Vision In White

Chapter EIGHTEEN


MAC 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.”


THERE 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.

She understood dynamics and personalities, how they formed and re-formed images. Here was tradition for them, conversation over a Sunday family dinner, bits and pieces of their lives passed around like the mashed potatoes.

She was the X factor. The outside element that—at least for the moment—altered the image.

“Weekends must be your busiest time,” Pam commented.

“Generally. We do a lot of weekday evening events.”

“A lot of work during the week, too,” Carter pointed out.

“All the planning. It’s not just showing up with a camera. Then there’s after the event. I’ve seen a couple of the packages, the albums Mackensie’s done. They’re works of art.”

“Everything’s digital now.” Diane shrugged, poked at her chicken.

“Primarily. I still work with film now and then. This is a wonderful meal, Mrs. Elliot. You must love to cook.”

“I like the production and drama of big meals. And it’s Pam. I also like the idea of four women, four friends, forming and running a business together. Running your own company takes a lot of stamina, a lot of dedication, along with the creativity.”

“But it’s such a happy business,” Sherry put in. “It’s like an endless celebration. Flowers and beautiful dresses, music, champagne.”

“Weddings keep getting more elaborate. All that time, that stress, that expense, for one day.” Diane lifted a shoulder even as her mouth turned down in a frown. “People more worried about who sits where or what color ribbon to use than what marriage means. And the people getting married are so tired and stressed from all of that the day’s just a blur anyway.”

“You had your day, Di.” A little fire burned in Sherry’s eyes.

“I’m having mine.”

“And all I’m saying is that by the time I got to the altar I was so worn out I can barely remember saying I do.”

“You said it.” Her husband smiled at her. “And looked beautiful when you did.”

“Be that as it may—”

“You’re absolutely right,” Mac cut in. “It can be exhausting. And what should be the most vivid and important day of your life to that point can become anticlimactic, even tedious. That’s what we’re there to prevent. Believe me, if you’d had my partners when you were planning your wedding, the day wouldn’t have been a blur.”

“I don’t mean to be critical, really, of what you do. I’m just saying that if the people involved didn’t feel obliged to put on such a production, well, they wouldn’t need companies like yours to handle everything.”

“Probably true,” Mac said easily. “Still, a bride’s going to stress and worry, even obsess, but she can leave the details to us. As many as she feels comfortable with. She—sorry, Nick,” she added with a smile. “She’s the focus of the day, and for us, she’s the focus for months leading up to that day. It’s what we do.”

“I’m sure you’re very good. In fact, everything I’ve heard about you and your company indicates you are. I just think simple is better.”

“It’s all a matter of taste and individuality, isn’t it?” Pam reached for the basket of dinner rolls. “More bread?”

“And I don’t want simple. I want fun.”

“We’ve got it.” Mac sent Sherry a quick grin. “But simple can be better, depending on that taste and individuality. Even simple takes an eye for detail. We did a small, simple wedding today. Late morning ceremony. The bride’s sister was her only attendant. She carried a small, hand-tied bouquet and wore flowers in her hair instead of a veil. We had a champagne brunch after and a jazz trio for dancing. It was lovely. She looked radiant. And I’d estimate Vows put about a hundred and fifty hours in, to make sure it was perfect for her. I’m pretty sure she’ll remember every moment of it.”


WHEN THE EVENING WAS DONE, AND THEY WENT TO CARTER’S, he waited until they were inside and hugged her. “Thanks. I imagine it’s nerve-wracking to meet a horde like that—and to get the third degree.”

“Let me just say: Whew. Do you think I passed the audition?”

“Definitely.”

She bent down to pet the cat who came to greet them. “You have a very nice family. I figured you would. You love each other. It shows.”

“We do. Should I apologize for Diane? She likes to pull off the silver lining to find the clouds inside.”

“No. I get her, because I often do the same. I just internalize it more. I liked them, even her. They’re all so normal. It gives me family envy.”

“You can share mine. And I wish I could say that without putting that look in your eyes.”

“So do I. It’s my fatal flaw, not yours.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Her jaw dropped. He rarely swore. “It’s—”

“You don’t have any fatal flaw. What you have is an ingrained habit of looking at marriage, for yourself, from one angle only. And from that angle all you see is failure.”

“That may be true, it’s probably true. But I’ve shifted that angle more for you, with you, than I have with anyone. I don’t know if I’m capable of more.”

“I’m not going to push you, but I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it. That I haven’t thought about making a life with you. It’s difficult to look inside myself and know, without a single reservation, that’s what I want. And to look at you, and know it’s not what you think you can have.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know if you can understand I’m more afraid of that than being hurt myself.”

“I don’t need your protection.” He reached out, tapped the dangle of diamonds she wore. “You thought when I gave you these there might be an engagement ring in that box. You looked stricken.”

“Carter—”

“What would you have said, I wonder, if there had been? I’m not asking. We’ll call it a rhetorical question. I’ll make you a promise right here and now, which may put your mind at ease. There won’t be a ring or a question until you ask for them.”

“You’re too good for me.”

“I’m forced to repeat myself. That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not. And I actually think quite a bit of myself. What I should be, Carter, is on my knees asking you if you’d have me. And I can’t get it out. It’s stuck. It’s stuck right here.” She pressed her fist to her chest. “And every time it starts to loosen, just a little, something slams it back down. You’re so much better than I deserve.”

“Don’t do that to me.” He took her by the shoulders. “Don’t put me somewhere I don’t want to be.”

“I don’t know what I’d have said if there’d been a ring in that box. And that scares me. I don’t know, and I can’t see if whatever I’d have said would’ve been the right thing or the wrong thing for both of us. I have to see. I know the angle’s wrong. More, the lens is defective, and I know it.”

She stepped back from him. “I want to change it, and that’s a first.”

“That’s a start. I’ll settle for that, for now.”

“You shouldn’t settle for anything. That’s my point.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, or who to love. You’re the one. You’re going to be the one tomorrow, and fifty years from tomorrow.”

“I’ve never been the one. Not for anybody.”

He closed the distance between them. “You’ll get used to it.” He tipped her face up to his, kissed her.

“Why? Why am I the one?”

“Because my life opened up, and it flooded with color when you walked back into it.”

She wrapped her arms tight around him, pressed her face to his shoulder as emotion swamped her. “If you asked, I couldn’t say no.”

“That’s not good enough, for either of us. When I ask, you need to want to say yes.”