Tawny Weber - Call To Honor

“’Kay.” He hurried to the kitchen sink, nudging the stool in with his foot and turning the water on before she could remind him of her opinion on kicking the furniture. “Chicken is way better than fish. Jeremy said his mom is making him eat something called hall butt tonight because he’s going to adventure camp.”

“Halibut.” Harper’s lips twitched and just like that, the bulk of the stress drained away. “And you hate eating fish.”

“I’d eat it if I went to adventure camp. It’d be different there, cuz I’d be catching it and all that stuff. Jeremy says they go fishing and hiking and all sorts of cool things. They even learn how to tie knots.” Nathan jumped down, not bothering to move the stool aside before hopping over to gather the dishes she’d already set out on the island. “Do you think they tell ghost stories around a campfire, too? That’d be cool. I know some good stories.”

Harper let the questions roll over her as she tried to figure out how to tell Nathan that his father was dead. Did she explain that before she told him he was going to camp? Or did she start with the camp news and let him revel for a while before she burst his happy little bubble?

“Mom?”

“Hmm?” Forcing herself to shake off the what-ifs and focus on what mattered—Nathan—Harper brought the salad to the table.

“Those are guy things, aren’t they?”

Guy things? She replayed the conversation as she handed Nathan a bowl of salad, then arched one brow.

“Are you trying to say that a woman couldn’t hike or fish or sail?” she asked, dishing up her own salad while giving her son a narrow look.

“Sure. Girls can if they want.” He stabbed a chunk of cucumber, then shot her a wicked smile. “Not you, cuz you don’t like anything that’s dirty or slimy. After we tried camping last summer, I heard you tell Andi that you’d rather eat slugs than sleep on the ground again. But I suppose some girls prob’ly like dirt and slime. It’s okay that you don’t.”

“Smart boy,” she murmured. Andi was right. She couldn’t be enough for Nathan. Not by herself, she admitted as a wave of guilt washed over her. This guilt was as familiar as her own skin. It’d come with the pregnancy hormones and never left.

“Eat your salad” was all she said.

“I met the guy who’s living at Mr. Lowenstein’s house.”

“So I saw.”

Oh, yeah. She’d seen the guy. A muscle-bound, Harley-riding guy with an intimidating stare, and most likely an IQ lower than he could bench-press. Starting on her own salad, Harper told herself to relax. She was sure he wasn’t dangerous. The Riviera Enclave was an exclusive gated community and the Lowensteins were vigilant in their screening. Added to that, the longest they ever sublet was a month. So the man might be a little intimidating, but he wasn’t likely to have any real impact on their lives.

“His name is Diego. He fixes things and secures stuff. He doesn’t got a kid, but he likes pets.” With the look of wide-eyed guile that he’d perfected, Nathan smiled at his mother. “That’s a good thing, right? In case we ever had to go on a job that’s overnight like the one you did in San Diego last summer for that music lady, there’d be someone next door to feed a pet. If we had one, I mean.”

Nicely done, Harper thought, appreciating how many creative ways he could make that pitch. While he rambled on about the care and needs of a kitten and debated the cuteness factor of gray tabbies versus orange, she pulled the warming chicken and finished fries from the oven.

“Chicken fingers?” Nathan exclaimed, pausing in his recital of possible cat names. His excitement slid into a frown as he noted the potatoes she was scooping onto the royal-blue Fiesta platter. “And fries? Why’re we having Saturday food? Isn’t today Wednesday?”

“Sure it is. But you’ll be at camp on Saturday, so we’re having Saturday food today instead.” Nathan’s jaw dropped. He gave a war whoop at the same time he shot out of his chair and launched himself into her arms.

His grateful enthusiasm was almost enough to drown out her concerns.

“You’re the best, Mom. The absolute best. Thanks. I’m gonna call Jeremy. Can I? Can I? I want to tell him so we can bunk together.”

“After dinner.” Harper held on a moment longer. Then because she knew she had to start getting used to it, she slowly let go. She scooped her fingers through the wavy mass of his hair, then tilted her head toward the table. “That way the two of you can talk as long as you like.”

That he’d still have words for later was just one of those things that always amazed her about Nathan. He’d talk through the meal about everything from camp to the LEGO project he was working on to baseball and back again. Unlike his mother, he never ran out of words. Never had to search for them.

But she was searching now. For the words, for the right way to tell him what she had to share. As he scooped his last fry through his ketchup, she still hadn’t figured it out. But like most of motherhood, she realized she’d have to figure it as she went.

“Leave the dishes for now, Nathan.” She laid her hand on his arm to keep him from jumping up from the table. “We need to talk.”

“Am I in trouble?” His face creasing, Nathan settled into his chair again.

“No, sweetie,” she rushed to say, sliding her hand down to mesh her fingers through his smaller ones.

He was growing so fast. Once, those fingers had been tiny as they’d wrapped around hers, his just-born eyes staring into her face as if she were his world. Those fingers had gripped hers as he’d taken his first teetering steps; that hand had held tight the first day of school.

She’d spent her entire life trying to protect him. To give him the best and keep him as happy as she could. Now she had to hurt him. God help her, she blamed Brandon.

Harper took a deep, shaky breath as she tried to fight back the tears clogging her throat, then gave her son a reassuring smile.

“You’re not in trouble. I just need to tell you something.”

“Something bad?” he ventured when she bit her lip, trying to gather the words she still hadn’t found.

She wanted to assure him that it wasn’t bad. She wanted to continue ignoring Brandon’s existence. His death shouldn’t change that.

Except that she couldn’t. And it did.

Once again, Brandon had managed to turn her entire world upside down, and once again, he hadn’t stuck around to watch the fallout.

CHAPTER FIVE

SO THIS MUST be what it felt like to get run over by a truck.

A very large, dirty truck overloaded with painful regrets and parental guilt.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, head resting in her hands, Harper used her fingers to try to massage away the pain throbbing a tango on her scalp.

He’d taken the news well.

Too well.

She’d told him that the man who’d fathered him was dead, and Nathan had simply nodded. He hadn’t asked any questions. He hadn’t been interested in Brandon’s heroics as a SEAL, or why he’d never been around. He didn’t care what was in the box of effects sent to him by the person who claimed to be Brandon’s best friend. The first time he’d shown any emotion was when she’d suggested he might want the glass-fronted rosewood case of medals to keep in his room, and that’d been to throw the case back into the packing box with a scowl.

Before she could ask if he wanted to talk about it, or if he had any questions, he’d demanded to know if they were done yet so he could call Jeremy.

Harper hadn’t known what else to do other than wave him toward the phone. Maybe he was just too excited about camp to focus on the other. Or maybe he simply didn’t care.