Bride Quartet Collection (51 page)

“I can be really pissed off at him for bringing you to the point you’d have considered that for even three minutes.”

“But if I’d decided it was best for me, you’d have let me go.”

“I’d have tried to talk you out of it. I’d have done spreadsheets, bullet points, graphs, charts, and many, many lists. With a DVD.”

Tears spilled over again. “I love you so much, Parker.”

Parker sat again, wrapped her arms around Emma and held tight.

“I’m going to get up, take a shower, get dressed. I’m going to start figuring out how to deal with it.”

“Okay.”

S
HE GOT THROUGH THE DAY, AND THE NEXT. SHE BUILT ARRANGEMENTS, created bouquets, met with clients. She cried, and when her mother came by to be with her, she cried some more. But she dried the tears, and got through the day.

She dealt with crises, managed to handle her team’s spoken and unspoken sympathy when they dressed an event. She watched brides carrying her flowers walk to the men they loved.

She lived and worked, laughed and ate, walked and talked.

Even though there was a void inside her nothing seemed to fill, she forgave him.

She came into the midweek briefing a few minutes late. “Sorry. I wanted to wait for the delivery for Friday night’s event. I’ve got Tiffany processing, but I wanted to check the callas. We’ll be using a lot of Green Goddess and I wanted to check the tone with the orchids before she started.”

She went to the sideboard, chose a Diet Pepsi. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing yet. Actually, you can start,” Parker told her. “Since Friday’s our biggest event this week, and the flowers just arrived. Any problems?”

“With the flowers, no. Everything came in, and looks good. The bride wanted ultracontemporary, with a touch of funk. Green calla lilies, the cymbidiums—which are very cool in a yellow-green shade—with some white Eucharist lilies to pop the colors, in a hand-tied bouquet. Her ten, yes ten, attendants will carry three hand-tied Green Goddess callas. Small bouquet of Eucharist lilies, and a hair clip of orchids for the flower girl. Rather than corsages or tussy-mussies, the MOB and MOG will each carry a single orchid. Vases for all will be on the tables at dinner and reception.”

Emma scrolled down on her laptop. “We have the Green Goddess again for the entrance urns, with horsetail bamboo, the orchids, trails of hanging amaranthus and . . .”

She tipped the top of the computer down. “I need to step out of business mode for a few minutes. First just to say I love you, and I don’t know what I’d have done without all of you the past week or so. You must’ve gotten sick of me moping and whining at first—”

“I did.” Laurel rose her hand, waved it, and made Emma laugh. “Actually, your moping is substandard and your whining needs considerable work. I hope you’ll do better in the future.”

“I can only strive. Meanwhile, I’m done. I’m okay. I have to assume, since Jack hasn’t dropped by, hasn’t tried to call me, or e-mail or send up a smoke signal, you warned him off.”

“Yes,” Parker confirmed, “we did.”

“Thanks for that, too. I needed the time and distance to work the whole thing out and, well, level off. Since I haven’t seen a sign of Del either, I’m going to assume you asked him to steer clear for a while.”

“It seemed better all around,” Mac said.

“You’re probably right. But the fact is we’re all friends. We’re family. We’ve got to get back to being those things. So if you’ve worked out an all-clear signal, you can send it. Jack and I can clear the air, if it needs to be cleared, and we can all get back to normal.”

“If you’re sure you’re ready.”

She nodded at Parker. “Yes, I’m sure. So, moving to the foyer,” she began.

J
ACK SLID INTO A BOOTH AT COFFEE TALK. “THANKS FOR MEETING me, Carter.”

“I feel like a spy. Like a double agent.” Carter considered his green tea. “I kind of like it.”

“So, how’s she doing? What’s she doing? What’s going on? Anything, Carter, just anything. It’s been ten days. I can’t talk to her, see her, text her, e-mail her. How long am I supposed to . . .” He trailed off, frowned. “Is that me?”

“Yeah, that’s you.”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t stand to be around myself.” He glanced up at the waitress. “Morphine. A double.”

“Ha-ha,” she said.

“Try the tea,” Carter suggested.

“I’m not quite that bad. Yet. Coffee, regular. How is she, Carter?”

“She’s okay. There’s a lot of work right now. June is . . . It’s insane, actually. She’s putting in a lot of hours. They all are. And she spends a lot of time at home. One of them usually goes over, at least for a while, in the evenings. Her mother came over, and I know that was pretty emotional. Mac told me. That’s the double-agent part. Emma doesn’t talk about any of this with me. I’m not the enemy, exactly, but . . .”

“I get it. I haven’t gone by the bookstore either because I don’t think Lucia wants to see me. I feel like I should be wearing a sign.”

Caught between annoyance and misery, Jack slumped back in his seat. “Del can’t go over there either. Parker decree. God, it’s not like I cheated on her or smacked her around or . . . And yes, I’m trying to justify. How can I tell her I’m sorry if I can’t talk to her?”

“You can practice what you’re going to say when you can say it.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of that. Is it like this for you, Carter?”

“Actually, I’m allowed to talk to Mac.”

“I meant—”

“I know. Yes, it’s like that. She’s the light. Before, you can fumble around in the dark, or manage in the dim. You don’t even know it’s dim because that’s the way it’s always been. But then, she’s the light. Everything changes.”

“If the light shuts off, or worse, if you’re stupid enough to shut it off yourself, it’s a hell of a lot darker than it was before.”

Carter shifted forward. “I think, to get the light back, you have to give her a reason. What you say is one part, but what you do, that’s the big one. I think.”

Jack nodded, then pulled out his phone when it signaled. “It’s Parker. Okay. Okay. Yeah?” he said when he answered. “Is she—What? Sorry. Okay. Thanks. Parker—Okay. I’ll be there.”

He closed the phone. “They opened the door. I have to go, Carter. There are things I need to—”

“Go ahead. I’ll get this.”

“Thanks. God, I feel a little sick. You could wish me a whole shitload of luck.”

“A whole shitload of luck, Jack.”

“I think I’ll need it.” He shoved out, strode quickly to the door.

Jack arrived at the main house at exactly the time Parker specified. He didn’t want to piss her off. Twilight fell softly, sweet with the perfume of flowers. His palms were sweaty.

For the second time in more years than he could count, he rang the bell.

She answered. The gray suit, and the smooth roll of hair at the nape of her neck told him she hadn’t changed from work mode. One look at her—so neat, so fresh, so lovely, made him realize how much he’d missed her.

“Hello, Parker.”

“Come in, Jack.”

“I wondered if I’d ever hear you say that again.”

“She’s ready to talk to you, so I’m ready to let you talk to her.”

“Are you and I never going to be friends again?”

She looked at him, then cupped his face, kissed him lightly. “You look terrible. That goes in your favor.”

“Before I talk to Emma, I want to tell you, it would’ve killed me to lose you. You, Laurel, Mac. It would’ve killed me.”

This time she put her arms around him, let him hold on. “Family forgives.” She gave him a squeeze before stepping back.

“What choice do we have? I’m going to give you two options, Jack, and you’ll pick when you go to Emma. The first. If you don’t love her—”

“Parker, I—”

“No, you don’t tell me. If you don’t love her, if you can’t give her what she needs and wants—not just for her, but for yourself—make it a clean break. She’s already forgiven you, and she’ll accept it. Don’t promise her what you can’t give or don’t want. She’d never get over that, and you’ll never be happy. Second option. If you love her, if you can give her what she needs and wants—not just for her, but for yourself—I can tell you what to do, what will make the difference.”

“Then tell me.”

S
HE WORKED LATE AND ALONE, AS SHE DID MOST NIGHTS NOW. That would have to stop soon, Emma thought. She missed people, conversations, movement. She was nearly ready to step outside the safety zone again. Clear the air, she decided, say what she had to say, then get back to being Emma.

She missed Emma, too, she realized.

She took the finished work to the cooler, then came back to clean her station.

The knock stopped her. She knew before she walked out it would be Jack. No one was more efficient than Parker.

He held an armload of bold red dahlias—and her heart twisted.

“Hello, Jack.”

“Emma.” He let out a breath. “Emma,” he said again. “I realize it’s shallow. Bringing flowers to clear the way, but—”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you. Come on in.”

“There’s so much I want to say.”

“I need to put these in water.” She turned, went into the kitchen for a vase, a jug of the food she kept mixed, her snips. “I understand there are things you want to say, but there are things I need to say first.”

“All right.”

She began to clip the stems under water. “First, I want to apologize.”

“Don’t.” Temper licked around the edges of his tone. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m going to apologize for the way I acted, for what I said. First, because when I got over myself I realized you were exhausted, upset, not feeling well, and I had—very deliberately—crossed a line.”

“I don’t want a damn apology.”

“You’re getting one, so deal with it. I was angry because you didn’t give me what I wanted.” She arranged the flowers, stem by stem. “I should’ve respected your boundaries; I didn’t. You were unkind, so that’s on you, but I pushed. That’s on me. But the biggest issue here is we promised each other we’d stay friends, and I didn’t keep that promise. I broke my word, and I’m sorry.”

She looked at him now. “I’m so sorry for that, Jack.”

“Fine. Are you done?”

“Not quite. I’m still your friend. I just needed some time to get back to that. It’s important to me that we’re still friends.”

“Emma.” He started to lay his hand on hers on the counter, but she slid it away, fussed with the flowers.

“These really are beautiful. Where’d you get them?”

“Your wholesaler. I called and begged, and told them they were for you.”

She smiled, but kept her hand out of reach. “There. How can we not be friends when you’d think to do something like that? I don’t want any hard feelings between us. We still care about each other. We’ll just put the rest behind us.”

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes, it’s what I want.”

“Okay then. I guess we get to talk about what I want now. Let’s take a walk. I want some air to start with.”

“Sure.” Proud of herself, she put away her snips, her jug.

The minute they stepped outside, she put her hands in her pockets. She could do this, she thought. She was doing it, and doing it well. But she couldn’t if he touched her. She wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

“That night,” he began, “I was exhausted and pissed off, and all the rest. But you weren’t wrong in the things you said. I didn’t realize it, about myself. Not really. That I put those shields up or restrictions on. I’ve thought about that since, about why. The best I can figure is how when my parents split, and I’d stay with my father, there’d be stuff—from other women. In the bathroom, or around. It bothered me. They were split, but . . .”

“They were your parents. Of course it bothered you.”

“I never got over the divorce.”

“Oh, Jack.”

“Another cliché, but there it is. I was a kid, and oblivious, then suddenly . . . They loved each other once, were happy. Then they didn’t and they weren’t.”

“It’s never that easy, that cut and dried.”

“That’s logic and reason. It’s not what I felt. It’s come home to me recently that they were able to behave civilly, able to make good, happy lives separately without waging war or making me a casualty. And I took that and turned it on its head. Don’t make promises, don’t build a future because feelings can change and they can end.”

“They can. You’re not wrong, but—”

“But,” he interrupted. “Let me say it. Let me say it to you. But if you can’t trust yourself and your own feelings, and you can’t take a chance on that, what’s the damn point? It’s a leap, and I figure if you take that leap, if you say this is it, you have to mean it. You’d better be sure because it’s not just you. It’s not just for now. You have to believe to make the leap.”

“You’re right. I understand better now why things . . . Well, why.”

“Maybe we both do. I’m sorry I made you feel unwelcome. Sorry you now feel you crossed a line by trying to do something for me. Something I should’ve appreciated. Do appreciate,” he corrected. “I’ve been watering the planters.”

“That’s good.”

“You were . . . God, I’ve missed you so much. I can’t think of all the things I’ve worked out to say, practiced saying. I can’t think because I’m looking at you, Emma. You were right. I didn’t value you enough. Give me another chance. Please, give me another chance.”