An Accidental Woman (33 page)

“Because it isn't—you know”—she gestured down their bodies—“it isn't—you know—the whole thing and all.”

Griffin drew in a long and slightly uneven breath. Letting a bit of it out, he said, “That is through no lack of desire on my part.”

“I can't feel that,” she whispered in reminder.

He reached for her hand and would have shown her, if she hadn't pulled it back. She didn't want to feel it wither, didn't want to know when his interest died.

Hitching himself up on his elbows, he said in the lowest, gentlest, most sensual voice, “Then you'll have to take my word for it, Poppy. But I want you to take my word on something else. If you don't want to do this now, I'm fine without. I won't push you beyond what you want to give. This is too important.”

Absurdly, she felt tears in her eyes.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

Unable to speak, she nodded.

“There's a price, though,” he said. “I know about Thursdays at Charlie's Back Room. I want to go. Be my date?”

Whereas Saturday nights in the Back Room meant listening to established groups, Thursday nights were for novel ones. Tonight's opener was a boy from the North Woods who played acoustic guitar, but the evening's headliner was a string quartet of fifty-something players who did the Beatles on violin, viola, cello, and bass.

Poppy loved the Beatles. Apparently Griffin did, too. For every opening line she quoted as they drove there, he had the name of the song. So she used that excuse in explaining his presence with her that night.

“He's a die-hard Beatles fan,” she told everyone they met as they made their way into the Back Room. “He's been helping Micah all week. I figured we owe him this.”

Poppy figured she owed him more than thanks for helping Micah. She owed him for bringing her Victoria, whom she adored, and for cooking
oven-baked French toast, which had been salivatingly good. She owed him for respecting her need for caution when it came to romantic issues. On that score, conversely, she owed him for dancing with her. In doing that, he had given her one of the best times she'd had since the accident.

She also owed him for Heather. The whole town did, she decided with no sarcasm at all. If Griffin hadn't been the one to remark on the similarity between Heather and Lisa, someone else would have done it. But Poppy doubted that anyone else would be as compassionate and involved in the aftermath as Griffin was. She doubted anyone would have called in the resources he had. Yes, the town owed him thanks for that.

But old habits died hard. Though Poppy's bringing Griffin to the Back Room was a stamp of approval, the fact remained that he had been in town little more than a week. Poppy found that astounding, given how close she felt to him, but the rest of the town didn't see him as much as she did. Yes, he had survived a trial by fire on Little Bear. But he was still an outsider to them.

That said, he played them well. If he was itching to go with his natural inclination and ask questions, he showed restraint. He remained at Poppy's side, quiet and amiable, letting her make the introductions, ask the questions, take the lead in conversation. After a bit, she actually felt he was being excluded, and began directing the conversation his way.

It was an easy transition, because the talk turned to sugaring. Since Micah wasn't there, and since Griffin had worked with Micah, he was a natural to fill in. He gave a status report on the tubing, an update on the washing, even an endorsement of the new labels. He said that Micah could use help in the sugarbush—and Poppy hoped that the invitation would bring offers. But there were only sad smiles and sympathetic nods. Micah had offended one too many of the townsfolk.

The crowd quieted when the boy from the North Woods began to play, but his repertoire was limited. Within fifteen minutes, he was done and the talk resumed. Griffin seemed comfortable—increasingly so, Poppy realized. He was the kind who could find something to talk about with anyone who approached. With Cassie's husband, Mark, it was Princeton, from which it turned out they had both graduated. With Charlie it was
Little Bear, now that Griffin had a few stories to add to the Owens' collection. With John, it was mutual friends in Boston.

On Poppy's side, there was inevitable speculation. Cassie began by scolding her in a whisper, “You didn't
tell
me you were coming with him.”

“I didn't know,” Poppy whispered back. “It was a last-minute thing. He loves the Beatles.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Cassie teased. “But I'm glad he's here. The Heather situation is up in the air. I was worried there'd be nothing but talk of that, and I'm feeling on the hot seat.”

“You're doing your best.”

“My best isn't getting us far. Your being here with your guy gives them something to talk about besides that.”

“He's not my guy.”

Cassie smiled a bit smugly. “Well, you look really pretty anyway. I like your hair. Is it longer?”

“Two days' worth, since I last saw you,” Poppy replied with an eloquent stare.

She couldn't joke as easily with Annette, who pulled up a chair as soon as Charlie and Griffin started talking. “He's adorable, Poppy. Charlie wants to be cautious, but look at him, he's failing dismally. There's something about Griffin that he likes. I'm glad he's here. And he's truly gone over you.”

Poppy had to deny it for the record alone. Though Annette had neither a mean nor an irresponsible bone in her body, she was a fulcrum for town talk. Anything she said aloud made the rounds, regardless of how lightly it was spoken.

“He is not ‘gone' over me,” Poppy corrected, “and even if he was, I am not ‘gone' over him.”

“He's certainly persistent enough. You gave him the boot in October, but he's back, game for the chase.” She studied Griffin. “A guy who looks like that must have lots of women to choose from.”

“Yup,” Poppy said matter-of-factly. “Satisfying him in ways that I can't.” The words dared Annette to probe into the sexuality of a paraplegic, which, being old-world in that sense, Annette would not do.

Lily—with the brashness, perhaps
love
of a sister—wasn't as prudent.
When Griffin and John began to talk, she pulled a chair close. “You're wearing mascara. What does that mean?”

Poppy laughed. It was an easy diversionary tactic. “Mom said that when I turned sixteen—those exact same words. Remember, when I was going out with that guy who was the head of the Dartmouth ski team?”

“Oh, I do. I was already away at school, but I heard about him—
and
about one infamous pot-smoking night. So it was experimentation then. You were playing at being grown-up and in charge. What is it now?”

“Wait a second,” Poppy chided. “Look at you. You're wearing mascara—and lipstick—and blusher.”

“No blusher,” Lily said, though Poppy could have sworn she was. Lily had always been the beauty of the family, but she positively glowed now. “Mascara and lipstick,” she specified, “and I do it to look extra nice for John. What's your excuse?”

“Survival,” Poppy declared, albeit as quietly as the rest of their talk. “I need a pick-me-up. It's been a bad week, worrying about Heather. But if you're thinking I did it for Griffin, think again. He's a friend, Lily. That's all.”

“Too bad. I like him.”

“I do, too. That's what being friends is about.”

“I'm sorry it isn't more. It should be, with a guy like that. You should be thinking indecent things.”

Poppy was, but she couldn't get herself to say so. She didn't know if the relationship would go anywhere, didn't know if she wanted it to. At sixteen, eighteen, or twenty, she had lived for the moment. She couldn't do that now, not at thirty-two. In many respects, she was no different from other women her age who couldn't bear to get their hopes up that Prince Charming had arrived. Except, Poppy
was
different. She had a major handicap. That raised the stakes.

“Friends don't think indecent things about each other,” she told Lily.

“Well, you should. He's perfect for you.”

“Not. He's Ivy League. He's media. He's
rich,
for God's sake.”

“Oh, Poppy,” Lily scolded under her breath, “so are we.”

“Not like he is. He's city. He's society. Can you see me ironing my pretty white linen napkins and tying them up with my sweet little berry
rings that match my adorable little centerpieces on each of eight lovely rented tables for the sixth annual New Year's Day dinner at my very vertical and wholly unmanageable townhouse in the wealthiest section of Philly?”

“Griffin doesn't live in Philly.”

“New Jersey's close, but you get my point. The fact is, I'm perfect for
me,”
Poppy insisted. She was starting to feel peeved. “I knew there'd be talk if I came here with him. Why does everyone think I
need
someone? Am I not functioning well enough alone?”

“You're functioning very well,” Lily said in a way that, given Poppy's current mood, would have been patronizing coming from anyone else. But Lily was sensitive. She knew what it was to have a handicap. Granted, the stutter seemed to have gone the way of her single status, but that was on the outside. Lily did have moments of lingering insecurity. They were close enough as sisters for Poppy to know that.

This was not one of those moments, though. Lily leaned closer, sounding as sure of herself as she'd ever been before. “I've been watching the two of you since you got here. You may think he's totally absorbed, talking with John or Charlie or Mark, but he keeps looking back at you, like you're his center . . . his
anchor.
He wants to be near you, Poppy.”

“Well, of course he does. I'm his entrée here. I'm his protection.”

Lily shook her head with slow conviction. “That's not what I see.” “Well, it's what
I
see,” Poppy insisted and, on the verge of a snit, glanced around. “Is there a reason why everyone is harping on this?”

Lily smiled. “I can't speak for other people.”

“Then speak for yourself. Tell me something that doesn't have to do with Griffin.”

“I'm pregnant.”

Poppy caught in a breath.

Incredibly, so did Lily. Her eyes were suddenly open wide, like she couldn't believe what she'd just said. She seemed totally, comically shocked.

“Close your
mouth,”
Poppy chided in a whisper, and, grinning, gave her a hug. “What incredible news!”

“No one else knows,” Lily said against her ear, “I mean, other than John. I'm barely six weeks along. I wasn't going to tell you yet.”

Poppy held her back. “I am
so
happy for you.”

Lily's eyes held worry. “Are you? I wasn't sure.”

“Why wouldn't I be? Because I can't have kids myself? I can, Lily. I just choose not to.”

“Okay, then. But I've had so many good things come my way in the last few months. I feel guilty sometimes.”

“Oh, Lily, you deserve it all,” Poppy said, meaning every word. “You've suffered through ugly times. It's your turn.”

“And you?” Lily asked ever so gently. “When's yours?”

* * *

Griffin looked around as a woman emerged from the shadows. He was in a corner of the general store, which was closed now, and quiet in contrast to the Back Room. He had to come here to call in his flight arrangements. Aidan Greene was refusing to talk. Griffin wanted to have a go at him himself.