Charlaine Harris - A Fool and His Honey

Martin walked through the living room to the front door and switched on the outside light. There wasn’t a peephole, and the door was solid wood with no glass window, so he just had to open the door on trust, a habit we’d discarded. Big-city crime was drifting from Atlanta through outlying suburbs like Lawrenceton at an alarming rate.

I don’t think Martin could have looked very welcoming, but the couple on the steps didn’t seem alarmed. They were smiling in a friendly way, and they maintained their smiles even when faced with Martin’s stern expression.

I ventured out into the living room when I heard the man say, “Hi! I’m Luke Granberry, and this is my wife, Margaret. We have the farm to the south of here.”

“Martin Bartell.” My husband held out his hand and Luke shook it exactly the right amount.

“We can just barely see the farm from our house, and we noticed more lights on tonight than there have been, so we felt we ought to check it out,” Margaret said. Luke Granberry seemed to be about thirty or so, and Margaret was within five years of that, more or less, I estimated. The closer I got to her, the stronger I was willing to bet on the “more.”

Hers was the most beautiful skin I’d ever seen, pale and smooth as silk, with fine webbing at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her hair was red, flaming red, bushy and full. She wore it pulled back from her forehead with a cheap barrette. As she bent to shake my hand, I noticed she wore no jewelry besides her plain wedding ring.

“Please come in,” I said. “I’m Martin’s wife, Aurora.”

Martin stood aside to let the neighbors in. As Luke Granberry edged past Martin, I could see that our visitor was the taller and broader. He had huge shoulders and a mildly handsome face, distinguished mostly by high cheekbones that made his small brown eyes seem perpetually scanning the distance for some adventure. His dark hair and brown eyes made his wife look even paler.

“Regina told us about you,” Margaret said. “The aunt and uncle, right?”

“Yes, I’m Regina’s mother’s brother,” Martin said.

“Barby’s brother,” Luke said. He looked at Martin as if trying to see a trace of Regina in his face. “We heard a rumor that there was some problem…?” Luke spread his big hands in a gesture that seemed to imply that the Granberrys wanted to help, if only they knew how.

“Regina is missing,” I said. Unfortunately, because I didn’t know these people and so couldn’t burden them with our emotions, I sounded like Regina’s disappearance was just a little whim of hers. I was sorry the minute the words left my mouth.

“We’re sure she’ll turn up just any time,” Martin said, to give me some support. We really do care, we just have a positive attitude, his voice implied.

“Where are Craig and Rory?” Margaret asked, looking around the room as if she expected we’d stuck them in a corner.

“Please come in and have a seat,” I said, glancing anxiously at Martin. “I’m afraid we have some bad news about Craig.” I had no idea if these neighbors had known Craig well, and could not gauge how much preparation they needed for the bad news.

Since there was only the couch and one chair in the living room, seating was a pretty cut-and-dried process. The Granberrys took the couch, which I indicated with a hostessy sweep of my hand, and I perched on the edge of the chair so my feet could touch the floor, Martin standing just behind me. I looked back at Martin, but his face gave away nothing.

“Ah… Craig is dead, I’m afraid.” I gave them my most serious expression, which Martin always said looked as though I suspected I was having a heart attack.

“Oh, it’s true, he’s dead!” Margaret said. She turned to her husband, the thick red hair sweeping across her shoulders. Her white hands clutched his. “Luke!”

“I’m so sorry,” Luke Granberry said, in a slow and solemn voice that I thought would be perfect for reading Poe out loud. I hastily put a cap on that thought, since I’d actually opened my mouth to say it, and instead pursed my lips and shook my head, as if the tragedy were too horrible for words.

“So you’d already heard?” Martin asked.

“The counterman at the hardware store said he’d heard it from Hugh Harbor, yes. But we didn’t think we knew the Harbors well enough to call and ask them what the facts were. We heard Hugh is really sick… and we didn’t see Craig’s funeral announcement in the paper.”

“The body hasn’t been released by the medical examiner yet,” I said, finally managing to strike the right tone. Sober concern, that was appropriate. For the first time, I realized I was sleep deprived in a serious way. As if hearing his psychic cue, Hayden began to make noises upstairs. It was amazing how clearly his little voice came over the receiver, which I was clutching in my left hand. I’d been afraid to put it down.

I half turned to Martin, said, “I’ll check, honey,” (as though Martin had moved). I plodded up the stairs, to see the little arms and legs nailing above the edge of the bumper pads.

He wasn’t crying, so I figured he wasn’t hungry. Maybe you were supposed to hold off on the bottle until they asked for it? Since the only way for a baby to ask for a bottle was to cry, wasn’t that kind of mean? On the other hand, sticking food in their mouth every time they were awake would create a bad pattern… Gosh, there was nothing easy about this. You might as well get your answers by interpreting the pattern of chicken bones tossed under the full moon. I propped Hayden back on his side and began to pat him. To my pleasure, he went back to sleep.

While I’d been tending to Hayden, the Granberrys had been establishing common ground with Martin. I’d hoped they’d be a source of information about Regina and Craig, but I knew we’d have to let a polite conversational time lapse before questioning them. They’d been talking about the possibility of snow during the night, and I came in on the tail end of the weather discussion.

Margaret liked babies. I could tell by the way her eyes latched onto the nursery monitor as I came into the room.

“I didn’t realize you and Martin were parents,” she said slowly. “How old is your baby?”

Martin, who’d gotten a straight chair from the kitchen, looked resigned.

I said, “He isn’t ours.” After they refused a drink, I eased back into the chair, tired as I’d ever been in my life.

“You’re baby-sitting?”

“This is Regina’s baby,” Martin said.

“Regina’s baby?” If such a thing were possible, the pale Margaret, whom I was beginning to warm to, turned a shade whiter. She stared at us, stunned.

Even her next-door neighbors hadn’t known Regina was going to have a baby? My doubt that Regina had ever given birth was beginning to consume me.

“Regina’s baby?” Luke asked. He seemed just as startled as his wife. “Where on earth has it been?”

“With Regina missing and Craig dead, we had to step in,” Martin said smoothly, as I opened my mouth to tell them the whole story.

“That was the best plan,” I said, just to justify my open mouth.

Obviously, the Granberrys were curious, but too polite to ask any more questions. After some idle talk about how long we might stay, and a polite offer on our visitors’ part to help in any way they could, the Granberrys rose to leave. Margaret was holding Luke’s hand, and I thought that was sweet. I love to see people who’ve been married a while still act like lovers.

Though, I considered, she might actually need the support. Margaret was looking a little shaky.

“We didn’t know Regina was going to have a baby,” I said, kind of throwing out a line, as Luke and Martin were shaking hands.