Bride Quartet Collection (23 page)

“Such as a change of clothes, a toothbrush. Mac.”

“I know. I
know
. It’s logical, and it’s considerate. But I felt myself wanting to get twisted up and crazed. I didn’t, but I wanted to. And, I mean, look at my things. There are so many of them. If I start mixing them with his, how will I know where they are? And what if I leave something over there, then I need it here?”

“You do know you’re looking at this, trying to find the flaws, the barriers, the drop chutes. You know that, right?”

“Knowing I’m looking for them doesn’t mean they aren’t there. I’m just getting used to being with him—an official couple—and now he’s offering me closet space. I’m trying to deal with my own closet.”

“And doing a remarkable job of it.”

She studied the piles. “It’s a work in progress.”

“So are you. So’s your relationship with Carter. People and relationships never stop being a work in progress.”

“I know you’re right. It’s just . . . I want to get everything in place.” She blew out a breath as she scanned the piles. “I want to get my life organized and feel in control. Get some clarity. I want to know what I’m doing with that, the way I do with the work.”

“Do you love him?”

“How do people know that? I keep asking myself, and the answer keeps coming back yes. Yes, I do. But people fall in and out of love all the time. The falling-in part’s scary and exciting, but the falling-out is horrible. It’s all going really well right now, so I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Do you know how much I wish I was in love with a man who loved me?”

“I don’t think you’d be picking out your bridal bouquet.”

“You’re really wrong. If I had what you have right now? I wouldn’t be standing in the middle of chaos trying to organize my life. I’d be looking forward to making a life. If you—”

She broke off as she heard the door downstairs slam.

“Hey, Mac? You here?”

“What’s Jack doing here?” Emma wanted to know.

“Oh, I forgot. Upstairs!” she called out. “He was coming by to talk to Parker, so I told her to ask him to stop over. Confused by closet organizers, I figured why not consult an architect?”

“You want an architect—a man—
Jack
—to organize your closet?”

“No, to give me a vision of what to use to organize it.”

Emma gave Mac a dubious look. “You’ve now entered Parker territory.”

“Maybe, but have you seen her closet? It’s like a layout in a magazine. It’s like what the Queen of England probably has. Without all the odd hats. Jack! Just the man I wanted to see.”

He stood in the doorway, tall, clad in jeans, work shirt, and boots—and very male. “I don’t want to come in there. You’re not supposed to touch anything at a crime scene.”

“The only crime here is that.” She pointed at her closet. “An empty closet with one stupid bar and shelf. You have to help me.”

“I told you we needed to design the closet when we altered the space.”

“I was in a hurry back then. Now I’m not. I know I need at least two bars, right—a lower one. And more shelves. Maybe some drawers.”

He glanced around. “You’re going to need a bigger boat.”

“I’m purging. Don’t start with me.”

He walked in, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Roomy.”

“Yes, which is part of the problem. All that room, I’ve felt obliged to fill it. You can make it better.”

“Sure I can make it better. A kit from Home Depot would make it better.”

“I’ve looked at them. I want something more . . . More.”

“Ought to line it in cedar while we’re at it. You’ve got enough room for some built-ins here. Run a short rod on the side, maybe some box shelves there. I don’t know. I’ll think about it. I know a guy who could knock it out for you.”

She beamed a smile at him. “See, I knew you’d know what to do with it.”

“Hauling all this stuff back in’s on you.”

“Goes without saying. While you’re here—”

“You’d like me to design your broom closet?”

“No, but thanks. Male point of view.”

“I’ve got that on me.”

“What does it mean when you tell a woman she should leave some of her things at your place?”

“How did I get the concussion?”

“Typical,” Emma muttered.

“Hey, she asked.”

“It’s a woman you’re involved with exclusively. Intimately,” Mac explained.

“And now she wants to leave her strange female products in the bathroom. Then she needs a drawer. Before you know it she’s buying throw pillows for the bed, and your beer has to make room in the refrigerator for her diet drinks and low-fat yogurt. Then, wham, you’re going antiquing instead of watching the game on Sunday afternoon.”

“And that’s all it is?” Emma demanded. “Sure, she can roll around in the bed, tear up the sheets, but hell no, she can’t leave a toothbrush in
your
bathroom. Or have a few inches of a drawer. That’s too pushy, that’s too much. Why not just leave the money on the dresser and call it what it is?”

“Whoa. That’s not what I—”

“Why should she be comfortable, why should she expect you to make any room in your life for her needs? God forbid she should infringe on your precious time, your sacred space. Pathetic,” she said. “Both of you.” And stormed out.

Jack stared at the empty doorway. “What was that? Why is she so pissed off at me?”

“It’s me. It started with me.”

“Next time warn me so I can dodge the ricochets. Is she . . . seeing someone who’s giving her trouble?”

“No. She’s not seeing anyone special. I am, and she’s frustrated because she thinks I don’t appreciate it—him—enough. She’s wrong. I do. But she’s right in that my thought process takes the same downward spiral you just outlined. And actually, she’s right. It is pathetic.”

“It’s not a downward spiral, necessarily. Maybe you want the yogurt or the antiquing. It depends.”

“On what?”

“Who’s leaving their stuff in your drawer. Got any beer?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go have a beer. I’ll sketch something out. If you like it, I’ll have the guy I know come over and measure, knock it out.”

“That’s worth a beer.”

“So, you and Carter Maguire.”

“Me and Carter Maguire,” she said as they started down. “Is it weird?”

“Why would it be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe since we sort of knew each other in high school when I was going through my artistic free spirit phase and he was a nerd. And he was tutoring Del when I had my obligatory crush on Del.”

“You had a crush on Del?”

“Obligatory five-minute one,” she repeated as she got out the beer. “In fact, I think it only lasted three. Emma made the five.”

“Emma had . . . hmm.”

“And my attention sort of skimmed over him. Carter, I mean. The oh, there’s that guy, the smart one. Then fast-forward to now, and it’s like
oh
, there’s that guy! Funny.”

“It looks good on you.”

“Feels good, most of the time.” She handed him the beer, tapped hers to it. “When it’s not scary. I’ve never been in love before. In lust, in serious like, but love’s a whole new level of good and scary. He’s got a school thing tonight, which is another strange and funny thing. Me, falling for a teacher. The PhD. I’m the only one of us who didn’t go to college. Photography courses, business courses, but not the dorms and campus and the whole shot. And I’m wrapped up in a guy who grades term papers, gives homework, leads discussions on Shakespeare.

“You’d make more sense, come to think of it.”

“Me?” Jack blinked at her. “I would?”

“No need to wear the panic face. I’m just saying you’d be a more logical choice. We both think in images, in concepts. We need to visualize to create. We both run our own businesses, work with clients. We have divorced parents and half sibs, though your parents are really nice. We have a close circle of mutual friends, are commitment phobic. And we like the occasional beer.

“Plus,” she realized, “our names rhyme.”

“You’re right. Let’s go have sex.”

She laughed. “Missed that boat.”

“I guess we did.”

Amused at both of them, she tipped up her beer. “You never made the move.”

“If I’d made the move, Del would’ve beaten me to death with a shovel. Nobody messes with his girls.”

“He does know we’ve all had sex.”

“He prefers to pretend otherwise, but none of you have had sex with me. To my misfortune. That’s key.”

“I guess you’re right about that. Besides, while logically we may seem suited, we’d end up fighting over drawer space and hating each other. Carter makes room. He’s got the innate ability to open up and accept.”

“Got the starry eyes on you,” Jack commented. “So how does it work? Who takes the wedding photographer’s pictures when she walks down the aisle?”

“Aisle?” She choked on her beer. “I never said anything about aisle. I’m not—we’re not. What makes you think we’re thinking about getting married? Where’d that come from?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He swiveled on his stool, gestured at the walls lined with wedding photos. “Being surrounded maybe, added to the starry eyes.”

“That’s business. Those are business. Just because I think about weddings doesn’t mean I’m thinking about a wedding.”

“Okay, no need to go to Crazytown.”

“I’m not. I’m just—” She sucked in a breath. Marching to her desk, she came back with a large pad and a pencil. “Sketch. Earn the beer.”

S
HE SPENT THE REST OF THE EVENING STICKING WITH THE PLAN. AS the hills and piles became more manageable, her stress level decreased, and a sense of accomplishment rose. She’d have her living space back, and better than ever in no time, she thought. She’d feel more in control then.

It was nice to have the evening alone, to deal with her own business, to have her own space. She could do that and miss Carter at the same time. In fact, doing that meant she was handling the relationship.

Love him, love being with him, but be perfectly content to spend time on her own. Unlike—

When the phone rang, she checked the readout.

Linda.

Mac closed her eyes, reminded herself she couldn’t avoid speaking to her mother forever. Avoiding calls was childish. Confront and stand your ground, she told herself.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Mackensie, you have to come! Please, please, come right away.”

Alarm ripped straight through annoyance, and had Mac’s heartbeat jagged with fear. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Hurry. Oh, you have to come. I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you hurt? Have you—”

“Yes. Yes, I’m hurt. Please help me. I need you. Please help me.”

“Call nine-one-one. I’m on my way.”

She flew out of the house, grabbing a coat on the fly. Dozens of images, each worse than the last rushed through her mind. A suicide attempt, an accident, a break-in.

Icy, treacherous roads, she thought as she risked life and limb and punched the speed through the nasty fall of freezing rain. A careless driver in the best of circumstances, Linda could’ve wrecked that toy car of hers, and—

No, no, she’d called from home, not the cell. She was home.

Mac fought to keep control of the wheel, gripped it with hands that wanted to shake, as she rounded a curve too fast for safety.

She fishtailed to the curb in front of her mother’s dollhouse Cape Cod, ran up the slippery walk to the door. She found it unlocked. The thought of break-in shoved through the door with her.

Had she been raped? Beaten?

She leaped over a shattered vase of roses, into the living room where Linda lay curled on the floor, weeping.

“Mom! Mom, I’m here.” She dropped to the floor beside Linda, frantically checking for injuries. “Where are you hurt? What did he do? Did you call the police, an ambulance?”

“Oh! I want to die!” Linda turned her ravaged, tear-streaked face into Mac’s shoulder. “I can’t bear it.”

“No, don’t say that. It’s not your fault. I’ll call for help, and we’ll—”

“Don’t leave me!”

“I won’t. I won’t.” Rocking, she stroked her mother’s hair. “It’s going to be all right, I promise.”

“How can it be? He’s gone. He left me here.”

“Did you get a good look at him? Was it someone you knew?”

“I thought I knew him. I trusted him with my
heart
. And now he’s gone.”

“Who?” Rage boiled inside her burning off the fear. “Who did this to you?”

“Ari. Of course, Ari. I thought I meant something to him. He said I’d brought the light back to his life. He said all these things to me, then he does this. How could he do this to me? How could he be so cruel?”

“It’s all right. It’s going to be all right. He’ll pay for it.”

“He said it was an emergency. There wasn’t
time
. It had to be tonight. What difference could a few days make? How could I have known my passport had expired?”

“What?” Mac jerked back. “What are you saying? What exactly did he do?”

“He’s gone to Paris. To Paris, Mac. He left without me. He called from his plane. He said he had to go tonight. Some business that couldn’t wait the way he’d promised he would so I could get the passport straightened out. Business.” Fury burned through the flood of tears. “Lies. It’s another woman, I know it. Some French whore. He promised me, and now he’s gone!”

Mac got slowly to her feet as Linda wept into her hands. “You called me, this time of night, let me think you were hurt.”

“I am hurt! Look at me.”

“I am looking at you. I see a spoiled, angry child having a tantrum because she didn’t get her way.”

“I
love
him.”

“You don’t know the meaning. God, I nearly killed myself getting here.”

“I needed you. I need someone. You’ll never understand what that’s like.”

“I hope not. There’s water and glass all over your floor. You’re going to want to clean that up.”

“You’re not leaving? You’re not leaving me alone like this.”

“Yes, I am. And next time, I won’t come. For God’s sake, Linda, grow up.”

She kicked broken glass out of her way, and walked out.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

M
AC GATHERED HER EQUIPMENT FOR THE REHEARSAL, CHECKED her notes while Carter sat at the counter grading papers. From upstairs the sound of a nail gun whooshed and boomed.

“You can’t possibly concentrate with all that noise.”

“I teach teenagers.” Carter red-penciled some comments in the margin. “I can concentrate during thermonuclear war when necessary.”

Curious, she peeked over his shoulder as he marked the grade. “Got a B, not bad.”

“And real progress for this student. He’s opening up. Are you ready to go?”

“I have a little time yet. Sorry I forgot to tell you I had to work tonight.”

“You’ve already said that. It’s fine.”

“Valentine’s Day wedding, always the big of big deals. Parker and I have to be there, every step of tonight’s rehearsal. And tomorrow.” She leaned in to kiss him. “People in my business tend to work on Valentine’s Day.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll send you a schmaltzy, sloppy e-card. And I got you something. Major step for me, as it’s my first Valentine’s Day gift.”

She went to her desk, took a slim package out of the drawer. “I’ll give it to you now in case this thing runs longer than we plan, and you decide to go.”

“I’ll wait. You got me a present.” He took off his glasses, set them aside. “That’s the second gift you’ve given me. The cardinal,” he reminded her.

“That was more of a token. This is a gift. Open it.”

He untied the ribbon, opened the lid. “
As You Like It
.”

“It caught my eye because it’s all battered and worn. It looks like it’s been read a couple of million times.”

“It does, and it’s perfect.” He cupped her cheek to draw her to him. “Thank you. Would you like yours?”

“Let me answer that with: duh.”

He reached into his briefcase and took out a small box wrapped in white paper with a glossy red ribbon. The size and shape of it had Mac’s heart dropping to her stomach then bouncing up to her throat.

“Carter.”

“You’re my valentine. Open it.”

That heart thudded like a fist as she unwrapped the box. She held her breath, lifted the lid. And let it out again at the sparkle of earrings.

Two tiny diamond hearts dangled from the stud of a third in a delicate, elegant trio. “My God, Carter, they’re gorgeous. They’re . . . wow.”

“I can’t take full credit. Sherry helped me pick them out.”

“They’re amazing. I love them. I—” The words tangled on her tongue. Unable to say them, she threw her arms around him instead. “Thank you. I am definitely your valentine. Oh, I have to try them on.”

She spun away to take the simple hoops out of her ears and replace them. She dashed to the mirror across from her workstation. “Oh, wow, sparkly!” Tipping her head from side to side, she watched them glint.

“Putting them on right away means you like them.”

“I’d be crazy not to. How do they look?”

“A little dim compared to your eyes, but they’ll do.”

“Carter, you leave me speechless. I never know what—wait.” Inspired, she ran over for a tripod. “I’m going to be late, but fabulous earrings for Valentine’s Day trump punctuality. Even Parker would give me a bye on this.”

“What are you doing?”

“It’ll take two minutes. Just stay right there,” she told him as she dug her camera out of her bag.

“You want to take my picture?” Watching her set up, he shifted on the stool. “I always feel so stiff in pictures.”

“I’ll fix that. Remember, I’m a professional.” She smiled over the camera as she fixed it to the tripod. “You look really cute.”

“Now you’re just making me self-conscious.”

She set the angle, framed it in. “Light’s good, I think. We’ll try it.” Palming the remote, she walked to him. “Now, happy Valentine’s Day.” She linked her arms around his neck, laid her lips on his.

She let herself sink in, let him draw her a little closer.

She captured the moment, and when she eased back, looked in his eyes, captured another.

“Now,” she murmured, turning so her cheek rested against his. “Smile.” She pressed the remote, then again as backup. “There.” She turned to him again, bumped noses. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Maybe we should try that again.” He cupped the back of her neck with his hand. “I think I blinked.”

“I’ve got to go,” she said with a laugh. Pulling away, she went over, checked her shots before taking the camera off the tripod.

“Aren’t you going to let me see?”

“Not until I’m finished fussing with them. Then you can consider the print the second part of your present.”

“I was hoping I’d get that when you finished work.”

“Why, Dr. Maguire.” She repacked her camera. “All right, we’ll call it a three-parter.”

He rose to help her on with her coat. Mac hefted her equipment bag. “Now you have to wait.”

“I’m good at it,” he said and opened the door for her.

Apparently he was, she thought, and set off for the main house at a lope.

“I
DON’T KNOW HOW TO GET OUT OF IT, BUT THERE HAS TO BE A way.”

“Mac.” Parker held the champagne flute up to the light to check for spots before setting it on the table in the Bride’s Suite. “It’s just dinner.”

“It is not. You know it’s not just. It’s meet-the-parents dinner.
Family
dinner.”

“You’ve been seeing Carter for about two months now. It’s time.”

“Where is that written down?” Mac demanded. “I want to see where that’s written down in a rule book.” She flopped the napkins down in a way that had Parker sighing, then arranging them properly. “You know what it means when a man takes you home to meet his mother.”

“Yes, I do. It means he wants two women who are an important part of his life to get to know each other. He wants to show both of them off.”

“I don’t want to be shown off. I’m not a poodle. Why can’t we just keep things the way they are? Him and me.”

“It’s called a relationship. Look it up.”

Laurel came in on the tail end with a plate of fruit and cheese. “If you’re going to be such an ass about it, Mac, why didn’t you just say no?”

“Hello, diamond earrings.” Mac lifted both hands, pointed her fingers at the dangling hearts. “I was blinded by the sparkle. Plus, he was sneaky, and he asked oh-so casually after I said we had an early event today and we should do something together after. He trapped me into it.”

“Ass,” Laurel said.

“I know. Do you think I don’t know that? Knowing it, even knowing the ass is rooted in mother phobia doesn’t make it less real.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Parker agreed. “You could have said the same to him.”

“It’s important to him. I could see it through the oh-so casual. He deserves someone who’d go to family dinner and meet his mother. I wish it was later, or that it had happened last week and was over—but they were in Spain last week, apparently. Not that it matters because if it had been last week, I’d wish it was the week before.”

“We know her too well,” Laurel decided. “Because I know both of us followed that.”

“Every time I think I have a handle on this, and one on myself, something new crops up. And you know they’re all going to be checking me out, talking about me.”

“Personally, I think it’s good to get it done in one big splash.” Laurel stepped back, studied the table. “Dive in all at once into the big family pool. Easier and quicker than going in inch by inch.”

“That’s actually a good point,” Mac said after a moment.

“You’re good with people,” Parker pointed out. “Getting them to talk about themselves, figuring them out. Do that.”

“Also a good point. And bright side, maybe this nice, intimate wedding will turn into an all-night drunken brawl.”

“The FOB looked like a troublemaker,” Laurel commented.

Cheered, Mac draped her arms over her friends’ shoulders. “I’ll just think positive thoughts. I guess we should go down and help Emma finish. It’s almost showtime.”

T
HERE WAS NO DRUNKEN BRAWL, AND NO ESCAPE. MAC COULD be grateful she’d insisted on meeting Carter at his parents’ home, so she had the drive alone, a little time to calm down.

Diving into the pool, she reminded herself. And she was a strong swimmer. Generally. She followed the directions Carter had given her, complete with landmarks, into the pretty, settled neighborhood.

Exactly what she’d expected, she realized. Solid New England home, on the upper-middle-class side of things. Patches of melting snow over generous lawns, old trees full of character, tidy hedges, neat fences.

Dignified, but not stuffy. Well-to-do but not showy.

God, what was she doing here?

Swallowing hard, she pulled into the left of the double drive, parked behind Carter’s Volvo. A lot of cars, she thought. An awful lot of cars beside the sturdy, two-story house with its comfortable sitting porch.

She started to flip down the vanity mirror, check her makeup. But what if someone was looking out, she thought. Then she’d look vain and prissy. God, Mac, get over yourself.

She got out, walked around to get the basket of flowers. She’d second-guessed that simple gesture a half dozen times. Leftover wedding flowers as a hostess gift. Was it tacky?

The vote had been for sweet and thoughtful, but . . .

Too late now.

She climbed to the porch, wished fleetingly she’d checked her makeup after all, and knocked.

It took only seconds—she wasn’t prepared—but she felt a trickle of relief when she saw Sherry’s familiar face.

“Hi! Oh, wow, look at those! Mom’s going to flip. Welcome to Maguire madness.” She bustled Mac right in. “Wii,” she continued, gesturing toward the shouts. “The game? We got it for Dad for Christmas. Nick and Sam—my brother-in-law—are taking on the kids in baseball. Here, let me hold that while you get out of your coat. Most everybody’s back in the great room. Oh, you’re wearing the earrings! Aren’t they fabulous? Here, let me take your coat.”

Sherry pushed the basket back at Mac, took the coat. And realizing she’d yet to have to say a word, Mac smiled.

“Mom’s fussing with dinner. She’s nervous. Are you? When I first met Nick’s family, I was so nervous I hid in the bathroom for ten minutes. It never occurred to me Georgia—that’s Nick’s mom—it never occurred to me
she’d
be nervous, too. Later, she told me she’d changed her outfit three times before I got there. It made me feel better. So, Mom’s nervous. Feel better.”

“Thanks. I do.”

As Sherry whisked her in, Mac had an impression of people, of movement inside a bright, open space, of Carter laughing with a handsome man with white hair and a trim beard. Of the good aromas of home cooking.

A moment, was all Mac could think. Easy family moment. She’d never once had one of her own, but she recognized it.

“Hey, everybody, Mac’s here.”

Then the movement stopped—freeze-frame, Mac thought—as the attention shifted to focus on her.

Carter moved first, pushing off the counter where he’d been leaning to come to her. “You made it.” He kissed her lightly over the fragrant white lilies and Bianca roses. Since her hands gripped the basket, he brushed a hand over her shoulder as he turned. “Mom, this is Mackensie.”

The woman who walked over from the stove had a strong face, clear eyes. Her smile was polite, with a hint of warmth. And, Mac thought, a hint of reservation. “It’s nice to meet you, at last.”

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Maguire.” She offered the basket. “These are from today’s event. Emma—you know Emma—does the flowers. We thought you might like them.”

“They’re stunning.” Pam leaned in to sniff. “And delicious. Thank you. Sherry, put these on the coffee table, will you? We’ll all enjoy them. How about a glass of wine?”

“I’d love one.”

“Diane, pour Mac some wine.”

“My sister Diane,” Carter said.

“Hello. Cabernet or Pinot? We’re having chicken.”

“Ah, Pinot, thanks.”

“My father, Michael Maguire. Dad.”

“Welcome.” He gave Mac’s hand a strong shake. “Irish, are you?”

“Ah, some of me.”

“My grandmother had hair like yours. Bright as a sunset. You’re a photographer.”

“Yes. Thanks,” she said when Diane handed her a glass of wine. “My partners and I run a wedding business. Well, you know that, as we’re doing Sherry’s wedding.”

He shot out a teasing grin. “As father of the bride, I just get handed the bills.”

“Oh, Dad.”

He winked at Mac as Sherry rolled her eyes at him.

“We send a flask along with the final invoice.”

His laugh was full and rich. “I like your girl, Carter.”

“So do I.”

By the time they sat down to the meal, Mac had a good sense of who was who. Mike Maguire liked a laugh, adored and was adored by his family. While he might have been the doctor, it was his wife who had her finger on every pulse. She’d have said they worked as a team, and it appeared to be a strong one. But when nitty met gritty, Pam ran the show.

Sherry was the baby, a bundle of energy and fun, secure, loving, and in love. Her fiance behaved like and was treated like a son. She imagined his obvious delight in Sherry earned him major points.

Diane, the oldest, leaned toward the bossy side. Motherhood suited her, and the kids beamed bright, but she came off vaguely dissatisfied. Not young and starting her life as Sherry was, not content and secure in her position like her mother. Her husband was easygoing, a joker with his kids. Mac sensed his unruffled nature often irritated his wife.