Vision In White

Chapter SIX


IN THE MORNING THE SUN WAS JUST A LITTLE STRONGER THAN it needed to be, in Mac’s estimation. But otherwise, all was well.

See, she told herself. Young and resilient.

In her pajamas she ate a mini Hostess coffee cake with her coffee and watched the birds swoop and dive at the feeder. Ms. Cardinal enjoyed breakfast this morning, too, she noted. Along with her brightly plumed mate, and some unidentified neighbors.

She’d need her zoom lens to get a closer look and identify them. Probably some sort of book or guide, too, as the visual wouldn’t tell her anything unless it was a robin or a blue jay.

Catching herself, she stepped away from the window. What the hell did she care? They were just birds. She wasn’t going to sideline into nature photography or birdography.

Annoyed with herself, she crossed into her studio to check her appointment book and her messages. She had an afternoon appointment with a former Vows bride, now an expectant mother for pregnancy portraits. That, Mac thought, would be fun. And a nice stroke for the ego that her wedding photos had been so well received, the mom-to-be wanted this follow-up.

It gave her the rest of the morning to complete some work already ordered, to take the meeting at the main house, and to review the client’s wedding portrait for ideas on baby-in-waiting.

An hour or so toggled in, either side of the studio shoot for website work, she determined, and that was a good day.

Shifting, she pressed Play on her answering machine, business line. She followed up when necessary, congratulated herself on being a good girl, then checked her personal line.

Three messages in, she got the tingle.

“Damn it,” she said under her breath as Carter’s voice hit her straight in the belly.

“Ah, hi. It’s Carter. I wonder if you might want to go out to dinner, or maybe the movies. Maybe you like plays better than movies. I should’ve looked up what might be available before I called. I didn’t think of it. Or we could just have coffee again if you want to do that. Or . . . I’m not articulate on these things. I can’t use a tape recorder either. And why would you care? If you’re at all interested in any of the above, please feel free to call me. Thanks. Um. Good-bye.”

“Damn you, Carter Maguire, for your insanely cute quotient. You should be annoying. Why aren’t I annoyed? Oh God, I’m going to call you back. I know I’m going to call you back. I’m in such trouble.”

Calculating, she decided the odds were strong in her favor that he’d already left for work. She preferred the idea of talking to his answering machine in turn.

When his clicked on she relaxed. Unlike Carter, she was articulate on answering machines. “Carter, Mac. I might like to go out to dinner, or the movies, possibly a play. I have no objection to coffee. How about Friday, as it’s not a school night? Pick the activity and let me know.

“Tag, you’re it.”

See, it doesn’t have to be serious, she reminded herself. I can set the tone. Just having some fun with a perfectly nice guy.

Satisfied, she decided to indulge by working the first hour of her day in her pjs. Nicely on schedule, she dressed and took the consult at the main house, breezed back to her own with time to spare before her shoot.

Her message light blinked at her.

“Uh, it’s Carter again. Is this annoying? I hope it’s not annoying. I happened to check my messages at home on my lunch break. Actually, I made a point to check them in case you called me back. Which you did. I’m afraid I have a faculty dinner to attend Friday. I’d invite you but if you accepted and attended, you’d never go out with me again. I’d rather not risk it. If another night would do, even—ha ha—a school night, I’d like very much to take you out. If you’d like that, maybe we could do dinner and a movie. Is that too much? It’s probably too much. I’m confusing myself. I’d like to add, though it may not seem possible, I have asked women out before.

“I guess this makes you it.”

She grinned, as she’d grinned throughout the message. “Okay, Carter, try this one on.” She punched Call Back, waited for the beep. “Hi, Professor, guess who this is? I appreciate being shielded from the faculty dinner. Showing both good sense and chivalry has earned you points. How about Saturday night? Why don’t we start with dinner and see where it goes? You can pick me up at seven.

“And, yes, this makes you it again to confirm.”

In the best of moods, Mac switched on some music, dropped down at her computer. She sang along as she reviewed her upcoming client’s wedding shots. As possibilities and angles ran through her mind, she made notes. She clicked back through her files to see what equipment, what lighting, what techniques she’d used on the bridal portraits.

Considering the client’s olive complexion, the dark hair, the deep brown, exotic eyes, Mac chose an ivory drop. And remembering the client as just a little shy, just a bit demure, Mac decided to save what she thought could be the money shot until after she’d warmed mom-to-be up a little.

But she could prepare for it. She grabbed the phone, hitting the button for Emma as she opened the door to what she considered her prop room. “Hey, I need a bag of red rose petals. I’ve got a client coming any minute or I’d come down and steal them myself. Can you run them up here? And maybe, just in case, a couple of long-stemmed reds? They can be silk. Thanks. Bye.”

Juiced, she checked the bright pink tackle box she used for professional makeup, then switched the music to a New-Agey CD she thought suited the shoot. She was adjusting the backlight when Emma came in.

“You didn’t say what color red roses. It does matter, you know.”

“Not so much for this. And I can always manipulate them in Photoshop. Besides . . .” She walked over to take the ones Emma held. “Perfect.”

“The rose petals are real, so—”

“I’ll charge them off. Listen, since you’re here, can you stand in? You’ve got close to the same coloring, and you’re about the same height. Here.” She pushed the roses back at Emma. “Go over there, give me a three-quarter body angle, facing the window, head turned to the camera.”

“What’s this for?”

“Pregnancy shoot.”

“Oh, for Rosa.” Emma assumed the position. “Laurel did the cake for her shower last week. Don’t you love the follow-up clients? How we get to see these important scenes in their life.”

“Yeah, I do. Light’s good, I think. For the standard shots anyway.”

“What are you doing with the petals?”

“They’re for later, for the real shot—after I convince Rosa to get pretty much naked.”

“Rosa?” Emma gave an eye-rolling laugh. “Good luck with that.”

“You know her, right? I mean before she was a client. The wedding gig came through you. Your third cousin once removed or something?”

“My mother’s uncle’s cousin-by-marriage’s granddaughter. I think. But yeah, I know her. I know everyone, and everyone knows me.”

Could be a stroke of luck, Mac calculated. “Can you stick around for a while? You could help put her at ease.”

“I can give you a little time,” Emma decided after a check of her watch, “mostly because I’m dying to see how you try to get her undressed.”

“Don’t say anything about it,” Mac said quickly when she heard the knock on the door. “I need to guide her toward it.”

Mac’s first thought on opening the door was Wow! Look at the shape. And her mind shot off in various directions on how to exploit it, showcase it, intensify it as she drew Rosa inside.

Having Emma there served as a plus; nobody put people at ease quicker than Emmaline.

“Oh, Rosa, look at you!” All warmth, all welcome, Emma lifted her hands. “You’re gorgeous!”

With a quick laugh, Rosa shook her head while Mac took her coat. “I’m enormous.”

“Gorgeously. Oh, I bet you can’t wait. Let’s sit down for just a minute. Have you picked out names?”

“We keep thinking we have, then change our minds.” With a little whoosh of breath, her hand on the mountain of her belly, Rosa eased into a chair. “Today it’s Catherine Grace for a girl, Lucas Anthony for a boy.”

“Wonderful.”

“You don’t know the sex?” Mac asked.

“We talked ourselves out of it.”

“I love a surprise, don’t you? And it’s exciting to have Mac photograph you now.”

“My sister nagged me into it. I guess, at some point, I’ll appreciate looking back and seeing myself looking like I swallowed a hot air balloon.”

“You’re beautiful,” Mac said simply. “I’m going to show you. Why don’t you stand up here so I can take some test shots? Do you want anything first? Water? Tea?”

Rosa pulled a bottle of water out of her purse. “I drink like a camel, pee like an elephant.”

“Bathroom’s right over there, any time you need it. And any time you just want a break, say so.”

“Okay.” Rosa levered herself out of the chair. “Is my hair all right? This outfit? Everything?”

She’d pulled her dark hair back in a tail—very tidy. Mac intended to fix that. She’d chosen simple black pants and a bright blue sweater that skinned over the mountain. They would, Mac thought, start there.

“You’re fine. Just test shots. See the tape on the floor there? Stand right on the X.”

“I can’t even see my feet.” But Rosa moved to the mark, stood stiffly while Mac checked her light meter.

“Turn to the side, head toward me. Chin up a little, not that much. Yes, put your hands on the baby.” She glanced toward Emma.

Picking up the signal, Emma got up to wander behind Mac. “Have you set up the nursery?”

Emma kept Rosa talking, made her laugh and Mac took the first Polaroid. She rubbed it on her thigh to speed the developing, then, opening it, walked to Rosa. “See? You’re beautiful.”

Rosa took the print, stared. “I may be enormous, but I sure look happy. It’s really pretty, Mac.”

“We’re going to do even better. Let’s try a few in that same pose.”

Warming up now, Mac noted as she chatted Rosa up along with Emma. She tossed in quick directions. Tilt your head to the right, shift your shoulders. Halfway through she handed Rosa one of Emma’s long-stems, tried shots with the flower as a prop.

She got a full roll of what she considered very nice, very ordinary pregnant woman shots.

“Let’s try something else. A different angle, a different top.”

“Oh, I didn’t bring another top.”

“I’ve got something.”

Rosa patted her mound. “You couldn’t possibly have anything that would fit me.”

“It’s not about fit. Trust me.” Mac pulled a plain white man’s shirt out of the prop room. “We’re going to leave it unbuttoned.”

“But—”

“The contrast of the sharp lines of the shirt against the round curve of your belly. Trust me. And if you don’t like the look, no harm.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun.” Emma poured out enthusiasm. “Baby bumps are so cute.”

“I’m at thirty-eight weeks. The bump is Mount Everest.”

“It’s a beautiful shape,” Mac told her. “And you have great skin. The tone, the texture.”

“It’s just us girls,” Emma reminded her. “I’d love to see how it looks. The lighting’s so pretty, so flattering.”

“Well, maybe. But I’m just going to look fat.” Reluctantly, Rosa pulled off the sweater.

“I want one!” Emma exclaimed, and stroked a hand lightly over the baby. “Sorry. But it’s just . . . magnetic. It’s us, you know? We’re the only ones who can do it.”

“Celebrating the female.” Mac slipped the shirt on Rosa, fussed with the lines, turned up the cuffs a couple of times. “Let’s let your hair down. Contrast again, and it’s more womanly. I’m going to add a little more gloss to your lips, okay? So they read a little deeper.”

Flustered now, Mac thought as she worked. But that was all right. She could use that. “More a three-quarter angle for this, shoulder more forward. Good! Maybe cup your hands under your belly. Very pretty. I just need to adjust the light.”

“Are you sure I don’t look stupid? Sloppy? I feel like a cow who’s gone way past milking time.”

“Rosa.” Emma sighed. “You look sexy.”

Mac captured the surprise, the pleasure—and finally, the pride. “Big smile, okay. Straight at me. I mean, jeez, look what you did! That’s good. Okay? Need a break?”

“No, I’m fine. I just feel a little silly, I guess.”

“You don’t look silly, trust me. Emma, dress the sleeve a little, right side. See where it’s—perfect,” she said when Emma stepped over and adjusted. “Now, Rosa, turn a little more toward me. Little more. There. Hands on the sides of your belly. Good.”

She could see it coming together as she shot. See the moment, the magic. Nearly there, she thought. “I want you to look down, but lift your eyes—just your eyes to me. Look at the secret you have, the power. Think, for just a minute, how that secret got in there. Pow! Rosa, you’re fabulous.”

“I wish I’d worn a nicer bra.”

With that door cracked open, Mac lowered her camera. “Take it off.”

“Mackensie!” Rosa released a horrified giggle.

“We’re going to try a figure study. You’re going to love it.” Voice brisk, Mac gestured. “Sit down, relax, rest a minute. I need to set up.”

“What does she mean, figure study? Is that naked?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Emma took Rosa’s arm. “Come on and sit. We might as well see what she’s up to. Mac!” Emma called when the phone rang. “Should I get that?”

“No!” Mac rushed out, carrying a low stool. “It might be . . . I’ve got this game going on.” She set her stool on the mark, began to drape it with another ivory sheet as Carter’s voice came on.

“I imagine you can guess who this is. Saturday, starting with dinner and then, well . . . hmm. Seven o’clock. So that’s good. That’s great. I, ah, don’t know if there’s anything you particularly like to eat—or really hate, for that matter. You’d have mentioned if you were a vegan, right? I think you’d have brought that up. And I’m overthinking this again. So, I guess this concludes our game of tag. I’ll see you Saturday. Unless you need to call me about . . . I’m shutting up now. Bye.”

“He sounds so cute.” Rosa turned back to where Mac refined the drape of the sheet.

“Yes, he does.”

“A first date?”

“Technically the second. Or possibly, unofficially, a third. It’s very unclear. Rosa, there’s another sheet in the bathroom. I want you to go in, take your clothes off. You can wrap yourself in the sheet if you’re shy. But from what I hear labor and delivery dispenses with all modesty. So, this should be a breeze.”

“I can’t do a nude, Mac. It’s just not . . . What would I do with it?”

“You can decide that after I’m done, but I promise it’s not going to be embarrassing or suggestive. It’s just the next step in the theme. It’s about what you are, Rosa, what’s inside you.”

“I just don’t know if I can—”

“It’s about the journey you’re on, and the knowledge of it. It’s the life, and the light in you. And the love.”

“Oh.” Rosa’s eyes went damp as she crossed her hands over her belly. “I guess I could, at least, try it. You’ll delete the pictures if I’m not comfortable with them?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, all right. I have to pee anyway.”

“Take your time.”

Emma waited until Rosa went inside the bathroom and shut the door. “You are good, Elliot. You are damn good.”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“And a Saturday night date.”

“Apparently. Am I out of my mind, Emma, for starting this up?”

“It’s already started up, honey. And I’d say you’d be out of your mind not to see where it ends up. I wish I could stay and see the rest of the shoot, but I have to get back.”

“I’ll show you the prints.”

“Not only good, but confident. Rosa! I have to get back to work. I’ll be in touch.”

The bathroom door opened a crack. “Do you have to? I wish you could stay just a little longer.”

“I wish I could, too. But you’re in good hands with Mac. If I don’t see you before, have a happy, beautiful, healthy, miraculous baby.”

Emma grabbed her coat on the fly, then mouthed “good luck” to Mac as she dashed out.


AT JUST AFTER FIVE, MAC LET HERSELF INTO THE MAIN HOUSE. She wanted real food, the kind Mrs. G stashed in the freezer. She carted her laptop into the kitchen, and found Parker sitting at the counter, staring into a glass of wine.

“Hey. Early for you to be sitting down, and/or drinking wine.”

“I just finished with Naomi and Brent. I so earned this wine.”

“Did you fix it?”

“Of course I fixed it, but it wasn’t a snap. The bride and groom are now united in their love, commitment, and determination to have their wedding. Slut Business Partner is out. Groom will have a serious chat with Cheating Bastard Best Man, and remind him the wedding isn’t about him and this woman, but if he feels unable to stand as best man if SBP is excluded, that’s his choice. Bride will have a talk with MOH, supportive, understanding, but again firm on just whose wedding it is, and though her anger with Cheating Bastard knows no bounds, he remains her husband’s brother. Plus, she will add the incentive of a hot guy who will now attend the wedding as MOH’s date—and make the CBBM look like the idiot he is.”

Parker stopped, took a breath. “I earned this wine,” she repeated.

“Who’s the hot guy?”

“I bribed Jack.” Parker lifted her glass and drank. “It’s costing me a case of Pinot Noir but it’s worth it.”

“He is hot,” Mac agreed. “Well done, master.”

“I’m exhausted. How did your shoot go?”

“Funny you should ask. How about I show you?” She opened her laptop, and while it booted up, began to explore the freezer. “What are you having for dinner?”

“I don’t know. It’s only five.”

“I’m hungry. I missed lunch. Chicken pot pie. Mmmmm, chicken pot pie.” She pulled out the casserole. “Let’s have that.”

“Fine. I want a long, hot bath first. I want to eat in my pajamas.”

“That sounds so good. Why didn’t I think of that? Okay, check these out.”

Working the computer, Mac brought up the photos of the first pose.

“God, she’s really big!” Parker laughed, leaned in. “And looks so happy and staggered by it. Sweet. They’re nice, Mac.”

“Yeah, they’re nice.” She scrolled to the second pose.

“Okay, these are great. Sexy, female, powerful, fun. I love them. This one, especially, where she’s got her head down and her eyes on the camera? Just a hint of witchy. The lighting really adds to it.”

“I’m going to finesse that even more. We did one more setup.”

Once again, Mac scrolled down, then eased back.

Parker straightened in her chair. “My God, Mac, these are amazing. They’re . . . She looks like a Roman goddess.”

She studied each shot as the slide show projected them. The white drapery spread from the waist, under that turgid belly, and pooling like a river scattered with deep red rose petals. And the woman, her hair tumbled over her shoulders with an arm crossed over her breasts, a hand at the peak of that pregnant mound.

And the eyes, straight at the camera.

“I love the curves, the folds, the lines. The light—the way it brings out her eyes. The knowledge and power in them. Did you show her any?”

“All. She was so nervous about them I had to show her the lot, so she’d be sure I’d delete any she didn’t like.”

“What did she think?”

“She cried. In a good way. Must be a hormone thing. Tears just started rolling down her cheeks and scared the shit out of me. Then she said the best thing.” Mac paused, letting the memory glow inside her. “She said she was never going to think of herself as big and clumsy because she was magnificent.”

“Oh.”

“I know. I got teary myself. She wanted to order right then and there. I had to put her off until I tweak a little, and I want her to wait until she’s not so emotional before she picks.”

“It’s rewarding, isn’t it, to make someone so happy, to bring that into their life by what you do? Here we are, tired and hungry, but we did damn good work today.”

“In that case, how about lending me a pair of pajamas?”

“Why don’t you put that in the oven on low, and we’ll both get some pajamas.”

“Deal. I feel like a chick flick. Do you feel like a chick flick? Dinner and a movie?”

“Sounds really good actually.”

“Speaking of dinner and a movie, I’m doing at least the first with Carter Saturday night.”

“I knew it.” Parker wagged a finger.

“I’m going to keep it low-key. Sex will, potentially, be involved at some point. But low-key.”

“Establishing limitations to the relationship prior to embarking thereon. Wise.”

“Subtle underlayments of sarcasm can’t hide from me.” Mac shut the oven door, leaned back against it. “Yesterday was just an anomaly, a spurt of panic brought on by the lack of interesting dateage in my life recently.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Parker got up, draped her arm around Mac’s shoulders as they walked out of the kitchen. “Interesting dateage is in short supply around here, unless you’re Emma.”

“You don’t make time to date.”

“I know. It’s a conundrum. What kind of movie? Weepy or happy-ever-after?”

“Gotta go with the HEA, especially with chicken pot pie.”

“Good call. Why don’t we see if the others want in?”

They started the climb to the third floor. “Hey, Parks, what’re you going to do when you’re really old and can’t trudge up all these stairs?”

“I guess I’ll put in an elevator. I’m not giving this place up. Ever.”

“The house or the business?”

“Either.”

Before they could start up the last flight, the cell phone hooked to Parker’s waistband jingled.

“Crap.”

“Go on up,” Parker told her. “Grab the pjs. I’ll deal with this and be right behind you.” She flipped the phone open after a quick glance at the readout. “Hi, Shannon! Are you ready for next week?” Laughing, Parker turned toward her office. “I know. It’s a thousand things. Don’t worry. We’re on top of every one.”

Brides, Mac thought as she finished the climb. Most of them were so worried about the minutiae. If she ever got married—highly unlikely—she’d focus on the big picture.

And leave the details to Parker.

She stepped into Parker’s room where the duvet on the luscious four-poster was fluffed under its straw-colored cover, and the flowers were fresh and perky in their vase. No clothes strewn, no shoes kicked in corners.

No dust, no fuss, Mac thought as she opened the drawer of the bureau where she found—as she knew she would—four pairs of pajamas neatly folded.

“I’m tidy,” Mac muttered. “I’m just not so anal about it.”

She took a pair into the guest bedroom, tossed them on the bed. A long, hot bath sounded too good to miss. She ran one, tossed some bath salts in. As she slid down in the hot, fragrant water, she considered their options for girl movies with happy endings.

Movies, she thought—certainly about love and romance—should have happy endings. Because life, too often, didn’t. Love faded, or flipped over into loathing. Or settled somewhere in between into a kind of grinding detachment.

It could snap like a dry twig, with one careless step. Then you needed a week at a spa, Mac thought sourly. That someone else paid for.

She knew how Parker felt about the house, and the business. But to Mac’s mind, nothing lasted forever.

Except friendship, if you were really lucky—and there, she was Lady Luck herself.

But homes, love affairs? Different deals. And she wasn’t looking for forever there. Right now was plenty.

A Saturday night date. A guy who interested and attracted her across the table. Yeah, that was just enough. A week from Saturday? Well, you just couldn’t tell, could you?

That’s what photographs were for—everything changes, so you can preserve what was. Before tomorrow took it all away.

She sank down to her chin in the water just as Laurel stepped in. “What’re you doing? Hot water out at your place?”

“No, I’m seizing the moment, also chicken pot pie and chick flick. Want in? And I don’t mean the tub.”

“Maybe. I just finished—for the fifth time—redesigning the Holly-Deburke wedding cake. I could use chicken pot pie.”

“It’s warming in the oven. Emma needs a call, in case.”

“Fine. I’ll go do that and leave you to your seizing.”

Mac closed her eyes and sighed. Yeah, friendship. That was the one thing a woman could always count on.


IN THE MORNING, STILL WEARING PARKER’S PAJAMAS, MAC LET herself into her studio. She’d woken just after dawn, curled up like a shrimp on the sofa of the sitting room, and tucked in with a cashmere throw.

Two helpings of Mrs. G’s chicken pot pie made the idea of breakfast somewhat revolting. But coffee . . .

Still, before she set up her morning hit, she wandered—casually—to her answering machine.

No messages.

Instant disappointment made her feel foolish. She hadn’t sat around waiting for him to call—again. She’d enjoyed her evening. Besides, it had been her turn to call, if she’d wanted to extend the little game.

And besides, she was being stupid.

She wasn’t going to think about Carter Maguire and his sexy glasses or frumpy tweed jacket—and his amazing lips. She had coffee to brew, work to do, life to lead.


“SATURDAY NIGHT DATE? OKAY, THIS IS MAJOR.”

Why, Carter asked himself, why had he opened his mouth? What had made him think mentioning it would simply be a little conversation over coffee in the teachers’ lounge before classes began?

“Well, I should go over the quiz I’m—”

“Major,” Bob repeated, drilling a finger into the coffee counter to mark his point. “You need to take her flowers. Not roses. Roses are too important, too symbolic. A more casual flower, or those mixed deals.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Something else to worry about now.

“Nothing big or flashy. She’s going to want to put them in a vase, and that gives you time to go in, talk, break that ice. So make sure you make the reservations accordingly. What time are they?”

“I haven’t made them yet.”

“You need to get on that.” With a wise nod, Bob sipped his coffee with low-fat creamer. “Where are you taking her?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“You need a place just a click over middle range. Don’t want to go all-out first time, but you don’t want to run on the cheap either. You want atmosphere, but not stuffy. A nice established place.”

“Bob, you’re going to give me an ulcer.”

“This is all ammunition, Cart. All ammo. You want to be able to order a nice bottle of wine. Oh, and after dinner, if she says how she doesn’t want dessert, you suggest she pick one and you’ll split it. Women love that. Sharing dessert’s sexy. Do not go on and on about your job over dinner. Certain death. Get her to talk about hers, and what she likes to do. Then—”

“Should I be writing this down?”

“It wouldn’t hurt. If dinner goes to say ten, or over, you should have a second venue picked out. Music’s best. A place you can go listen to music. If it winds up earlier, you should have a movie picked out. This is assuming she isn’t sending you the ‘let’s go back to my place’ signals. In that case—”

“Don’t go there, Bob. Let’s just not go there.” He thought, Literally, saved by the bell, when it rang. “I’ve got to get to my first period class.”

“We’ll talk later. I’ll try to write some of this down for you.”

“Great.” Carter made his escape, joined the flock of students and teachers in the corridor.

He thought he might not make it to Saturday. At least not sanely.