Full Circle (56 page)

“Well, okay.” John still sounded wary, but at
least he was willing to let Mark wait on him.

“Great. I’ll pick you up in forty-five
minutes.”

He changed out of his sweats into a nice pair
of jeans and a dark-grey pullover. It was a chilly evening, so the
long sleeves were a good choice. Then he shut off the dining room
light, vowing to fill the boxes tomorrow, and then headed out.

As he drove, he built a spur-of-the-moment
menu then swung by the store to grab everything he needed before
picking up Karma’s dad.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” John
said, buckling into the passenger seat.

Mark backed out of the driveway.

“I know, but I want to.”

They drove in silence for a couple of minutes
then John said, “This is a nice car.”

“Thank you.”

“Karma tells me you’ve done pretty well for
yourself.”

He shrugged. “I get by.”

John gave a dubious snort. “I’d say you do
more than just get by. This is a damn fine automobile.” He scanned
the dash and tan, leather accents.

“I spend a lot of time in my car, so I wanted
something comfortable.”

John made another derisive noise, but it
packed little punch, sounding more like he was forcing himself to
be standoffish when he really didn’t want to be.

Small talk was in short supply for the
remainder of the drive, but when Mark pulled into their
neighborhood, John whistled.

“This is where you live?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t, uh . . . I didn’t
know that.” John gaped at each large, custom home they passed, but
when he noticed Mark glance at him, he sat back in his seat and
tried to look less impressed, which lasted all of thirty seconds
until Mark pulled into their driveway.

“Wow.” John unbuckled and climbed out,
staring up at the three-story home he shared with Karma.

Mark retrieved the groceries from the trunk
and led him inside through the garage.

“We would have had you over sooner, but with
things the way they’ve been . . .”

John waved him off, shaking his head. “It’s
okay. I know I haven’t been your biggest fan.”

Mark chuckled. “That’s putting it mildly.” He
held the door open with his elbow since his hands were busy
clutching grocery-filled plastic bags. “Come on in. I’ll give you
the tour.”

After setting the groceries in the kitchen,
he led John through the downstairs, then to the basement, which he
and Karma were waiting until after the wedding to finish
furnishing, and then upstairs before returning to the kitchen.

John took a seat at the breakfast bar across
the immense center island while Mark set out preparing more of what
he referred to as a sampler than a meal. He wanted to show John
that healthy food didn’t have to be tasteless.

“Would you like to watch the game while I
prepare dinner?” Mark asked after a couple minutes of silence.
“Karma tells me you enjoy sports.”

He got the feeling John was trying to take
everything in and figure out how to talk to him. Maybe giving him a
reprieve and distracting him with sports would help.

“Okay . . . yeah, sure,” John
said distractedly. He followed Mark through the open floorplan to
the recessed living room on the other side of the room from the
kitchen.

Mark clicked on the flat screen. “Can I get
you something to drink? Water? Iced tea? Coffee?”

“Iced tea would be nice if it’s decaf.”

“It is.”

Mark returned to the kitchen and poured two
glasses, taking one into the living room and setting it on a
coaster.

“Karma always has a pitcher of iced tea in
the fridge,” he said as he walked back to the kitchen. “I have a
feeling she gets that from you,” he called over his shoulder.

“She does.” John sipped his tea.

Mark sprayed nonstick spray in a skillet that
had been heating on the stove. “She’s told me that you two go
fishing a couple times every summer and that you always bring iced
tea in Ball jars.”

“Yep.” John set his glass back on the
coaster. “Although we might not make it to the lake this
summer.”

“Why not?”

“My heart attack for one thing. Her marrying
you for another.” That sounded a bit like resentment.

“Oh, I don’t know. She’s pretty fond of those
fishing trips.” He tossed diced chicken in the skillet. Steam
hissed from the pan as the meat sizzled.

John nodded but didn’t say anything further.
Just kept his eyes on the TV while Mark cooked.

A little while later, John surprised him by
coming back to the kitchen and taking a seat on one of the
barstools.

Mark was slicing a zucchini for the last
dish.

“Okay, so what’s on the menu?” John lifted
his nose and sniffed, eyeing the skillets and dishes of food.

Mark tossed the zucchini in a bowl with diced
red onion and a quarter cup of low-fat feta cheese. “I’ve created a
bit of a sampler platter for you. He squeezed lemon juice into the
bowl of zucchini and tossed in some fresh dill. “This is a zucchini
salad, and that . . .” He pointed to a casserole
dish filled with rice, chicken, and red and green bell pepper.
Turmeric had turned the chicken and rice vibrant yellow. “That’s
chicken paella.” He pointed to a platter of chicken-filled lettuce
cups. “Those are Asian salad cups, and this is Thai chicken
broccoli salad with peanut dressing.” He lifted a rectangular
platter filled with chicken, broccoli, and mandarin oranges. A bowl
of peanut dressing sat on the corner.

John stared in wonder at the spread as Mark
put the finishing touches on the zucchini salad. “You did all this
in . . . what?” He checked his watch. “A little over
thirty minutes?”

“They’re all pretty quick dishes to make.” He
checked to make sure the burners were all turned off.

“And all these recipes are heart
healthy?”

Mark gave him a sideways nod. “Every single
one.” He grabbed two plates. “The zucchini salad will taste better
after a couple hours in the fridge, but I figured you could at
least try it. I’ll send the rest home with you.” He spooned some
onto a plate. “And I made these lettuce cups a bit on the mild
side, but you can make them spicier if you want.” He put one on
John’s plate then added some of the paella and chicken broccoli
salad.

“Thank you.” John appeared lost for words as
Mark set the plate in front of him.

“You’re welcome. I wanted to give you some
tastier options to replace bland chicken and steamed
vegetables.”

John smiled appreciatively then took a bite
of the paella. His eyes opened wide. “I think you’ve succeeded.
This is good.”

Mark filled his plate and sat beside him.
“The trick is to use other seasonings to replace the salt.” He
dipped a piece of chicken in the peanut sauce. “You can come up
with some fabulous flavor profiles with a little
experimenting.”

“Karma mentioned that you like to cook.” He
ate a forkful of the chicken and broccoli. “But this is far and
away above anything I expected.”

Mark speared an orange segment. “Thank you.
That means a lot coming from you.”

John took another bite then set down his
fork, studying Mark for a long moment. Then he sighed and bowed his
head. “I’ve terribly underestimated you, Mark.” He looked up,
remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance
before.”

Mark dabbed his napkin on his lips then set
it back in his lap. “The situation didn’t exactly lend itself to
chances. I’m sure you know by now how our relationship
started.”

John uncomfortably cleared his throat and
picked his fork back up. “Karma’s told me enough. And I remember
how she was after you left. I can only imagine—now that I know what
I know—that things weren’t any easier for you.”

“No, they weren’t. I was pretty devastated
without her. Your daughter’s a very special woman, Mr. Mason. I was
an idiot to walk away.”

John stabbed a piece of broccoli and dipped
it in his peanut sauce. “It’s clear you two love each other.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve obviously taken excellent care of
her.” He gestured to the food and the house.

“I’m trying.”

John gave him a stern glance. “You’re
succeeding
, Mark. You’ve made Karma very happy.” He ate
another bite of chicken.

A few seconds later, a troubled expression
fell over John’s face. “When she was a little girl, she would cry
in her room after school.” He frowned and looked like he was
recalling old, painful memories. “She would come home, shut herself
in her room, and cry. She didn’t know I knew, and I never told her.
But I could hear her quiet sobs through the door.” He glanced down
at his plate. “She had this notebook she wrote poetry in, and one
day she left it sitting on the kitchen table. I opened it and read
some of what she’d written. Beautiful stuff, but sad. Really sad. I
actually worried about her quite a bit, which was one reason I
devoted so much time to doing things with her, trying to make her
happy. And being that my son was part of what upset her, I tended
to take my frustration out on him.” He shrugged. “Something I’m
trying to rectify now.” He straightened as if getting his thoughts
back on track. “At any rate, I remember this one poem Karma wrote
where she was wondering if she would ever meet her Prince Charming.
I can’t remember the exact words, but she wrote about being carried
away on the wind to a magical land where she wasn’t this gangly,
long-haired girl who got made fun of every day and was instead a
beautiful maiden who captured the eye of a handsome prince.” He met
Mark’s eye and gave him a knowing smile. “She finally got her
wish.”

Karma had never told him that about her past,
but in light of everything else she’d told him, this certainly
sounded like her.

“I’m no prince, Mr. Mason. I’m not
perfect.”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Mark. Karma
doesn’t need perfect. She just needs someone who loves her. And
clearly, you do. Oh, and uh . . . call me John.”

Mark inhaled thickly, cleared his throat, and
then lifted his glass of iced tea. “Okay, John. Here’s to being
Karma’s prince. But not even a prince can replace a girl’s father.
So, here’s to dads, too.”

“I can toast to that.” John clinked his glass
to Mark’s. “Welcome to the family, son.”

Chapter 41

When I attained a certain advanced intimacy with a
man—and I don't just mean sex—I married him.

-Hedy Lamarr

Karma took a deep breath and glanced around the
table at all their friends and family. Rob and Holly were there.
And Daniel’s sister, Sonya. Their parents. Everyone who was anyone
in her and Mark’s life were with them for their rehearsal
dinner.

In less than two months, they’d pulled it
off. Everything was done. Everyone had pitched in to make their
wedding possible, but Daniel and Zach had outdone themselves. The
flowers, which she’d gotten a sneak peek at earlier, were beyond
gorgeous. And the cakes—yes, cakes . . . plural—were
amazing. She’d only seen pictures, but words couldn’t do justice to
the masterpieces she and Mark would be cutting into in less than
twenty-four hours. The wedding cake was five tiers, each of varying
height, with pale-peach roses wrapped in a strand around the cake.
The groom’s cake was three layers of chocolate upon chocolate, with
pale-peach roses made of icing spilling down one side.

But Daniel and Zach hadn’t stopped there.
They’d gone all out, ordering a variety of confections in shades of
blush and chocolate. Chocolate cake pops dipped in ganache and
decorated with pale-pink and white ruffles made of icing. A
miniature cupcake tower with a pink and white peony and
cream-colored hydrangea topper. Chocolate macaroons filled with
strawberry filling.

The guests would go into sugar shock just
looking at all the treats.

And flowers, flowers everywhere. Daniel was a
flower whore and had spent over a thousand dollars on the
centerpieces alone. It was all a bit overwhelming, but in a fairy
tale princess kind of way.

“Don’t worry,” he’d said. “I’ll be at the
reception hall in the morning, making sure everything is set up
just right. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

When she’d seen the bridal bouquet, she’d
fallen speechless. It was beautiful. Every pink and peach flower
known to man was bundled into the bouquet with enough white to make
the arrangement pop but not take away from her dress.

After all, a wedding was all about the
dress.

As dinner wound up, she lightly tapped her
spoon on the side of her glass. Mark joined her as they stood,
holding hands.

“I want to thank everyone for helping us for
the past two months,” she said. “None of this would be possible
without all of you stepping in and lending a hand.” She met Mark’s
eyes and smiled. Tomorrow he would be her husband. “We’re just
blown away and so grateful.”

Mark lifted his glass in his free hand. “More
grateful than words can express,” he added with a chuckle,
exchanging glances with her. “Two months ago, we had no idea just
how much we’d bitten off when we chose tomorrow to get married, but
with each and every one of you coming to our rescue when napkins
were delivered in the wrong color, or when invitations needed to be
addressed, or when tiny boxes needed to be filled with chocolate
”—everyone laughed—“Karma and I owe you each a special thanks.”

She smiled at him then let go of his hand as
she reached under the table for the bag of gifts they’d bought for
everyone. Mikimoto pearl bracelets for the ladies and gold,
engraved money clips for the men.

Spirits were high as they passed out presents
and expressed their appreciation.

Everyone finished dessert, and then it was
time to head home.

Mark pulled her aside, eyes filled with
love.

“I’m not going to sleep a wink tonight,” he
said, brushing his fingers down her cheek.