Нора Робертс - Vision in White

“Okay,” he said as they walked back to the kitchen. “Can I just close my eyes and put my finger on the menu here, be done with it?”

“You could. But what you should do is tell her you think Number Three works best.”

“Number Three.” He laid the binder on the kitchen counter, adjusted his glasses, then read the description. “Why, particularly?”

“Because while it’s very inclusive—and I get the sense she wants somebody else to deal with the fine details—it leaves room for upgrading, and gives her a number of options inside the package. You should also tell her to pick the buffet over the plated meal in that package. Because,” she said before he could ask, “it’s more informal, gives more opportunity for mixing. It suits her. Then, down the road—when you’re out of it, she’ll meet with Laurel about the cake—flavors, design, size, and all that, and Emma about the flowers. Parker handles the rest, and believe me when I tell you she handles. Right now it’s all so big. Once she nails the package, seeing as she’s already got the dress, the venue, me, and so on, she’ll be able to think about the rest of it.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay, so I tell her go with Number Three. It covers a lot of the details, has room for upgrading. It has a lot of options included. And she should take the buffet because it’s friendlier, and encourages mixing.”

“You’re good.”

“Absorbing facts and text is easy. If she asks me to help her decide on bouquets, I’m bolting.”

“I respect that.” She handed him the coffeepot. “They don’t need me at this point. Take this back, say your piece. And remind her to let me know what dates work for the engagement portrait.”

“You’re not coming back with me?”

He looked a little panicked. She gave him a quick pat on the cheek. “Bright side. One less woman in the mix. I’ll see you around, Carter.”

He stood where he was a moment as she walked out, and left him with the coffee and the binder.

SKIPPING OUT A LITTLE EARLY GAVE MAC ENOUGH TIME TO answer calls, log in appointments, then add a selection of the latest photos to the website. Since the rest of the afternoon—what was left of it—was free, she decided to spend it doing a last pass of the New Year’s Eve wedding shots.

The phone annoyed her, but she reminded herself business was business and picked up. “Mac Photography at Vows.”

“Mackensie.”

Mac instantly closed her eyes, mimed stabbing herself in the head.

Why didn’t she learn to check the readout, even on the business line? “Mom.”

“You haven’t answered any of my calls.”

“I’ve been working. I told you I’d be swamped this week. Mom, I’ve asked you not to call on the business line.”

“You answered, didn’t you? Which is more than you did the other

three times I called.”

“Sorry.” Just roll with it, Mac told herself. Rolling with it might get it over with quicker since there was no point in telling her mother she didn’t have time to chat during work hours.

“So, how was your New Year’s?” she asked her mother.

There was a single catchy breath that warned Mac a storm was coming.

“I broke up with Martin, which I’d have told you if you’d bothered to answer my calls. It was a horrible night. Horrible, Mac.” The catchy breath became thick with tears. “I’ve been devastated for days.”

Martin, Martin . . . She wasn’t sure she could conjure a clear picture of the current ex-boyfriend. “I’m sorry to hear that. Holiday breakups are tough, but I guess you could look at it as starting the new year with a fresh slate.”

“

How? You know how I loved Martin! I’m forty-two years old, alone and completely shattered.”

Forty-seven, Mac corrected. But what was five years between mother and daughter? At her desk, Mac rubbed her temple. “You broke up with him, right?”

“What difference does it make? It’s over. It’s over, and I was crazy about him. Now I’m alone again. We had a terrible fight, and he was unreasonable and mean. He called me

selfish. And overly emotional, and oh, other awful things. What else could I do but break it off? He wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

“Mmmm. Has Eloisa gone back to school?” she asked, hoping to switch the topic to her half sister.

“Yesterday. She just left me here in this state, when I can barely get out of bed in the morning. I have two daughters. I devoted myself to my girls, and neither of them will make the effort to support me when I’m emotionally shattered.”

Since her head was already starting to throb, Mac leaned over to lightly bang it against her desk. “The semester’s starting. She has to go back. Maybe Milton—”

“Martin.”

“Right, maybe he’ll apologize, then—”

“It’s over. There’s no going back. I’d never forgive a man who treated me so shabbily. What I need is to heal, to find myself again. I need some me time, some quiet, a place to detox from the stress of this ugly situation. I’ve booked myself a week at a spa in Florida. It’s just what I need. To get away, out of this awful cold, away from the memories and the pain. I need three thousand dollars.”

“Three—Mom, you can’t expect me to cough up three grand so you can go get facials in Florida because you’re pissed at Marvin.”

“Martin, damn it, and it’s the least you can do. If I needed medical treatment would you quibble about paying the hospital? I have to go. It’s already booked.”

“Didn’t Grandma send you money last month? An early Christmas—”

“I had expenses. I bought that horrible man a TAG Heuer, a limited edition, for Christmas. How was I to know he’d turn into a monster?”

She began to weep, pitifully.

“You should ask for it back. Or—”

“I would

never be so tacky. I don’t want the damn watch, or him. I want to get away.”

“Fine. Go somewhere you can afford, or—”

“I need the spa. Obviously, I’m strapped financially after all the holiday expenses, and I need your help. Your business is doing very well, as you’re always happy to tell me. I need three thousand dollars, Mackensie.”

“Like you needed another two last summer so you and El could have a week at the beach? And—”

Linda burst into tears again. This time Mac didn’t beat her head against the desk, but simply laid it there.

“You won’t help me? You won’t help your own mother? I suppose if they put me out on the street, you’d just look the other way. Just go on with your own life while mine’s destroyed. How can you be so selfish?”

“I’ll transfer the money into your account in the morning. Have a good trip,” she said, then hung up.

And, rising, she walked to the kitchen, pulled out a bottle of wine.

She needed a drink.

WITH HIS BRAIN NUMB FROM NEARLY TWO HOURS OF TULLE, roses, headdresses, guest lists, and God all—and his system overhyped on coffee and cookies (damn good cookies), Carter walked back to his car. He’d left it parked closer to Mac’s studio than the main house. Because of that geographical choice, he’d been given the assignment of dropping off a package that had been delivered to the main by mistake.

As he carted it under his arm, the first thin flakes of snow began to swirl. He needed to get home, he thought. He had to finish a lesson plan and fine-tune a pop quiz he planned to spring at the end of the week.

He wanted his books, and the quiet. The afternoon of estrogen, sugar, and caffeine had worn him out. Plus his head hurt again.

The snow and the house brought gloom, enough to have the path lights along the walk glow on. Yet, he noted, none glowed in Mackensie’s studio.

She could’ve gone out, he mused, be taking a nap, be walking around half naked again. He considered just propping the package against the front door, but it didn’t seem responsible. Added to that, the package served as the perfect excuse to see her again—and reexplore the secret crush he’d had on her when he’d been seventeen.

So he knocked, shifted the package, waited.

She opened the door, fully dressed, which brought both relief and disappointment. In the dim light she stood, a glass of wine in one hand, her other braced on the door.

“Ah, Parker asked if I’d bring this over on my way out. I just—”

“Good, fine. Come on in.”

“I was just—”

“Have some wine.”

“I’m driving so—” But she was already walking away—that way she did, he noted, that was a kind of gliding, sexy stride.

“I’m having some, as you can plainly see.” She got down another glass, poured generously. “You don’t want me drinking alone, right?”

“Apparently I’m too late for that.”

With a laugh, she pushed the glass into his hand. “So, catch up. I’ve only had two. No, three. I believe I’ve had three.”

“Uh-huh. Well.” Unless he was mistaken, there was anger and upset under the three-glass buzz. Instead of drinking, he reached over to turn on the kitchen light. “Dark in here.”

“I guess. You were nice with your sister today. Some families are nice. I observe and so I note. I recall yours being. Didn’t know you and Sherry all that well, but I recall. Nice family. Mine sucks.”

“Okay.”

“Y’know why? Lemme tell you why. You got a sister, right?”

“I do. In fact, I have two. Maybe we should sit down.”

“Two, yeah, yeah. Older sister, too. I never met her. So two sibs. Me? I’ve got one, comprised of two halves. A half sister, a half brother—from each parent—which could be smooshed together into one sib. This is not to count the number of steps I’ve had throughout. I’ve lost track there. They come and go, go and come, as my parents marry willy-nilly.” She took a glug of wine. “Bet you had a big-ass family Christmas thing, huh?”

“Ah, yes, we—”

“Know what I did?”

Okay, he got it. It wasn’t a conversation. He was a sounding board. “No.”

“As my father is . . . somewhere. It might be Vail,” she considered with a frown, “or possibly Switzerland, with his third wife and their son, he wasn’t a factor. However, he did send me a ridiculously expensive bracelet, which did not come from guilt or particularly paternal devotion, of which he has neither. But from the fact that as a trust fund baby he’s just careless with money.”

She stopped, forehead furrowing, and drank some more. “Where was I?”

“Christmas.”

“Right, right. Family Christmas as applies to me. I paid the courtesy call on my mother and Eloisa—that’s the half sister—on the twenty-third, because none of us were the least bit interested in spending Christmas together. No goose for us. Exchange gifts, have a drink, wish you the merry, and escape.”

She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “We did not sing Christmas carols around the piano. Actually, El escaped quicker than I did, to go out with friends. Can’t blame her. My mother’ll drive you to drink. See.” She held out her glass.

“Yes, I do. Let’s take a walk.”

“A what? Why?”

“Why not? It’s starting to snow.” Casually, he took the glass from her hand, set it and his untouched one on the counter. “I like walking in the snow. Hey, there’s your coat.”

She frowned at him when he retrieved it, then came back to bundle her in it. “I’m not drunk. Yet. Plus, can’t a woman have a drunken pity party in her own house if she wants to?”

“Absolutely. Do you have a hat?”

She dug into her coat pocket, dragged out the vivid green cap. “It’s not like I sit around every night sucking down the wine or whatever.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” He pulled the cap over her head, then wound her scarf around her neck before buttoning her coat. “That’ll do it.” He took her arm, led her to the door. And out.

He heard her hiss through her teeth as the cold hit her face, and kept hold on her arm, just in case.

“Warm’s better,” she mumbled, but when she tried to turn around, he just kept walking.

“I like when it snows at night. Well, it’s not night yet, but this looks like it’ll go into it. I like watching it out the window, the white against the black.”

“We’re not watching it out the window. We’re in the damn stuff.”

He just smiled and kept walking. Plenty of paths, he thought, and all of them carefully cleared before this dusting. “Who shovels all this?”

“This what?”

“Snow, Mackensie.”

“We do, or we draft Del or his pal Jack. We pay some teenagers sometimes. Depends. Gotta keep the paths clear. We’re a business here, so we have to maintain it. We get the plow guy for the parking areas.”