ordering. As your father and as the legal owner of Blue Heron.”
“So bossy. You can’t tie your shoes without me.”
“I’ve actually gotten pretty good at that,” Dad said, smiling so that his kind eyes crinkled in the corners. “Mrs. J.’s been teaching me. So here’s the deal. Your hours have been cut. You start at nine, you leave at five, or I’m dragging you out myself.”
“Right,” Honor said. “Like anyone can get a full day’s work done in that time.”
“That’s the magic of my plan,” Dad said. “You won’t get it done. You and Ned and Jessica will get it done. Now I’m going to the Old House before Mrs. J. and your grandmother get into a fight over how long to cook the potatoes, and you have to come, too.”
Honor sighed. “All right. Give me a few minutes, okay?”
Dad kissed the top of her head and left. After a minute, she went outside. It was already dark, and the stars spread across the sky in an endless, creamy sweep. The air smelled like wood smoke.
She loved Blue Heron with all her heart. It was home, and it was her pride and joy, too. In the eleven years since grad school, a lot had changed around here. When she came on board as director of sales, the vineyard was a cute, family-run business. Rather than rest on those laurels, she came up with a business plan that enhanced everything good about the place and added ten times more—prestige, visibility, recognition—all without losing the homeyness of eight generations of the Holland family farm. She’d proposed the construction of the post-and-beam tasting room and gift shop ten years ago, overhauled the labeling and brand, created a marketing campaign that brought Blue Heron’s name to the attention of every outlet that mattered, from the New York Times to Wine Spectator. Blue Heron was practically a required stop on any tour of the Finger Lakes wine region. Honor knew she had a lot to be proud of. She loved working with her family, loved—to be honest—being the one in charge of the business end. Delegating had never been her strong suit.
But she never thought she’d have to worry about aging eggs. Never really pictured living in the New House with her dad and Mrs. J. forever.
There was supposed to be more. A husband. A family of her own.
She wanted to be special to someone. She wanted a man’s face to light up when he saw her. She wanted a man to kiss her like his heart would stop if he didn’t.
Somehow, Dana had wrangled what Honor never had—Brogan’s love. In just a few weeks, no less.
How the hell had she done that?
Suddenly it seemed like the sky was pressing her down with the same paralyzing loneliness felt when her mother died, leaving her alone.
And God, she was tired of being alone. She didn’t know if the words were a prayer or an admission of defeat. She pulled her hair from the clip and ran her fingers through it, sighing in the cool night air.
You know what? She wasn’t going to Goggy’s. Instead, she went home, went up to her bathroom and took out a pair of scissors.
All her life, her hair had been the same, thick and long, hanging to the middle of her back, a dark blond with lighter streaks from the sunshine...when she was out in the sunshine, that was. It had been a while. She wore it up about half of the time, down and with a hairband at others. In fact, her hairband collection was a little ridiculous. How many did she own? Twenty? Thirty? Until now, she liked her hair, liked the old-fashioned beauty of it.
Not anymore. It was time for a change.
The snick of the scissors was oddly satisfying.
* * *
ON THE FOURTH Thursday of every month, in an effort to earn her heavenly reward, Honor volunteered at Rushing Creek, the assisted living facility at the edge of Manningsport. This Thursday, Goggy had come with her.
In the past year, Goggy and Pops had aged a little, as one would expect with people in their eighties. They were both still strong as oxen, but Goggy seemed more forgetful these days, and Honor could swear Pops limped on rainy days. Any day now, she worried, one of them might tumble down the steep, narrow staircases of the Old House, which was something of a death trap, full of the twists and turns characteristic of colonials. They didn’t use two-thirds of the rooms, and the house would never pass inspection, not with Pops having nailed the front door closed last winter “to help with the drafts.”
It was Honor’s hope that they’d willingly move to a brighter, smaller place before one of them had an accident.
“I’ll kill myself before I come to a place like this,” Goggy pronounced dramatically when she came through the doors. A resident in a wheelchair glared before zipping down the hall in speedy moral outrage. Rushing Creek was comparable to the nicest luxury apartments in Manhattan, but Goggy viewed it like a Dickensian asylum.
“Let’s try to use our inside voices, okay?” Honor said. “I love it here. I’m counting the years before I can move in.”
“I’d kill myself. Oh, hello, Mildred! How are you?”
“Hello, Elizabeth!” Mildred said. “And Honor! You cut your hair! Oh, no! Why, honey, why?”
“Thank you,” Honor said. Okay, so the haircut was a bit radical. But that had been the point. And yes, she’d gone to Corning, to a stylish, somewhat frightening place where a professional had stared in horror before shaping up her cropped hair.
Now it was no longer than the nape of her neck. Relieved of its weight, little wisps sprang up here and there, and if it was a shock, Honor told herself she’d like it eventually. Dad pretended to after his initial chest-clutching; Mrs. Johnson growled; Goggy wept; Pops, Pru and Jack had yet to notice. Faith, at least, had seemed genuinely enthusiastic, clapping her hands. “It’s so chic, Honor! And look at your cheekbones! You’re gorgeous!” Which, of course, she wasn’t, but she appreciated the support.
“So...different!” Mildred said. “Anyway, dear, congratulations on your sister getting married.”
“Thanks. Levi’s a great guy.”
“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 God 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 glasses.
