Hummingbird Dreams: A Second Chance at Love (Harper's Mill Book 1) Page 3

  She reached under her bed and pulled out the stuffed bunny she had kept since childhood. She had to hide it now – she had already found it in the garbage three times. She brushed her fingers against the last of Carrot’s white velveteen ears and it brought her peace.

  Her library book sat on her bedside table, silently mocking her. She hesitated before picking it up. Would she even be in school when the summer reading was due? She sighed and opened the pages, hoping for the best.

  The familiar words of Jane Austen comforted her, like a security blanket after a fierce storm. The soothing cadence and the predetermined ending reassured her that after all the problems the Dashwoods went through, happiness and true love waited for them.

  After re-reading her favorite parts and imagining the solid goodness of the honorable Colonel Brandon, she ran the water as hot as she could stand in the adjourning bathroom before taking a shower. She sank to the floor and let the tears flow. She could do this. She would do this. She just needed a little bit of help.

  ***

  As July turned into August, Honor was aware of her once flat belly developing a decidedly firm little bump. Emma assured her no one else would notice but Honor felt her jeans getting tighter. Even her breasts seemed to grow with each passing day. What would she look like by the time school started back up?

  Honor was miserable, starving for sweets every second of the day, and unable to concentrate on even the simplest of tasks around the house. Was this what Spencer went through? Was this part of the Sugar Sight? Craving and wanting and needing dessert? How the hell did he stand it?

  Steve joined her mother’s unrelenting voice, urging abortion before it was “too late”. Didn’t they realize it was already “too late” because her mind was made up?

  Honor added a new trait to the Simpson men. Maybe one that Emma wasn’t fully aware of. There was an oily meanness – a menace that existed in the men in the family. A dark touch that simultaneously enthralled and repelled all women who came near them.

  Confirmed bachelors, each Simpson male wooed a woman long enough to produce a son and then reject the woman. Where those women went remained a mystery that not even Emma knew the answer to.

  To have that seeping evil now notice her had the power to turn Honor’s already perpetually queasy stomach.

  The other day she swore Steve was tempted to push her down the stairs. Honor knew it was silly. Ridiculous, in fact, but her instincts warned her that there had been something evil in his eyes.

  Even worse, last night, Steve had tried to enter her bedroom. Honor had stared at the turning knob, heart lodged firmly in her throat. What was he doing? Her mom was there, calling to him and Honor heard them go back to their own room, leaving her alone.

  Was he going to… rape her? Honor’s hands shook as she considered the implications. Nausea clung to her as she realized she doubted whether her mom would even believe her. She rose quickly, locked the door and pushed her desk chair in front of it. It may not stop him, but it would at least wake her up so she wouldn’t be surprised.

  That was how twisted the whole situation had become.

  The weeks of August slipped past and Spencer hadn’t responded to her post card request for a phone call. She knew he was busy. Knew the Navy kept him running from before dawn until after dark, but there had to be some time, right?

  With a heavy heart, Honor pulled out the dog eared copy of Harper Mill’s phone book and made the phone call she dreaded. She couldn’t remain in this town, pregnant with Simon Spencer’s child, listening to her mother’s threats. She couldn’t risk Steve’s weird bullying or even the possible threat he posed to her physically. She needed out.

  But first, she had a message to send and sweets to eat to satisfy the insane cravings.

  Her mother and Steve were both at work and she had the morning to herself. She pulled out the rusted tin of recipe cards handed down by multiple generations of Thompson women. With reverent fingers, she stroked each one, looking for the right recipe. One that would transmit her feelings and satisfy her cravings.

  There! That one, she decided.

  Biting back a sob, she pulled out flour, butter, sugar, and some almonds she had picked up at the Market. She opened the window over the sink and began to bake her grandmother’s German Butterkuchen. Or, as Mutti often called it, her “joy and sorrow cake”.

  Her joy with her pregnancy – bringing a little baby Spencer into the world was joined by her sorrow at the timing. She was only a rising senior and Spence was a world away in boot camp. The love she once shared with Spence mitigated by the sorrow of their distance. His decision to push her out of his life.

  The love she had for her mom chipped away by their irreconcilable opinions on the topic of the baby.

  She opened another window letting the scent and flavors escape into the late summer wind. Did it work like a carrier pigeon, bringing news? Or like a cartoon image of a Native American sending a smoke signal?

  However it worked, she sobbed, knowing Spencer would receive this message as clearly as a clarion bell. She let him go with a full heart and hope that one day, they would come back to each other.

  But her broken heart didn’t count on it.

  Chapter Three

  Recruit Training Command

  Week 2

  Great Lakes, IL

  If hell existed, it would be boot camp. The devil invented squats, he was sure of it.

  He hated them. He’d never admit it, of course. The Navy was watching, looking for a sign of weakness. So, fuck, yeah, bring those motherfuckers on!

  He never had much of an opinion about squats before. He’d done them in gym class, sure. Coach liked to throw a few at them during soccer season.

  But after two weeks of PT, he decided it was a tie. Squats vs. planking. But those extended count push-ups were a grind, too.

  Fuck. Maybe the devil had invented them all.

  Maybe the devil had invented boot camp, he thought with a tired grin. Maybe, instead of flying into Great Lakes, Illinois, Spence had really wound up crossing paths with Hades. He was currently stewing in some stygian pit and he’d never get out.

  A hint of a smile played around his lips at his own dark humor. He was sore. Tired. Aching. But each moment was building him up to being the Sailor he wanted to become.

  For the first time in his life, he was alone. He was stupidly ridiculously homesick but was sucking it up. The Navy didn’t need sailors who missed their moms.

  Was he silently counting down the eight weeks of Boot Camp? Hell yes. Would he admit it? Hell no. But he suspected they were all in the same ship on their desire to be home.

  As much as his heart strings pulled him back to New Jersey, he felt free for the first time in his entire life. There was something oddly humbling and simultaneously freeing about no longer being a medium sized fish in a tiny pond. He was the first son of a Spencer, one of the Old Families, and he was chronically aware that people watched him grow up.

  He pushed himself to exceed at everything so those watchful, judging eyes never found fault. No new negative story would be added to the Spencer lore on account of him.

  Being here – he was just another dumb eighteen year old wearing a Navy Working Uniform. No one knew about his Sugar Sight. No one noticed his ability to zero in and find the biggest slice of cake during Mess.

  If he was honest, part of him missed the notoriety. But for the most part, life was easier being anonymous.

  Once he was declared Fit for Duty, the petty officers kept recruits so busy, there was no time to think, or breathe, or feel. Running. PT. Marching. Intensive Training Days with those fucking mountain climbers. Lectures on the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Rate and Rank recognition.

  His head was full of new knowledge but he was eager for more. This was where he belonged.

  He missed Harper’s Mill, his mom’s baking, and his friends. He reached for his Bible and the small picture of Honor tucked in the Gospel of Luke. He traced his fingers alo
ng Honor’s high school photo, admiring the smooth line of her cheeks, her soft pink lips and her bright bubbly smile. He missed her, most of all.

  But after the lecture with his dad, he’d broken up with her and in the process broke both of their hearts. Dumped her the day after she gave him her virginity. If that didn’t make him the lowest scum of the earth, he wasn’t sure what would.

  And on top of that huge lie, he told a second one.

  He had looked his girl in the eye and told her he was going back to Mandy. Probably told her a bunch of other stupid shit, too, but the pain in her hazel eyes had stripped him bare. Words came out of his mouth as he tried to fill in the ragged edges of his soul.

  He fingered the postcard she had sent him a while back with the words “I need to talk to you. Call me!!” written in her delicate, careful script. It, too, was tucked into the Bible.

  He hadn’t, of course. He wouldn’t. What was there to say, really? And if he’d talked to her, heard her voice, he’d have broken down and begged her for forgiveness for the rest of his life. A forgiveness he didn’t expect her to offer or to ever feel he would deserve.

  His dad had been adamant. Spencer men love only once and Honor was a short term resident. Once Simpson realized he wasn’t going to get a son out of Honor’s mom, he would kick the two of them out. And then where would he be? What if she found out about his Sugar Sight and reported it to some tabloid? Or if people found out and made the family a laughing stock.

  Spence hadn’t really seen the problem. He was sure the entire town knew, anyway. He was practically related to everyone he went to school with.

  What would some tabloid want with that information? A candy company might be interested in him, but that was a different case. And his dad already worked for one of the biggest chocolate companies in New Jersey. It wasn’t like he could sniff out bombs or cure cancer. The government couldn’t use him as either a weapon or a shield.

  He saw sugar, that’s it.

  Shame hit him at his weakness in the face of his father’s censure. He hadn’t told his dad that Honor knew about his Sugar Sight. That he believed her when she said she would keep his secret – he still believed it. At the time, it didn’t seem worth the argument.

  He also hadn’t been able to tell his dad that it was already too late. He was in love. Hopelessly, completely, truly in love with Honor Rose Thompson, known affectionately to her friends as Honor.

  He knew it as deeply as he knew his name and what his mother was making for dessert that night. Brownies. His stupid little brother was going to get mom’s homemade brownies tonight and he was stuck eating fruit cocktail. Out of a can!

  ***

  Recruit Training Command

  Week 4

  Great Lakes, IL

  He knew, now, why they called it Hell Week. He couldn’t imagine actual purgatory was worse than where he was right now.

  His division had scored enough hits to keep them doing Intensive Training until Lucifer’s domain froze over. More squats? Bring ‘em on. Jumping Jacks? Fuck, yeah. He now almost could sleep in plank position.

  All that in addition to their regular work. Small Arms Marksmanship Training. Live Fire Training. More running.

  Was he ever going to sleep eight hours in a row again? He’d be happy with six. Four.

  He was exhausted. Drained. His head was full. His soul drained. He was torn down and the space that once occupied Simon Spencer, Jr. the Navy had rebuilt into a sailor.

  He could do it, he reminded himself. He was doing this. This was what he worked for. Planned for. There were only a few more weeks to graduation. He could take it. He had this and no one and nothing was going to trip him up.

  He thought briefly about the postcard Honor sent him, regretting his continued silence. He’d sort it out later, he decided. What else could he do?

  He crammed that memory into a back pocket and kept moving forward. An awareness tickled his mind that memories didn’t really work like that. You can refuse to wave at them and talk to them when they showed up, but they were still there. Lurking in the corner of your mind. Waiting.

  He closed his eyes and freed his mind for his run. He couldn’t do anything about it, now, anyway.

  The gentle waft of butter and sugar and sorrow hit him like a blow to the solar plexus along with a delicate sprinkling of rainbow colored sugar dust. His Honor was baking. He inhaled, seeking the recipe and the message. He still hadn’t called her. Was too exhausted and really, couldn’t figure out what to say, anyway. He sniffed again as his memory and gift overrode his fatigue - a Joy and Sorrow cake.

  He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t resolve this. Not now. He pushed through the emotion. Remain focused and so, he closed up a part of himself. His resolve grew tighter. Stronger. He shook his head letting his negative thoughts flee to the wind. He couldn’t do it. Refused to face it. This wasn’t the time.

  After running, it was time to practice for drill inspection.

  “Hey, Pie Man,” David Nguyen called as he approached his bunk. Spence grimaced. He’d earned the nickname when David found out his mother owned a bakery. “Get anymore care packages from home?”

  Spence shook his head. “Nothing lately and you cleaned me out of cookies last time.”

  “Aww, lookit what we have here, boys. Spencer and Win-a-baygo getting all cozy with each other.”

  Spence rolled his eyes. Dan Franklin was the asshat you would have ignored in school, Spence decided after his first meeting the fellow recruit. Six and a half days a week they ran their asses off, but somehow Franklin and his crew found the energy to give him and David a hard time.

  “Impressive wit,” Nuge said. “What, am I the first Vietnamese you redneck boys have ever met?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, Nuge,” Spence said. “They’re recruits. Same as us,” he said pointedly. “Ready for drill inspection?”

  ***

  Harper’s Mill, NJ

  September

  “Everything will be okay,” Honor whispered to herself. It had become her mantra lately but she was quickly losing hope that everything would actually be okay.

  She rubbed the firm bump of her abdomen, imbuing her unborn little jelly bean with hope. If she said it long enough and often enough, maybe it will come true, she decided.

  Emma looked unconvinced and her eyes had the decided normal look that said she was receiving no premonitions. “Are you sure?”

  Honor shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice low and hoarse. “But I have to believe it, anyway.”

  “You’re making a lifelong decision based on Spencer being away for only eight weeks,” Emma said, reasonably. “Four by now. He’ll be out of boot camp long before there’s even a baby to worry about.”

  “He doesn’t want me,” Honor reminded her, her voice catching. She was broken. At the end. Her little bump was prominent now and could no longer be hidden under a collection of big shirts. “He broke up with me.”

  “But he didn’t know about the baby,” Emma said.

  “I want him to love me. Not just our baby.”

  “Sometimes, we don’t get what we want,” Emma said softly. Her hand held Honor’s cold one, trying to soften the harsh words.

  “I know. And I’d be okay with that, with him just being here for the baby and not me. But he didn’t call and hasn’t written and I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

  Emma held her friend and listened to the litany of betrayals by the people who should have loved her. “So, what are the options without Spence in the picture?”

  “I went by St. Rocco’s Church this week,” she said, thumbing the business card for the Catholic Charities social worker she had found in the narthex. “I cry every time I think about giving my baby up for adoption. But how am I going to finish high school and get a job as a pregnant teenager? I can’t stay at mom and Steve’s anymore.” She didn’t dare tell Emma that she’d had to start locking the door against Steve when she slept.

  How
had her mom wound up with such a creeper? This is what her mother referred to as a good man? Ugh.

  “No, definitely not,” Emma decided. “I’ll talk to mom. Maybe you can stay here. And call Ruthanne. She’ll help you.”

  “Will she? Or will she want to protect her son from charges of rape?”

  “Your mom was bluffing, Honor. You know that, don’t you?”

  “But what if she wasn’t? Is that a risk I’m prepared to take for Spence?”

  “Don’t you think that’s his decision to make? After all, he did choose to have sex with you, right? I mean, you didn’t slip him something in his drink and take advantage, did you?”

  The corners of Honor’s lips quirked. “No. We were both willing.”

  “Okay. So go home. Pack a bag and head over here for tonight. We’ll talk to Mom and go from there. Okay?”

  Chapter Four

  “You cannot give the first Spencer son up for adoption,” Ruthanne said with quiet determination. “You will not give any Spencer child up for adoption,” she amended.

  “Do you think I want this?” Honor asked. “I’m fighting for my life here and I don’t have many options, Ruthanne.” Throw me a life preserver, she thought.

  “You cannot risk exposing a child with sugar sight to the world. Spence was out of control as a toddler, eating junk food until he had belly aches every night. It takes a firm hand to balance between letting them indulge their sugar and letting them groan it out with an upset stomach.” Her eyes flared with intensity. “There’s a higher risk of diabetes that goes hand and hand with this gift, as well. Are you prepared for that?”

  I would be with your help, Honor thought. But she kept her mouth closed and head bowed in submission. Anger coursed through her veins. Yes, she and Spence made a baby before marriage. But she knew he would support her when he found out but everyone that should be helping them – their respective parents – were intent on separating them and taking the baby away.

  A baby was a gift. Why was this baby that much of a mistake?