the schoolyard or on the streets in his run-down neighborhood. At least it was out in the open and done with. Now, in this day and age, when kids seemed smarter and crueler, where half the parents didn’t pay attention or wouldn’t believe that their precious little Sam or Taylor could possibly be anything other than a perfect angel, because to admit such would be to have to spend more than ten minutes a day with the creature. No, today, bullying was a casual sport, and if a kid killed himself over it, ah, well, he must’ve been really fucked up, and little Sam or Taylor wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.

In other words, Charlie was on his own.

But he had Tom. And, whether he liked it or not, soon Charlie would have the Holland family, as well. Honor’s dossier included a niece and a nephew, the girl in high school. And, please God, that might help.

* * *

A
N
HOUR
LATER
, Tom had managed to get Charlie out of his room at the Kelloggs’ and into the car.

The kid looked like a vampire, with his dark hair and eyes, white skin and Goth clothing and general exhaustion. “You eating all right these days?” Tom asked as they drove to the lake.

Charlie grunted.

“I thought a bit of fresh air would do us both some good. We could take a hike if you want.”

“I don’t.”

Of course. “Okay, we can just sit and breathe, then.”

Tom pulled into a parking area at the edge of an abandoned train track, and they got out. He’d read about the town’s plans to develop a bike trail along here, and wouldn’t that be splendid, being able to cycle through the farmlands and forests? Across the way and up the hill a bit, he could see a red kite against the gray sky. “Look there,” he said, pointing.

Charlie barely glanced. If the kite reminded him of what they used to do together, he said nothing, and though Tom was used to such reactions these past three years, he nonetheless felt his throat tighten.

“So, Charlie, it’s been a while since your mum died. I was wondering how things are for you.”

Charlie shrugged and made a trisyllabic grunt, which Tom took to mean,
I don’t know.

“Right. Well, if you ever want to talk about things, I’m always here.”

An eye roll. Charlie looked exhausted from having to deal with the idiocy of adults; Tom half worried he was about to pass out from boredom.

“Listen, I’ve got some news.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m seeing someone.”

Charlie, who was not moving to begin with, seemed to freeze nonetheless.

“She’s really nice.”

No reaction.

“She’s looking forward to meeting you.”

And still nothing. There was maybe a quiver around his mouth.

“Her name’s Honor Holland. She’s Abby Vanderbeek’s aunt. Do you know Abby?”

No answer.

“She’s a couple years ahead of you. A junior this year.”

Nothing.

“I wanted to let you know. And it’s not like I’ll forget your mum—”

“I have homework. Can we go?” Without waiting for an answer, Charlie pushed himself up and trudged to the car, his mood as black as his clothes, a stark contrast to the dancing kite across the hill.