by Hope Ramsay
“Sorry. I assumed Harlan had clued you in.”
He chuckled. “Men are not like women. We don’t fill each other in that way.”
She let go of a long, tired sigh before speaking again. “You know, I really thought David might be interested in Willow, but the feelings aren’t mutual. Oh well. It’s probably for the best. How could David ever marry someone who showed such utter contempt for his mother?”
“If you ask me, that’s precisely the kind of woman he needs.”
“Walter, really, you know better. Pam made Shelly’s life difficult, and Shelly got very good at going with the flow. I don’t ever see Willow doing that. She’s too much like her mother. She’s a natural-born boat rocker.”
Walter reached over and took her hand where it rested on the arm of the rocking chair. His touch confused her. Why was he doing this? Was it because he wanted to reassure her, friend to friend? Or was there something else? They had been slow dancing to Paul McCartney when Pam had ruined the party. She might be an old lady, but she had been enjoying the sensation of Walter’s arms around her.
Foolish woman. He was too young for her.
She tried to pull her hand away, but Walter was having none of that. He laced his fingers with hers, and she let him do it. Suddenly she felt like the young girl she’d once been, sitting out on her mother’s porch swing, letting Bobby whatever his last name was kiss her for the first time.
Who knew an old lady could still feel that crazy, adolescent feeling just by holding hands with a man.
“I don’t mean to be smug,” Walter said, “but you’ve got it all wrong. What I saw today was David telling his mother to take a long walk off a short pier. And then the man ran off after Willow like he was deeply concerned about the ugly things his mother had said to her.”
“Well, yes, I saw that. And if they’d come back together, I might still have some hope. But they didn’t come back together. She came back and he followed, as if she’d given him a piece of her mind and walked away from him. Which, basically, is exactly what she did all day. I don’t think she’s playing hard to get, Walter. I think she actively dislikes him.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Well, what else? I can almost guess what’s going through her mind. She knew all about Shelly’s marriage. Who would want to sign up for that? Even I have to walk on tiptoes not to offend Pam Lyndon. She’s a bully, but she’s a powerful bully.”
“I have only one thing to say to you, Poppy Marchand.”
“What’s that?”
“Stop living in fear.”
She turned in her chair, her hand still firmly connected to his. He had nice, big hands, warm and calloused. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“First of all, you shouldn’t be tiptoeing around Pam Lyndon. Who elected her the boss, anyway? And second, I’m saying that you and Willow Petersen are both singing from the same hymnal. You’ve both got interested suitors knocking at your door, and you are both running like scared jackrabbits.”
This time she pulled her hand away from his. “What are you talking about?”
“You and me. You have been running from me for almost two years. And why? Because you have some idea in your head that I’m not old enough for you, or maybe you’re too old for me. Or maybe you think that if you aren’t slavishly devoted to Natalie and her father, they might kick you out on the street. Whatever it is doesn’t matter. It’s an excuse for not living the life you want to lead.”
Walter stood up, reached down, and pulled Poppy from her rocking chair. “Let’s get out of these rockers, shall we?” He moved in. “You think I’m too young for you, but the truth is I’m getting too old to chase you. How about stopping for a minute and gathering a few rosebuds? How about not worrying about what people think and just doing what you want to do?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “My rosebud days are long gone, Walter. Don’t be silly.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, and then he cocked his head, moved in, and gave her a kiss that was definitely not an old-lady kiss. It made Poppy remember that she was a woman, not some empty vessel where once a woman had lived.
Chapter 12
The rainstorm that brought David and Willow back to their senses on the day of the paint party heralded a change in the weather. Willow went back to giving David the cold shoulder and he let her, despite the fact that he couldn’t manage to get her or their brief roll in the hay out of his mind.
Walter Braden and Harlan Appleby managed to get the last of the exterior painting done, but they’d frozen their butts doing it. And then it snowed on Thanksgiving Day, enough to leave the landscape with a thin white icing. The cold suited David as he and Natalie walked from the caretaker’s cottage to the big house to collect Poppy for the drive up the hill to Thanksgiving dinner at Charlotte’s Grove.
Poppy was waiting for them in the lobby dressed in a pair of gray flannel slacks and a black twinset—far too casual for the usual gathering up the hill. “I know I’m not dressed up, David,” Poppy said. “You can stop looking so shocked. The truth is, I’m not coming with you.”
“But you always—”
“No, I don’t always have Thanksgiving at Charlotte’s Grove. That’s a recent development. Once upon a time, I hosted people here at the inn. Those were wonderful gatherings, back when Shelly was a girl and Craig was still alive,” she said in a tremulous voice.
“Everyone expects you at Charlotte’s Grove.”
“Do they? Really?”
“Of course they do.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint them.” She paused for an instant, as if she was considering her next words carefully. “David, the thing is, I’ve begun to see that doing what is expected of me is a terrible way to lead my life. So I’ve decided to do the unexpected, even if it does sometimes disappoint others. And if you want my advice, which of course you don’t, you might think about doing the same thing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged. “Just that I know you were invited to Jeff and Melissa’s. Why don’t you come with me? I’m going there with Walter.”
Damn. Mother wasn’t any happier about Jeff’s alternate Thanksgiving plans than she was about the alternate wedding. Poppy’s support of Jeff was like a defection in a covert family war.
He couldn’t follow suit. He didn’t even want to. He wanted to make peace. “Poppy, you know darn well my presence is required at Charlotte’s Grove.”
Poppy grunted a laugh. “David, you should listen to yourself sometimes. Life is too short to spend it going places where your presence is required. Why not go where you want to go?” She gave him a wink, which was something Poppy never did. What was up with that?
“One Thanksgiving is the same as another, and I have fences to mend.”
She shook her head. “Oh, you poor man. Why don’t you just screw up your courage and do what you want for once in your life?”
“And what’s that?”
“Well, I don’t know. But here’s a suggestion: You could gate-crash Linda Petersen’s Thanksgiving. That might be all sorts of fun, not that Linda will be cooking any turkey. But I expect Willow would be happy to see you.”
His face burned, and Poppy got a sly look on her face. He obviously hadn’t fooled his mother-in-law. “You’re being droll, aren’t you?”
She snorted a laugh. “No, David, I’m utterly serious. You need to stop mourning Shelly and get on with your life.”
He touched his wedding band, but the guilt failed to stir inside of him, which, in turn, confused and confounded him. He was comfortable with his guilt. Stepping out of it required taking risks with more than just his heart. He had to think about Natalie, and his congressional race, and so many complicating factors.
His libido wanted to rush right in and drag Willow off to some hotel where they could finish what they’d started out in the meadow. He longed for that. He dreamed about it. It would not leave his mind. But he was not a
slave to his libido.
Luckily the doorbell sounded, and he escaped having to explain himself to his dead wife’s mother.
Natalie opened the door to reveal Walter Braden wearing a tweed jacket, a striped tie, and a recent haircut. The scent of Old Spice drifted into the foyer on the November wind. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, grinning at Poppy. “It’s starting to snow again. So bundle up. I left the car running.”
Poppy pulled on her black cloth coat and a bright red and green scarf that had Santa faces all over it. “Bye, precious,” she said, leaning down to give Natalie a kiss. “You look beautiful in your new dress. Be good.”
Natalie frowned and then looked up at David with a face that could melt the strongest resolve. “Can’t we go with Grammy and Mr. Walter? Please, Daddy, it would be so fun.”
“No. We’re going to Grandmother’s. Uncle Jamie will be there. I know you’ll like that.”
Natalie adored her great-uncle, but the look on her face told him that she adored Melissa and Jeff almost as much. Damn, he hated being in the middle of this family tug-of-war.
Fifteen minutes later he arrived at Charlotte’s Grove, which, as usual, was draped end-to-end in Christmas cheer and historically accurate holiday decor. The windows and doors were outlined in pine roping. Small holly wreaths hung on every window. A swag of mixed evergreens, punctuated by red and green apples, two pineapples, and a garland of cranberries and lemons hung on the transom above the front doors. Electric candles burned in every window.
All that greenery, coupled with Poppy’s defection, soured his mood further. He needed a good stiff bourbon.
Heather was waiting for him in the front hall. She gave him a sisterly hug and a kiss on his cheek, then asked, “Where’s Poppy?”
He leaned over to help Natalie with her coat. “She’s at Jeff and Melissa’s.”
Heather’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Mother’s not going to like that.”
“Well, maybe it’s time for Mother to realize she’s not in charge of the world.” The words slipped out before he could catch them. He had a feeling Poppy might approve of them, which was mildly disturbing.
“Uh-oh, you’re in a foul mood,” Heather said, her dark eyes warm with understanding. “By the way, touché on the way you handled the school. That was frigging brilliant.”
A part of him wanted to give credit to Willow for the idea, but he held his tongue.
“Uncle Jamie’s grumpy too.”
“Really? He’s never grumpy.”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Apparently he and Amy had a ginormous fight about her credit-card bills. Cousin Amy isn’t speaking to her father, and he’s feeling guilty, which means, of course, he’ll pay her bills and she’ll never learn anything.”
“Well, it’s his own fault. You know, if Mother wants a project, maybe she should go looking for a rich husband for cousin Amy.”
Heather giggled. “I think she already has. Edward brought his friend Grady here tonight, and I understand he’s a hedge fund manager.”
“I don’t know whether to be happy or sad for Amy.”
“Be happy. Amy needs a rich husband. Also, you should know that Andrew is brooding, so don’t say anything about Valerie Evans, okay?”
“Andrew always broods. And who is Valerie whoever?”
“His girlfriend for the last eight months. Where have you been? Everyone thought for sure they were going to get married. She dumped him for some guy in the air force. So be nice. You know how sensitive he is.” Heather grinned and then dropped down to give Natalie a big hug. “Hey, Natty Girl, you look fabulous. Did your grammy make you that dress?”
Natalie shook her head. “No. My fairy godmother gave it to me. She said she found it at the Haggle Shop, when she was there looking for old lace for Jeff and Melissa’s wedding decorations. She said it was waiting just for me. Like magic.” She ran her hand over the fabric’s nap. “It’s soft.”
“What’s this about the Haggle Shop? Hello, David. Where’s Poppy?” Mother appeared in the foyer, Roxy Kopp trailing after her the way she always did. Of course Roxy was here. She and her father were perennial attendees at the Lyndon family Thanksgiving.
Before David could explain that Poppy had abandoned ship, Natalie said, “Miss Willow found my dress at the Haggle Shop. She said it was just waiting for me like magic. And Grammy is having Thanksgiving with Melissa and Jeff and Mr. Walter. I wanted to go with her, but I couldn’t ’cause I’m a Lyndon and I have to come here for Thanksgiving.” Natalie made Thanksgiving sound like a dreaded obligation.
Which was exactly how David had described it before they’d left the inn. He was an idiot. He should have known Natalie would repeat everything he said.
A thunderous expression filled Mother’s face, so David gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she could say something unkind about Natalie’s secondhand dress or holiday attitude. As he pulled away, he whispered, “Don’t say a word about the dress or Willow or Poppy. Let’s just try to be thankful that we’re all here together.”
“But she needs to learn—”
He held up his finger. “One word and I’m out of here.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Look, Mother, it’s Thanksgiving. I’m here with Natalie. She’s appropriately dressed. Why don’t you try to look at the positives?”
“David, this sudden sarcasm is unattractive. Especially in a man who’s planning to run for Congress.”
He felt a momentary pang of pity for his mother. She’d been born into a political family, and she truly saw everything in life through that lens. He loved her, but she was so wrapped up with her own myopic view of the world that she never saw the wreckage she left in her wake.
“C’mon, you guys,” Heather said, “bury the hatchet, okay? And not in each other’s heads. Let’s get some adult beverages and watch the Redskins lose to the Cowboys one more time.” His sister draped her arm across David’s shoulders, effectively blocking Roxy’s move toward him. Heather gave him a warm squeeze filled with genuine affection.
You had to admire Heather. She had her finger on the pulse of the family and managed to negotiate all the drama with an ease that she’d inherited from Dad. Dad was a master at smoothing over all the feathers that Mother regularly ruffled.
They headed for the den, and Natalie made a beeline for Uncle Jamie, who didn’t appear to be all that grumpy. Jamie complimented Natalie on her pretty dress, listened to her story about her fairy godmother, and then plopped her on his knee as if she were his granddaughter.
Heather and Mother got pulled away by Aunt Julie, who was having a heated political debate with Laurie Wilson, Brandon Kopp’s fiancée, about funding women’s health care—a topic both Mother and Heather were more than passionate about.
Cousin Andrew was behind the bar, nursing his broken heart by handing out drinks. Edward and Amy were chatting with a tall stranger with a receding hairline who must be Grady the hedge fund manager.
Andrew put a draft beer into David’s hand just as Dad called from across the room, where he was hanging out with Uncle Charles and August Kopp.
Oh boy, just what David needed, shop talk with his law partners. He was about to turn around and pretend he hadn’t seen his dad, when Roxy struck with the speed of a boa constrictor. She coiled herself around his arm and squeezed. “David, I’m so sorry you couldn’t join us for drinks last Saturday.”
“David,” his dad called again, waving his arm, “come here. We want to talk to you.”
So much for pretending he hadn’t seen Dad.
Roxy pressed against him and said, “Go talk to Daddy, please. He’s been anxious to speak with you all day. Once he gets whatever it is off his chest, you and I can find somewhere more quiet.” She gave him one of her come-hither smiles and shoved her boobs in his face. He looked. He was a guy. But her boobs did nothing for him. In fact, nothing about Roxanne Kopp attracted him. Not. One. Thing. She was not the woman he wanted.
He let Roxy drag him across
the room.
“David,” August said, slapping him on the back when they arrived. “I see Roxy has you all wrapped up. But before you two get too comfortable, I wanted to talk to you about something important.”
“Sure, what?”
“What’s this I hear from Charles about you making all kinds of calls to the Jefferson County Council about the Liberty Run park project?”
“Since when do you care about Jefferson County parkland?” David asked.
August’s mouth twitched. Was he amused or ticked off? It was hard to tell. “I’ve heard that you’re pissing off constituents,” August said, then took a sip of what looked like bourbon on the rocks.
“I don’t have any constituents. I don’t hold public office at the moment.”
“The park is popular,” Uncle Charles said.
“I imagine it is. But to build the park, the county has to take Dusty McNeil’s land—land his family has owned since before the Revolution. And Dusty has plans for that land. He’s been saving his money, working hard, and dealing with a difficult father. How would you feel, Uncle Charles, if the county decided to take away Charlotte’s Grove because they thought it would make a great park with access to the Appalachian Trail and fishing?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We aren’t maintaining an eyesore.”
“No, we’re not. But the county could take our land if they wanted to, and we both know it would be legal. But the county wouldn’t do that to us, because of who we are.”
Charles frowned. “It isn’t the same, David, and you know it. Dusty McNeil is never going to do anything with that land. He has no resources.”
“So?” David said. “That’s a reason to go after his land? You’ve just made my point.”
“Look, you can’t be making phone calls on McNeil’s behalf. Bill Cummins is definitely going to give you a primary challenge. You don’t want to give him any ammunition.”
“By the way,” Dad interrupted, “that was a brilliant move, calling all the parents in Natalie’s class. I’m sure you won a few votes there. And that wasn’t a federal issue either.”