THE MILLIONAIRE SHE MARRIED

by Christine Rimmer

  Inside, the curtains were drawn and the stale air smelled faintly of cigarettes. Alec trudged to the kitchen and tossed the mail onto the table, adding to the pile already waiting there. The phone on the wall above the counter rang. Alec picked it up, said hello and then, "Yes. All right. Six-fifteen. We'll be there to meet you."

  He hung up. "That was Lois. She's coming into John Wayne Airport at six-fifteen." A half-empty carton of cigarettes stood on the counter, near his elbow, Alec shook his head at them. "Dory…" It came out sounding suspiciously like a sob. But then he collected himself, and spoke with strictest self-control. "She never would quit." He grabbed the carton and threw it in the trash.

  After that, he didn't seem to know what to do with himself.

  But Jenna knew. "We need to make some calls, Alec. People will want to know what's happened, where to send flowers, what time the funeral will be."

  At first, Alec protested that there was no one to call. But Jenna had him get out Doreen's address book. As he looked through the names and addresses, he found that there were several people who would want to be notified.

  "Would you like me to call them?" Jenna offered.

  "No. No, I think it's something that I ought to do myself."

  As Alec made the calls, Mack decided he was getting pretty tired of feeling useless. He dug around in the cupboards and came up with stuff to make sandwiches. Standing side by side at the kitchen counter, he and Jenna put them together.

  My mother's kitchen, Mack thought as he squirted mustard from a squeeze bottle onto slices of bread. My mother's kitchen. Who would have thought I'd ever be here?

  An African violet in a glazed pot sat on the windowsill, surrounded by a large number of small ceramic animals: cats, dogs, horses, frogs…

  A stunning flash of memory hit him: the kitchen window, in the house they'd lived in before his father died, the same—or at least, much the same—tiny animals arranged with care along the sill.

  "Mackie…" His mother's voice. "See, Mackie? A kitty and a doggy, a pony and parrot … no, no. Very careful. They're fragile, Mackie. They could break…"

  Mack closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose as it struck him. What memories he had of her were all he would ever have.

  He wondered why that should hurt so much. It wasn't as if he'd expected there to be more.

  Jenna was rinsing lettuce in the sink. He glanced over at her and she gave him one of her gorgeous smiles. "Okay?" she asked softly.

  He realized he did feel better. "Yeah. I'm okay."

  * * *

  They ate the sandwiches. Then it was time to head for the airport in Orange County. Lois Nettleby's flight got in right on time. Alec spotted her and waved as she came down the exit ramp. She waved back, a pleasantly stout woman with a deep tan and friendly wrinkles fanning out from her dark eyes.

  They drove Lois and Alec back to the house. By then, it was after eight. Alec mentioned again the mementos he had for Mack, then added, "But I guess there's no rush about them. We can take care of them tomorrow. Could you come by in the morning, do you think? Say, around ten?"

  Mack said that he'd be there. He thought that dealing with them tomorrow—whatever "they" were—sounded like a great idea. Alec looked dead on his feet. And Mack himself wanted a stiff drink, a long hot shower and a king-size bed—preferably with Jenna in it.

  And all right. Maybe he wouldn't get Jenna in his bed tonight. But there was nothing in the agreement he'd made with her that said he wasn't allowed to hope.

  During their flight, he'd called and booked rooms at a good hotel on Ocean Avenue

  . The fact that it was a Monday in late September worked in his favor. He'd had no problem getting a two-bedroom, two-bath suite with a big living area between.

  They entered the suite through the little foyer that opened onto the living-dining room. Jenna stepped over the threshold with great caution and then stood looking at him with narrowed eyes.

  He took off his jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair. "That look you're giving me shows a total lack of trust." He did his best to sound injured.

  She wasn't buying. "We agreed. Separate rooms."

  He marched over and opened a door. "Notice. A bedroom, complete with its own bath. See that door over there? You'll find the same thing if you open it."

  Before she could comment, there was a tap on the entry door.

  The bellhop. They waited as he distributed bags to their separate rooms, then showed off the wet bar and the refrigerator full of snacks and cold drinks. Finally he drew the curtains, revealing a balcony and a really splendid view of Long Beach Harbor at night. He pointed out Catalina Island, and a spur of land to the west where the Queen Mary was forever moored.

  "If there's anything else I can get you, just buzz the concierge," he said. Mack produced a generous tip. With a blinding smile, the bellhop departed.

  Mack and Jenna were left alone again, regarding each other.

  Mack spoke first. "You were terrific today," he said. "Thank you."

  She acknowledged his thanks with a slight dip of her head, then went to the glass door that looked out on the dark ocean, on the gleaming harbor lights. "It's important, I think, when you lose someone you love, to have people around you, people to help. I was glad we could do that for Alec." She took her gaze from the night and focused on him. "He's a very nice man."

  "Yes," Mack said. It seemed a woefully inadequate response, but he had no better right then.

  "Mack?"

  "What?"

  "I'm sorry. That she's gone."

  For some reason, he had to look away.

  She came toward him and stopped just a few inches away. Her scent taunted him—sweet, but not too sweet. And never forgotten, not even after seven years.

  She said his name once more. "Mack."

  Her hand closed on his arm, gently, with care. He covered her hand with his own. She pulled and he followed where she led, back to the balcony door. They stood looking out at the ocean and the night.

  "When my mother died," she said, "the very hardest thing, the thing that seemed impossible to me, was that I would never have any more memories of her. What I had up till that point was it. There was no possibility that there would be more between us than there had already been. No more little moments ahead that would later come flashing back when I thought of her—no more things she might say that would stick in my mind, no more hugs, no more smiles. I'd had them. All the hugs and the smiles she would ever give me…"

  Mack gave no response. He couldn't. What she had just said was so exactly what he'd felt, back in his mother's house, when he'd looked at that ceramic menagerie in the kitchen window and remembered his mother's soft voice in his ear, calling him Mackie, showing him her treasures, cautioning him of their fragility.

  Jenna laid her head against his shoulder. Her corn-silk hair brushed his arm. It felt so warm, her hair. And it tickled a little.

  He wanted to turn to her, pull her close and lower his mouth to hers. But he didn't. He knew damn well that right then it was comfort she offered and nothing more. He wanted it, the comfort. He would spoil it if he made a move on her.

  "One thing I don't think I'll ever understand," he heard himself say.

  "What?"

  "How she could be married to a man for all those years and never tell him the truth."

  He felt her hair whisper against his arm as she looked up at him. "You never told me the truth, about her. You led me to believe that she'd died years ago."

  He realized he'd forgotten to breathe. So he did. Very carefully, letting out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "I wanted to tell you. You were the only one I ever wanted to tell."

  "But you didn't."

  "Because I also wanted to forget."

  "And did it work? Did you forget?"

  They both knew the answer, but he said it anyway. "No. Eventually, I had to deal with it, with her. Hell, I'm still dealing with it."

  "You did a good job today—of
dealing with it."

  "Thanks." He still wanted to kiss her. He wanted it pretty badly. But he didn't try it.

  Even for a man who didn't mind taking chances, there were some things too precious to risk—things like how far they'd come toward each other during the bleak day just passed.

  She had her arm wrapped in his and her head on his shoulder.

  For right then, it was plenty. It was more than enough.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  When Jenna retired to her own section of the suite, she called Lacey at home. She wanted to see how things were going at the store and to let her sister know where they were staying. She waited as the phone rang, her nerves a little on edge, thinking how far away Meadow Valley seemed right then, wondering what kind of questions Lacey would ask and how she could effectively explain all that had happened since Mack had picked her up that morning.

  It turned out she didn't have to explain anything. Lacey wasn't there. Jenna left a brief message, just the address and phone number of the hotel.

  The next morning Mack ordered breakfast for them in the suite. It was a little windy to enjoy the balcony, so they ate at the glass-topped table in the living area.

  As Jenna spooned up poached eggs and nibbled her toast, she couldn't help thinking of other breakfasts they'd shared.

  The very first one, for instance, in his L.A. apartment. He'd gotten up before her and run down to the corner convenience store, bringing back two large coffees and half a dozen chocolate-frosted cake doughnuts with sprinkles on top.

  He'd bent over her and kissed her awake. "I've brought breakfast. Breakfast in bed."

  She'd sat up among the pillows and wrapped herself in the sheet. He'd passed her one of the coffees, his warm fingers brushing hers, a casual contact that thrilled her to her toes. No coffee before or since had ever tasted so good.

  They hadn't been able to stop looking at each other, grinning at each other. Her hair was all tangled and her makeup had rubbed off and she felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. It was all very smug and magical and right.

  She'd barely enjoyed one doughnut when he was reaching for her and pushing her down among the pillows. Later, when they got up to shower together, he found two little sugar sprinkles pressed into her back, right at the ridge of her shoulder blade. He licked them off.

  Perhaps that had been the best breakfast of her life. And she'd shared it with Mack.

  The worst one had been with Mack, too. In their New York apartment, about a week before Jenna decided on the visit home—the one from which she would never return.

  It was an awful, silent breakfast for the most part. She remembered the clink of their spoons stirring coffee, the way he so carefully spread jam on his toast.

  He'd come in very late the night before, from one of those meetings that somehow always managed to go on till all hours. She'd been asleep, but she woke when she heard him enter the bedroom.

  She had lain there turned away from him, trying to keep her breathing shallow and slow. It had come to that point with them, the point where she faked sleep when he came home late. Where she avoided his eyes at the table. Where she gave him her cheek to kiss instead of her lips, because she knew that if she looked right at him, all the things she wanted to tell him, all the things he kept refusing to hear, would come spilling out all over again—and to absolutely no avail.

  Avoidance was the order of the day by then. So she lay there on her side, measuring her own breathing.

  But after he'd taken off his clothes and climbed in beside her, the hopelessness of their life together had struck her like a sudden blow. The tears had come welling up.

  He had heard her whimpering as she tried to stifle her sobs. "Damn it, Jenna. It's late. I'm beat. Don't start this now."

  They'd ended up shouting at each other—or rather, he had shouted. She had wept and pleaded.

  And then, the next morning at breakfast, there had been silence.

  Until she had glanced across at him spreading jam on his toast so very carefully and her mouth had opened and there she was, begging him again.

  "Mack, please. I just want a baby, Mack. If I only had a baby, I could—"

  He stopped her with a look. Then he dropped his toast onto his plate, got up from the table and went out the door.

  The worst breakfast of her life. Yes, it had definitely been that one in all its hideous hurtful silence, shared, as the best had been, with the man across the table from her now.

  Mack picked up his coffee cup, drank and met her eyes over the rim. He was wearing a polo shirt and chinos, clothing she'd noted with some relief when she emerged from her own room to find him sitting in an easy chair reading the Los Angeles Times. She'd worried just a little that she might catch him in a robe, or without his shirt, or in some other distracting state of semiundress.

  But no. He'd played it straight.

  Mack set his coffee cup in its saucer. "Deep thoughts?"

  She had the urge to speak frankly, to admit she'd been thinking about the rough times they'd had. And to say that she believed he'd been right in not wanting children back then. From a more mature perspective she realized that having a baby rarely saved a marriage—or effectively consoled a neglected wife. Now she could see how the demands of a little one would only have made their problems worse. And that when the inevitable breakup did come, an innocent child would have been stuck in the middle.

  However, if she admitted that he'd been right to say no to a baby back then, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from asking him how he felt about having children now.

  She wasn't sure she ought to do that just yet. The issue had once been a heavily charged one. To bring it up now would only dredge up old hurts.

  And it could also be a step toward real intimacy with him. Not long ago she would have sworn she would never take such a step.

  Now she had to admit she felt differently. She'd reached the point where she couldn't swear to anything.

  He was watching her. Waiting to hear whatever she might reveal.

  "It's nothing," she lied.

  She knew by the smile he gave her that he didn't believe her. But he didn't press her.

  "More coffee?" He picked up the pot from the warmer.

  "I'd love some." She held out her cup.

  * * *

  When they got to Alec's house, Lois had left for the supermarket.

  "She's got a list a mile long," Alec said. "She's a dynamo. She's always been like that, the type who takes charge. Ordinarily, it irritates me. But right now, I'm grateful. I need someone taking charge."

  Jenna glanced around the kitchen. It did indeed look as if Lois had been busy. The stack of unopened mail had vanished from the table and the air smelled more of cleaning products than of cigarettes. It appeared that the floor had been mopped. Also, the sink was free of dirty dishes.

  "Coffee?" Alec offered. He gestured toward the coffeemaker. The pot was half full. "It's made."

  Both Jenna and Mack declined.

  "Well, then." Alec pointed toward the living room, down the short hall perpendicular to the front door. "Go on in and sit down. I'll get you those things I mentioned."

  Jenna and Mack filed into the living room, but neither of them felt like sitting. They stood side by side in the center of the room, between the television and the maple coffee table, which bore a basket arrangement of dried flowers and a neat fan of National Geographics.

  "Sit down, sit down." It was Alec, appearing from the hall that led to the back of the house. He was toting a big cardboard box and had a pair of half-lensed reading glasses perched on his nose. "Mack, would you shove those magazines out of the way?"

  Mack didn't move. Jenna shot him a glance. He had a look in his eyes that she couldn't quite read. "Alec. Listen. We don't have to open it now. I'll just take it with me and—"

  "Please." The older man's voice wasn't much more than a croak. He coughed. "There's so much I don't know, so much I wis
h I could understand. I would be so grateful, if you'd only let me…" He fell silent. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry. Of course I have no right to ask such a thing. This box is yours, not mine." He made a move to hand Mack the box.

  Mack hesitated, but only for a fraction of a second. Then he turned, picked up the magazines and tossed them under the coffee table. "Put it down here, Alec."

  Alec held on to the box. "Are you certain?"

  "Yeah. Come on."

  So Alec set the box on the table. Then he and Mack sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Jenna took a side chair.

  The box was taped securely shut. Alec produced a utility knife, which he handed to Mack. Jenna realized her heart had started beating a little faster as Mack slit the tape and turned back the flaps.

  Mack pulled out photo albums first. There were three of them. They were numbered, the numbers written by hand on cards tucked into plastic pockets on the spines. Mack opened the first one.

  Jenna couldn't really see from her seat across the table. She stood and craned forward. Mack saw her problem and slid toward the center of the sofa, leaving a space for her on his right. She took the seat he offered. He gave her a smile. Without even thinking about it, she moved a little closer to him.

  They spent an hour just turning pages. Mack was able to pick out Bridget and Claire. And his own very young self. He recognized his parents, too. His mother, tiny and pretty, stood in front of a slightly run-down California bungalow-style house, holding on to his father's arm and smiling bravely into the sun.

  Once they had looked through all the albums, they found school progress reports, three of them for Bridget and one for Mack. Instead of A's and B's, Mack's report showed S's and O's, for "Satisfactory" and "Outstanding." N.I. meant "Needs Improvement." He had only one of those, in the category of "Follows Instructions."

  Beyond the albums and the report cards, they discovered a number of drawings made by very young hands. There were also little swatches of baby hair and three tiny first teeth wrapped in squares of white silk. They found three sets of knit booties, one blue and two pink. And birth announcements, birthday party invitations, other small articles of clothing: tiny knit hats and a yellow bib. There were raffles and two small dolls, a tattered brown teddy bear and a dog-eared Little Golden Book of a Christmas story titled Noel.