Happy Ever After tbq-4

by Nora Roberts

  “Isn’t this clever? I imagined a couple of small rooms, and instead it’s like one open space.A kind of great room, with a kitchen tucked in the corner, and your living space angled off by the furniture.”

  She shook her head at the enormous flat-screen dominating the wall. “What is it with men and the size of their TVs?”

  “What is it with women and shoes?”

  “Touchй.”

  She wandered over, saw the small, and again efficient and streamlined, bedroom through the open pocket door, wandered back again.

  “I like the pencil sketches.” The black-framed grouping on the wall held wonderfully detailed street scenes.

  “Yeah, they’re okay.”

  She took a step closer, peered at the signature in the bottom corner. “Kavanaugh.”

  “My father did them.”

  “They’re wonderful, Malcolm. It’s a good piece of him to have with you. Can you draw?”

  “No.”

  “Neither can I.” She turned, smiled at him.

  “Stay.”

  “I have an overnight bag in the trunk of my car.” She opened her purse, took out her keys. “Would you mind?”

  He took the keys, jingling them as he studied her. “Where’s your phone?”

  “In my purse. I turned it off before dinner.”

  He leaned in to kiss her. “Answer your calls, then turn it back off. I’ll get your bag.”

  She pulled out her phone when he went out, but took another moment to look at his space.

  Ordered, efficient, she thought again, and very spare.The space, she thought, of a man used to moving on, and doing so with little fuss.

  Shallow roots, she mused, and hers were so very, very deep.

  She wasn’t sure, not at all sure, just what that meant.

  Pushing it away, she turned on her phone and began to work her way through texts and voice mail.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MALCOLM ARRIVED AT THE CRASH SITE WELL AFTER THE COPS, THE fire department, the paramedics. As a concession to the cold, light rain, he yanked up the hood of his sweatshirt as he walked to the yellow tape and flares.

  They’d removed the bodies—he had no doubt there had been bodies when he saw the crushed and twisted mass that had once been a BMW.

  The second car had taken an ugly hit, but could probably be salvaged.

  With some luck, whoever had been in the Lexus should have walked, limped, or been carried away still breathing.

  His job was to tow away what was left.

  Over a road slick from an incessant drizzle, the cop lights shone through the shifting mist onto broken and glittering safety glass, skid marks, bent and blackened chrome, blood, and, more horribly, a single shoe not yet recovered from the shoulder of the road. It etched a picture in his mind, one of fear and pain and shocking loss.

  The accident reconstruction team was already at work, but he could put it together for himself.

  Wet road, a thin haze of fog. BMW, driving too fast, swerves, skids, loses control, crosses the center line, clips Lexus. Goes airborne, flips, slams, rolls twice, maybe three times.

  Yeah, given the weight, the velocity, the angles, figure three times.

  Somebody goes through the windshield, probably a passenger in the backseat of the mangled M6 who hadn’t been wearing a seat belt. If there’d been a front-seat passenger, he or she would’ve been crushed.The driver wouldn’t have been any luckier.

  He could see the fire department had sliced through the BMW, using the Jaws of Life like a can opener, but the odds they’d pulled anyone alive out of that violent wreck were next to nil.

  He’d seen pictures of the car he’d been driving after his wreck, and got a flash of it now. It hadn’t looked much better than the M6. But then stunt cars were built to wreck, built to protect the driver when they did, unless somebody up the chain decided to cut a few corners, save a few bucks.

  He hoped the passengers had been unconscious or dead before that slam and roll.

  He hadn’t been.And he’d felt it all, the shocking pain, the brutal tearing and snapping. Felt it all before he’d gone to black. If he let himself, he could feel it all still, so the smart thing to do was not let himself.

  He stood, hands in his pockets, waiting for the cops to clear him to tow away the destruction.

  WHILE MALCOLM STOOD ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, BLOOD AND pain in his mind, Parker smiled at the roomful of women chattering and laughing their way through the final stages of Mac’s bridal shower.

  “We done good.” Emma slipped an arm around Parker’s waist.

  “We done really good. She looks so happy.”

  “I didn’t want to say it before in case it tempted fate, but I worried right up until the last minute that Linda would hear about this and crash.”

  “You weren’t alone there. The advantage of having her living in NewYork now is she doesn’t hear everything, and having a new, rich husband keeps her busy.”

  “May it last,” Emma prayed aloud.“This whole evening’s been great—and Linda-less. Everyone’s had such a good time.”

  “I know. Look at Sherry. She still has that new bride glow, and the way she’s talking to your sister—”

  “Pregnancy really agrees with Cecelia, doesn’t it?”

  “It does, and the way they have their heads together, I think Sherry’s already wondering how it would agree with her. I think I should take over as photographer for Laurel. She’s—”

  “No.”

  “I don’t see why she should—”

  “Parker, we talked about this.” Emma turned.“Laurel got voted in because I get too distracted and end up talking to everybody, and you . . . Well, you take too damn long trying to make the perfect composition or whatever so you end up getting next to nothing.”

  “But they’re very good next-to-nothings.”

  “Exceptional, but we’ll take less exceptional bunches.”

  Parker sighed in defeat. She really liked taking pictures. “If we must. I guess we should mingle again. People are going to start leaving soon.” She slipped her phone out of her pocket when it vibrated. “It’s a text from Del.”

  “Probably wants to know if it’s clear for him and Jack and Carter to come home.”

  “No. He says there’s a bad accident on North, south of the parkway. Traffic’s diverted and backed up. We should let anyone planning to use that route know, and that they’d be back in a couple hours.”

  “I hope no one was hurt,” Emma replied, then smiled as her mother beckoned her from across the room. “I’ll help pass the word.”

  Like a good party, it tipped over its scheduled time, involved numerous stragglers, and left its hostesses limp with happy exhaustion.

  “Now I want champagne.” Parker grabbed a bottle and poured. “You sit, Mrs. G.”

  “I believe I will.” Mrs. Grady plopped down, slipped off her party shoes, stretched out her legs. “Fill that up.”

  Obediently, Parker filled glasses to the rim while Laurel cut slices from what was left of the triple-tiered buttercream cake she’d covered with free-form chocolate petals.

  “Golly. Look at those fabulous prizes!” Mac beamed blurrily at the gift table, where Parker had carefully arranged gifts as Mac had opened them. “It’s like I won a small, tasteful department store. Did I thank everybody?”

  “Numerous times. Just how much champagne have you already consumed there, pal?” Laurel asked her.

  “Bunches because I’m allowed to get a little blitzed at my own bridal shower.We had my bridal shower!” She took the cake from Laurel, plucked one of the chocolate petals. “Oh,

  mmmm. Did I tell you I love my cake?”

  “Yeah, baby.” Laurel leaned over, kissed the top of Mac’s head.

  “And that I loved absolutely everything? I’m so glad we did this in here, in family rooms. It just felt more home, you know? And everything looked so pretty. Em, the flowers. Just wow.You were so right to go with lots and lots of little arrange
ments and use that orange—what are they?”

  “Cannas, and some zinnias.”

  “Yeah, those, with the purple stuff to play off Laurel’s chocolate and the shiny green ribbons and all that.”

  “Trust your florist. And it was really sweet of you to give Carter’s mom and his sisters flowers when they left.”

  “They’re going to be my family now.” She beamed at everyone again. “I have such an amazing family. You guys, you’re the best ever, and I’m so lucky to have you. All of you, so damn lucky.And I’m so fucking glad my mother didn’t come.”

  She took a breath. “Oops. Maybe I have had too much champagne.”

  “You’re entitled.” Emma moved over to sit beside Mac, rubbed her arm. “It’s a happy time, and it was a really happy party. That’s all you need to think about.”

  “You’re right. I’m just getting all the sappy stuff and the bitchy stuff out before the wedding. I don’t want to get all weepy and nervous on the day. So. Mrs. G, you’re all the mother I need, and you’ve always been right there.”

  “I’ve had a good share of this bubbly, too. Don’t get me watered up.” Then she sighed.“Oh well.You’re a skinny, smart-mouthed redhead. And I’ve loved you since the day you first toddled in the door.”

  “Aw.” Rising, Mac dashed over to grab Mrs. Grady in a rib-crusher. “Okay, Laurel.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  Mac snorted at Laurel’s reaction.“You’re a hardass when I need one, a friend through thick and thin.When I’m stupid, you tell me, but you never hold it against me.”

  “That’s a good summing up.” Laurel laughed her way through Mac’s hug.

  “Emma.Always a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on. You find a way to see the rainbow in the storm, and that’s gotten me through a lot of storms.”

  “Lots more rainbows for you, sweetie.” Emma hugged Mac hard.

  “And Parker.” Mac scrubbed her hands over her damp cheeks. “Never once in my life have you let me down. Let any of us down. You’re the one who gave us family, gave us home, the one who opened us up to what we could do, who we can be.”

  “Mac.” Parker got to her feet, laid her hands on Mac’s teary cheeks. “We gave each other family, and home.”

  “We did. But it started with you.” On a sigh, Mac wrapped her arms around Parker, laid her head on Parker’s shoulder. “I know I’m buzzed, but I wish everybody everywhere could feel as happy, as loved, as right as I do this minute.”

  “After that, I think we do at least. So that’s a start.”

  It was nearly midnight when everyone was tucked into bed, and the party debris cleared. Still revved from success, feeling sentimental about Mac’s sweet, half-drunken speech, Parker wandered through the house, doing a final check.

  Home, she thought. Their home, as Mac had said. Not just what had been passed down for generations—though that was the base—but what they’d made it. Just as her parents had made it their own, adding touches, living lives.

  People would always call it the Brown Estate, she reflected, but those who lived there knew it was so much more.

  Maybe one day she’d be able to share it, build on it, with the man she loved.

  That, she knew, remained the underpinning of all her dreams, her goals, her ambitions.To love, be loved, to share, to build on that love and partnership something strong and lasting.

  She could be successful without it. She could be content without it. But she understood herself well enough to know she’d never feel complete, never feel fully happy, without that loving partnership.

  She believed, absolutely, in the power and the strength of love, the promises made, the endurance of commitment.Weddings were a celebration of that, a kind of show full of symbols and traditions. But, at the core it was the vows, the promises, the emotional knot tied between two people believing it would hold for a lifetime that mattered.

  And she’d come to understand, was well on her way to accepting, that Malcolm was the partner she wanted for those promises, for that lifetime.

  Still, she mused, partnership required that sharing, a depth of trust, a knowing. There were still so many places and pieces in him he shaded, or even closed off from her.

  How could that underpinning hold, for either of them, if parts of him remained locked down?

  Restless, she adjusted a pillow on the sofa. Maybe she asked for, maybe she expected, too much too soon. But Malcolm wasn’t the only one who wanted to know how things worked, and why.

  She caught the flash of headlights against the window glass, frowned. Moving closer, she recognized Malcolm’s car and, delighted—it was as if she’d conjured him—went to open the front door.

  “It’s late,” he said as he stepped into the portico, skimmed his fingers through rain-dampened hair.

  “That’s all right. Come in. It’s cold and wet out there.”

  “I saw some lights on, so I figured you might be up.”

  “You figured right.” Something’s wrong, she realized as she scanned his face, saw the tension in it.“We just finished cleaning up.”

  “Right. Right. How did it go? The thing?”

  “It was great.” He didn’t move to touch her, to kiss her. She leaned in, brushed her lips over his in as much comfort as greeting. “Start to finish.”

  “Good.”

  He wandered the foyer, obviously restless.

  Tell me what’s wrong, she thought. She could all but see the barrier between them, hated pushing at it. “Malcolm—”

  “Got a beer?”

  “Sure.” Give him a little time, she told herself as she led the way back toward the kitchen. “I guess you had a long night. Did you get everything done you’d wanted to?”

  “No. I made a dent in it, but something else came up.”

  She got out a beer, started to get out a glass.

  “Bottle’s fine.” He popped the top, but didn’t drink.

  How could she not know how to handle this—him—she wondered, when she always knew? “Do you want something to eat? We have leftovers from the party, or Mrs. G’s—”

  “No. I’m good.”

  No, she thought as he wandered the kitchen, he wasn’t.

  Enough, she decided. Just enough. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I had things to do. After I did them, I didn’t feel like going home so I took a chance you’d still be up.You were.” He lifted the beer now, but after a single sip set it down. “Since you are, maybe I can talk you into bed.”

  Frustration and disappointment mixed uneasily with resentment. “If I thought you’d come by for a beer and sex, I might be amenable. Since I don’t, no, you can’t talk me into bed.”

  “It was worth a shot. I’ll get going.”

  And now anger sifted into the mix. Her eyes flashed as he started out.“Do you think you can come here, knock on the door, then turn around and go when you don’t get what you want on your terms?”

  His face remained calm—neutral, she thought—and she imagined he’d wear that same expression playing poker.

  “I don’t remember laying out any terms. The mood’s wrong, so I’m going home.We can both catch a few hours’ sleep.”

  “Oh yes, that’ll work now that you’ve annoyed and upset me.”

  He stopped, dragged a hand through his hair. “Sorry. That wasn’t the plan. I should’ve gone home in the first place.”

  “Maybe you should have, since you seem to feel our relationship shouldn’t involve any sort of confidences on your side, or expression of actual feelings.”

  Neutral shifted, lightning speed, to annoyance.“That’s bullshit.”

  “Don’t tell me what bullshit is when I’m looking at it. You know the way out,” she added, and started by him.

  When he grabbed her arm, frostbite burned his fingers.

  “Look, bad night, that’s all. Bad night, shitty mood. I shouldn’t have brought them over here.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” She shoved his hand away. “Take them home
with you.”

  She stalked over, poured the beer down the sink.

  When she glanced back, she was alone. She felt the jab right under the heart.

  “Well,” she mumbled, and carefully rinsed out the bottle. “Okay then. All right.This isn’t going to work for me.”

  She imagined heaving the bottle against the wall, hearing the glass shatter. But, she admitted, that didn’t work for her either, so she took it to the recycle bin.

  Switching off lights, checking locks, she made her way back through the house, walked upstairs to her wing.

  In the bedroom, she undressed, put her shoes away, placed the clothes in the proper hampers before slipping into her oldest and most comforting pajamas.

  She completed her bedtime routine, every step.

  Then lay angry, miserable, and awake through the night.

  “

  WE DIDN’T HAVE A FIGHT.” PARKER PUSHED THROUGH HER SECOND mile in the gym. “What we have is an impasse.”

  “It sounds like a fight to me,” Laurel said.

  “A fight is where you argue, or shout, or say inappropriate things.This wasn’t a fight.”

  “He left.You’re mad.Those are also elements of a fight.”

  “Fine, have it your way,” Parker snapped. “We fought our way to the impasse.”

  “He was stupid.”

  “At last, we fully agree.”

  “He was stupid,” Laurel continued, “to come over here at midnight when something was bothering him if he didn’t intend to tell you what was bothering him. And stupider to leave when you told him to leave because anyone who knows you understands you expected him to argue with you until you broke him down and he told you what was bothering him.”

  With a nod, Parker grabbed her water bottle and chugged.

  “Then again, he hasn’t known you as long as I have, so it’s possible he took ‘go home’ as just ‘go home.’”

  A wet fist of tears clogged her chest. Parker pushed through them as she pushed through the next mile.“I can’t be with someone who won’t talk to me, who can’t be intimate with me except physically.”

  “No, you can’t. But intimacy, the real kind, is harder for some than others. I’m not defending him,” Laurel added. “I’m assessing and extrapolating. I’m being you, since you’re too upset to be you.”