by Lori Wick
"Mackenzie," Aimee breathed when Micki came from her room four days later. Aimee's reverent voice brought the other two women from the kitchen. They were headed out as well, but with something more casual in mind.
Mackenzie was anything but casual. The dress she'd bought at Jones was deceivingly simple. A deep green velvet with a rounded neck and long sleeves, it hit just below her knees, and, although not skintight, showed her figure to perfection. She wore her best gold earrings and a thin gold chain. Beth had loaned her a dressy watch and bracelet. Her high-heeled pumps were black and so was her small clutch. With her hair pulled back in a loose chignon, she looked like she had just stepped out of a mansion.
"Are you sure Paxton is just a friend, Micki?" Janelle wanted to know. She still liked to be in charge, but Mackenzie had learned that her heart was big.
"Yes, he is. It's some sort of show, so he'll be in a tux."
"When will he be here?" Beth asked.
"At six o'clock."
"Are you nervous?" This came from Aimee.
"No. It's just Pax, and we never run out of things to talk about."
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Mackenzie moved to get it, but Janelle beat her to it. She opened it with a flourish but was let down when Paxton did little more than spot Mackenzie and ask if she was ready to go.
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"Sure. Goodnight," she called to her roommates and headed out the door. Janelle was there to close it behind her. Paxton and Mackenzie walked down the stairs in silence. Not until they were next to his elegant Mercedes did Mackenzie speak.
"You look nice, Pax."
He opened the door but didn't speak, and Mackenzie had the sudden fear that his silence was over the fact that she was dressed all wrong. She stepped between the car and the curb but didn't get in. She looked back to find him watching her.
"This was my idea, wasn't it?" he said before she could question him.
"What was?" Mackenzie asked in genuine confusion.
"You don't have time to go back and change into fatigues?"
Mackenzie laughed. "I don't think so. Is that what you really want?"
"No, but I'm going to pay for it."
Mackenzie let that one go and stepped into the car.
"What do you hear from your family?" Paxton asked after a short silence.
"Everyone's fine. D.J. has been looking into several art schools. Most are pretty close to home, and I can tell she is ecstatic."
Traffic was heavy, so Mackenzie fell quiet as Paxton drove them into the downtown D.C. area. He pulled into a parking garage a little off the main route, so parking wasn't impossible. Thankfully they weren't that far from the theater, since Mackenzie's shoes were not made to walk for miles. A few elevators and a long walkway, and soon they were in front of the theater. Mackenzie's mouth opened.
"You're taking me to seeLes Miserables?'
"Uh-hm," he responded, sounding bored.
Mackenzie came to a stop.
"Why don't you want to see it?"
"Because I've seen it twice."
"Then why are we here?"
Paxton gestured toward the curb with his head. A black limo had pulled up, and with it, enough pomp and ceremony to welcome the queen. A man and a woman were emerging from the deep rear seat.
"Who are they?" Mackenzie asked.
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"I don't know who she is, but the man is Carson Walcott. We're trying to lure him away from Bancroft for his next book."
Mackenzie gripped his arm with bruising strength. "Do you mean to tell me we're watchingLes Mizwith Carson Walcott?"
"Yes."
"You could have warned me." She glared at him.
"But then you wouldn't have come. You would have been nervous and upset instead of relaxed and beautiful."
Mackenzie opened her mouth and shut it. He was right. She would have been sick with nerves. Paxton smiled at her before taking her arm and mewing forward. She was introduced to Carson Walcott, a best-selling mystery author and playwright, as though hobnobbing with celebrities was an everyday occurrence. Mackenzie hoped she did everything right because ten minutes later, when she was seated in a private balcony seat, she couldn't remember a thing.
"Do you work with IronHorse?" Carson turned to ask her.
"As a matter of fact, I don't," she said softly, hoping it didn't matter and wishing that Paxton wasn't seated on the other side of Ruthie, Carson's companion. Mackenzie would have gone on to tell the famous author where she worked, but he put his hand on her knee and slid it up her leg a little. She was stiff as a poker by the time he stopped. When Ruthie touched his arm and spoke to him, he moved his hand.
The show hadn't even started, but Mackenzie was ready to leave. For the next few minutes, Carson was in deep conversation with Ruthie and magnanimous with his tips to the man who brought them drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Mackenzie shifted away from him in her seat and pulled the hem of her dress over her knees as far as it would go. She thought everything would be all right, but without warning Carson turned to her, his hand landing so high on her thigh that she jumped to her feet and moved toward the door. The hallway where she emerged didn't look familiar, but escape was Mackenzie's only intent. She turned left and had to stop herself from breaking into a run.
Mackenzie didn't know that Paxton was on her heels. He made the mistake of not speaking as he caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm. Mackenzie reacted without thinking. She whipped around, caught her attacker by the neck, put a leg behind his knees, and none-too-gently landed him flat on his
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back. Not until Mackenzie looked down into the stunned face of Paxton Hancock did she realize what she'd just done. She straightened, shifted her dress into place, and moved down the hallway to lean against the wall. Her whole body felt suffused with heat, and for a moment she closed her eyes. She heard movement and steps but did not look at Paxton until he stepped directly in front of her.
"The show has started," Paxton said softly, amazed that none of the ushers had seen the display and called security. "Will you please come back inside?"
"Sure, Pax." Mackenzie's voice was low with rage. "I'll come back in, and when Carson Walcott puts his hand on my leg again, I'll break his nose and you can kiss your book deal goodbye."
It was on the tip of Paxton's tongue to tell Mackenzie to grow up, but he was glad he held his words. Mackenzie was the victim. He noticed absently that she didn't have a hair out of place.
"Promise me you'll stay here, Mackenzie. I'll be right back."
Mackenzie only stared at him.
"You don't even have your purse."
Again the stare.
"Can I help you, sir?" An usher had appeared.
"Please," Paxton recovered smoothly, "my date would like a tall glass of ice water. We're in the Jefferson box."
"Very good, sir."
Paxton leveled Mackenzie with a look and steered her back down the wall in the direction of their box. She hadn't promised to stay, but in truth she was too shaken to move from where he left her. He returned in a surprisingly short time.
"Ruthie has moved to your seat," he wasted no time in telling her. "I'll sit next to Carson, and you'll be on my right."
Mackenzie knew that if she didn't get her mind off what had just happened, she would burst into tears. She nodded and allowed Paxton to take her arm. Moments later he took a seat, effectively blocking her from the lustful author, and waited for her to sit down. As soon as she did, his arm went around her shoulders.
Very aware of her trembling, Paxton said nothing and hoped they could make it through the next few hours. The usher came several minutes later with the ice water, but Mackenzie didn't reach for it. Paxton took it from the offered tray. When the man moved away, the editor leaned close and spoke to her.
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"Don't you want a little?"
"I'm shaking too much right now to even hold the glass."
Paxton took a drink himself and suddenly found Carson leaning cl
ose. His breath smelled of wine.
"I wanted Mackenzie to sit by me."
"Come on, Carson," Paxton responded, keeping his voice light, "you can't expect to have my woman. No book contract is worth that."
The mystery author grunted but then laughed at something that occurred onstage. A glance to Paxton's left told him Ruthie's leg was getting some of Carson's attention, but she didn't seem to mind. His arm told him Mackenzie was still upset. He leaned close.
"It really is a fabulous show. If you can relax, you might enjoy it."
"I don't even know why I'm here. Where's my purse?"
"Under your chair. I'm sorry, Mackenzie. I won't let him at you again. Try to enjoy this."
"Do you tell everyone I'm yourwoman?'
"No, only when the man is trying to take advantage of a situationIput you in."
His voice was so contrite that for the first time in many minutes, Mackenzie was able to let her back relax against the seat cushion. The music coming from the orchestra pit was beautiful, and even though she wasn't as interested in the stage performance, she did allow herself to enjoy the music.
By the intermission she was enjoying both. There was a moment of panic when Carson stood and came toward her, but he did so only to tell Paxton that he and Ruthie were leaving. Paxton saw them out, and Mackenzie sat with her eyes on the curtain of the balcony box and waited for him. She stood as soon as he appeared.
"Are they really leaving?"
"Yes."
"Is it because of me?"
"No, Carson is a restless man, and something in the second act gave him an idea."
"Will you get the book contract?"
"I think so. He's offended some pretty big names in the business, and although most publishers will put up with a lot, he is
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aware that his reputation is becoming muddied. Tell me, Mackenzie, would you like to see the rest of the show?"
"We don't have to, Paxton. You've seen it so many times."
"But you are enjoying it?"
"It's beautiful."
"We'll stay."
"No, Pax, come on. We'll go."
He would not listen to her, so Mackenzie felt she had no choice. He sat down and she took her seat again. Before the production was over, Mackenzie was glad that he had talked her into staying. The rest of the play was incredible, and Mackenzie was very moved at the tender ending. She was speechless as they moved from the theater and walked to the car.
"I take it you enjoyed the production?"
"Yes," she said softly. "It was so special. I had never realized it was all about redemption."
Paxton left her in silence to think about it, and it was some time before Mackenzie understood that they weren't headed back to her apartment. She looked at him questioningly when he pulled into the parking lot of the Watershed.
"You didn't think I was going to let you starve, did you? We have a ten o'clock reservation."
"I guess I haven't eaten. I hadn't realized it until just now."
"Well, come on. Dinner awaits."
Hunger hit Mackenzie the moment she walked in and smelled the lingering scents of fresh vegetables and steaks. It didn't take long for her to order off the menu.
"I must say, Mackenzie," Paxton began softly, "I don't know when I've been so taken by surprise. I had no idea you could protect yourself so well."
"I am sorry about that, Paxton. It was purely automatic, and I'm embarrassed."
"I'm the one who should apologize." He paused for a moment and then admitted softly, "I hadn't planned on Carson trying anything like that, but I can't say as it surprised me. I have to be honest and tell you that you're the first date I've had who didn't laugh it off or give as good as she got."
Mackenzie looked down at her bread plate and took a sip of water before looking him in the eye.
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"I'm going to be 19 next month, Paxton. I know that I'm sheltered in many ways, but if that's the way your business is-if that's what women are expected to put up with from big-name stars-then you can have it. I won't ever live that way, and I'm amazed that you choose to."
Paxton was still staring at her when their salads arrived. They were several bites into their meal when he said, "Are you still planning to head home to see Delancey graduate?"
So that's to be the end of it.The thought went through Mackenzie's mind, but she let it go.
"Yes. I fly out in about ten days and should be gone for two weeks."
The conversation continued from there, and there was no mention of the incident with Carson Walcott again. Paxton took Mackenzie home a little after midnight, and he even called to tell her goodbye before she left for the West Coast.
Mackenzie was thrilled to be on her way, but after seeing a big-name author up close and personal, she had no more desire to work on her book. The days before her leave had dragged, and only the thought of seeing her family kept her from feeling like throwing in the towel completely.
Mills College Oakland, California
"This is it," Jack said as he pulled the car close to the large Spanish-style buildings, all empty with their red tile roofs and white stucco walls.
The Bishop sisters exchanged glances in the rear seat. Never had Mackenzie seen Delancey so full of peace and delight. D.J. had done a lot of growing up in the last six months. They both had. It was hard to imagine what the future might bring, and Mackenzie didn't know if she would ever grow used to being so far away, but it did her good to know that Delancey was following her heart.
Jack parked the car, and the four of them piled out. It was hot, but Delancey didn't notice. This was her school. This was where she'd been accepted. She never dreamed to hear back so soon, but her letter concerning their art program had been very
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passionate, and someone must have taken her seriously. Now it was happening.
Ten days ago she had graduated from high school. At the end of the summer, the day after Labor Day, she would start college as an art major.
"You look like you're walking on a cloud," Marrell said softly.
"Oh, Mom, I can't believe it. And if I hadn't heard back so soon, Mic wouldn't have been here to see it."
"Shall we try to get inside?"
Delancey surprised her by shaking her head no. "For today I just want to look around the grounds. Does that make sense?"
"Yes, it does." Marrell squeezed her arm.
The four traversed the grounds and buildings, finding something new to see everywhere they looked. The paths were lined on both sides with tall eucalyptus trees that acted like tunnels. The smell was heavenly. Marrell and Jack walked these, and when they had a few minutes alone, Marrell reached for his hand.
"Are you all right?" she asked. The big man looked shaken.
"I was the strong one when Mic left, but now with D.J., I feel as though my heart is breaking."
"She's closer to home too. I wonder why you feel that way."
"Probably because she hasn't come to Christ. Remember the way you prayed that Mackenzie would make a decision before she left? I've been doing that for Delancey. God gives me peace, but sometimes I choose to fret and worry."
"It will come," Marrell said from experience. Indeed, she had been forced the hard way to leave her daughter in God's hands. Being 3000 miles away gave her little choice. It had been a time of growth for her, and she knew that she would be strong for Delancey because of it.
"I'll say this much about the Army," Marrell commented, "it was a lot cheaper."
Jack chuckled.
"Oh, well," she went on. "I'm just thankful we've kept Paul's insurance money set aside."
Jack stopped on the path.
"I'll pay for Delancey's schooling."
"Jackson, you don't have to do that. That's one of the reasons I've been so careful."
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"That's great, but I'm still going to do this. And if Mackenzie ever needs school money, I'll take care of hers as well. I want you to leave that money
in the special accounts we set up two years ago. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," she said as he leaned to kiss her.
"Now, now," Delancey spoke as she came toward them. "Enough of that. This is an all-woman college. Someone might be looking and faint."
Jack looked at her indulgently, but Marrell aimed a swat at her backside when she passed by.
"Where is Mackenzie?" Marrell called after her. Delancey didn't hear. She was taken with something else she had seen and was off in hot pursuit.
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Twenty-Six
Arlington June 23, 1987
Two nights before Mackenzie left California, her parents and sister had an early birthday party forher. The Lacys, Rose Cumberland, a few of the neighbors, and even some of Mackenzie's schoolmates had come. She'd had a wonderful time catching up with all of them, but nothing could have prepared her for spending her actual birthday alone. She had never mentioned to her roommates that her birthday was coming up, and they had joined an exercise class that met on Tuesday nights. She thought Paxton might know, but he hadn't called, not since she'd returned almost two weeks before.
Mackenzie knew she had a choice. She could fall into a depression or face the fact that at 19 you didn't have the same type of surprises that you did at age 10, then simply get on with the evening. She opted for the latter. As she made some dinner for herself, one of her mother's favorite Bible verses from Psalm 32 kept coming to mind. The verse spoke about the godly praying to God at a time when He might be found. Mackenzie pushed the Bible reference away, thinking it would only make her more lonely for her mother. Having started writing again, she ate her food and headed in to boot up her computer. An hour later she was so deeply involved in her story that the ringing phone was almost ignored, but it would not be silenced, and she eventually moved to the kitchen to get it.
"Mackenzie?"
"Paxton?" She was still trying to come back to reality.
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"Welcome home," he said absently, and Mackenzie dragged her mind to the present. She'd been in a rather hair-raising part of the story that took place in Paris-a foot chase around the Eiffel Tower, guns and all.
"Thank you. Um, how are you?"
"I've met someone, Mackenzie," he said so softly that the distracted writer almost missed it.