A Convenient Proposal

Chapter Thirteen

Arden spent the two weeks before Zelda and Al’s wedding playing her part as Griff’s devoted fiancée—it was, she knew, all she would ever have of him.

They went to church together, to the movies and to the local flea market on Saturday morning. They rode Dorsey and Cowboy on Sunday afternoons. Frequent invitations for dinner with some of his friends and their wives filled their evenings, until they could return to the cottage and spend the dark hours making love. Those nights might have been why Griff was so tired most days at work. Neither of them would have traded sex for sleep.

They were getting along better, on the surface, at least. They could laugh together, and share jokes. Of course, Arden was all too aware of the secrets she continued to keep from him. And despite his efforts, Griff obviously couldn’t forget the secrets she’d revealed. With such distrust between them, Arden sensed she wouldn’t be staying in Georgia much longer.

Her last lunch with the Campbell sisters took place on the Wednesday, before Zelda’s wedding, again at Pirouette. No slippery asphalt marred the occasion—the sun shone and a temperature above sixty degrees allowed them to sit at a table on the terrace.

Arden did her best not to think of this as a farewell luncheon, though she didn’t expect to see any of them in private again. The four of them laughed throughout the meal, and she thought she’d been keeping up appearances quite well.

Once Lauren and Dana had left to return to work, however, Kathy leaned her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her fists. “I’ve been dying to talk to you for days. I’m so glad I finally got the chance.”

Arden had wondered if she would have to account for the way she’d broken down at Kathy’s “decor orgy.” She was surprised when none of the Campbell women had brought up the subject.

And Kathy had evidently moved on. “Since you told us about your hearing loss, I’ve wanted to share some thoughts with you. There are programs that provide assistance for partially or completely deaf kids so they can go to regular public schools. You would make a terrific volunteer—an example of what can be accomplished despite this disability.”

Arden tried to be polite. “Thanks, but—”

“Another idea I had was music appreciation classes for children with partial deafness—you could help them experience the sounds to the extent of their ability, help them physically sense the vibrations, that sort of thing. What do you think?”

Arden thought she might faint, because she couldn’t get a decent breath. As Kathy spoke, some kind of weight seemed to have settled in Arden’s chest, compressing her lungs.

In all the months since she’d first heard the word deaf applied to herself, Arden had tried to distance herself from that fact. She’d arranged her life so she didn’t really need to hear to get along. No one spoke to her, the dog didn’t bark—the world could become totally soundless without affecting her in the least.

Then Griff had arrived, bringing with him relationships and conversation and music, damn him. She’d learned to talk to people, to enjoy them, to actually forget the defect that had so diminished her existence.

And now Kathy wanted her to use that flaw? To celebrate her disability as a model of how to cope? To pretend she didn’t wake every morning in despair because she couldn’t hear the birds sing?

“I—I’ll think about it,” she managed to say without screaming. “It’s an…an interesting idea.” She grabbed the check off the table. “I’ll take care of this, but I have to be…somewhere in just a few minutes.” Leaning in, she kissed the air beside Kathy’s cheek. “Take care.”

That was one lesson Griff hadn’t needed to teach her, Arden decided, driving out of Sheridan at a speed considerably over the legal limit.

How to run away.

ON THURSDAY AFTERNOON, Griff found himself returning to the office from a farm call on the same side of town where the house he’d once owned was located. Out of curiosity, he took the still-familiar turns leading to his former address. He intended just to see the place and how it was being taken care of, and then drive on.

The first change he noted was color—he’d painted the siding a soft yellow and the shutters bright blue, but the new owner had wanted a mellow green with white. Even in winter, he could tell the landscaping had been improved, with trees and shrubs enhancing what had once been a plain grass lawn. But then, he’d planned for Zelda, with her green thumb, to design the plantings after their wedding.

A car sat in the driveway, a silver compact similar to the make Zelda drove. As Griff approached, he realized it wasn’t just similar—it was the exact car Zelda drove. Then he glanced at the mailbox—a bigger and prettier style than the one he’d put up. Lettered on the side was the last name of the residents: McPherson.

Griff slammed on the brakes and stopped the SUV beside the driveway, shut off the engine and stalked to the front door. Pushing the bell with one finger, he didn’t release the pressure.

As the door opened, an irritated woman’s voice said, “I hear you, I hear you. My goodness, what is your—” Zelda stood on the other side of the screen, staring at him. “What do you want?”

At that moment, he saw honest fear in her eyes. Zelda, the girl he’d known since grade school, could actually believe he might hurt her.

His anger leached away. Shoulders slumped, he blew out a breath. “I drove by to see the place, then realized you were living here. I only want to talk, Zelda. Can I come in?”

Because she knew him, she could recognize the change in his feelings. “Sure, Griff. Come on in.”

The living room contained furniture—some of which he recognized from Zelda’s old apartment—and boxes. “We’re still moving stuff in,” she explained, gathering wrapping tissue off a chair so he could sit down.

“You haven’t been living here since…June?”

She sat down on the coffee table, the paper clutched in her lap. “No. I—I couldn’t.”

“I see.” No wonder Al had been so worked up. “I didn’t know the name of the buyer. I just got a check from the lawyer. So I was surprised when I saw the mailbox.”

“Your family didn’t tell you?”

Griff shook his head. “Maybe they thought I knew. Maybe I should have—I wasn’t paying too much attention back then.”

Zelda nodded. “I didn’t tell people around here for a long time.”

“But why would you and Al want to live here? Why not get a house I had nothing to do with?”

She hugged the paper in her arms a little tighter. “We missed you, Griff. Both of us, all the time. We betrayed you, and yet we still loved you and wanted you in our lives.”

Hard stuff to hear. Griff gripped his hands together between his knees, staring at the floor.

“Al found the house first, saw it was for sale and told me about it. I came by myself and I just about died, seeing all the work you’d done for me. So Al and I decided we owed it to you to live here.”

Griff looked up. “You do know that’s weird, right? I mean, you came here to tell me you wouldn’t marry me, and now you’ll be living here with the guy you dumped me for. It doesn’t really make a lot of sense.”

“Probably not.” Zelda’s smile was sad. “I always loved you, Griff. I always loved Al, too. You asked me out first, he stepped aside, and everything just kind of flowed from there. I flowed with it.”

“So what went wrong?”

She sighed. “Being with you, Griff, takes so much energy. Mental, emotional, physical—I always felt like I was falling behind. Always running to catch up. It’s nothing you do or say—just the way you are. Al and I move at the same pace. We’re not so brilliant, not as dynamic or exciting as you are. But we fit.” Her smile was a little bit wicked. “Boy, do we fit.”

“I’m glad,” Griff said, from his heart. “I want you to be happy.”

“I know you do.” She let the paper fall to the floor and came to stand in front of him, holding out her hands. “I am sorry we hurt you so badly. I should have known my own mind a long time before I did. But weddings take on a life of their own—you get so wrapped up in the process you don’t look ahead to the final result. I didn’t, anyway, until almost too late.”

Grasping her hands, Griff stood up. “What happened?”

“Your dad came to see me one afternoon.”

“My dad?” Griff released her and started to pace. “My dad is the reason you broke up with me?”

“No. Well…” Zelda flushed when he stopped to stare at her. “He just talked, Griff, about marriage being a big challenge, needing all that two people can give to each other. And when I thought about it, I knew I wasn’t enough for you.”

“That’s not what I thought.”

“But I did, and so it would have mattered one way or the other. Then Al caught me speeding one day, out on Old Orchard Road. He actually gave me a ticket!” She laughed, still obviously delighted. “On the ticket form, he wrote, ‘It’s not too late. Marry me, instead.’”

Griff laughed, too. “Good for Al. He knew what he wanted and he went for it.” Then Griff looked down at her. “You have my best wishes for a happy life, Zelda. God bless you both.”

“Thank you.” She pulled his head down. “Here’s your kiss from the bride.”

Her lips touched his briefly, with absolutely no sparks. He hugged her, recognizing the rebirth of friendship from the ashes of a romance.

The front door slammed open. “Get your hands off my wife,” Al declared. “You can’t have her.”

Griff did as ordered. “I don’t want her.” He glanced at Zelda. “With apologies, you understand.”

She stood with her hands on her hips, facing her fiancé. “I understand someone’s being a jerk. Stop it, Al.”

Al wasn’t listening. He headed for Griff, hands up and ready to grapple.

“Not this time, buddy.” Griff sidestepped. “The back of my head still hurts.”

A couple of quick moves he’d learned in the islands swept Al’s feet out from under him and dropped him hard onto his back, knocking the breath out of him.

“I owed you that,” Griff said. “Be grateful for the carpet. You can apologize in the receiving line at the reception.” He stepped over Al on his way to the door. “Congratulations, by the way. You’ve got a beautiful bride.” He pulled the door closed behind him on the way out.

“I wish I could say the same,” he muttered to himself. And then sighed.

ARDEN AWOKE SMILING on Valentine’s Day, thinking of the sensuous night just past and inhaling the delicious aroma of coffee.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Griff sat down on the bed beside her and leaned over to give her a coffee-flavored kiss. “Don’t get up. I’m ready to leave.”

“Too bad. We could have breakfast in bed. Again.” They’d spent all of the rainy Sunday just past exactly that way. “Is the weather better?”

“Still raining, and spitting snow. Not quite what you hope for on your wedding day.” He kissed her again and stood up. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Dad kept the surgery schedule light and there are no appointments after three, so I have a good chance of actually making it to the wedding by six.”

His well-laid plans fell apart when a prize mare on the far side of the county had trouble giving birth. Griff called Arden on his way out, predicting he would return in plenty of time to dress and drive her to the wedding.

He called again with twenty minutes to spare, telling her to go on without him.

Finally back at the cottage, he hurried into his dress pants, then went to the bathroom to shave. Arden must have waited until the very last moment before getting ready, and she’d left more of a clutter than usual—her makeup bag, cosmetics and hair tools littered the counter.

Griff pulled out the electric razor to give his jaw a smooth finish, surveying the feminine disarray as he worked. A rolled up tube—obviously not toothpaste—caught his eye.

The label stopped his heart for several seconds.

Spermicidal lubricant.

He flipped off the razor and looked at himself in the mirror. “Now why would you be trying to kill the little buggers if you wanted to make a baby?”

AFTER WAITING AS LONG AS she dared, Arden reached the church just before the grandmothers of the bride and groom were to be seated. The Campbells filled up an entire pew, so she sat alone, farther back, leaving space for Griff on the aisle.

When she’d confessed that she’d never attended a wedding, Griff had enacted for her, in hilarious detail, the traditional Southern marriage service. She now felt quite prepared to enjoy every aspect of Zelda and Al’s ceremony.

Especially since she would not be having one of her own.

The church, dating from before the Civil War, was lit by candles and filled with large arrangements of white lilies and gladiolas accented with red roses. The customary tune of Wagner’s “Wedding Chorus” played quietly as Zelda’s attendants came down the center aisle, each dress a slightly deeper shade of pink than the last, until Kayli Morgan appeared as the matron of honor, wearing a true, deep red. The five of them made a lovely gradient effect at the front of the sanctuary, balanced on the other side by Al’s friends, all wearing black tuxedos with red and pink roses in their lapels.

Zelda’s entrance was heralded by trumpets from the organ and a sudden crescendo. She wore a lovely, fullskirted dress, with a long veil over her face, and carried a trailing white bouquet.

Griff slipped into the pew beside Arden a moment before the minister started to speak. He gave her a tired grin, then took her hand and directed his attention to the bride and groom.

So here they were. They’d accomplished what he’d set out to do six weeks ago—project the image of a successful and satisfied man as he returned to his hometown. She’d fulfilled her side of the agreement and given him an adoring girlfriend to show off. No one had expressed the least doubt about their relationship. She could go back to Chaos Key with pride in a job well done.

And if her heart was broken, that wasn’t Griff’s fault. He’d done absolutely everything a man could to make her happy. The flaw was hers. And she would bear the cost alone.

The marriage ceremony took only minutes, which seemed odd given the amount of time spent planning and anticipating it. Al and Zelda faced each other, holding hands, as the minister asked the standard questions. “Do you take this man…for better or worse, richer or poorer…as long as you both shall live?” After the vows, Al and Zelda lit a candle together, then knelt while the minister prayed. And then came the official pronouncement: “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present to you Alexander and Zelda McPherson.”

Mendelssohn’s triumphant recessional rang through the church. Audience members rose to their feet as Al and Zelda returned along the aisle, smiling widely and greeting people on either side. The bridesmaids and groomsmen followed, creating a brushstroke effect of red against black, which would produce a lovely image to treasure through the years.

Griff turned to Arden. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” He’d told her about talking to Zelda and Al at their new house, with a humorous slant that seemed to prove he’d recovered from the betrayal.

“I’m great.” They made their way outside through the press of people, sharing the standard “Wasn’t it a lovely wedding?” comments as they went.

On the front steps of the church, however, the conversations changed abruptly. “Look at that,” Griff said. “There’s your snow, Arden.”

After a cloudy day of cold rain mixed with ice and a few snowflakes, nightfall had brought about a change in the precipitation. In the short time they’d been inside the church, a thin layer of white had coated the grass and shrubs. Like a heavy fall of powdered sugar, snow coated the bare tree branches and the individual needles of the pine trees.

She clapped her hands in appreciation. “Beautiful. What a breathtaking scene—everything draped in white for the wedding.”

“Except the roads,” Griff pointed out. “Safe driving and a winter wonderland. That’s the advantage of a Southern snowfall. No shoveling.”

They were the only people still standing on the steps; the rest had hurried through the falling snow to their cars, heading toward the wedding reception at the country club. A limousine pulled up at the curb to collect the bridesmaids and groomsmen, and in the general confusion, Arden and Griff headed for the Jaguar.

“We’ll party for a little while,” he promised as they drove. “But I want a few minutes alone with you during the evening. We need to talk.”

“Yes,” Arden said quietly. “We do.”