Slightly Imperfect
Page 33
He pulled the signed adoption papers from his back pocket, laid them on the marble counter before her. Eyeing him quizzically, she lowered the brush, took up the papers. He watched her eyes skim down the page, seeking the bottom line.
"Tomas Macario Cordera Abriendo." Her lips moved lovingly over the words. Their reflected gazes locked in the mirror and then she turned toward him. Tears welled on her thick, jet lashes. Zac willed them to spill over and run free. He hadn't seen her cry in a long time, and the last time hadn't been from happiness.
"You said you wanted me to adopt him. Remember?"
"But you told me—What about Victoria and the twins?"
"That's over. It's really over, Maggie."
He stepped into the room, leaned against the counter and stuck his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her. He wasn't sure the quadruple package she had outlined months ago was still wrapped with the same simplistic bow.
"I didn't tell you about Marcus because Victoria's very unstable. I've been holding my breath, afraid she would change her mind. Now it's official—legal. He's mine."
"That's wonderful."
The tears ran. She smiled through them. He stepped closer, brushed them gently with his fingertips.
"I'd like to share him with you, querida."
"Thank you. I'd love that."
She caught his hand and led him from the room.
* * *
Zac drove through the security gate at midmorning the following day and saw the red van still in the driveway. "Grácias, Diós," he whispered. His pulse quickened to a head roar. Maggie and Angel had been sleeping, an unusual state, when he and Marcus stole from the quiet house headed for school earlier that morning.
The essence of Maggie in his bed the night before, the taste of her, the quick urgency and sweet languor of their lovemaking descended on him forcefully. Now full recall evolved from a hovering presence that had endured breakfast at McDonald's, dropping Marcus off, a routine stop at Fischer's Landing, then a stop at the Abriendo seniors.
He thought of the night before, when she'd lain in his arms.
"I'm so in love with you, Maggie." The knowledge overwhelmed him, left him frantic to have her know, to believe. He had waited for her reply, then interjected into the silence. "Do you love me?" He craved hearing her say it.
"I love you. I've never stopped. Not for one moment. It doesn't stop the fear though, just as it doesn't change the things people are capable of doing in the name of love."
"I'll make it up to you, querida."
* * *
The smell of coffee brewing, bacon frying and the sound of Sylvania's melodious "Amazing Grace" blended with Angel's chatter as Zac entered the back door. He crossed the kitchen, stooped to nuzzle Angel's bacon-smeared cheek and kiss her mouth, swallowing her delighted squeal. Her eyes defied him as she returned to dropping bacon on the floor for Delilah.
Maggie stood at the kitchen counter, drinking milk. Samson lapped cream from a crystal bowl at her feet. A sleeve of saltine crackers lay opened on the counter in front of her. She munched one gingerly. Faint blue circles encased her dark eyes in the pallor of her normally bronze face. Zac knew exactly what that meant. He had seen it twice before. He didn't play golf, but this must be what it felt like to sink a lengthy putt.
Or it could be like crossing the "t" in his termination, now that her goal had been accomplished.
He took a piece of bacon from the platter near the stove. Sylvania glanced at him, smiled; he kissed her cheek. She sang a little softer as he poured coffee and crossed to Maggie. Lifting her hair off the back of her neck, he pressed his lips there and moaned just enough for her to hear. "You slept late."
She nodded with a guilty smile.
"Is that all you're having?" He indicated the cracker in her hand.
"Today, it is."
He let his eyes move from her face, down her body, back to her face. "You look nice. Actually, you look beautiful."
"Thank you."
"Toe cleavage."
"What?" Her smile broke slowly, dubiously as she glanced at her feet, back to his face.
"You have toe cleavage. It's one of my favorite things."
She took a bite of cracker, a sip of milk. With his fingertip, he dotted her white mustache, then licked his finger, holding her gaze.
"You have a lot of favorite things, Zaccheus."
"Do you like yachts?"
She smiled. Tolerantly.
"Marry me, Magatita," he said softly. Sylvania sang a little louder. "Again. Today. Right now."
"I have a very crowded schedule today." But her eyes had quickened like summer lightning, blazing within the telling blue shadows nesting on her cheekbones. "Ask me tomorrow." A smile peeked through her mask of diffidence.
"Maybe I'll ask you tonight, querida. In the middle of the night." He caught Sylvania's furtive glance in his peripheral vision. She hiked her voice a little louder, swooped Angel from her chair and slipped from the room. "May I, Maggie?"
She moved against him, lifting her arms to encircle his neck. He bent, found her mouth, warm, moist and slightly opened beneath his. His kiss presented a petition. Her answer ran the gamut of half-promise, half-challenge.
He lowered his hand to her abdomen and pressed gently. Placing her palms on his face, she closed her eyes and ran her fingertips over his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He knew she willed to her baby what her fingers sensed.
Zac closed his eyes, willing their son wisdom and heart.
* * *
From the sun-sprayed bay window, he watched her stow her design samples, get into the red van and ease out of the drive. He returned her wave as she slipped slowly from his vision.
His feelings gnawed at the edges of absolution.
THE END
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