An Accidental Woman (42 page)

“You were not supposed to be here,” he scolded, but totally without anger. She was his baby. She was his responsibility. She had suffered more loss in her short life than she deserved. If he never provided her with another thing, he wanted to give her a childhood.

“Momma's a good driver,” the little girl told him. “She doesn't drive fast.”

“I know, baby. We were talking about another place and another time.”

“But about Momma?”

“About someone named Lisa.”

“I want Momma.”

He held her cheek to his shoulder. “We're working on getting her back. That's what this is about.” He looked around the room, searching out other little hiding places. “Where's your sister?”

“In the clubhouse. She doesn't want him here.”

Micah headed for the hall. “Call Cassie,” he told Griffin and, holding Star, went to the girls' bedroom. The closet door was ajar.

“Come out here, Missy.”

“No,” said a muted voice.

He opened the door. Blankets were draped off hooks, so that he couldn't see Missy, but he heard her again.

“
You
can come in,” she said, “but not that man, and not Heather.”

Micah squatted down where the voice indicated she was, settling Star on his knee. “Why not Heather?”

“She isn't in our family anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't like that man.”

Micah knew what she was trying to say. Aidan represented a part of Heather that was frightening to them. Missy was reacting to that fear.

How to comfort her, he wondered, when he felt no comfort himself?

“Come out here,” he coaxed.

“No.”

“It's just me. Me and Star.”

“And Poppy and Griffin. I don't like him, either.”

“I do,” said Star.

Missy stuck her head out from between the blankets. “That's because you like chocolate, but you're too
little
to see what I see.”

“What do you see?” Micah asked.

“That he's trying to take Poppy away from us, just like someone took Heather and someone took Mommy.”

“He's not doing that, Missy. What's going on here isn't about taking away. It's about adding. Adding Griffin to Poppy. Adding Heather to us.”

Missy's eyes were stormy, her voice the little female version of what he feared his had been in the other room. “I don't need Heather.”

“I thought you loved her,” Micah said.

Star looked up at him.
“I
do. You do too, don't you?”

“Micah,” Poppy called softly from the door. “Cassie wants us to come.”

He rose, taking Star up again. “I can't go. The girls and I have sap to boil.” Skirting the wheelchair, he set off for the kitchen with Star on his hip. Billy was there, eating a sandwich. Passing by, he said, “I'm firing up the evaporator.” He went through the back hall and had a hand on the door when Griffin's voice stopped him.

“We have to meet with Heather.”

Micah looked back. “Be my guest.”

“Aidan's coming.”

“Good.”

Poppy wheeled around Griffin. “You have to be there, Micah. It's important.”

Micah wished Poppy was right. But he'd been there before, and Heather hadn't talked. So what good was he on that score?

On this score, in the sugarhouse, with the girls, he had a purpose, a reason. “I have to work, Poppy. I can't go racing up to West Eames. Sap's running, sun's shining. If I don't do this, who will?”

“Me,” said Billy, coming up from behind Griffin. Standing now, he seemed taller than ever. “I can get it started. Let me use your phone, and I'll get help. I'm not without friends in this town.”

Poppy wheeled close and said with quiet urgency, “How can you be angry, after what Aidan said?”

Micah didn't have an answer, but he was certainly angry.

“We're so close, so close,” she begged. “Cassie wants corroboration. She needs to hear the story from Heather. Don't you?”

He did. That was all he'd wanted for days.

“Seeing Aidan could make it happen,” Poppy went on in that same pleading tone. “Cassie is counting on that. But if you're not there, Heather might not care. She loves you, Micah. If ever she needed you, now's the time.” She paused for a breath, then whispered, “She's already afraid she's lost you because you haven't been to see her. Can't you forgive her?”

He was spared having to answer by Star, who took his face with two little hands and turned it her way. “I helped Poppy make the sandwiches, and there's tuna there. Momma loves tuna. Maybe if you bring her one, she'll think of me?”

* * *

Then she saw Aidan, and what little color she had drained away. She looked frantically at Cassie, who went to her, took her hands, and spoke softly.

* * *

“I finally have a workable argument,” she told Heather. “With Aidan testifying about the abuse, we can make a case that you feared for your life.”

Heather sent Aidan a skeptical look, then whispered to Cassie, “There are other charges.”

“Flight to avoid prosecution? We can deal. Literally. I've done my homework. The DiCenza family prides itself on its image. They've spoken up long and loud about how terrible you are, and their words have gone unchallenged because you haven't been there to speak for yourself. Things will be different if you decide to talk. They'll hate what you say and, more important, they won't want you quoted in the press. They'll direct the assistant attorney general to plea bargain. Once they hear your side, they'll want this settled quickly and quietly.”

“They have power. They can convict an innocent person.”

“Not this time. We have medical records. We have adoption records. We have Aidan.”

Heather glanced at him again, and, once more, whispered to Cassie, “Why now?”

The room was small. Her whisper carried.

Aidan answered. “Because they're abusers, and not only physically. They abuse power, and that's not right. Rob is dead. You have a good life. I don't see what purpose they have in going after you now. You suffered. I know. I drove you to the hospital. Twice. And I did tell the old man. He said he was going to forget I said it and that I'd be best to do the same.”

“And you did!” Micah charged. “You kept your goddamned mouth shut when they accused her of murder!”

“She was gone,” Aidan argued. “There was no trial. She escaped. She made a better life. My crime wasn't in keeping quiet then; it was in letting things go so far now. I'll have to live with that. But it's not too late to change the outcome.”

Heather seemed to be holding her breath.

Cassie pressed her case. “Rob's mother is the point of vulnerability. Rob was her baby; she won't want his name dragged through the mud. And then there's the child.” When Heather's eyes flew to Micah, Cassie gave her hands a shake to bring her gaze back. “Rob's mother is devout. She won't want word coming out that her son wanted to abort his own child.”

“He said it wasn't his,” Heather said in little more than a whisper.

“Tests can prove that it was.”

“How? Without the baby? I don't know where she is.”

“We can find her, Heather. Trust me on this.”

“She'll hate me for what I did.”

“No
one hates you for what you did then. We just hate you for what you're doing
now,
” Cassie said, but with a smile to soften the words. “The Heather we know is strong. She is able. She is dedicated and determined, but this Heather, the one in this jail, hasn't been like that. We want our old Heather back. She's the one we love.”

“But—”

“None of us is perfect. Your silence—this silence—is inexcusable. Anything else, we can forgive.”

Again, Heather's eyes went to Micah. This time they stayed.

* * *

His eyes were waiting.

Do you really know?
she asked.

He gave a tiny nod.

And forgive?

He nodded again, then raised both brows.
What about you? Do you forgive?

Poppy could forgive Heather. She could forgive Micah for being angry and Griffin for causing the whole mess in the first place. She could forgive her mother for being a perfectionist and Lily for being too beautiful for her own good and Rose for being a prig. Forgiving herself was harder.

* * *

Anger? What was anger but a passing emotion, a misunderstanding, a failure to communicate? It had no lasting place in a long, full life, a life spent with someone you love.

“This is what we need,” Cassie was saying, “but Aidan's word alone won't do it. You were the only one in the car that night. You have to tell us what happened.”

All the while Cassie talked, Heather looked at Micah. Her eyes were filled with fear, intensifying the ache he felt inside. Suddenly the wall he leaned against was cold and hard. Moving away from it, he wrapped his hands around her neck and tipped her chin up with both thumbs.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, “in your words.”

She lingered for a last minute, searching his face. Everything about him screamed,
Tell me. I need to know. I love you. That won't change.
She must have heard, because she closed her hands on his wrists and held tight.