of town during June, July, and August. Cornelia would give me a whispered commentary about each item that was alternately enlightening and hilarious.
This first hour, though, was social. I knew most everyone here, and while I saw some often, others had either been away for the winter, away just these last muddy weeks, or simply home with the flu, any of which reasons made me pleased to see them. If I’d wanted a reminder of what I loved about Devon, it was these people. They accepted me for who I was, right here, right now. Having never seen my scar, they had no idea it was there.
As promised, the press was barred from the church. I only wish the hacking scandal had been, too, because it was like one of us, slipping from group to group, at times waiting, at times butting right in. The latest news? Jay Harrington planned to file motions claiming that Ben Zwick and the media had fatally prejudiced the case against Chris. These motions would request disclosure of documents relating to media involvement, enforcement of the gag order, and dismissal of the charges entirely.
I figured the first and third were more feasible than the second, which, with the cat already out of the bag, was basically pointless. Others weren’t so sure, but the debate was interesting. Intelligence was another thing I loved about Devon.
So was sensitivity. Quiet and concerned, the conversation typically began with Chris. Too soon, it turned to Grace. Had she appeared, it would have ended. When she didn’t, there was speculation. Words like self-consciousness, embarrassment, and fear were bandied about.
But where is she? I was asked yet again. Like I knew? She loved Town Meeting, loved greeting friends with her big smile and her vibrant scarf, wild sweater, and spectacular hair. I knew that she’d had an afternoon meeting with Jay and had planned to come from there. But he arrived alone.
We figured, he and I, that she had lost her nerve.
I texted her, but got no response. She may still be working, I said to one friend and, to another, with resignation, She knows there’ll be talk.
Catching the last as he came alongside, Kevin murmured, “You don’t have to defend her.”
“If I don’t, who will?”
“It’s her job. She’s punting. Which is what you should be doing,” he advised.
“You say that because you don’t like her.”
“I say it, doll, because I like you.”
His deeper message wasn’t lost on me. Michael Shanahan might have been a fly on the wall, for knowing what I said and to whom. But hadn’t Kevin been the one, not so long ago, to tell me to do what I thought was right?
I was glancing back at the door, praying she was simply late, when Edward came through. He had left his jacket on the lobby rack and had come straight from work, to judge from his sweater and slacks. He was perfectly dressed. Other men wore versions of the same, though more often with jeans, and a few, like Kevin, were flamboyantly accessorized. There was nothing flamboyant about Edward, if you didn’t count his eyes. His sweater was burgundy, his slacks gray, his hair brushed back with just those thick spikes on his brow. Other men had facial hair, ranging from scruffy to full. Others were just as tall. But Edward stood out.
Forewarned should have been forearmed; I had known he would be here. But how to arm myself against Edward Cooper? I tried not to feel anything that might give me away, tried to ignore the quickening inside, and the worry. Meeting him in private was one thing, but the risk of betraying our connection amped up with this many people around.
Kevin squeezed my arm. “I got this,” he whispered and, divinely protective, strode toward the door. His back blocked the details, but body language was telling even from behind. I saw a greeting of some sort, then his hands were on his hips. Confrontation? I prayed not.
Nervous, I tried to disappear into my group, which was speculating on what the People piece would say and whether the media would be done with us then, when all eyes shifted.
“Hello,” said Edward from my shoulder, extending a hand, in turn, to the owners of those eyes. “Ned Cooper.”
Kevin had followed but refused to meet my gaze. After standing off for a minute, he turned on his heel and headed for food. Trusting that I would learn later what had been said, I tuned into Edward’s audience.