Vision In White

Chapter NINETEEN


MAC HEARD THE THUMP, THE HISS OF BREATH, AND OPENED one eye. Snuggled in bed, she watched Carter hobble over to get his shoes.

“What time is it?”

“Early. Go back to sleep. I managed to get up, shower, and nearly get dressed before I ran into something and woke you up.”

“It’s all right. I should get up, get an early start anyway.” Her eyes drooped closed again.

Carrying his shoes—and limping only a little—he walked over to kiss the top of her head. She made a murmuring sound of pleasure, and dropped back into sleep.

By the time she surfaced, the sun was beaming in.

Not such an early start after all, she mused as she rolled out of bed. Still, one of the perks of running your own business—and having no morning appointments—was sleeping in a little. She started for the bathroom, then shook her head and went back to make the bed.

It was the new Mac, she reminded herself. The tidy and organized in all areas of her personal and professional lives Mackensie Elliot. The Mac with the new, fabulously designed closet where everything had its place—and was in it.

She fluffed the pillows, smoothed the sheets, spread the duvet neatly. See, she told herself as she did every morning, it only took two minutes. With a nod of satisfaction, she surveyed her room.

No clothes tossed anywhere, no shoes kicked under a chair, no jewelry carelessly scattered on the dresser. This was the room of a grown-up, a woman of taste—and a woman in control.

She showered, then reminded herself to hang up the towel. In the bedroom she gave herself the pleasure of opening her closet and just standing there, looking at it.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

Her clothes hung in precise lines, according to function and color. Every pair of her impressive collection of shoes nestled inside its clear protective box, in stacks of type. Evening shoes, daywear, sandals, boots—pumps, peeps, spikes, wedges.

Things of beauty.

Handbags, again by function and color, sat easily accessed in generous cubbies. Inside the glossy white drawers of the built-ins lived scarves—once doomed to tangled knots or jumbled piles, neatly folded, as did her dressier sweaters, her hosiery.

It made getting dressed an absolute stress-free pleasure. No more hunting, no more cursing, no more wondering where the hell she’d put that blue shirt with the French cuffs then having to settle for another blue shirt when she couldn’t find it.

Because the blue shirt with the French cuffs was right there, where it belonged.

She pulled on a white tank, a navy V-neck with jeans, suitable wardrobe for the morning’s work, and the early afternoon shoot. Satisfied and smug, she strolled out.

Strode back in to stuff her pajamas in the hamper.

She walked downstairs just as Emma came in the front door.

“I’m out of coffee. Help me.”

“Sure. I was just about to . . . Oh, Carter must’ve made some before he left.”

“I don’t want to hate you for having someone who’ll make coffee while you sleep, but I need caffeine for my altruistic side to wake up.” Emma poured herself a mug, all but inhaled the first sip. “Life. It’s good again.”

Mac poured her own and drank in agreement. “Wanna see my closet?”

“I’ve seen it three times now. Yes, it’s the queen of all the closets in all the land.”

“Well, Parker’s is the queen.”

“Parker’s is the goddess of closets. You take queen. Saturday’s bride called,” Emma continued. “She thinks she wants to change the flower girl flowers from rose petals in a basket to a blush pink pomander.”

“I thought she changed from the pomander to the basket.”

“Yes. And from crescent bouquet to cascade and back again.” Emma closed her big brown eyes, circled her neck. “I’ll be glad when this one’s over.”

“She’s the kind who makes Carter’s sister right.”

“Sherry?”

“No, his older sister who says weddings are too stressful, too elaborate, and basically too big a deal. It’s just one day.”

“It’s the day. Plus, you know, our livelihood.”

“Agreed. But Saturday’s bride is going to be a handful right up to the walk down the aisle. She called me yesterday, and faxed a shot she’d found in a magazine. Which she wants me to duplicate on Saturday. Hey, no problem. Except for the fact her dress is completely different, as is her body type, her headdress, her hair. Oh, and we don’t happen to have the stone archway from an ancient Irish castle for her to pose in. At least not right handy.”

“It’s just nerves. The nerves of a control freak. I need another hit, then I’ve got to get to work.” Emma topped off the mug. “I’ll bring it back.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“I’ll bring the entire collection back,” Emma promised and scooted out.

Alone, Mac turned to open a cupboard. Some sugar and preservatives, she thought, along with her coffee. When she opened the cupboard, she found a shiny red apple in front of the box of Pop-Tarts. The note propped on it read: Eat me, too!

She snorted out a laugh as she took the apple, and laid the note on the counter. Sweet boy, she thought, taking a bite. Funny boy. What could she do for him short of marrying him at this stage?

She destroyed him with La Perla, she’d cooked an actual meal. She—“The photograph!”

She dashed to her workstation to boot up her computer. She hadn’t forgotten about phase three of the gift. She just hadn’t been able to decide which shot, and how to present it.

“Should be working, should be working,” she mumbled. “But it’ll only take a minute.”

It took her more than forty, but she selected the shot—one of the post-kiss, cheek-to-cheek images. He looked so relaxed and happy, and she . . . right there with him, she mused as she studied the final result. Tweaked, cropped, printed, and framed. To do it right she boxed it, tied it with a red ribbon, and tucked a sprig of silk lily of the valley in the bow.

Delighted, she printed out another of the shots for herself, selected a frame. She put the finished photo in a drawer. She wouldn’t set it out until he had his.

She turned music on, clicked the volume down to background. She worked, happy with the world in general, until the timer she’d set beeped telling her it was time to set up for her studio shoot.

Engagement portrait. She a doctor, he a musician. Mac had some ideas for them, and had asked him to bring his guitar. Medium gray background, bride and groom sitting on the floor and—

She turned, a fat floor pillow in her hands as her door burst open. Her mother all but exploded into the room, wrapped in a new jacket of sheared silver mink.

“Mackensie! Look!” She did a twirl, ending in a hipshot runway pose.

“You can’t be here now,” Mac said flatly. “I have clients coming.”

“I’m a client. I’m here for a consult. I came here first, but we have to get the rest of the team. Oh, Mac!” Linda rushed forward, all scissoring legs, gorgeous shoes, sumptuous fur. “I’m getting married!”

Caught in her mother’s perfumed embrace, Mac just closed her eyes. “Congratulations. Again.”

“Oh, don’t be that way.” Linda eased back, pouted for half a second, then did another laughing spin. “Be happy. Be happy for me. I’m so happy! Look what Ari brought me back from Paris.”

“Yes, it’s a beautiful jacket.”

“It really is.” Tipping her head down, Linda rubbed her chin against the fur. “But that’s not all!” She flung out her hand, wiggled her fingers. On the third rode an enormous square-cut diamond set in platinum.

Hell of a rock, Mac thought. Biggest so far. “It’s impressive.”

“The darling. He was miserable without me. He called me night and day from Paris.” She hugged herself, then did another spin. “Of course, I wouldn’t speak to him for the first three days. It was so mean of him to go without me. Naturally I refused to see him when he first got back.”

“Naturally,” Mac agreed.

“He begged me to come to New York. He sent a limo and a driver for me—and the car was full of white roses. And a bottle of Dom. But first, he sent dozens of roses, every day. Every day! I had to give in and go to him. Oh, it was so romantic.”

Closing her eyes, Linda crossed her arms over her chest. “Like a dream or a movie. We had dinner alone, at home. He had it catered with all my favorites, and more champagne, candlelight, more roses. He told me he couldn’t live without me, then he gave me this. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

Mac watched her mother admire the ring. “I hope you’ll be very happy together. I do. And I’m glad you’re happy now. But I have a shoot.”

“Oh.” With a wave of her hand, Linda dismissed it. “Reschedule, for heaven’s sake. This is major. Your mother’s getting married.”

“For the fourth time, Mom.”

“For the last time. To the right man. And I want you to do the wedding, of course. I need your very best for this. Ari said not to consider the cost. I want something fabulous and romantic and elegant. Sophisticated and lavish. I’m thinking pale pink gown. Valentino, I think, he suits me. Or I might look for something vintage, something old Hollywood. And a wonderful hat rather than a veil.”

Eyes sparkling, she fluffed a hand through her hair. “Some sleek updo, and I’ll have Ari buy me some amazing earrings to set it all off. Pink diamonds, I think. Then masses and masses of white and pink roses. I’ll speak to Emmaline there. We’ll need the invitations to go out right away. I’m sure Parker can take care of it. And the cake. I want massive. The Taj Mahal of wedding cakes, so Laurel will have to outdo herself. And—”

“When?” Mac interrupted.

“When what?”

“When are you planning to do this?”

“Oh. June. I want to be a June bride. I want spring and gardens and—”

“This June? As in three months from now? We’re booked solid.”

“As if that matters.” With a bright laugh, Linda whisked such mundane matters aside. “I’m your mother. Bump somebody. Now—”

“We don’t bump clients, Mom. We can’t ruin someone else’s wedding because you want a date in June at the last minute.”

Sincere—Mac knew it was sincere—hurt and puzzlement shone on Linda’s face. “Why do you have to be so mean to me? Why do you have to spoil this? Can’t you see I’m happy?”

“Yes, I can. I’m glad for you. I just can’t give you what you want.”

“You just want to punish me. You don’t want me to be happy.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what? What is it? I’m getting married, and my daughter runs a wedding business. Naturally I expect you to handle it.”

“We can’t handle it in June. We’ve been fully booked for June for months now, nearly a year.”

“Did you hear what I said? Money is no object. He’ll pay whatever you ask. All you have to do is change something around.”

“It’s not a matter of money, or nearly as simple as changing something around. It’s a matter of commitment and integrity. We can’t give you what you want when you want it, but the basic reason is because someone else already has it.”

“And they’re more important than me? Than your own mother?”

“Somebody else has already booked the date, ordered their invitations, made their plans. So, yes, in this case they’re more important.”

“We’ll see about that.” Temper sharpened her voice, her eyes, turned them both into hot little knives. “Everyone knows it’s Parker who runs this business. She’s the one who calls the shots. You’ll fall in line when she tells you to.”

Linda stormed to the door, spun back. “You should be ashamed for treating me this way.”

Weary, Mac walked to her workstation, picked up the phone after her mother slammed out. “I’m sorry,” Mac said when Parker answered. “I want to say I’m sorry first. My mother’s on her way over to see you. I’m afraid you’re going to have to deal with her.”

“All right.”

“She’s getting married again.”

“Well, I’m shocked!”

Mac laughed even as tears stung her eyes. “Thanks. She wants it here, this June.”

“She can’t have it. We’re booked.”

“I know. I told her, but apparently you’re the boss of me. Of all of us.”

“I’m always saying that. I’ll deal with it. It’s no problem.”

“It’s my problem.”

“Seeing as I’m the boss of you, I’m making it mine. I’ll call you back.”

In her office at the main house, Parker rose, walked to a mirror. She checked her appearance, smoothed a hair back into place, freshened her lipstick—and smiled because it felt like girding for battle.

She looked forward to it.

She took her time walking downstairs, even when she heard the bell ring insistently, repeatedly. She paused to adjust a rose in the vase on the foyer table, then fixing a cool smile on her face, opened the door.

“Hello, Linda. I hear congratulations are in order.”

“She didn’t waste any time.” Linda breezed in, took a quick glance around. “It must be odd opening your home to strangers, for money.”

“Actually, I find it very satisfying.” Parker gestured toward the drawing room. “We can sit in here.”

Shrugging out of her jacket, Linda crossed to a sofa. She tossed the fur negligently over the arm, sat, then leaned back, crossed her legs. “I realize I should have come to you first, but sentiment took me to my daughter. I wanted to share my happy news with her.”

“Of course.” Parker took a chair and, mimicking Linda’s pose, sat and crossed her legs. “You must be very excited. That’s a gorgeous ring.”

“Isn’t it?” Pleasure gushed again as Linda lifted her hand to admire it. “Ari is so thoughtful, and romantic. He’s swept me off my feet.”

“I think Mac mentioned he lives in New York. So you’ll be moving.”

“Very soon. I have a thousand things to see to first. My house, my things.”

“And Eloisa. I’m sure she’s excited at the idea of living in New York on college breaks when she’s not with her father.” Parker tipped her head slightly at Linda’s blank look.

“Oh, Eloisa’s ready to fly the nest. Of course we’ll have a room for her when she visits. At least until she can get her own place. Meanwhile, I have a wedding to plan. I wouldn’t dream of having anyone handle the details but you. Naturally we want the sort of affair that reflects Ari’s position and status. He’s a very important man, and—since we’re talking business—has the means to afford the very best. I’ll want to talk to the other girls about their end of things, but while I’m here I can give you a sense of what I’m looking for.”

“Vows isn’t going to be able to handle or host your wedding, Linda. We don’t have any dates open in June. In fact, we’re booked through the summer and fall.”

“Parker, you’re a businesswoman.” Linda spread her hands. “I’m offering you a major event, the sort that will bring this business of yours a great deal of attention, and certainly future clients. Ari knows important people, so I mean major clients. As I’ve got my heart set on having the wedding here, in the home of an old friend—one I still miss—we’ll compensate you for the short notice. How much do you estimate it would take to have a date open up in June. Say, the third Saturday?”

“You’re right, I’m a businesswoman.” Parker watched Linda smile in satisfaction. “I’m in the business of providing services for our clients. We have a client for the third Saturday in June. We’ve signed a contract with that client. When I give my word, I keep it. You really should consider having your wedding in New York. I can, if you like, give you names of other wedding planners.”

“I don’t want names. I said I wanted my wedding here. It’s important to me, Parker. I want to be married somewhere I feel at home, where I have a connection, to have people I love and trust looking after the details. I want—”

“Tears won’t work on me.” Parker’s voice turned cold as Linda’s eyes filled. “And I don’t care what you want. You’re not getting married here. So.” She got to her feet. “If that’s all, I’m busy.”

“You always thought you were better than us, looking down like you’re so much more important. A Brown of Connecticut. What are you now, renting out your big house, scrambling around serving drinks and running other people’s errands.”

“I’m a Brown of Connecticut, following a time-honored family tradition and earning a living.” She picked up Linda’s coat, offered it. “I’ll show you out.”

“When I tell Ari how you’ve treated me, he’ll put you out of business. You won’t be able to run a kid’s birthday party in this place. We’ll ruin you.”

“Oh, Linda, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that because it allows me to say something I’ve wanted to, for years. All the years I’ve watched you undermine and emotionally manipulate my best friend. All the years I’ve watched you alternately smother her or ignore her, as it suited your whims.”

Shock leached color from Linda’s cheeks. “You can’t speak to me that way.”

“I just did. Now I’ll finish. You’re not welcome in this house. Actually, you’ve never been welcome here, but tolerated. That ends now. You’ll only be permitted to walk in this door again if Mac wants it. Now get out of my house, get in your car, and get off my property.”

“And to think I wanted to do you a favor.”

Parker stood in the doorway, watching while Linda slid into her car. By the time she’d driven halfway home, Parker estimated, she’d believe that. She’d tried to do them a favor. She waited until the car gunned down the drive, then grabbed a jacket for the walk to Mac’s studio.

Mac met her at the door. “Parks, I—”

“Don’t apologize to me. You’ll piss me off.” She glanced at the studio space, noted the backdrop, the floor pillows. “You’ve got the engagement shoot. Soon,” she realized with a glance at her watch. “I’ll be quick.”

“How’d the consult go?”

“We didn’t get the job.”

“Did she cry or yell?”

“A little of both, with bribes and insults.”

“It’s amazing. She’s amazing. She really believes everyone’s world should revolve around her.” Weary of it, Mac pressed her fingers to her eyes and rubbed. “Within the hour, she’ll have turned this around to she was only asking as a favor to us, to try to boost the business. She was secretly relieved when we couldn’t manage the job, probably because it was too big for our business.”

“She was already on the way there when she walked out the door.”

“It’s a skill. Maybe it’ll last this time. The marriage, I mean. It’s pretty clear the guy’s got money, and plenty of it.”

“Bright side? She’ll be moving to New York.”

Mac paused. “I didn’t think of that. That whizzed by me. That’s a very bright side.” Still Mac sighed and moved in to drop her head on Parker’s shoulder. “Oh God, she tires me out.”

“I know.” Parker wrapped her arms around Mac in a hard hug. “Be okay,” Parker ordered.

“I will.”

“You want to come for ice cream after the shoot?”

“I might.”

“There’re the clients. I’ll get out of your way.”

“Parker? Even if we’d had the date open . . .”

“Oh, baby,” Parker said with some cheer as she went to the door. “No way in hell.”

With a shake of her head, Mac ordered herself not to feel guilty about that. At least not until after the shoot.


CARTER LOADED THE STACK OF ESSAYS IN HIS BRIEFCASE. THEY rode in the section that held a stack of test papers. His homework, he mused. He wondered if students had any idea how much homework the average teacher hauled away from the classroom every day.

On the board behind him he’d written the springboard for the essays he’d read that night.

Explore and compare the attitudes and philosophies of Rosalind and Jaques on love, and why you think each holds them.

The optimist and the pessimist, Carter thought, the melancholy and the joyful. His goal in the in-depth study of the play had been to guide his students under the surface of what might appear to be a light romantic comedy full of jokes and clever banter to the currents beneath.

Under all that, Carter supposed, his goal was to make his students think.

“Excuse me? Dr. Maguire?”

He glanced over at the woman in the doorway. “Yes. Can I help you?”

“I’m Suzanne Byers, Garrett’s mother.”

“Mrs. Byers, it’s nice to meet you. Come in.”

“I hoped to catch you before you left for the day. I won’t take up much of your time.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I couldn’t make Parents’ Night. I was down with the flu. I’d wanted to come, especially to speak to you. I guess you know Garrett didn’t have a strong start at the academy last year. And he didn’t come out of the starting gate with a bang this year either.”

“He’s made considerable progress, I think. Finding his stride. He’s bright. His participation in class has taken an upturn, and so have his grades and test scores this last semester.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted to speak to you. His father and I had been discussing taking him out of the academy.”

“I hope you won’t. Garrett—”

“Had been,” she interrupted. “We worked with him, threatened him, bribed him, tried private tutoring. Nothing got through, and we felt we were tossing away the tuition. Until a few months ago. It was like a light went on. He talks about books. He actually studies. He was genuinely disappointed when he got a B on his last paper in your class. I couldn’t speak for ten minutes when he told me, with some heat, he was going to ace the next one.”

“He could. He has the potential.”

“He talks about you. Dr. Maguire says, Dr. Maguire thinks. His grades in his other classes are improving—not by leaps and bounds, but they’re better. You did that.”

“Garrett did that.”

“You . . . engaged him so that he could do that. Would do that. He’s talking about taking your creative writing course next year. He thinks he may want to be a writer.” Her eyes filled. “Last year he barely passed. We had to meet with the dean. And now he’s telling me about Shakespeare, and he thinks he may want to be a writer.”

She blinked at the tears while he stood, speechless. “Dr. Maguire, according to Garrett, is pretty cool for a brainiac. I wanted you to know that whatever he does, whatever he becomes, he’s never going to forget you. I wanted to thank you.”


CARTER WALKED INTO MAC’S STUDIO WITH A LARGE PIZZA AND a light step. She sat on the sofa, her feet propped on the coffee table.

“Pizza,” he said, walking into the kitchen to set it on the counter. “I knew you had an afternoon shoot, and I have a briefcase full of papers to grade, so I thought pizza. Plus, it’s a happy food. I had a really good day.”

She groaned a little and had him crossing to her with concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Mostly. Pizza. I have a gallon of ice cream in my stomach. Possibly two gallons.”

“Ice cream.” He sat on the coffee table. “Was there a party?”

“No. Maybe. I guess it depends on your definition of party. Tell me about your really good day.”

He boosted up to kiss her, then sat back. “Hello, Mackensie.” “Hello, Carter. You’re wearing a very big smile.”

“I had one of those very big moments, for me. I have a student. He’s been a challenge, the sort who sits down and turns a switch in his head that takes him anywhere but the classroom.”

“Oh yeah, I had that switch. It was handy, especially during lectures on the Revolutionary War, or tariffs. Tariffs hit the switch automatically. Did your challenging student do well today?”

“He’s been doing well. It’s about finding another switch, the one that turns on interest and ideas. It shows in the eyes, just like the turn-off switch.”

“Really?”

“Garrett’s the kind of student who pushes a teacher to work a little harder. And when you find that switch, it’s intensely rewarding. He’s the one who got a B on that paper I graded on Valentine’s Day. Or the day before. I think of that as our Valentine’s Day.”

“Right. I remember. Good for Garrett.”

“His mother came to see me today. The majority of the time when a parent comes in, it’s not to bring an apple to the teacher. She brought me an orchard. She thanked me.”

“She thanked you.” Curious, Mac cocked her head. “That’s an orchard?”

“Yes. It’s not just about teaching facts and theories, or assignments and grades. It’s about . . . finding the switch. I found Garrett’s, and she came in to thank me. Now you have a very big smile.”

“You changed a life. You change lives.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No, you do. I document them, or at least pieces of them. And that’s important, it’s valuable. But you change them, and that’s amazing. I’m going to get you some pizza. Which I can’t share with you,” she said as she rose. “Due to ice cream stomach.”

“Why did you eat a gallon, or possibly two?”

“Oh.” She shrugged as he followed her into the kitchen. “Greed.”

“You told me you turn to ice cream in times of emotional upheaval.”

She glanced over her shoulder as she got down a plate. “I sometimes forget how well you listen. Let’s just say I didn’t have a really good day. Or maybe I did,” she considered. “It depends on the point of view.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s not important. And you have Garrett pizza. Do you want a glass of wine with that?”

“Only if you’re having one when you tell me. We can spend the next few minutes circling around it, or you can save time and just tell me.”

“You’re right. Circling around it makes it more important than it deserves to be.” Another bad habit to break, she decided. “My mother’s getting married again.”

“Oh.” He studied her face as she poured the wine. “You don’t like him.”

“I have no idea. I’ve never met him.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t.” She laid a hand over his briefly. “You can’t see how a mother could be getting married without her daughter at least being able to pick the guy out of a lineup. I doubt Eloisa’s met him either, or that it’s occurred to Linda either of us should. Anyway the Elliot/Meyers/Barrington . . . God, I don’t know what her last name’s going to be this time. The Elliot/Meyers/ Barrington slash name to be determined connections don’t have family dinners, so meeting this new one isn’t a priority.”

“I’m sorry it upsets you.”

“I don’t know what it does. I don’t know why it surprises me. The last time I saw Linda was when she called here, hysterical at midnight, and I drove over there in a damn ice storm thinking she’d been raped or attacked or God knows.”

“What? When was this?” He turned his hand over to grip Mac’s “Was she hurt?”

“Oh, it was . . . that night of the parent thing at the academy, and no, she wasn’t hurt. Except in Linda Universe. She was curled up on the floor dying because Ari—that’s the new fiancé—had to fly to Paris on business and didn’t take her. I was about to call the police, and an ambulance, then she’s all boo-hoo Paris. I turned around and left. Points for me because the usual MO would be for me to, resentfully, calm her down, get her into bed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“I don’t know.” With a shake of her head, she blew out a breath. “I really don’t. It wasn’t one of those proud mother-daughter moments, so I guess I tried not to think about it afterward. I walked out, and told her I wouldn’t come the next time she called. I said very hard things and left.”

“They needed to be said, and you needed to leave.”

“You’re right, both counts,” Mac agreed. “And today, she whirls in here in her new fur and refrigerator-box-sized diamond as if none of it happened. Talk about flicking switches. She’s getting married in June. Ari is forgiven due to fur, diamond, and proposal. And she expects us to do the wedding. June is like a parade of brides around here. We’re booked. Much fury and anger ensues. Then she took on Parker. That was the good part. Parker shut her down, showed her the door. Then there was ice cream.”

She took a sip of wine. “I like your day better.”

“She had to know you’d be booked.”

“No, not really. Honestly, that wouldn’t have entered her mind. She doesn’t see outside her own wants. Nothing else exists. And her anger and shock, even hurt, when those wants aren’t met are sincere. They’re genuine. She has the emotional maturity of a fruit fly, encouraged by a mother who indulged her every whim and taught her she was the center of the universe. She’s a product of that.”

“It doesn’t mean she’s allowed to treat you this way.”

“She is. She’s allowed to do as she pleases. I’m responsible for my reactions. And I’m working on them. Garrett and I are showing some improvement. She didn’t get what she wanted.”

“That’s not the point, only a result. She’ll repeat this cycle. She’ll come back and hurt you again. And when she does, she’ll have to deal with me.”

“Carter, you don’t want to take that on. It’s sweet, but—”

“It’s not sweet. She’ll deal with me.”

She remembered him taking a punch from an angry drunk. “I know you can handle yourself. But she’s my mother, and I need to handle her.”

“Sharing some DNA doesn’t make her your mother.”

Mac said nothing for a moment. “No,” she agreed, “it really doesn’t.”