Blue Heron: The Perfect Match Part 6

"I bet they'll have babies any day."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

Mildred gave her a conspiratorial look. "And you, dear? Anyone special for you?"

"No, not at the moment."

"Such a shame. Why are you here, then, darling? Elizabeth, are you and John thinking of moving here?"

Goggy jerked back. "Oh, my heavens, no! We're just fine in our house. I hope to G.o.d I never have to resort to this."

"Goggy." Honor sighed, then smiled at Mildred "We're showing A Walk in the Clouds today. Have you seen it? Very romantic."

"I haven't," Mildred said with a dirty look at Goggy. "The last time I saw a movie with these old people, half were gabbing through the whole thing and the other half couldn't hear. Good luck!"

Between Goggy and Mildred, Honor noted, it did seem to be a habit to want to distance oneself from the capriciousness of aging. Look at Ellington, he still pretends he doesn't need gla.s.ses. Walked into a post last week. Or, Did you hear about Leona? Alzheimer's. Thank G.o.d I'm still as sharp as a...what was I saying again?

Sort of like single women, Honor thought. Rather than admit they were all desperately seeking someone-like the cannibals chasing Viggo Mortensen in that dreadful movie she watched last night-there were all sorts of excuses. I'm getting over a long-term relations.h.i.+p was a good one. I wish I had time for a relations.h.i.+p! was another. And then the ultimate lie, If the right guy came along, maybe. But I'm happy on my own. Sure. Which was why those dating sites had half the planet registered.

No, honesty seemed frowned upon in Dating Life. Honor wondered what would happen if she said, I really thought I'd have a family by now. I'm lonely. Also a little h.o.r.n.y, and since the man I love is marrying my former best friend, I may have to invest in a superdeluxe vibrator.

"Come on," Goggy said. "Let's get this movie over with before someone comes to lock me up. They use restraints, I hear."

"Honor! How are you?" asked Cathy Kennedy, who didn't live here but came in for the movies. "Honey, Louise and I happened to be at O'Rourke's the other night. Such a surprise."

Honor's face heated in a rush. "Well, you know. It's a little quiet in the winter here. I was just trying to liven things up." Mercifully, it was time for her to get the film going.

Honor had started the Watch and Wine club a couple of years ago: show a movie that had even a little bit of wine in it and pair it with a themed tasting. For Uncorked, they'd of course had the Chateau Montelena chardonnay. Pinot noir for Sideways. A full-bodied cab for Twilight, though the combination of wine and Taylor Lautner's torso had proved too much for some, and 9-1-1 had to be called when Mrs. Griggs fainted.

The monthly gathering had almost immediately been renamed Watch and Whine, given the propensity of the viewers to discuss their most recent health issues, peppering Honor with questions, which she (and her iPad) did their best to answer. Hey. It was a hobby, and one she'd listed on Match.com. Visits the sick and imprisoned.

As Honor set up the film in the projector in the gorgeous auditorium, Goggy sat on one of the plush seats, sighing dramatically. "Just put a pillow over my face if it ever comes to this," she said.

"Goggy, you told Faith you wouldn't mind a new place," Honor said. "Remember? When she was moving into the Opera House?"

"Oh, I meant a place without your grandfather. But the old fool wouldn't last a week without me. He'd starve to death. I honestly don't know if he could find the refrigerator on his own." She paused. "It's a thought." Goggy suddenly sat bolt upright. "Speaking of miserable marriages, I found someone for you!"

Honor gave her a wary look. "Uh, that's okay, Goggy." Goggy had recently suggested she marry Bobby McIntosh "before he ended up a serial killer."

"No, he's wonderful! You should meet him. Plus, it would help you get over you-know-who. And then you could get married and give me some more great-grandchildren."

The projector's lightbulb was out. Was there another one? She opened the drawer of the AV cart. Bingo. "Just for the sake of conversation, who is this future husband of mine?"

"You remember Candace, my old friend? She moved to Philadelphia in 1955? They drove that enormous Packard?"

Honor gave her grandmother a quizzical look. "I wasn't born then, Goggy. So no, I don't remember."

"Well, before I married your idiot grandfather-"

"You make it sound so romantic."

"Hush up and listen. Before I married your idiot grandfather, I was engaged to Candace's brother. He died in the war." She gave Honor a regal, suffering look, perfected from years of practice.

"I know, Goggy. It's such a sweet, sad story."

Goggy's face softened. "Thank you. Anyway, Candace also had a sister, but she was older and stayed in England."

"Uh-huh." What this had to do with matchmaking was anyone's guess, but such was the mind of Goggy. Honor unscrewed the burned-out lightbulb with some difficulty.

"So this sister had a son, and then that son had a son, and Candace just adores him, and anyway, the boy's been living here for a few years and he needs a green card."

Honor squinted, trying to filter through the bundle of facts.

"So you should marry him. Nothing wrong with an arranged marriage."

"As in, you and Pops worked out so well?" She opened the drawer on the cart and took out a replacement bulb.

The old lady chuffed. "Please. You want to be married, or you want to be happy?"

"Both?"

Goggy snorted. "You young people. So spoiled. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with this boy. He's very nice and extremely good-looking."

Honor screwed in the new lightbulb. "Have you ever met him?"

"No. But he is."

"Seen a picture?"

"No. Charming, too."

"So you've talked to him on the phone?"

"No."

"Facebook? Email?"

"No, Honor. You know I don't believe in computers."

"Hi there, Honor," called Mr. Christian from the back of the auditorium. "Heard you were in a girl fight the other day."

"Thanks for bringing it up," Honor said. "Anyway, Goggy, it sounds like you really don't know this person at all."

"What's to know? He's British."

"That may or may not help his case. If he sounds like Prince Charles, there's no way in h.e.l.l I'll marry him. Does he have those big teeth?"

"Don't be so superficial, honey! He's a professor," Goggy added. "Electrical engineering or math or something."

An image of Honor's own math teacher in college, a damp man with onion breath, came to mind.

"So he needs a green card," Goggy said, "you're single, and you two should get married."

"Okay, first of all, sure, I'd love to get married if I met someone great and fell in love, but if that doesn't happen, I'm fine on my own." Oh, the lies. "Secondly, I don't want to get married just to check it off a list. And thirdly, I'm pretty sure marrying for a green card is illegal." She paused. "Why doesn't he just go back to England?"

"There was a tragedy." Another triumphant look from Goggy.

"What kind?"

"I don't know. Does it matter, Honor? You're thirty-five. That's when the eggs start spoiling. That's when I started menopause." Oh, snap. "Besides, if I can stay married to your grandfather for sixty-five years and not have murdered him yet, why can't you do the same with this boy?"

"How old is this person? You keep calling him a boy."

"I don't know. Anyone under sixty is a boy to me."

"So he's a math teacher and distantly related to an old friend of yours, and that's all you've got on him?"

Goggy waved to Mrs. Lunqvist. "Young people," she called. "They're so fussy!" Mrs. Lunqvist, who used to terrorize the kids in Bible study with tales of fiery devastation of Biblical cities, nodded in agreement. "So you'll meet him?"

What have you got to lose? the eggs asked, looking up from their quilting. Didn't you hear what she said about menopause?

Honor sighed. "Sure," she said.

"I just thought it'd be nice," Goggy said. "I have a soft spot for his family, that's all. You'd be surprised at how many times I think of Peter and what my life would be like if he hadn't died in World War II. Protecting freedom and saving the world. So when I heard his grandnephew was in town, all by himself, lonely, depressed, British-"

Such a prize. "You can stop now, Goggy, I just said I'll meet the guy."

"You did?"

"Yes."

Goggy smiled triumphantly.

"Don't go planning any weddings," Honor warned. "I'm just doing it to be polite." An image of a balding man with large, horselike teeth and a love of sharing math theorems popped into her head. "What's his name?"

"Tom Barlow." A completely ordinary name. Not like Brogan Cain, for example. "I told him you'd meet him tonight at O'Rourke's."

"What?"

"And put on lipstick, for heaven's sake. You're such a pretty girl. And be nice! It wouldn't kill you to smile. Oh, there's Henrietta Blanchette. I heard she got food poisoning from that slop they serve here. I'll go say hi."

Honor's mood was soft after the movie. First, the wine had been fantastic, this lovely Tempranillo with hints of strawberries, cherry jam and leather. Then the Rus.h.i.+ng Creek residents, who loved Watch and Wine and always had something nice to say (once they'd gotten their kicks out of mentioning her catfight, that was). But in general, whatever barriers seemed to exist between Honor and her peers evaporated with old people, who called her honey and dear and told her about their kidney stones and varicose veins. Also, one couldn't rule out the movie itself. Keanu Reeves, amen, sister. The kiss in that movie-the kiss, the babymaker-had she ever been kissed like that?

Er, no.

Nope, no man had ever been desperate to kiss her. No man had ever kissed her like he'd die if he didn't. No sirree. Didn't happen. Didn't seem like it was going to happen, either, not when a middle-aged British math teacher was her only prospect.

That could change. She'd update her dating website profiles. Ask Faith to help her out with things like push-up bras and flirting. Maybe some of the men she did business with were single, and maybe they'd notice her. It could happen.

It's just that no one was like Brogan.

Nope, nope. No more thoughts like that. So over him. Almost. Well, getting there. Okay, not at all, really.

As she walked through Rus.h.i.+ng Creek, she heard a familiar laugh.

Right. Dana cut hair every other Thursday at Rus.h.i.+ng Creek's salon. Honor had recommended her for the gig, actually.

The sound made Honor stop in her tracks, her stomach suddenly flooded with a cold rush of emotion. Anger, embarra.s.sment, jealousy, loneliness...

Yeah. Loneliness.

Don't let her see you.

Dana looked up and saw. "Honor!" she called. "Do you have a second?"

Fungus. Feeling her face flush, Honor nodded. She went into the salon, which, though small, was a lot nicer than House of Hair.

"Mrs. Jenkins, I just need to take out your hearing aid, okay?" Dana asked, slipping it out. "There," she said to Honor. "Now we can talk. The old bat's deaf as dirt."

An unexpected yearning swooped through Honor's chest. For five years, since Dana moved to Manningsport, they'd been friends, the type of friend Honor hadn't had since college. Hanging out, calling for no reason, commiserating over work, family, men. They'd had a lot of good times together. A lot of laughs.

Honor didn't say anything. Then again, she didn't leave, either.

"That's some haircut," Dana said. "Not bad. Where'd you get it done? Parisian's?"

Still, Honor didn't answer. They were not going to talk about hairstyles (but yes, it was Parisian's).

"Look, you gave it your best shot, Honor. Okay?" Dana went on. "He didn't love you. You're the one who said you were done with him, and he and I just ran into each other one night at O'Rourke's, and one thing led to another. It was a complete shock to us both."

"I'm actually surprised you had waited as long as you did, Dana."

Bitter Betty, table for one. But it had only been six weeks since she'd been...betrayed. No other word would do.

"Honor, I'm sorry, I really am. I know you wanted Brogan to love you, but it's not my fault he didn't."

"Could you lower your voice, please?" Honor said, her face burning.

"Oh, please. She hasn't heard anything since Clinton was president." Dana cut her a glance, her face softening. "How many times have you and I talked about just this exact thing? The guy you least expect to fall for and then boom, you've fallen. And he happened to fall for me, too. We were just chatting at the bar." She gave Honor a small, smug smile. "And all of a sudden, there was this charge in the air."

Dana was gloating. Brogan and she knew each other, of course. Sometimes, the three of them had gone out together. If there'd been any charge in the air, Honor hadn't noticed.

Dana was quiet for a minute. "I know you had a crush on him since the dawn of time."

"It was more than a crush, Dana. Don't minimize my feelings to make yourself feel less guilty."

"I don't feel guilty," she said, turning back to Mrs. Jenkins, her scissors flying in a sinister hiss. She got paid sixty-five dollars a haircut, Honor knew. Sixty-five bucks for taking a millimeter off someone's hair. "Look, I know you were surprised. But I still think you owe me an apology."

The noise that came out of Honor's mouth was somewhere between a sputter, a choke and a laugh. "An apology?"