Vision In White

Chapter FIFTEEN


NEITHER THE CAR NOR HER MOTHER SHOWED ON MONDAY. ON Tuesday, when her patience ran thin, Mac’s calls to her mother’s house and cell went directly to voice mail.

By Wednesday, she actively entertained the thought of reporting her car stolen. But then she’d just have to bail her mother out of jail.

So she went over to the main house to mooch breakfast.

“Parker’s on an emergency house call. Saturday’s bride woke up with a zit or something. Emma’s waiting on an early delivery, so it’s just you and me.”

“Does that mean there won’t be pancakes?”

“I don’t have time for pancakes—and God, I wish Mrs. G would shake off the island sand and get home. I’ve got to make foliage and flowers. Have a muffin.”

“Did Parker have any idea when she’d get back?”

Laurel glanced up, stopped rolling out her flower paste. “Your car’s not back?”

“Both it and Linda are MIA. I’ve left a dozen messages. Her ears are going to bleed and fall off when she gets them. I threatened to report it stolen.”

“Do it. There’s the phone.”

“I’ll probably be arrested for sheer stupidity for giving her the keys. I’m going to go by her place. I have another shoot, and I need to pick up some custom paper that wasn’t ready Monday. And I think I want some shoes.”

“Haven’t heard from Carter?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re going to buy shoes, which is comfort food for you. Have you called him?”

“To say what? I’m sorry? I already said that. I was wrong? I was, I know I was wrong, but it doesn’t change what I feel.”

“Which is?”

“Confused, afraid, stupid. Double all of that because I miss seeing him,” she admitted. “I miss talking to him. So I think it’s better if I don’t see him or talk to him.”

“Your logic doesn’t resemble the logic of humans.”

“He probably doesn’t want to see or talk to me anyway.”

“Coward.”

“Maybe. I’m a coward without a car.” She waited in silence while Laurel rolled out her paste. “You could lend me yours.”

“I could. But that would be enabling, which is what you continue to do with Linda. I love you too much to do that.”

“It’s not enabling. It’s business. I could cram my equipment into her ridiculous little toy, but funny, she left the car and not the keys. It’s not the client’s fault I caved or she’s so self-centered she hasn’t brought it back.”

“No, it’s not.” With care, Laurel used a template and began cutting out the first flowers.

“I’m so pissed off. I admit the pissed off portion helps balance out the sheer misery of the Carter situation, but at this point I’d rather be miserable about him and have my wheels. Why does she do this? And don’t say because I let her. I swear, and I’ll swear it in blood, I had no intention of lending her the damn car. I never would’ve put myself in this position again if it hadn’t been for those exact circumstances.”

“I’d like to believe that, but here you are, Mac, paying the price as usual. While as usual she pays nothing. No consequences for Linda. She’ll bring your car back when she’s damn good and ready. You’ll confront her, bitch, complain. She’ll pull out all her usual crap. Then she’ll forget the whole thing because she’ll have gotten and done what she wanted, and topped it off by being the center of your world while you bitch and complain.”

“What am I supposed to do? Beat her to death with my tripod?”

“I’ll help you hide the body.”

“You would.” Mac sighed. “You’re a true friend. I’m not a coward or a pushover about most things.”

“No, you’re not. Anything but. I guess that’s why it irritates me down to the marrow when you are. When she causes you to be both. Make her pay for once, Mackensie. I bet once you do, the next time will come easier.”

“How? Believe me when I say I want to. I can’t actually call the cops. I gave her the damn keys. And maybe I think—know,” she corrected, “it was passive-aggressive bullshit that she didn’t leave me hers, it still . . .”

“I like that look. That is not the look of cowardly pushover. What?”

“She left her car.”

“Oh, oh, we’re going to smash the toy. I’ll get my coat and Del’s old baseball bat.”

“No. God, you’re a violent soul.”

“I like smashing. It’s therapeutic.”

“We’re not going to beat up the car. It’s an innocent bystander in this. But I am going to have it towed.”

“That’s not bad, but having it towed to her house just means she doesn’t have to bother to come get it.”

“Not to her house.” Mac’s eyes narrowed as she thought it through. “Remember a few months ago, that guy rear-ended Del’s new car. It had to be towed. The guy, the mechanic guy who took care of all that. He’s got the tow truck, the garage, the lot. Damn it, what’s the name? Where is Parker with her magic business cards?”

“Call Del. He’ll remember. And let me just say this is why we’re friends. When you get your teeth into it, Mac, you’re beautiful.”

“So lend me your car.”

“Make the calls, and it’s yours.”

SHE FELT RIGHTEOUS. SHE FELT STRONG. BY THE TIME SHE’D completed her shoot, run her errands, stopped off to buy more twenty-gauge wire for Laurel, she decided she deserved new shoes. Maybe, considering the trauma and triumph of the last few weeks, she deserved new earrings, too.

Earrings for Linda, she decided. Shoes for Carter. Celebration and commiseration.

Maybe she’d go by his place on the way home. While she was feeling strong and righteous. They were two smart people who cared about each other. Surely they could find a compromise, some middle ground, some solution.

She didn’t want to lose him, she thought. She didn’t want to go through her life Carter-less.

She wandered through the mall until she hit the Holy Grail. The shoe department at Nordstrom.

Maybe she needed new boots, too. You could never really have too many boots. New shoes and new boots would give her that firm sense of self-reliance she needed to go to Carter’s. She could pick up a bottle of wine, like a peace offering. And they’d talk, and he’d look at her that way he looked at her. And . . . that would be pulling a Linda, she decided, as she had Laurel’s car.

But she could still go by, still take the wine. She could ask him to dinner at her place. It could be a kind of joke, an icebreaker. Hey, I brought you this wine. Why don’t you come over for dinner later tonight and bring this with you? Of course then she’d have to stop off and buy something to fix. Or she could just raid Mrs. G’s supply.

No, no, she thought as she picked up a pair of electric blue ankle boots that sang her name. She had to cook. Had to show him he mattered enough for her to make the effort. He mattered. It all mattered.

Which was why she was so screwed up over it in the first place.

“It’s . . . Meredith, isn’t it?”

Mac turned, glanced at a vaguely familiar blonde. “No, sorry.”

“But aren’t you the wedding photographer?”

“Yes. It’s Mackensie.”

“Of course! Sorry. I’m Stephanie Gorden. I met you at my cousin’s wedding last Saturday.”

“Oh, right. How are you?”

“Surrounded by shoes. I’m great. What fabulous boots! Corrine and I are playing hooky this afternoon. Corrine! Come over and meet Mackensie.”

Oh God, Mac thought. How could fate hand her fabulous boots and a kick in the ass at the same time?

“Corrine, this is Mackensie. She’s a wedding photographer, and a very good friend of Carter’s.”

“Oh?”

And Corrine was perfect, Mac thought. So make that a kick in the ass along with a slap in the face. She glided over in exquisite red peep-toe pumps with her glossy dark hair spilling in romantic curls to her shoulders. Eyes, deep and sultry, scanned Mac as her soft, shapely lips curved in a cool smile.

“Hello.”

“Hi. Great shoes.”

“Yes. I think they’re going to be mine.”

Even her voice was perfect, Mac thought bitterly. Low and just a little throaty.

“So, you know Carter Maguire.”

“Yes. We went to high school together. For a while.”

“Really?” Absently, Corrine picked up a pair of kitten-heel slides. “He never mentioned you. We were involved for quite some time.”

“Corrine and Carter,” Stephanie said cheerfully. “It was practically one word. It’s so funny running into you like this. I was just telling Corrine I’d heard Carter was seeing someone, and that I’d seen you together at Brent’s wedding.”

“Funny.”

“And how is Carter?” Corrine asked, as she set the slides back down. “Still buried in his books?”

“He seems to have time to come up for air.”

“Haven’t been seeing him very long, have you?”

“Long enough, thanks.”

“You two should compare notes.” Stephanie gave Corrine a friendly hip bump. “Corrine could give you a lot of pointers where Carter’s concerned, Mackensie.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun? But, I like the discovery. Carter’s a fascinating and exciting man, entirely too much of one for notes. Excuse me. I see a pair of slingbacks with my name on them.”

As Mac aimed for the other side of the department, Stephanie arched her eyebrows. “Exciting? Carter? He must’ve evolved since you dumped him, Cor. I have to say, he did look on the hot side when I saw him Saturday. Maybe you should’ve hung on there a bit longer.”

“Who says I can’t have him back if I want him?” She looked down at the pumps. “In fact, I may take my new shoes on a little visit.”

Stephanie snickered. “You’re a bad girl.”

“What I am, is bored.” She frowned over at Mac. She thought she should be the one to have those boots. They’d certainly look better on her than some skinny, orange-headed tight ass. “Besides, why should she have Carter? I saw him first.”

“I thought Carter bored you.”

“That was before.” On a long sigh, Corrine sat, scanned the small mountain of shoes she was considering. “The trouble with you, Steph, is you’re married. You’ve forgotten the thrill of the hunt, the competition. The score.”

She slipped off the pumps, slipped on a pair of spikeheeled sandals in metallic pink. “Men are like shoes. You’re supposed to try them on, wear them awhile—as long as they look good on you. Then toss them in the closet and shop for more.”

She stood, angled to study the results in the mirror. “And every now and then, you pluck something out of the closet, try them on again and see how they look.”

She glanced over, scowled when she saw Mac trying on the blue boots. “The one thing you don’t do is let somebody else go rooting around in your closet.”


ROUTINE, CARTER THOUGHT, HAD ITS PURPOSE. IT GOT THINGS done, offered a certain comfort and kept hands and mind occupied. He hung up his coat, went to his home office to lay his evening’s work on the desk. He checked his messages.

There was a pang when Mac’s voice failed to breeze into the room, but that was routine, too.

Parker had advised a little time and space. He’d give Mac more time. Another day or two.

He could wait. He was good at waiting. And more than anything, he realized, he wanted her to come to him.

He went downstairs to feed the cat and make himself some tea. At the counter, he drank the tea while he went through the day’s mail.

And he wondered if his life could be any more ordinary, any more staid. Would he find himself in this same loop—read rut—in another year? God, in another decade?

He’d been comfortable enough before Mackensie had reentered his life.

“It’s not as if I’d planned to be alone forever,” he said to the cat. “But there was plenty of time, wasn’t there? Time to enjoy a certain routine, time to enjoy my home, my work, the freedom that comes from being single. I’m barely thirty, for God’s sake.

“And I’m talking to a cat, which is not how I want to spend my evenings for the rest of my life. No offense. But no one wants to merely settle. To be with someone because being alone’s the only other option. Love’s not some amorphous concept created for books and poetry and not attainable. It’s real and vital, and it’s necessary. Damn it. It changes things. Everything. I can’t be what I was before I loved her. It’s ridiculous for anyone to expect that.”

Having finished his meal, the cat sat, gave Carter a long stare, then began to wash.

“Well, she’s not as reasonable as you. I’ll tell you something else while we’re on the subject. I’m good for her. I’m exactly what she needs. I understand her. All right, no, I don’t. I take that back. But I know her, which is a different thing altogether. And I know I can make her happy once she gets over being too pigheaded to admit it.”

He decided then and there she had another twenty-four hours. If she didn’t come to him within that time frame, he’d just have to take control of the situation. He’d need a plan of some sort, an outline of what needed to be said and done. He rose to get a pad and pencil.

“Oh, for God’s sake. The hell with plans and outlines. We’ll just deal with it.” Annoyed, he slammed the drawer on his finger. Typical, he thought, sucking at the ache. He decided to console himself with a grilled cheese sandwich.

If she’d come to her senses, they’d be together right now, maybe fixing an actual meal. Something they could talk over. He wanted to know if she’d gotten the big job. Wanted to celebrate with her. To share it with her.

He wanted to tell her about the funny short story one of his students had turned in—and about the excuses another had given him for not completing an assignment.

He had to admit the temporary amnesia gambit had been inventive.

He wanted to share all that with her. The big things, the little ones, all the bits and pieces that made up their lives. He just had to show her she wanted it, too. No, not only wanted it, he remembered. He had to show her she could have it.

He put the sandwich in the skillet, opened a cupboard for a plate. When the knock sounded at his front door, he barely missed rapping his head on the corner of the open cupboard.

He thought: Mackensie, and hurried out of the kitchen.

The image of her was already in his mind when he opened the door, so it took him several awkward seconds to process Corrine.

“Carter.” She came in laughing, did a graceful turn to end with her arms around him. She tipped her head back, eyes sparkling dark, and pressed her lips to his.

“Surprise,” she said, on a little purr.

“Ah, yes. It certainly is. Corrine.” He disentangled himself. “You’re . . . looking well.”

“Oh, I’m a wreck. I must’ve driven around the block three times before I worked up the nerve to stop. Don’t break my heart, Carter, and say you’re not happy to see me.”

“No. I mean . . . I certainly wasn’t expecting to.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

“You are in.”

“Always so literal. Are you going to close the door, or make me grovel in the cold?”

“Sorry.” He shut the door. “You caught me off guard. What do you want, Corrine?”

“More than I deserve.” She took off her coat, offered it to him along with a plea in her eyes. “Hear me out, won’t you?”

Trapped between manners and puzzlement, he hung up her coat. “I thought I already did.”

“I was stupid, and so careless with you. You have every right to toss me out on my ass.” She wandered into the living room. “When I look back at what I did, what I said . . . Carter, I’m so ashamed. You were so good to me, so good for me. You made me better than I was. I’ve been thinking about you. Thinking about you a lot.”

“What about—” He had to dig for the name. “James?”

She rolled those sultry eyes. “My mistake. My punishment for hurting you. It didn’t take me long to realize he was just a reckless adventure. He was a boy compared to you, Carter. Please say you forgive me.”

“It’s old business, Corrine.”

“I want to make it up to you, if you’ll let me. Give me a chance to show you.” She walked back to him, trailed her fingers over his cheek. “You remember how it was with us, how good it was. We could have that again. Carter.” She wound around him. “You could have me again. You just have to take me.”

“I think we should—”

“Let’s be sensible later.” She pressed in as he tried to ease her back. “I want you. I want you so much. I can’t think about anything else.”

“Wait. Stop. This isn’t going to—”

“All right. You’re the boss.” With that sparkling smile in place, she tossed her hair. “We’ll talk first, all you want. Why don’t you pour me a glass of wine and we’ll . . . Is something burning?”

“I don’t—Oh, hell.”

He raced to the kitchen, and Corrine’s smile went sharp. This would take more time and effort, she realized. But she didn’t mind the challenge. Actually, she thought, the fact that Carter hadn’t come to heel as she’d expected only made him more exciting. And it would make seducing him all the more satisfying.

After all, the one place he hadn’t bored her was in bed.

She softened her smile as she heard him coming back.

“Sorry, I was cooking something. Corrine, I appreciate the apology and the . . . offer, but—Sorry,” he repeated at the knock on the front door.

“It’s all right. I’ll wait.”

With a shake of his head, Carter walked out to open the door. His brain, already on overload, hit the red zone when he saw Mac.

“Hi. Peace offering.” She held out a bottle of wine. “I handled things badly, and I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance to do better. If you’re up for that, I thought maybe you could come over for dinner tonight. Maybe bring a bottle of wine. Hey, that’s a nice label you’ve got there.”

“You—I—Mackensie.”

“Who is it, Carter?”

Not good, was all Carter could think. This could not be good, as Corrine strolled out. He saw shock rush over Mac’s face.

“This isn’t—”

“Oh, wine, how nice.” Corrine took the bottle from Carter’s numb hand. “Carter was just about to pour me a glass.”

“Actually, I . . . Mackensie Elliot, this is Corrine Melton.”

“Yes, I know. Well, enjoy the wine.”

“No. Don’t.” He all but leaped out the door to grab her arm. “Wait. Just wait. Come inside.”

She shook his hand off. “Are you joking? Grab me again,” she warned, “you’ll have more than a bruise on your jaw.”

She stalked off to a car he realized wasn’t hers as Corrine called out from the doorway.

“Carter! Sweetie, come inside before you catch cold!”

Routine, he thought? Had he actually been worried about falling into the rut of routine?


MAC STORMED INTO THE HOUSE. “WHERE THE HELL IS everybody?” she shouted.

“We’re back in the kitchen! We’ve been trying your cell,” Emma called out. “Get back here.”

“You would not believe the day I had. First I run into Carter’s sexy ex in the shoe department at Nordstrom, which nearly spoiled my petty pleasure in having my mother’s car towed. Why didn’t anyone bother to tell me she was gorgeous?” Mac complained and tossed her coat on a stool.

“And as if that wasn’t bad enough with all sexy and sultry in these fabulous red peep-toes and her Catwoman with a whip voice, I spent sixty bucks on a bottle of wine as a peace offering to Carter, and another eighty at the market buying all this crap to fix a makeup dinner for him and what do I find when I go by his place? What do I find? I’ll tell you what I find. Her. Her in a black cashmere sweater cut down to here, with just enough pink lace under it to say, dive in, honey. And he stands there, introducing us, all flustered and befuddled.

“Now she’s drinking my goddamn wine.”

Parker held up both hands. “Wait a minute. Carter was with Corrine—his ex?”

“Didn’t I just say that? Isn’t that what I said? And she’s ‘Oh, sweetie, come in before you catch cold.’ Except in sexy voice. And he was cooking something. I could smell it. It smelled like burnt toast, but still. We have one little disagreement and he’s making her burnt toast and pouring her my wine?”

“I can’t see Carter jumping back there.” Emma shook her head. “No possible way.”

“She was there, wasn’t she, with her pink lace cleavage?”

“If so, you should’ve kicked his ass, then hers, then taken your wine.” Laurel moved over to give Mac a back rub. “But I tend to lean with Emma. Let us travel back to the shoe department at Nordstrom. First, did you buy any?”

“Shoe department, Nordstrom. What do you think?”

“You can show us later. How did you know it was Carter’s ex? Or did she know you?”

“She had that what’s-her-name with her. Cousin of the groom from Saturday’s event. She recognized me. And they’re both giving me the once-over, which I resent. I seriously resent, and the what’s-her-name is giggling, and ‘You two should compare notes.’ Asinine bitch.”

“And doesn’t it strike you as strange and coincidental,” Parker said, “that the evening of the same day you just happen to find her at Carter’s? Does no one else smell plot?”

Laurel and Emma raised their hands.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Disgusted, Mac lowered to a stool. “She played me. I was too stunned and mad and, okay, jealous, to see it. But, what, she didn’t know I was going over there. So—”

“I think that was just icing. I know her a little, remember,” Emma reminded Mac. “She’s always had the ‘I want what you want, but more I want yours.’ She probably went over just to see if she could take him away from you, and then—”

“I give her a bottle of wine.” Mac dropped her head in her hands. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just not mean and calculating, like she is. And neither is Carter,” Parker said. “He wasn’t with her, Mac. She was just there.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. And I walked away, left her the field. But he introduced us.”

“Mishandled, I’ll grant you.” Parker nodded. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. It’s too much. Emotionally exhausting. I guess I’ll eat ice cream and sulk.”

“You could eat caviar and celebrate.”

Mac frowned at Parker. “Celebrate what? The idiocy that is relationships?”

“No, the triumph of Vows signing a contract for the Seaman wedding. We got the job.”

“Yay. No, sorry, give me just a minute to change gears.” She scrubbed her hands over her face, tried to shove down the sick anger and find the triumph. “We actually got it?”

“We got it, and we’ve got Cristal and beluga to prove it. We’ve been waiting for you so we could pop this cork.”

“What a strange day.” Mac pressed her fingers to her eyes. “What a hell of a strange day. And you know what? This is a really good way to end it. Open that big boy, Parker.”

“Once it pops, this is officially a no-sulking zone.”

“Already done.” She pushed to her feet. “I feel a happy dance coming on. Pop it!”

At the celebrational sound Mac let out a cheer.

“To us.” Parker lifted her glass. “Best friends ever, and damn smart women.”

They clinked, they drank. And Mac thought she could get through anything, anything that came, as long as she had them.