chapter Four
Honey sprayed the top of the counter with disinfectant and washed it down, then looked at the clock. It had just gone five, so she walked across to the front door and placed the closed sign on its stand in the doorway, then went through into the kitchen to find her father.
“Where’s Dad?” she asked the twins, who were finishing off a batch of pies ready for the next day.
“In the yard.” Missy stamped small triangles out of pastry to mark the batch of pies she’d finished as steak and cheese.
Honey hesitated. “Is he okay?”
The both glanced up at her. They weren’t identical and although both slim and pretty, they were very different to look at. Missy had blonde hair and favoured floor-length skirts and pretty blouses. Belle had pinned her brown hair in a tight bun and wore jeans and sporty T-shirts and sneakers. Nevertheless, both their expressions reflected Honey’s concern.
“He’s been quiet,” Belle said. “But I guess that’s not surprising.” She smiled at her sister. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Honey hung her apron on the hook behind the door. “Out there I thought I saw…” Her voice trailed off. Belle looked interested but Missy had raised an eyebrow, and she reminded herself of Missy’s vehement declaration on the day after their mother passed away that when you died that was it—lights out. Most of her sisters and her father found it comforting to believe they were going to see Marama again one day, but Missy had refused to entertain any notion of an afterlife. It had been how she’d dealt with her mother’s death, and Honey supposed she couldn’t blame her for that, even if she wished her sister would be a little less…vocal about her beliefs.
Honey smiled. “Nothing.” She walked toward the back door to the yard.
“Aroha’s out there with him,” Belle called.
“Okay.” Honey pushed open the door and stepped out.
Her hand still on the handle, she paused. Her father stood by the door on the opposite side of the yard, obviously in the process of saying goodbye to the woman who supplied the café with wine. They stood close together, a little closer together than was natural for two people who didn’t know each other very well.
Cam Summers was a fine figure of a man, Honey thought, knowing she was biased but able to view him as other women might see him, even though he was her father. Tall—six three in his bare feet—his light brown hair now edged with grey, he had strong features and eyes the colour of a stormy sky that creased at the outer edges with a dozen laughter lines. He wasn’t laughing now, though, his head down and his hands on his hips, and Honey could see from across the yard that he was trying to hold in his emotion.
The woman standing in front of him rested a hand on his arm. Aroha’s forehead creased with concern as she rubbed his arm and whispered something Honey couldn’t hear.
Honey brought her hand up to her mouth, breathless with emotion, feeling like an intruder to this personal, intimate moment of affection between her father and the vineyard owner. Clearly, Aroha was attempting to comfort Cam during a moment of grief just as any friend would do to another. And there was nothing too forward about Aroha’s gesture—she didn’t take him in her arms, or kiss him, or reach up to stroke his hair.
And yet still the look on her face made Honey’s stomach swirl. Aroha liked him, and not just as one friend likes another friend.
Honey had known the two of them got on well, and she liked Aroha, thought her fun and pleasant to be with, and she respected how hard she worked on the vineyard. But still, Honey hadn’t expected to discover this. And on the anniversary of her mother’s death, of all days.
Did Cam return Aroha’s affection? He showed no sign of it at that moment, obviously too full of his grief to think about anything else. But the way he didn’t pull away from Aroha’s touch told Honey it wasn’t unwelcome.
She bit her lip. Her mother had been gone a year. To Honey it seemed like nothing. The grief felt as raw as it had the day in the hospital when Marama slipped away, slowly and gently as a leaf in a stream. The thought of her father loving anyone else caused a lump to form in Honey’s chest, and her throat tightened and she held her breath until she went dizzy. Her hands clenched at the notion of another person thinking she could take the place of the woman who had been the centre of their family.
And yet, it must feel like an eternity for her father. 365 days alone. He was a relatively young man, only forty-eight—it was no age to think about being celibate for the rest of his life. She knew Dex had found it incredibly difficult to go without sex for six months, and Cam wouldn’t only be missing the sex. He must be missing the other things that made it so special about being with the one you love—the cuddles, being able to discuss worries and fears with another person, just knowing you’re not alone. Was it so incredible to think he might eventually want to share his life with someone else?
Without looking up, Cam nodded at Aroha’s whispered words and rubbed his nose before returning his hand to his hip. She gave a small smile, touched his arm once more and then slipped out of the gate.
Honey hesitated, not wanting him to think she’d been spying on him, but not wanting to leave him if he was upset, either. At that moment, he looked up and glanced across to the building to see her standing there. She paused, unsure whether to turn away, but then he smiled and held a hand out to her, and she walked over and put her arms around him.
He hugged her tightly. “Hey, sweetie.”
“I wasn’t spying on you,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Are you okay?”
He nodded and kissed the top of her hair. “You?”
“Yeah. Dex is taking me to the cinema.”
“Nice. He’s a good boy.”
She stifled a chuckle, thinking that her fiancé wouldn’t appreciate being called a boy, but she’d always be her father’s little girl, and Cam wasn’t going to change his ways now.
They stood there like that for a minute, content in the warm sunshine to hold each other, she resting her cheek on his chest and listening to the steady thud of his heart, he with one arm tight around her, the other stroking her hair.
“Aroha’s nice,” she said eventually.
“Mm.” He sounded distracted.
“She’s very pretty.”
He drew back at that and studied her, frowning. “We were just talking.”
“I know.”
“I’d been thinking a lot about your mother, and Aroha asked me how I was and I…well, got a bit upset.” He rubbed his nose again. “She told me how lovely it was that I missed your mother so much. That I was lucky for having had a relationship like that.”
Guilt swept over Honey. She’d assumed Aroha had been trying to make a move on her father, and that had been unfair. “That was a nice thing to say.”
“It was.” He cleared his throat and met her gaze. “Nobody can replace your mother, Honey.”
Her throat tightened. “Aw, Dad…”
“She was everything to me. My whole world.”
Her lips trembled. “I know.”
“I don’t want you thinking… I would never…”
She buried her face in his neck. Her voice, when she spoke, was nearly a squeak. “I didn’t realise this would be so hard.”
“It’ll get easier,” he said hoarsely. “At least that’s what they say. I can’t see it myself.”
“I don’t want you to be unhappy, Dad.”
His arm tightened around her. “Aroha and I, we haven’t… I wouldn’t do that to you all. I couldn’t, understand? I miss your mother too much. Sometimes I think I’m going to die from missing her.” He stood, rigid with held-back emotion.
“Me too.” She wanted to wail, to throw herself in his arms as if she were six years old again, but the grief coming from him in waves made her hold back, and she bit her lip hard so she wouldn’t cry.
She’d lost a mother, which was bad enough, but while they were alive Cam and Marama Summers had been inseparable. Their relationship had been tempestuous at times, and once Marama had even walked out on him and driven from their home in their only car to a friend’s house on the coast, prompting him to walk ten long miles in freezing November rain to apologise to her and fetch her back. Honey could still remember the day when they came home—the fierceness in Cam’s eyes as he promised he’d always treat her like a queen so she’d never do that to him again.
It hadn’t worked of course—they’d argued frequently, usually, Honey thought, so they could have the fun of making up. They’d loved passionately, had seven children, and when Marama had died, part of Cam had died too. He was a shell, a hollow man, an echo of the vibrant spirit he used to be. And suddenly Honey wished with all her heart that he’d find someone else to fill his life again.