Not the Marrying Kind(23)
Poppy smiled at the head nurse on her way toward Sara’s room, surprised when the nurse shook her head and beckoned her over.
“Just so you know, she’s not having a great day.”
Poppy’s heart sank. “Did anything set her off?”
The nurse shrugged. “She was doing some surfing online, seemed to withdraw after that.”
“Okay, thanks for the heads up.”
So much for her grand plan to break the news gently. She’d seen these relapses before, where all Sara wanted to do was relax in her room listening to New Age pan flutes. After Poppy divulged the news of her upcoming nuptials, a whole orchestra of woodwind wouldn’t soothe her.
She paused outside Sara’s door, rolling her shoulders and stretching her neck from side to side. It didn’t alleviate her tension, and she braced for an interrogation of mammoth proportions. She knocked, waited for the faint “Come in” before entering.
The first thing she noticed was the drawn blinds on a gorgeous spring day. The second, the faintest strains of piped music. Freaking flutes.
Yep, this would be a craptastic day.
“Hey, Sara.” Poppy’s chirpiness sounded forced even to her ears. “How are you?”
“Okay.” Sara tolerated her hug with the barest of squeezes in return.
Poppy perched on the end of the bed, opposite the sofa where Sara sat like a beautiful, delicate statue: auburn hair shiny, make-up perfect, turquoise designer yoga pants and matching hoodie, but an eerily blank expression and a glassy stare. “What’s up?”
“Divorce.”
Uh-oh. “Has Wayne filed—”
“Not yet.” Sara shook her head. “I was feeling really hyped this morning, best I’ve felt in ages, so I jumped online to scope out the competition, see how business is doing.”
Fingers of foreboding pinched the back of Poppy’s neck and she rubbed it.
“Know what I found? A website promoting divorce parties.” Sara absentmindedly plucked at the string on her velour hoodie. “Some diva saying they’re the next greatest thing…can you imagine someone making money from people’s misery?”
Shite. And Poppy had been worried about Sara discovering the real reason behind her fake marriage. Looked like she had more important things to worry about.
“You never considered them for Party Hard?”
“No freaking way.” Sara paused, sniffled. “Not after Wayne left…”
Ah hell, just what she needed, Sara to lament her lousy husband at length.
“Could be the way to go once yours is final. Put the past behind—”
“I still love him,” Sara whispered, and Poppy’s heart turned over in sympathy. Little wonder Sara was having a hard time dealing with depression when she was still mooning over The Pain.
“Know what I think? Never say never. Divorce parties are the latest rage, they’d rake in a fortune for Party Hard—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Uh, okay.” Now more than ever she needed to preserve the anonymity of Divorce Diva Daily. Last thing her sis needed was to learn of Party Hard’s offshoot. “I’ve got some news.”
“Yeah?” Sara didn’t look at her, closing her eyes and resting her head against the back of the sofa like the simple act of holding up her body was too much.
“I’m getting married.”
“What?” Sara’s eyelids snapped open and she sat bolt upright. The incredulous look Sara shot her? The same one she’d used to great effect when Poppy had made the mistake of divulging her desire for a tattoo of a boy band under her navel at sixteen.
“Tomorrow. In Vegas.”
“You’re pregnant?” Sara glared at her belly like she expected alien spawn to suddenly explode out of it.
“Uh-uh.”
“Then why?” When Sara’s gaze met hers, the unexpected anguish hit her hard. She’d expected her sister to be shocked. She hadn’t expected the pain.
Well aware lying to her sister would be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do, Poppy took a deep breath and blew it out. “Because the time is right.”
Boy, was it ever. Save the business, save her sister’s sanity.
“But who is this guy? Why Vegas? Why now?” Confusion added to the hurt in Sara’s eyes. “You know I can’t come.”
“I thought maybe it’ll be easier this way.”
“All weddings don’t make me depressed, only mine.”
Poppy smiled, impressed at her sister’s acerbic wit and ability to make a joke out of something so obviously painful. “We’ve known each other a while, didn’t see any point in waiting.” She hoped lightning wouldn’t strike her down. “He’s the old-fashioned type and kept badgering me to get hitched, so I finally said yes.”