Travis by Mia Sheridan

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

Travis

 

The door swung open, revealing Haven in a blue sundress and white slip-on sandals, her hair pulled into a braid that trailed over her shoulder.

She looked young and fresh and so beautiful my breath stalled.

Had I really wondered if this girl was pretty?

She was no prom queen, true. She was more timeless than that. Botticelli. Aphrodite. Helen of Troy, sprang to mind.

I was almost confused, as though she might have pulled something over on me, and I didn’t know what or how, only that my first impression had been wildly off target.

I smiled. “Ready?”

Outside, she climbed into my truck and I turned out of the parking lot onto the road that led to the fairgrounds where the festival was being held.

The morning was bright and sunny, flickers of light dancing on the lake, not a cloud in the clear blue sky.

And a pretty friend in a sundress that showed off her slim tanned legs, and her smooth shoulders, sitting next to me, her hands grasped in her lap.

I cleared my throat. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’re a vegan?” I did my level best to infuse the word with the same horrified contempt with which I might utter the charge of devil worshipper.

I was rewarded with Haven’s laugh, a side-eye, and a curl falling loose and bouncing against the side of her neck. “You’re almost right. I’m not a vegan, but I am a vegetarian.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well a—”

“Never mind.” I waved my hand around. “It pains me to discuss the subject in too much detail. My point in bringing it up is to let you know that, despite the topic of the festival, there are very few fruits, vegetables, or plant items available for a festival-goers consumption. Unless the fruit is drowned in sugar. Think pies. Jams. Tarts. Muffins. Pastries of all kinds. And BBQ. Lots of BBQ.”

She didn’t look my way but I held back a laugh as I still saw her roll her eyes, even from the side. “Don’t worry about me. I’m sure I can find a pine cone to gnaw on.”

I laughed.

Families strolled toward the entrance to the festival, the parking lot already filled with cars when we arrived. I pulled into a spot and inhaled the—according to me anyway—delicious smells of grilled meat and sweet desserts.

There was something almost . . . old-fashioned about the blueberry festival. It spoke of simple pleasures: good food, family bonding, and the wholesomeness of a town gathering for no other purpose than to celebrate their shared community. I lingered on the feeling. It was the small-town police officer in me—the cop who considered all of these people, his. The part of me that found joy in simplicity.

It spoke of my dad.

“You look like you just realized something immense,” Haven said, eyeing me sideways, a gentle smile curving her lips.

Immense. This was who my dad had been. This, right here.

Sometimes I forgot who he really was, at heart, because I was so wrapped up in the hurt surrounding his departure. And maybe, because I’d forgotten whole aspects of who he’d been, I often overlooked or dismissed those same facets in myself. “Maybe I did,” I said, not offering more. But she looked away, accepting my vague answer.

The sun was warm on my shoulders and I had the strange urge to grab her hand, but reminded myself we were only friends, and friends didn’t hold hands. God, I wanted to, though. My palm itched to reach out for hers, to revel in one of those simple pleasures: the warmth of a pretty girl’s hand in mine.

To remember why those songs had been written, ones like the piece we’d danced to at the Buchanans’ home. To remember why I’d kissed her and why I didn’t want to stop. Damn the reasons why maybe I shouldn’t. The ones that sounded all-too-valid in my mind but somehow weren’t.

“Uncle Travis!” Two dark-haired boys shot toward us, Bree and Archer watching from a picnic table as they ran in our direction.

“Are you ready for these two?” I murmured to Haven.

“I . . . I think so?” she said, giving me a wide-eyed look.

Connor arrived first and I scooped him up in one arm, with Charlie fast on his heels. I scooped him up as well, taking the few steps to where Archer and Bree sat.

“Uncle Travis!” Connor said, breathlessly. “I learned about living orgasms at camp today!” Archer choked on the sip of water he’d just taken.

“Are there other sorts of—” I began to question curiously before the fact that my nephew was six occurred to me.

“It’s pronounced organisms, Connor,” Bree intervened calmly, spooning something into Averie’s mouth where she sat in the stroller parked next to the table. She smiled at Haven. “Hi, I’m Bree, and this is my husband, Archer.”

“Hi, I’m Haven,” she said shyly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Uncle Travis!” Charlie leaned in as if to whisper but then said loudly, “Averie farts when she sneezes.”

Both Connor and Charlie clutched their stomachs, peals of laughter ringing out.

I leaned in toward Charlie who’d gotten control of himself. “It’s not gentlemanly to discuss a woman’s bodily functions. You should pretend not to notice.”

Charlie went serious as he appeared to mull that over. “But it’s loud!” he finally explained.

I looked over at Haven, who was very obviously trying not to laugh, and lost my own battle.

Bree shook her head in exasperation. “Boys, I’m sure Uncle Travis wants to get something cold to drink. Come finish your hotdogs.”

I set both boys down and Connor glanced at Haven, going up on his tiptoes in front of me. I leaned down to hear his sure-to-be loud “whisper.” “Uncle Travis, what happened to that other girlfriend?”

Haven glanced away, obviously slightly embarrassed, and pretending she hadn’t heard. “Well, buddy, I broke up with that girlfriend, but Haven here is just my friend.”

Connor glanced at her. “Ohhh,” he said. “Do you like bugs?” he asked Haven, very seriously. “That other lady didn’t like bugs at all.” I almost laughed as I recalled Phoebe practically jumping out of her skin, emitting a high-pitched shriek, when Connor tried to place a ladybug on her arm. A gesture he’d meant as affectionate and welcoming, and one she’d responded to as domestic terrorism. They mostly steered clear of her after that, not that I brought her along with me very often when I spent time with the twins. It seemed to be her preference. And mine.

But Haven’s face filled with surprised happiness, eyes widening with pleasure. “I love bugs!” Ah, here my nephews were on common ground with a woman. The bug enthusiasts and the plant lady. A match made in heaven. Or the garden of Eden, or whatever paradise welcomed both plants and bugs.

She bent forward, putting her hands on her knees, both going down to their level, and getting closer. Archer’s mother, Alyssa, had spoken to me that way. A sudden picture of her in front of me filled my mind. Clear. Sharp. My gaze flew to Archer’s and he peered at me, his expression registering confusion and mild concern about whatever he’d seen on my face. I relaxed my features, looking away. “One of my favorite bugs is the pirate bug,” Haven was saying. “It eats bad insects and keeps plants healthy.”

Their identical golden-brown eyes grew wide. “Pirate bug!” Charlie repeated gleefully. “Ladybugs eat bad bugs too!” he said. “My mom says they’re good luck but I shouldn’t put them on Uncle Travis’s girlfriends.” He looked down, grinding his toe into the dirt, perhaps recalling the piercing rebuke he’d received to his gift.

“Well I’m not Travis’s girlfriend,” she said, giving me a quick glance, “but I’d like it very much if you gave me a ladybug. I’d call her Bitsy, and make her a home in the ivy on my windowsill. Every night, before turning out the light, I’d say, goodnight, Bitsy. Sleep tight in your bed of ivy.”

They stared at her in utter, awestruck delight.

“Another favorite bug of mine is the dragonfly,” she went on, cementing their everlasting devotion. “They devour mosquitos and all kinds of other pests. Just suck them right up for dinner like a spaghetti noodle!”

“Hurray!” Charlie shouted while Connor made a slurping sound filled with as much saliva as glee.

Haven laughed, standing straight, her eyes dancing with happiness. For a moment, I couldn’t look away. The sun seemed to have grown several degrees hotter, even though we were standing in the shade, somehow warming my insides as well as my skin.

Haven looked off behind me, waving. “Oh! There’s Betty and the rest of the crew just setting up a picnic table,” she said, placing her hand on my arm. “I’m going to go say hi and see if I can get anything for them.” She turned to Bree and Archer. “It was so nice to meet you.”

They smiled at her warmly. “You too, Haven,” Bree said. “I hope to see you again soon.”

Her smile grew as she looked at the twins. “Me too,” she said. “Goodbye, fellow bug lovers.”

“Goodbye!” they said. “Uncle Travis! Will you take us to get an ice cream? Our daddy has to make a speech.”

“I’ll be back shortly,” Haven said to me.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’ll be waiting.” Our eyes lingered for a moment and then she turned, heading toward the place where our crew was setting up.

“Uncle Travis! Ice cream! Ice cream!” Charlie reminded me exuberantly.

Bree kissed Archer and he turned to leave, giving me a chin tilt. “Good luck,” I said. I knew he didn’t need it. He had made hundreds of speeches to the community members at this point, and there wasn’t a lot of pressure involved in waxing poetic about the history of the town festival, and the significance of blueberries.

“Is ice cream okay with your mom?” I asked. The twins both looked over their shoulders, and shot nervous glances at their half-eaten hotdogs and then at their mother.

Bree put her hands on her hips, making them suffer for a moment before she looked at me, smiled, and said, “Sure.”

“Hurray!” they both cheered, taking my hands.

After the ice cream and the short welcome speech, thanking people for coming to the festival that had been going on for more than two centuries, Archer took his boys in hand and I made my way back to the picnic tables. Disappointment descended when I saw that the table where Haven had gone to greet the crew was empty. I pictured them off playing ring toss, blind Burt’s shots going wild and knocking over small children, or getting smashed on cheap beer and smuggled-in hooch, or some other such nonsense, and felt strangely glum that I wasn’t there with those ridiculous fools.

Bree was sitting on a blanket near their table, the stroller parked next to her, and I wandered her way, sitting down, stretching my legs out in front of me, and leaning back on my hands.

Bree peeked under the blanket draping the stroller, where Averie had apparently fallen asleep. An electric fan, clipped to the side and making a soft whirring sound, was keeping her cool as she napped. “Beautiful day,” I said, scanning the laughing, strolling people in the near distance, moving from one booth to another, my eyes peeled for a walking stick or a halo of blonde hair or maybe a pair of overly large overalls. But mostly, looking for a head of chestnut curls, mostly constrained into a braid. Archer stood nearby, his hands moving briskly in the air in front of him, turned away so I couldn’t see exactly what he was saying to the couple he was speaking with. Whatever it was, he was making them laugh, the woman’s hands rising in response, though her husband spoke with his voice. The twins ran around Archer’s legs, playing tag as their father simultaneously—and expertly, it had to be said—used his hands both to speak and keep his energetic duo under control with a gentle pat here and an arm block there.

I had a vision of him as the quiet recluse he’d once been, shoulders drawn in, shaggy head down, utterly alone and ignored, walking down the streets of Pelion, and a sharp pang of regret burned through my gut.

I’d been one of the people doing the ignoring.

That burn intensified.

What’s wrong with you?

What’s wrong with you?

“Hmm?” Bree asked, bringing me back to the present, her eyes glued to her husband, that soft, gooey look she still wore on her face all these years later when she watched Archer interacting with others. Or fathering their children. Or breathing air. Just existing.

“Hmm what?”

She glanced at me, a worried frown replacing the look of love she’d just worn. “You just mumbled something.”

Had I said it out loud? I gave my head a small shake. The memory had been so shockingly strong, I’d zoned out for a minute there. “I said, what’s wrong with you,” I answered. “It’s what my father said to me the day before he left.” I paused. Haven had said the same thing to me at Gage’s party after the possum incident and it’d suddenly come back to me, the hurt of those words. I could feel Bree’s gaze on the side of my face as I continued to stare—blindly now—into the crowd, my mind cast back . . . back. “My father always seemed so concerned about Archer, gave him all this attention. I was jealous.” Another pause. It hurt to say this out loud. It felt good to say it out loud.

“You were seven, Travis,” she said gently.

“I didn’t want to share my dad. He was the only parent that felt stable, the one who didn’t confuse me. I didn’t want to be second best,” I murmured. Even before my mother had given me those words, I’d felt it. I’d known my father’s heart was split between the two of us. And why should it be? He was my dad. I’d only learned the truth later. “I was mean to Archer. I tripped him and he scraped his knee. My father knelt down and took my shoulders in his hands and gave me this hard, little shake.” I sat up and mimicked the action, replacing my hands on the blanket behind me. “He looked so damned disappointed. And he asked, what’s wrong with you? I still find myself asking that question sometimes, only there’s no answer. Just that same feeling. The feeling of being a disappointment.”

The next day he’d left me without a goodbye. He’d left me and taken Archer with him, the son he really wanted. Left me behind. Forever.

“Oh Travis,” she said softly, “he didn’t mean it. He said it in anger and frustration. Believe me, I get fed up with those wild children of mine a hundred times a day.” But the way she was looking at them run circles around their father, such open adoration in her eyes, told me everything I needed to know about what kind of mother she was.

“I know,” I said, because I did. On some level, I knew that. But I’d still acted on that feeling far too often over the years. Why? Had I let the lingering fear of not being good enough in the eyes of the one person who really mattered to me, rule my behavior?

The couple Archer was talking to turned to each other momentarily and I watched as Archer glanced somewhat longingly to the place Bree and I were sitting. The place devoid of people, except those he felt comfortable with, and perhaps that even meant me. The expression was fleeting, his smile returning as the couple’s attention focused back on him, but it suddenly hit me. Archer's life wasn't perfect. Sure he'd gained confidence and social skills over the eight years since he'd inherited the town. He had a family now, friends, a full life. But surely he also still carried the part of himself that had once lived as a complete loner, and perhaps he even missed some aspects of that life.

Weren't all of us a compilation of the versions of ourselves we'd once been? Maybe if we were lucky—and insightful—we learned how to extract the good, and leave the bad behind, the parts that hadn’t worked for us, and instead brought nothing but pain.

Maybe.

And maybe the things Bree and Archer signed to each other in the quiet of night weren’t just words of love and tenderness, but fears, and insecurities, and whatever their worries might be.

Bree and I were both silent for a few minutes as we thought our own thoughts, the whirring sound of the fan and the low din of the crowd beyond creating a peaceful white noise.

“What happened with Phoebe?” Bree asked finally. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

A small group of people moved from the place they’d been standing and I caught sight of Haven, her laugh ringing out as she listened to something Burt was saying. I felt a smile tilt my lips and a zip of electricity moved from my chest to my midsection and back again.

“She cheated on me. I walked in on it.”

Bree let out a small gasp. “Walked in on . . . you mean—”

“Oh yes. The thing you think I mean is exactly what I mean.”

She grimaced. “Oh my God. Travis.” She massaged her temple as though the image had literally brought her pain. My heart gave a small kick. I’d brought her pain once upon a time. Some would say that to witness mine might feel like poetic justice to Bree Hale. Some might be right. “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” she said.

I looked at her, noting the pure sincerity on her face. “I know you are.” Our eyes met and an understanding passed between us. “And I’m grateful.” I took a deep breath, looking away and ending the moment, my eyes finding Haven again. “But, on the bright side, better to know now, than at a point when breaking up involved lawyers and the division of assets.” Or in my case, property, as it was the only net worth of any real significance that I had.

“You don’t seem overly upset about it,” she noted. “Were you really considering marrying her?”

Her question caused me a moment of pause. Because honestly, I wasn’t that upset about it anymore. And it suddenly struck me that my distress had been more about my own pride than about the loss of Phoebe in my life. I’d wanted revenge because I’d felt humiliated and spurned. Second best. Again. And if I was really being honest with myself because, why not—an old dog could learn new tricks—there was this ray of relief that I hadn’t really looked at since that day. But that was a lot to convey, and something I’d have to pick apart and think about later, and so I answered Bree simply with, “I don’t know.” I gave her a glance. “You didn’t like her.”

“No, no. I liked her fine.”

Fine. She’d liked her fine. A ringing endorsement from the woman I’d once heard describe Norm’s maple cayenne bacon as, “that which has the power to cast out evil from all the world for all eternity.” My lips tipped in amusement.

“Of course, I can’t say I like her much now, considering what she did to you.”

“So you like her less than fine now.”

“Much less.”

I watched the crowd again as Haven laughed, a few escaped curls bouncing and catching the light, making her hair gleam mahogany.

“What about the girl you’re here with?” Bree asked. “Haven. She seems very sweet. The boys are in love.”

I looked away from Haven, back to Bree. “We’re just friends. I’m taking a hiatus from women right now.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Bree murmured. “Rebound relationships never work out.”

“Plus, she’s a vegetarian plant lady,” I hissed, low and ominously under my breath, glancing around covertly to make sure no one else had heard.

“I’m sorry, did I hear you right? She’s a communist spy?”

“Basically.”

Bree laughed.

“She’s only twenty-three.”

“That’s how old I was when I moved to Pelion,” she mused dreamily. And fell in love with Archer, and he with her, went unspoken.

“Her brother’s the one who cheated with Phoebe.”

Bree’s head whipped my way. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Wow. That’s . . . complicated?”

“Revenge always is.” I shot her a cunning smile, more for effect than because I’d given much thought to my plans of vengeance.

“Revenge?” She lifted a brow. “Travis Hale, that sounds very melodramatic.” I huffed out an amused chuckle. That’s the same word Haven had used. I supposed it did sort of conjure up visions of a sword-wielding Count of Monte Cristo descending in a hot-air balloon.

Still . . . The vision wasn’t completely unwelcome. “He humiliated me. Don’t you think I have the right to get even?”

Bree sighed. “Maybe with Phoebe.” But her tone conveyed she wasn’t even convinced of that. “But Haven’s brother didn’t make any promises to you, therefore he didn’t break any promises to you. And in any case, all that revenge stuff? That sounds like the old Travis.”

The old Travis. The disdain in her voice told me all I needed to know about how she viewed the old Travis. Apparently, it wasn’t as a mysterious count who descended in hot-air balloons. Her tone said it was someone decidedly less dashing than that.

Did I feel like an updated model from the man she’d met eight years before, this old Travis? In some ways, yes . . . in others, I had no idea. I continued to stare at Haven, smiling in reaction to her sudden laugh. God, she’s beautiful. The unbidden thought hurt vaguely for reasons I couldn’t explain.

“Anyway, with Haven, there’s the brother thing. But also, we have very little in common,” I explained, as though Bree had pressed me further when she had not. “We’re simply friends. Temporary friends.”

“And yet . . .”

I looked over at Bree to see she was watching me again, a small, secretive smile on her face. “And yet what?”

She looked toward the place where I knew Haven was still chatting with our crew. “I’ve seen you around other women enough to know that you’re usually the one being watched by them.”

“Of course.” I shot her a smirk.

Bree shook her head. “No, you’ve never seemed to notice. It’s like it’s just a given to you.”

“Again, of course.”

“But this girl . . . you can’t keep your eyes off her.”

I made a scoffing sound in the back of my throat. “Please. She just happens to be standing right in front of the beer tent.” I pulled myself up. “And I’m thirsty. Want one?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No. Thank you.” She stood too. “The pie judging contest starts in a few minutes and I have to get over there. I made Anne’s recipe.” Her eyes got misty when she mentioned Anne’s name, but they always did, still, even though Anne had died several years ago when the twins were only toddlers. Bree made Anne’s recipe every year for the festival’s blueberry pie contest. And Bree won with Anne’s recipe every single year. I had an inkling that it was “fixed” as a way to honor the longtime and deeply beloved Pelion resident, but I probably wasn’t going to bust anyone for blueberry-tinged corruption anytime soon.

“Okay. Good luck,” I said, needlessly.

I headed toward Haven, almost missing a step when she turned my way, her face lighting in a smile to rival the sun.