Vision In White

Chapter NINE


A CRAPPY MOOD DIDN’T SERVE AS AN EXCUSE FOR MISSING A Monday morning breakfast meeting. So Mac took it with her, like a snarling dog on a leash, to the conference room at the main house. Laurel and Parker sat nibbling on cranberry muffins in what had once been the Browns’ library.

The books remained, a kind of frame to the space. The fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth. The old gleaming library table held the setup for coffee, and she knew the engraved console hid a supply of bottled water.

Her friends sat at the round inlaid table in the center of the room. Bright and beautiful, she thought, both of them. Every damn hair in place at eight-freaking-A.M. Just looking at them made her feel sloppy and gawky and somehow less in the torn jeans she’d dragged on.

“And when I called him on it?” Laurel lifted her cup of what Mac knew would be perfectly prepared cappuccino. “He said, ‘I never leave the house without my toothbrush.’ ” She let out a snort of derision, then smiled at Mackensie. “You’ve just missed my retelling of The Demise of Martin Boggs. Why the hell did I go out with someone named Martin Boggs anyway? I hope your date was better than mine.”

“It was fine.”

“Mmm, that good, huh?”

“I said it was fine.” Mac dumped her laptop on the conference table and stalked over to the coffee bar. “Can we get started on this? I have a lot to deal with today.”

“Somebody got up on the cranky side of the bed.”

Mac flipped up her middle finger.

“Right back at you, pal.”

“Girls, girls.” Parker let out a long, windy sigh. “Do I have to separate you? Have a muffin, Mac.”

“I don’t want a goddamn muffin. What I want is to get on with this meeting that’s a total waste of time anyway.”

“We have three events this weekend, Mac,” Parker reminded her.

“Which have all been outlined, organized, scheduled, discussed, blueprinted, and microscoped down to the last overblown detail. We know what we’re doing. We don’t have to talk it to death.”

“Drink some coffee,” Parker suggested, but her tone had cooled. “It sounds like you need it.”

“I don’t need coffee, or a stupid muffin.” Mac spun back around. “Let me just sum all this up. People will come. Two of them will get married—most likely. Something will go wrong and be fixed. Someone will get drunk and be dealt with. Food will be eaten, music will be played. People will leave and we’ll get paid. The two who most likely get married will most likely divorce within five years. But that’s not our problem. Meeting over.”

“In that case, there’s the door.” Laurel gestured. “Why don’t you use it?”

Mac slammed her coffee back on the counter. “Good idea.”

“Just a minute. Just a damn minute!” Parker’s voice snapped out, spoiling Mac’s furious exit. “This is business. Our business. If you don’t like the way it’s run, we’ll schedule a meeting so you can air your grievances. But your bitch-fit isn’t on this morning’s agenda.”

“Right, I forgot we live and die by agenda. If it’s not on the Holy Spreadsheet or keyed into the Magic BlackBerry it isn’t Parker-worthy. Clients are allowed to believe they’re human beings with actual brains and emotions, while you herd them down your preordained path. Everybody falls in line for Parker, or God help them.”

Parker got to her feet, slowly. “If you have a problem with the way I’m managing the business, we’ll discuss it. But I have a group coming in about fifty minutes for a tour. I have an hour free today at two, so we can take this up then. In the meantime, I think Laurel had an excellent idea. There’s the door.”

Flushed from the cold, Emma rushed in. “I wouldn’t be late, but I dropped a whole—” She stared when Mac shoved by her, and kept going. “What’s wrong with Mac? What happened?”

“Mac had her bitch on.” Temper smoldering in her eyes, Laurel picked up her coffee. “We didn’t want to play.”

“Well, did you ask her why?”

“She was too busy slapping us around for that.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. I’m going after her.”

“Don’t.” Temper iced in her eyes, Parker shook her head. “Just don’t. She’ll only put her foot up your ass for your trouble. I’ve got potential clients coming this morning, and we have current ones who need attention. We’ll work around her for now.”

“Parker, when one of us has a problem, we all have a problem. Not just in the business.”

“I know that, Emma.” Parker pressed her fingers to her temple. “Even if she’d listen right now, which she wouldn’t, we don’t have time.”

“Besides if we all went ’splody every time one of us had a lousy date, this room would be full of our bloody body parts.”

“Mac and Carter?” Emma shook her head at Laurel. “I don’t see how that could be it. My mother talked to his last night and called me after to try to pump me. As far as I know, everything went fine when they went out.”

“What else?” Laurel demanded. “What makes a woman bitchier than a man? And okay, maybe occasionally each other. But . . .” She trailed off, closed her eyes. “Her mother. God, we’re idiots. Nothing crawls up Mac’s butt like her mother.”

“I thought her mother was in Florida.”

“Do you think distance is any deterrent to the force that is Linda Elliot?” Laurel asked Parker. “Maybe that’s it. That’s probably it, or part of it. But it’s still no reason to rip at us the way she did.”

“We’ll deal with it. We will. But we’ve got three events lined up, and we need to go over the details.”

Emma opened her mouth again, then swallowed the words when she saw Parker flip a Tums off the roll she took out of her pocket. No point, she thought, in having two friends upset. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the urns for Friday.”

“Great.” Parker sat back down. “Let’s get started.”


SHE KNEW WHEN SHE’D ACTED THE BITCH. SHE DIDN’T NEED A diagram, or to be offered muffins like she was a two-year-old who needed a cookie. And she didn’t need her friends showing her the door. She knew exactly where it was.

She knew how to do her job. She was doing her job right this minute, wasn’t she? Mac cut the first mat for the photos she hadn’t had the heart or the energy to mount the night before. In a few hours, she’d have a completed custom package and a very satisfied client. Because she knew what the hell she was doing without explaining every damn step of the process to her business partners.

Did she need to know why Emmaline selected eucalyptus over asparagus fern as filler in an arrangement?

No, she did not.

Did she need to know Laurel’s secret ingredient for butter-cream frosting?

Right back with the no.

Did she need to discuss Parker’s latest entry in her Crack-Berry?

Dear God, no.

So why the hell did anyone care what filter she planned to use or which camera bodies she’d decided to strap on?

They did theirs, she did hers, and everybody was happy.

She pulled her weight. She put in the time, the effort, the hours the same as the rest. She . . .

She cut the damn mat wrong.

Disgusted, Mac tossed the ruined board across the room. She grabbed another, checked and rechecked her measurements. But when she lifted her mat knife, her hand shook.

With considerable care, she set it down, then took two steps back.

Yes, she knew when she’d acted the bitch, she thought. And she knew when she had to get a grip on herself. As in right now. She knew, too, she admitted with a sigh, when she owed two of the people she loved most in the world an apology.

Even if they had been snotty—and they damn well had—she’d been snotty first.

She checked the time and sighed. She couldn’t do it now. Couldn’t get this weight off, not when Parker was currently escorting clients through the house.

We’re full service. We can tailor every detail to reflect your needs, and your vision of the day. Here’s our crazy bitch of a photographer who’ll be documenting that day for you in pictures.

Wouldn’t that be perfect?

She stepped into the powder room to splash cold water on her face. They were her friends, she reminded herself. They had to forgive her. That was the rule.

Steadier, she went back into her studio.

She let her machine take her calls and gave her current task all her concentration. When she’d finished she decided the client would never know the package had been created by a bitch in the throes of a massive attack of self-pity. Once everything was loaded in her car, Mac drove to the main house.

True, they had to forgive her, but first she had to ask. That was another rule.

Out of habit, she went in the back. When she stepped into the kitchen, she saw Laurel working at the prep counter. With a hand steady and precise as a surgeon’s, she monogrammed heart-shaped chocolate.

Knowing better than to interrupt, Mac held her silence.

“I can hear you breathing,” Laurel said after a moment. “Go away.”

“I just came in to eat some crow. I’ll be quick.”

“Make that very. I’ve got another five hundred of these to finish.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for acting that way, for saying those things. Things I didn’t mean in the first place. I’m sorry for walking out on the meeting.”

“Okay.” Laurel laid down her brush and turned. “Now, the question would be why.”

Mac started to speak, found her throat snapped shut. The sudden barrier had her eyes filling. She could only shake her head as tears spilled over.

“Okay, okay.” Laurel crossed over, folded Mac into a hug. “It’s going to be all right. Come on. Sit down.”

“You have five hundred chocolate hearts to monogram.”

“It’s probably more like four hundred and ninety-five at this point.”

“Oh, God, Laurel, I’m so stupid!”

“Yeah, you are.”

Quickly, efficiently, Laurel had Mac sitting at the counter with a box of tissues and a small plate of as yet unadorned chocolate hearts.

“I can’t take your candy.”

“It tastes a lot better than crow, and I’ve got plenty.”

Sniffling, Mac took one. “You make the best.”

“Godiva should tremble in its boots. What happened, honey? Was it your mother? Light went on,” she added when Mac didn’t speak. “Right after you did the outraged stalk.”

“Why can’t I suck it up, Laurel?”

“Because she knows every button to push when it comes to you. And no matter how much you suck up, she’s got more.”

It was, Mac had to admit, the heart of the target. “It’s never going to change.”

“She’s never going to change.”

“Meaning that’s on me.” Mac took another bite of chocolate. “I know it. I do. I said no. I said no, and I meant no, and I would’ve kept saying it even if Del hadn’t taken the phone and hung up on her.”

In the act of getting down a glass, Laurel glanced back. “Del was there?”

“Yeah, he came by to tease me about Carter—which is a whole other area of what the hell am I doing—and she called from Florida wanting another couple thousand so she could stay another week and finish her recovery.”

“I’ll give Del credit for hanging up on her, but he should’ve come back here to tell us.”

“I asked him not to.”

“So what?” Laurel demanded. “If he had any sense, he’d have done what you needed not what you asked. Then you wouldn’t have wallowed all night and woken up the bitch.”

She set a glass of ice water beside the chocolate. “Drink that. You’re probably dehydrated. How many times did she call after Del left you alone?”

“It’s not his fault. Twice. I didn’t answer.” Mac heaved a sigh. “I’m really sorry I took it out on you.”

“What are friends for?”

“Let’s hope Parker sees it that way. Can I take these up, to sort of sweeten the deal?”

Laurel chose two white chocolate hearts from her supply. “She’s no match for the white chocolate, and you might need the edge. Me, you just pissed off. Easy to get over it. You hurt her feelings.”

“Oh, God.”

“I figure it’s better you know that going in. She’s pissed, too, but it’s the hurt feelings you’ll need to get down to.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Knowing Parker, and she did, Mac went directly to the conference room. The incident had occurred there, so Parker-logic dictated its follow-up would take place in the same venue.

As she’d expected, Parker sat at the table working with her Crack—her BlackBerry. The fire had calmed to a cozy simmer, and the coffee had been replaced with the bottle of water Parker was rarely without. Her laptop sat open and beside it rested a tidy stack of files and printouts.

Parker was never anything but prepared.

As Mac came in, Parker set the BlackBerry aside. Her face was cool and blank. Her business-to-attend-to face, Mac knew.

“Don’t say anything. Please. I come bearing chocolate and every possible variety of apology. You can have as many of them as you want—the chocolate and the apologies. My behavior was ass-hatty in the extreme. Everything I said was from the box of stupid I brought in with me. Since I can’t take it back, you have to forgive me. You don’t have a choice.”

She set the plate down. “There’s white chocolate.”

“So I see.” Silently, Parker studied her friend’s face. Even if she hadn’t known Mac nearly all of her life, she’d have seen the signs of a recent crying jag.

“You’re just going to come in here and say you’re sorry after I did all this work so we could fight it out and I could make you crawl?”

“Yes.”

Considering, Parker picked up a white chocolate heart. “I assume you’ve already been through this with Laurel.”

“Yes. Hence the chocolate. I blubbered all over her. I got most of it out, but if you don’t eat that so I know we’re okay, I’m going to start up again. It’s like a symbol. Men shake hands after they beat each other up. We eat chocolate.”

With her eyes on Mac, Parker bit into the heart.

“Thanks, Parker.” Mac dropped into a chair. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“That helps. Let’s just clear the air. If you’ve got a problem with how I’m managing Vows, we have to be able to discuss it, one-on-one or as a group.”

“I don’t. Parks, how could I? How could any of us? Sure the repetition gets old sometimes, but we all know the reason for it. Just like we all know that you hammering out and handling a zillion details frees the rest of us up to focus on our specific parts of the whole. I can do what I do—and the same for Em and Laurel—because you think about everything else. Including thinking about everything the rest of us do so we can all kick wedding ass.”

“I didn’t bring it up so you could stroke my ego.” Parker took another bite of chocolate. “But do go on.”

And we’re back, Mac thought with a laugh. “It’s a fact. You’re anal, obsessive, and a little bit scary with the memory you have for minutiae. And it’s a fact that’s a big part of the reason we kick that ass. I don’t want to do what you do, Parks. None of us do. And because I opened the box of stupid and put my ass hat on, I hit you where I knew it would hurt most.”

Mac glanced at the files. “You put reports together, didn’t you? Documentation, cost analyses and other really mean stuff.”

“I was prepared to squash you like a bug.”

Mac nodded, chose a dark chocolate heart. “Eating candy’s better.”

“It really is.”

“So . . . how did the tour go?”

“They brought their mothers, and an aunt. And a toddler.”

“A toddler?”

“The aunt’s granddaughter. She was cute—and really, really fast on her feet. They toured Felfoot Manor yesterday, and the Swan Resort last week.”

“Hitting the big ones. How’d we measure up?”

“They want a Saturday in April of next year. An entire Saturday.”

“We got it? On a tour and a pitch? A double booking?”

“No booty dance yet.” Parker lifted her water bottle and sipped. “MOB—the one with the gorgeous Prada bag on her arm with the checkbook inside it—wants to meet with all of us. Full consult before commitment. She’s got ideas.”

“Oh-oh.”

“No, she’s got ideas, the sort that would make this a major event. The kind of event that generates serious attention. Father of the bride is Wyatt Seaman, of Seaman Furniture.”

“The ‘We make your house your home’ Seaman Furniture?”

“The same, and his wife has deemed us potentially worthy. Not capital W worthy, yet. But we’re going to give her the presentation to end all presentations.”

Challenge lit Parker’s face, fired in her eyes. “After which, she’ll be taking her checkbook out of that gorgeous Prada bag and giving us a deposit that’ll have our hearts singing hallelujahs.”

“Then we dance.”

“Then we dance.”

“When’s the presentation?”

“A week from today. You’ll need new packages. We want it very fresh. They took a look at Emma’s space, and she did a quick pitch. Since you were wearing the ass hat, I steered them clear of the studio.”

“Very wise.”

“But we had your samples here, so we could give her the feel. Next Monday, we’ll want to highlight every shot you’ve had in a magazine. And . . . you know exactly what to do.”

“And I’ll do it.”

Parker pushed over a file. “Here’s a rundown of who we’ll be dealing with. I did some Googling. And here’s bullet points and the latest schedules for the three upcomings.”

“I’ll cram.”

“Do that.” Parker passed Mac a bottle of water. “Now tell me what happened.”

“Just Lindaitis, again. Fever’s broke, and I’m fine.”

“She couldn’t have wanted money. You just . . .” Parker trailed off as she read Mac’s expression. “Already?”

“I said no—repeatedly. Then Del hung up on her.”

“That’s my brother.” The pride came through. “I’m glad he was there when she called. Still, Del could probably do more than hang up on her. Something legal. It may be time for that, Mac.”

Mac brooded into the fire. “Could you do that, if it was your mother?”

“I don’t know. But I think I probably could. I’m meaner than you.”

“I’m pretty mean.”

“I’m mean, Laurel’s hard-assed, Emma’s a pushover. And you fall between Laurel and Em. We run the gamut,” Parker said, closing her hand over Mac’s. “It’s why we work so well as a team. Why did you tell Del not to tell me?”

“How do you know I told him not to tell you?”

“Because otherwise he would have.”

Mac blew out a breath. “I didn’t want to suck you guys into the Linda vortex. Then I sulked and brooded, woke up Bitch Queen, and ended up sucking you in anyway.”

“Next time avoid the middle part and remember we’re always willing to get sucked in.”

“Got it. Now before I go back to earning a living and being a productive member of the team, I have a question. Would you sleep with Carter Maguire?”

“Well, he hasn’t asked me. Will he be buying me dinner first?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. He can’t expect me to hop into bed with him without even springing for a meal. But if we were talking about you,” she said, gesturing with the water, “I’d have to ask if you find him attractive, sexually.”

“You can’t just sleep with every guy you find sexually attractive. Even if dinner’s included.”

“True, we’d never get anything else done. Obviously you like him, and you’re thinking about him, spending time with him—and considering having sex with him.”

“I’ve had sex before.”

Parker gave up and ate the other white chocolate heart. “I’ve heard that.”

“I don’t know why I’m so hung up on this one issue when it comes to Carter. I should deal with it. I should just have sex with him, get it done, and move on.”

“You’re a romantic fool, Mackensie. Stars always blinding your eyes.”

“It’s what I get for being in the wedding business.”


IT WASN’T OUT OF HER WAY, EXACTLY, TO DRIVE BY THE ACADEMY en route to the next client. In any case she had a little time to kill before her appointment. In any any case, she hadn’t returned Carter’s call, which was rude, so what was the harm in doing a quick drop by?

He’d be in class, she supposed. She’d take a quick peek—check that out, then leave him a note at the front office. She’d think of something amusing and breezy, thereby putting the ball they kept batting around back in his court.

Had it been this quiet in the corridors back in the days she’d gone here? Had the air been this echoey, shooting her footsteps off like gunfire?

The stairs she climbed were the same she’d climbed a dozen years before. A lifetime before. So long before she couldn’t quite picture herself as she’d been, only a vague image, like a print that had been softened to a blur.

It seemed she walked with a ghost of herself, one full of potential and possibility.

One who was fearless.

Where had that girl gone?

Mac walked to the classroom door, peeked in the porthole window. The pensive mood vanished.

He wore the tweed jacket again, with a shirt, tie, and V-necked sweater under it. Thank God he wasn’t wearing his glasses or she’d have been a gooey puddle of lust on the floor.

He leaned back against his desk, a half smile on his face and his attention centered on a student who—if the expression on her face and her gestures were any indication—spoke passionately.

She watched him nod, speak, then shift his attention—all of it—to another student.

He’s in love, she realized. In love with the moment, and all the moments that made up what happened in that room. He was so completely there. Did they know it? she wondered. Did those kids understand they had all of him?

Did they know, could they know—the young and fearless—what a miraculous thing it was to have all of anyone?

She jolted when the bell rang, pressed a hand to her heart when it thumped in surprise. Chairs scraped, bodies sprang into motion. Mac barely skipped out of the way before the door slammed open.

“Read act three for tomorrow, and be prepared to discuss. That goes for you, too, Grant.”

“Aw, come on, Dr. Maguire.”

She stayed out of the way of the stampede, but managed to angle herself to see three students stop at his desk. He didn’t rush them away, then—God help her—he put his glasses on to check a paper one of them handed him.

Mackensie, she thought as her hormones twanged, you are toast.

“You made some good points today, Marcie. Let’s see if we can expand on them tomorrow when we discuss the third act. I’ll be . . .”

Mac watched him glance over as she moved into the doorway. Watched him blink, then take off his glasses to bring her into focus. “I’ll be interested in your take.”

“Thanks, Dr. Maguire. See you tomorrow.”

As the classroom emptied, as the corridors filled with noise, Carter set his glasses down. “Mackensie.”

“I was in the neighborhood, and it occurred to me I didn’t return your call,” she said, walking to his desk.

“This is better.”

“Certainly more interesting for me. You’re all professorial looking.”

He glanced down as she gave the knot of his tie a little wiggle. “Oh. Monday morning faculty meeting.”

“You, too? Hope yours went better than mine.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. Water over the bridge.”

“Under, generally. Well, barring flood.”

“Right. I enjoyed seeing you in your natural habitat.”

“Would you like to go for coffee? That was the last class of the day. We could—”

“Hey, Carter, I was going to grab a . . .” A short man with horn-rims and a fat shoulder-bag briefcase wandered in. He stopped, gave Mac a baffled look. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Um, Mackensie Elliot, one of my colleagues, Bob Tarkinson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mac said as Bob’s eyes went wide behind the lenses. “Do you teach English?”

“English? No, no, I’m in the Math Department.”

“I liked math. Geometry especially. I like figuring the angles.”

“Mackensie’s a photographer,” Carter explained, then remembered Bob already knew that. And maybe just a little too much more.

“Right. Photography, angles. Good. Soooo, you and Carter are—”

“Talking about having coffee,” Carter said quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bob.”

“Well, I could . . . Oh, right, right.” With only the first half ton of bricks landing on him, Bob clued in. “Tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Mackensie.”

“Bye, Bob.” Mac turned back to Carter.

Bob took the opportunity to shoot Carter a wide grin and two enthusiastic thumbs-up on his way out.

“So, ah, coffee.”

“I’d like that, but I’m on my way to a client. When I’m done I have to go home and do my homework. I’m cramming for a test.”

“Oh. What?”

“Big job, major client. Super-duper presentation required. We’ve got a week to put something together that clinches it. But if you’re done for the day, maybe you could walk me out to my car.”

“Of course.”

She waited while he got his coat. “I almost wish I had some books for you to carry. It would circle around to the nostalgia I get when I come in here. Although I don’t recall ever having a guy carry my books.”

“You never asked me.”

“Oh, if we knew then what we know now. You looked good in there, Dr. Maguire. And I don’t mean in your professor suit. Teaching looks good on you.”

“Oh. Well. Really I was just leading a discussion. Letting them do the work. That was more along the lines of conducting.”

“Carter, say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

They stepped outside, down the entrance steps to turn for the walk to visitors’ parking. “Never too cold to hang out when you’re a teenager,” Mac observed.

Kids milled the lawn, sat on the stone steps, loitered in the parking lot.

“I had my first serious kiss right over there.” She gestured toward the side of the building. “John C. Prowder laid one on me right after a pep rally. I had to round up Parker and Emma between fifth and sixth periods and recount the entire event in the girls’ room.”

“I saw you kiss him one afternoon, standing on the steps. My heart shattered.”

“If we knew then. I’ll just have to make it up to you.” She turned into him, wound her arms around his neck, pressed her lips to his. She kissed him in the shadow of the academy, with all the ghosts stirring in its corridors, all the old dreams shifting.

“Way to go, Dr. Maguire,” someone called out, with a few hoots of approval following.

Her face full of fun, she gave his tie another tug. “Now I’ve ruined your reputation.”

“Or seriously improved it.” He cleared his throat when they reached her car. “I suppose you’ll be busy all week with the proposal.”

“Busy, yes,” she agreed when he opened the door for her. “But I’ll come up for air.”

“I could make you dinner, maybe Thursday, if you could come up for air then.”

“You cook?”

“I’m not entirely sure. It’s a gamble.”

“I’m not opposed to gambling, especially when food’s involved. Seven? Your place?”

“That would be perfect. I’ll give you my address.”

“I can find you.” She got in the car. “I’ll bring dessert,” she said, then went breathless with laughter at his expression. “That wasn’t a metaphor for sex, Carter. I meant actual dessert. I’ll hit Laurel up for something.”

“Understood. But I do love a good metaphor.”

She drove away shaking her head. Points for the professor. Now she had until Thursday to decide if she’d settle for a piece of Laurel’s Italian cream cake, or add on the metaphor.