“Me, too, but I miss Momma. If she had to choose, would she choose that baby instead of us?”
“She’d choose us,” Micah said. But he wasn’t sure, and therein lay the crux of his fear. Heather had a past now. Regardless of the outcome of Cassie’s dealings, she was free to be Lisa again. He couldn’t imagine her choosing to return to California. But how could he know for sure?
He loved Heather. If she became Lisa again, he and the girls would be on their own.
* * *
Griffin had been on his own for so long that he rarely thought twice about coming home to an empty place. Coming back to Poppy’s, though, he felt lonely. Despite his insistence that she take an overnight bag, he had really wanted her home, had been counting the hours, while heworked at Micah’s. But she wouldn’t be back until morning. She had left a message to that extent on his phone, with no mention of those two little words. Me, too. She had said it and then hung up.
He wanted to know if she meant it. Assuming that she would call back, certainly on her way to the airport as she had promised, he kept the phone in his pocket the whole time he’d been at Micah’s—only to pull it out when he returned to the truck and find it stone cold and blank. The thing had gotten turned off somehow. He must have bumped it in just a certain way. When he turned it on and called her back, the messaging system picked up.
Her house was quiet now, dark and cold. He lit candles, built a fire, poured himself a glass of wine. A lengthy search turned up Victoria sleeping on a pile of spare blankets in Poppy’s closet, but the cat had no desire to come out and visit, not with him, at least.
With a candle in one hand and his wineglass in the other, he wandered around the house. He would have thought that after being with other people so much lately, he would welcome the solitude. But being with Poppy wasn’t like being with “other people.” She was easy and, aside from the occasional venting, totally agreeable. She was fun, smart, caring. She was certainly brave.
He had thought he was the brave one, surviving Little Bear, weathering the isolation of being an outsider in an insider town. But there was Poppy, wheelchair-bound in Florida, getting around on her own and no doubt doing it well—while here he sat, afraid to call the phone number on the scrap of paper in his pocket.
Disgusted with himself, he pulled out the paper, turned on his cell phone, and punched in the number. Heart pounding, he listened through four long rings. He was fully expecting an answering machine to come on, when a groggy female voice murmured, “This had better be good.”
Griffin swallowed. “Is Cynthia Hughes there?”
There was silence for several seconds—muffled sounds to suggest the transfer of the phone—then a different voice. This one was gentler, more cautious, familiar even after seven years. “Yes?”
Griffin had trouble breathing. “Cindy?”
There was such utter silence on the other end that he feared she’d hung up.
“Stay with me,” he begged. “Please don’t hang up. I’ve looked for you for so long.” Still she said nothing. His heart positively thundered. “Cindy?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “How did you find me?”
“Your poem. The one in Yankee magazine. Robin Chris. Christopher Robin. You always loved Winnie-the-Pooh. Remember I used to read the books to you?”
There was a pause, then a quiet, “That was a long time ago.”
“Your poem was beautiful—but sad. Is that how you are?”
“I’m okay.”
“I get your notes, but they don’t say much about you.”
“I know.”
“When you just disappeared, we didn’t know if you’d make it.”
“Neither did I,” she said, and he imagined he heard the trace of a smile.
“I know why you left,” he went on. “It was an untenable situation. There was no give from Mom and Dad, and none of us helped. You know that Mom’s gone.” He figured Cindy knew everything that had happened since she had left.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And that we’ve all kind of . . . separated.”
“Yes. I feel guilty about that.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It was us.”
“I caused it.”
“You were a kid. Kids rebel. We were older and should have been more responsible. But we each stayed in our own little lives and kept our mouths shut—like if we ignored the trouble at home, it didn’t exist. We were wrong. We were wrong.”
She didn’t respond.
“Cindy?”
“I ran away,” she said, “because I couldn’t deal with the mess of everything. I wanted to leave it all behind, start fresh, y’know? And I have. But you don’t forget. Not with family. You don’t stop feeling.”
Had they been carrying on a casual conversation, Griffin might have told her about Heather, because there were analogies there. But this was no casual conversation. It was a groundbreaking one. The focus had to be on the here and now. “Are you . . . okay?”
“I don’t do drugs, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t since soon after I left. I wrote that in my note. I wanted you to know.”
Griffin also knew that addicts sometimes had setbacks. He was relieved that Cindy had stayed clean. “You’re not married?”
“No. I don’t trust myself enough for that.”
It was the guilt thing, he knew. She blamed herself for destroying a family. “Are you seeing someone for it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need help paying?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Are there good things for you there?” He needed to know that there were. “Who was that who answered the phone?”
“A friend. We share the rent. And yes, there are good things. My friends are . . . offbeat, but I love them. To hear the stories some of them tell, our family’s dysfunctionality was mild. But we’ve kind of formed a family ourselves. And I get pleasure from my work.”
“You should. It’s incredibly good. Tell me more about your life.”
“It’s . . . fluid.”
That was a warning. She meant she could go anywhere—as in, disappear—on a moment’s notice. “Are you happy?” he asked.
“Often.”
That was something. “Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“Can I see you?”
“No.”
“I’ll come to wherever.”
“You know wherever,” she said with a bit of the spirit he remembered. “You dialed an area code that tells you exactly where I am. Are you going to show up here? Or tell the others?”
“If you say no, I won’t.”
“I say no. If anyone else finds me, I’m out of here.”
“Even if it’s Peter or Alex?” Griffin asked. They were the gentlest of his brothers.
“I’m not steady enough on my own, Griffin. Just the mention of their names takes me back to the person I was, and I don’t want to go there.”
Griffin suspected she had too solid a grasp of what she wanted to do much backsliding now, but she had to realize that herself. “You’ve always stayed one step ahead of us. When I saw that pseudonym, I was afraid to believe. A tiny part of me hoped you were sending me a message.”
She didn’t deny it. Quietly, she said, “I have to go now, Griffin. Give me your number.”
He gave her his cell phone, along with his Princeton address and phone number, along with Poppy’s address and phone number.
When he gave her the last, she asked, “Is Poppy Blake related to Lily Blake from last fall?”
“Sister. She’s an incredible woman—spunky like you, which is probably why I felt an immediate connection. She’s dealing with a lot of past stuff, too.”
“And you’re helping her because you can’t help me?”
“I’m not sure I’m helping her. She’s doing that herself. I just love her.”
“Oh my,” Cindy said, again with the kind of spirit Griffin remembered. “You’ll have to kee
p me apprised.”
“Will you stay at this number?”
“As long as no one comes. I keep tabs on Ralph. But you knew that.”
“Yes. If you move, will you let me know?”
“That depends on why I have to move. I know what Ralph is up to. Randy’s more roundabout. He broke the Matlock case. Is he up there in New Hampshire with you?”
“No. His role in it ended with the arrest.” Griffin paused. “Dad would want to know you’re okay. Can I tell him we’ve talked?”
“No. He’d subpoena your phone record, get my number, and be here in no time, judging . . . me again. I’m not ready for that. Maybe someday. But not yet.”
Griffin knew that “someday” would come. If he had learned anything from Poppy and Heather, it was that. For now, he understood what his sister was feeling. As long as she stayed in touch with him, there was hope.
* * *
Wednesday morning, for the first time in more than a week, Griffin didn’t go to Micah’s. Instead, buoyed by talking with Cindy and looking forward to seeing Poppy, he cleaned up her place, had breakfast at the café, then went to the marina, switched the truck for his Porsche, and headed for Manchester. He was there earlier than he needed to be, but he wasn’t good for much else. Waiting for Poppy felt right.Her plane was late. He had another cup of coffee and stood alternately watching the arrivals board and asking the airline agent for the latest news. The agent was female, and old enough to be his mother, which was probably why she took pity on him. Once he had shown identification, submitted to a search, and satisfactorily answered every one of her questions, she assisted him in getting through the security checkpoints to meet “the woman in the wheelchair” at the gate.
Griffin’s eyes were on the board when theETAchanged toIN.He watched the plane taxi to the terminal and connect to the jetport. Eyes on the jetway, he waited for Poppy to come out. She was the very last one to emerge, but the wait was worth it. The sight of her made his heart swell.
He started forward as soon as there was room, shifted her carry-on from her lap to his shoulder, and bent over to hug her. When her arms went tight around his neck, he scooped her up and whirled her around. He didn’t care who was watching, didn’t care if the whole world saw his girl and him. He was so proud of her, so proud to be with her.
She was laughing by the time he set her back in her seat.
He rested his hands on the arms of the chair. “Did you mean it?” He was talking about the words, of course.
She nodded. “Don’t know what I’m going to do with it yet,” she said, but she was smiling.
“We’ll figure that out,” he said, feeling giddy. “Come on. I want to introduce you to someone.”
He pushed her chair through the terminal, out the door, and into the short-term parking lot. She spotted the Porsche well before they reached it, and looked up at him.
“Someone?”
“She’s inside.”
“There’s no way we’re all fitting in—your mystery person, me, my carry-on, and my chair.”
“Have faith,” Griffin said. He had done the figuring. He had thought it all out. There was no way he was knowingly subjecting the love of his life to failure. What he wanted—what he would always want—was to open doors for her.
He steadied her wheels while she shifted into the passenger seat of the Porsche. Then he folded the chair and brought it to the trunk. He had a moment’s panic when it didn’t quite fit. With a bit of thought and a tiny turn, though, it slid in. The carry-on was flexible. A push here and a squeeze there, and it, too, was stowed. Pleased with himself, he closed the hood and slid in behind the wheel.
Beside him, Poppy was moving a hand over the leather upholstery. “This is a handsome car.” She pointed to the GPS monitor. “Turn it on. Is this her?”
There went his surprise. “How did you know?”
She grinned. “We use these things on the lake. It helps finding our way through the islands at night. Charlie calls his Amelia.”
Griffin sighed. “Mine’s Sage. You just know too much, Poppy Blake. I can’t surprise you with anything.” As he turned the key in the ignition, Poppy closed a hand on his arm.
“You surprise me,” she said, very serious now and vulnerable. “You’re here.”
Heart clenching, he nearly went for his pocket. He had something there, and it wasn’t a kiss. But the timing wasn’t right yet. She admitted that she loved him. Don’t know what I’m going to do with it yet, she had said. He couldn’t push her too far too fast.
So instead of forcing a commitment, he told her about Cindy.
* * *
One of the things Poppy loved about Griffin was his sense of loyalty, in this instance embodied by his call to his sister. If a woman wanted to know the kind of man she was thinking of spending her life with, Griffin’s diligent search for Cindy was as good an endorsement as any. He cared about family. It was an important way to be.So she was feeling ebullient as they headed back to Lake Henry. Her outlook on life today was totally different from what it had been barely three weeks ago. The Porsche was a perfect example of that. It was sleek and racy. It spoke of possibilities, which was so much of what her trip to Florida had been. Three weeks before, she wouldn’t have dreamed that she would have been able to make that trip, much less be loved by Griffin.
Heather’s fate was still up in the air. Like with Cindy, though, there was hope.
She thought about that as they drove north. As they approached Lake Henry, though, her ebullience faded. Lake Henry was real, as were certain other realities. The deal with the California authorities could fall through and Heather might have to stand trial. Cindy Hughes could pack up, take off, and be unheard from for another seven years. Griffin could realize that Buck Kipling’s old truck wasn’t worth another minute, that the Porsche represented his life, and that being in love with Poppy was fine while he was in town, but with a resolution to the Heather situation in hand, New Jersey called.
The next few days were crucial.
Chapter Twenty-one
Cassie agonized. She always did when she was waiting for a legal decision, whether it was that of a judge, a jury, or a prosecutor with whom she was trying to deal. With the power still out, she didn’t go to the office, but stayed at home with the kids near the warmth of the living room fire. She could just as easily agonize from there. Should I have told him more about Rob? Less about Heather? Did I make my case strongly enough? Did I make it too strongly? Was I too greedy? Should I have given him options? Should I have given him more time?
She second-guessed everything she’d done. Heather’s future hung in the balance of her dealings with California; this morning, she felt the full weight of that responsibility.
There was always Plan B. If the deal she proposed was turned down, she had a wonderful case for the press. She planned that out while she waited, listing possible revelations in the order of their priority using a pencil with a rubber pom-pom on the top. The pom-pom pencil was from her home stash, others of which were being used by Ethan and his older brother, Brad, who had the hardwood floor covered with paper and were drawing pictures. Their younger brother, Jamie, had caught Ethan’s croup and was asleep against Cassie’s shoulder much as Ethan had been four days earlier. It was actually a comfortable way to contemplate Plan B.
John Kipling must have felt the vibes coming from her home, because he called shortly before noon. Since it was Wednesday, he was putting the finishing touches on Lake News before driving up to the printer.
“Okay,” he told her. “I’ve covered the ice storm. I’ve covered theschools closing and the crisis at Micah’s. I’ve covered the efforts of our heroes at the electric company and the phone company. Now give me something interesting, Cassie.”
She sighed and smiled. “I can’t do that in time for this edition, but if I had something at dinnertime tomorrow, what would you do with it?”
“Dinnertime tomorrow?” John asked. “I’d do a Lake News supplement. But firs
t, I’d write up a press release and go through my list of major media outlets across the country. Between you, me, and Lily, we’d be able to phone or e-mail everyone on that list in a few hours. If our electricity’s still out, we’ll do it from Center Sayfield.”
Cassie was gratified. John was a good one to have on her side. His efforts would be effective. She wished she had as much faith in her own.
Grumpy, she asked, “Why does Center Sayfield have electricity when we don’t?”
Ever the repository for interesting little tidbits that only one who covered the neighboring towns for the local paper might know, John didn’t disappoint her now. “Because as of two years ago, the single largest employer—translate, taxpayer—in Center Sayfield is a computer company that can’t risk losing power even for a day, so there’s been significant upgrading of lines, which doesn’t mean that the lights don’t go out, simply that problems are easier to pinpoint and, hence, fix. Think that’s something for the Lake Henry Committee to take up?”
Cassie guessed it was a matter for Town Meeting first, but she knew that it would end up with her committee. So she put her mind to thinking about that. It was one way to pass the time while she waited for a call from California.
* * *
Micah spent his waiting time first in the sugarbush with a chainsaw and two of Charlie’s sons, cutting and splitting wood that had been moved aside during the cleanup. They brought three tractorloads down to replenish what had already been used, and stacked it all before Micah had to fire up the arch, and then his afternoon was filled with sugarmaking. That kept his mind busy, but not totally. There were still in-between times when he wondered what was happening in California and what theoutcome would be, wondered how Heather would react once she was free to be Lisa, wondered where that would leave him.Lake Henry was a special place, but it wasn’t California. He couldn’t go to California. If that was her choice, he was out of luck.
* * *
Griffin’s dilemma was different. As Wednesday afternoon settled into Wednesday evening and no call came from California, he began to think more about how people in town would deal with a less than satisfactory outcome in Heather’s case. He had done the best he could in helping to put together a case, always hoping that she would return to the life she had lived before he had given the inadvertent tip-off to her whereabouts. If the California authorities rejected a deal and she had to face a nightmare of a trial, the goodwill he had established in Lake Henry could be reversed.But he liked it here. He felt safe here. If he was to suggest that his sister come anywhere, it was here. Lake Henry was the first place where the thought of raising children appealed to him. It was the first place where he’d been in love—with a woman, a lake, a way of life.
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