The Best-Made Plans

by Leigh Michaels

  “I’m very sorry,” Penn said quietly.

  “Thank you. It was a long illness, and it was very hard on Mother. She’s decided she’d like a change, so if she gets her price for the house, she’ll take an apartment in one of the new complexes that are going up.”

  “And you, Kitten?” It was little more than a whisper. “What will you do?”

  But the music died softly away just then. It was a relief to step back from him, and yet her feet didn’t quite want to stop moving, to cease following the rhythms learned so long ago and so well.

  They had ended up at the edge of the ballroom, and from the corner of her eye she saw a man rising from a table nearby. “Kaitlyn, I had no idea you’d changed your mind about dancing. I’m sorry, dear. If I’d known—”

  She was feeling suddenly drained, almost too exhausted to turn around. “Marcus – have you met Penn, yet? You should.”

  She couldn’t see Marcus’s face, but she could almost feel the tension in him — no, surely that was too strong a word. Why should Marcus feel uneasy at an ordinary introduction?

  “Penn, this is my friend Marcus Wainwright,” she murmured.

  Penn seized Marcus’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. “I’m delighted to meet you. And just what is your line of work, Mr. Wainwright?”

  Marcus looked a little put out at the eager approach. “I’m the president of TurfMaster. We make lawn tractors and equipment to maintain golf courses — that sort of thing.” Marcus sounded a bit distracted; Kaitlyn didn’t realize why until she saw him eyeing her right hand, which was still firmly clasped in Penn’s left. She hadn’t noticed till then that the man had never completely released her after the waltz had ended. She pulled away as unobtrusively as she could.

  “And you?” Marcus asked. “What is it you do?”

  Penn said cheerfully. “Oh, I’m self-employed.”

  Kaitlyn’s jaw dropped. “Now that’s the most misleading—”

  “You think so, Kitten?” Penn didn’t sound interested.

  “Kitten?” Marcus repeated, as if the word tasted sour. “Her name is—”

  “Yes, I know. But I’ve always called her Kitten.” There was a soft note in Penn’s voice that invited inquiry.

  Kaitlyn glared at him, and then realized that reacting to that sort of teasing was the best way to guarantee it went on. So she turned the glare into a parody of a fond smile. “Of course it’s misleading to say Penn’s self-employed. He’s independently wealthy. Or at least he used to be. Penn’s family owned TurfMaster, Marcus. It wasn’t called that, though.”

  “Oh, of course. I seem to recall.” It was casual, as if now that he knew where to classify Penn, Marcus no longer cared. “Your name must be—” His brow wrinkled, but it couldn’t have been plainer that trying to remember was no more than a social nicety.

  Marcus was abruptly brushed aside, as easily if he was a cardboard cutout, by a big man in a tuxedo who threw both arms around Penn. “Caldwell, you mysterious old creature — we all thought you’d fallen off the edge of the earth. Nobody’s heard from you in a year, damn it!”

  Penn returned the hug. “Didn’t you get my picture postcards from Caracas? I took the photos of the sights myself and had them printed up.”

  “Damn, it’s good to see you, Penn. You’re staying for a while, aren’t you? You can be the best man at my wedding a week from today.”

  Penn patted him sympathetically on the back. “You’ve caught the fatal bug, too, my friend?”

  Kaitlyn thought it was time to be firm. “You already have a best man, Karl,” she pointed out.

  Karl shrugged. “Only my brother. He’ll understand.” He draped an arm across Penn’s shoulders. “I’d have sent you an invitation if I’d known where to mail it. Did you say Caracas? You mean Venezuela? Well, if that isn’t something.”

  The two of them wandered off across the ballroom.

  “It’s a relief to be rid of him,” Marcus said. “It’s so unpleasant to have a drunk hanging around.”

  Annoyed as she was at Penn, Kaitlyn couldn’t square it with her conscience to let that go unchallenged. “He wasn’t drunk.”

  “Oh? He was acting strangely.”

  “That’s just Penn. He’s a volatile personality.”

  “That seems an understatement. How did you ever manage to meet him? I can’t quite see you being friends.”

  It was a long time ago. Why bother Marcus with the details? She hadn’t told him about all the other people she’d dated; why should she explain Penn?

  Because Penn was different...

  She quickly squashed that thought.

  “Well, you know how things are, when you’re a teenager,” she said vaguely. “There were half a dozen of us who went everywhere in a pack, especially in the summer, when we all spent weeks up at Sapphire Lake. And—”

  “And this guy was the joker in the pack?”

  Kaitlyn smiled. “Something like that.”

  Marcus gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “There’s one in every crowd, isn’t there, who ends up as nutty as a chocolate bar? It’s fortunate we don’t have to keep them around all the time, just because they were once — in a sense — friends.”

  He pulled out a chair and Kaitlyn sank into it gratefully. Marcus had such a way of putting things in perspective!

  He snapped his fingers at a passing waiter and got Kaitlyn a glass of club soda. “Why on earth would he call you Kitten, anyway?” he asked curiously. “You’re not exactly the frail and fluffy little helpless sort that name brings to mind.”

  She drew in a quick breath, surprised that he’d brought it up again. Oxygen collided with carbonation, and it took half a minute before she could answer. “Oh, Penn doesn’t think I’m fluffy and helpless, either. Some of the little kids at the lake couldn’t pronounce my name, so they called me Kitten instead. Penn just picked it up.” Of course, the way Penn said it, the name was never quite so innocent. But there was no point in telling Marcus that. “A bunch of the others in the group did, too.”

  “I’ve never heard you called that.” He sounded a little grumpy.

  She smiled. “Because I’ve spent the past ten years eradicating the habit.”

  “And he didn’t get the message? I can’t say I’m surprised. He struck me as an insensitive sort.”

  She sipped her drink and thought about letting it go at that. Then honesty made her say, “Well, he wasn’t around, so he could hardly know how much I grew to hate it, could he? Marcus, I’ve got to check on how things are going in the kitchen. And it’s time for Angela to toss her bouquet.”

  He nodded. “You know, Kaitlyn, these parties were a lot more fun before you started masterminding all of them.”

  “That’s the drawback of the business, I’m afraid. But I like it so much better than selling clothes, or teaching.” She gave him a quick smile and let her hand rest on his shoulder. “That’s not a very impressive record, is it? Twenty-eight years old, and I’ve embarked on my third career! But this time I really like what I’m doing, Marcus.”

  “Then you’d better go and do it,” he said glumly. He reached for another glass of champagne as she went off to supervise the rest of the traditions.

  Neil turned the removal of the bride’s garter into an elaborate ceremony and heckled the crowd until all his unmarried friends were out on the dance floor hoping to catch it. Almost all of them; Penn and Karl had retreated to a corner, and from the bits of talk she overhead as she made her regular supervising rounds of the ballroom, Penn seemed to be trying to convince his friend to choose the Sahara Desert for a honeymoon spot.

  Kaitlyn rolled her eyes and hoped fervently that word of that didn’t come to the ears of Karl’s fiancée. Sabrina was a lovely girl, but she was not known for her sense of humor. And now, with her wedding less than a week away, Kaitlyn couldn’t really blame her.

  A tiny headache nagged just behind Kaitlyn’s eyebrows. Marcus was right; weddings and celebrations had been a whole lot mor
e fun before she started doing all the work personally. But there were drawbacks to every job, and advantages, as well. She loved what she did, most of the time. It was only late at night after a very long day that she had the slightest regrets.

  Eventually the bride and groom drove off in their garishly decorated car, the caterer’s men packed up the rubbish and disappeared, and all that was left were the decorations, tired and bedraggled and quite able to wait for morning when the florist would retrieve them.

  “I’ll follow you home,” Marcus said, as Kaitlyn gathered up the guest book and the pair of gilt sandals someone had left in the ladies’ lounge — how on earth had the owner managed to lose them? “Just to be sure that you’re all right.”

  It gave her a warm little glow; it was comforting that Marcus was so cautious about her safety. Springhill was not New York City, but it was still pleasant to be looked after and treated with care.

  But he didn’t just see her home; his Mercedes pulled into the driveway behind her little car, and he got out.

  Kaitlyn said, too tired to mind that she sounded a bit rude, “Marcus, it’s awfully late. And I’m exhausted.”

  “I won’t come in; your mother will have settled down for the night. But I would like to talk to you a minute, Kaitlyn.” He gave her a strained smile. “It seems we don’t have much chance to talk lately. You’re always busy.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. A great deal of her work fell into the evenings and weekends — the long planning sessions with her clients, at least. And when she wasn’t tied up with business, Marcus was. TurfMaster was a big operation now, for under corporate management it had far outgrown the regional enterprise that Penn’s father had built. It kept Marcus busy.

  She led the way to the old wicker swing, suspended with heavy chains from the porch ceiling. The bolts that held it secure creaked a little as the swing began to rock. It formed a soft cricket-like rhythm, which was the last thing Kaitlyn needed if she was going to stay awake. She sat up very straight.

  “I was going to ask you this at the reception,” Marcus said. “Then your friend the maniac came along, and — well, that’s beside the point, isn’t it? Kaitlyn—” He turned a little toward her, and folded her hand into his.

  Kaitlyn tried to smother a yawn.

  Marcus said wryly, “It’s selfish of me perhaps to feel I have to ask this minute, but I do, you see. You introduced me as your friend tonight, but I want to be more than that. Will you marry me, darling?”

  All the sleepiness disappeared in the whisk of an eyelash. Kaitlyn couldn’t remember ever before being so suddenly and so dramatically wakened — unless it was the time she’d fallen asleep on the beach at the lake, and rather than drag her out of the sunlight Penn had dumped a picnic cooler full of ice over her bikini-clad body....

  But that sort of wandering thinking was not the way one ought to respond to a proposal of marriage. It wasn’t as if this was any tremendous surprise; she’d been seeing Marcus for a year, and she’d been half-expecting this question for months now.

  She opened her mouth to accept his proposal, to say that she would be delighted to become his wife. And instead, she heard herself saying, almost hoarsely, “Marcus, it’s such a big decision. I — I want a chance to think about it. Please.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Marcus was so startled he almost fell out of the porch swing. Kaitlyn didn’t blame him; she was stunned herself by what she had said. She hadn’t been dating anyone else for more than six months, so she shouldn’t have had doubts about giving Marcus an answer as soon as he’d asked the question — or uncertainty about what her answer would be. He chuckled a little, self-consciously. “Surely you’re not giving me the shy maiden’s routine, Kaitlyn? Crying, This is such a surprise.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not sudden,” she said, and then realized that wasn’t the most tactful of responses, either. “Yet it is a big step, Marcus, and I haven’t thought it through. I enjoy being with you, and I like you, but when it comes to making it permanent—”

  You’re getting in deeper and deeper. You’ve already gone from thoughtless to inconsiderate, and if you’re not careful you’ll be verging on rude. She added, miserably, “It’s just that I want to be very sure, for both our sakes.”

  The line of Marcus’s mouth had gone tight and his voice was brisk. “I understand, Kaitlyn. It’s my fault, no doubt, for not waiting till you were rested. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  She smiled in agreement and then remembered her schedule. “I have to be at the club while the rental people pick up the extra tables and chairs, and to check on the florist.”

  “That surely won’t take all day,” he said, and stood up. “I’ll call you.”

  She nodded, and watched as he crossed the porch, almost too tired to react to the suddenness of his departure. Then she jumped up and followed him. “Marcus, aren’t you going to kiss me good night?”

  “I thought perhaps I wasn’t invited to do so at the moment.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she whispered, and tipped her head against the fluted porch pillar to look down at him. He caught his breath and came back to the top of the steps, and kissed her with his customary enthusiasm — or was there a little restraint there? Just the slightest bit of hesitation, of uncertainty?

  She was still leaning against the pillar with one hand raised to provide a buffer between her cheek and the chalky white paint when he left. She watched without moving until the Mercedes’s taillights vanished down the dimly lit boulevard.

  Time for bed. But with a sigh, she went back to the porch swing instead and dropped into its comforting cushions. She could lie down on it, if she bent her knees and propped her feet against the arm.

  “Idiot,” she muttered. “That’s not the way you’ve always expected you’d react to a proposal.”

  It wasn’t the way she had anticipated answering Marcus, and the sudden hesitation bothered her. She knew how much she liked him, and she knew — for he had told her — that he was very fond of her. If someone had whispered in her ear tonight that Marcus loved her and that he was about to ask her to marry him, she would have been pleased, but not surprised. No one in Springhill would have been startled, for they had all assumed that sooner or later —

  She thought that over, morosely. Everyone expects it. Was that the problem?

  Once before, everybody in Springhill had assumed the same sort of thing — except with a different man. That time they had all been disappointed, and the outpouring of awkward sympathy had been as difficult to deal with as Penn’s own rejection. Was that old wound still throbbing, deep under the surface? Was it possible that she had been holding herself back from truly loving Marcus just because Penn hadn’t been able or willing to make a commitment?

  “Idiot,” she repeated. “Double-dipped idiot, if that’s what you’ve been doing!”

  The breeze rippled through the spirea hedge in front of the house and toyed with a strand of her honey-brown hair, using it to tickle her cheek. June’s warm evening breezes always reminded her of that last sweet summertime, now ten long years ago....

  She had been in the final two weeks of classes, ready to graduate from high school in the spring, when Penn came home from his first year at the university. She’d been sitting in the porch swing that Saturday morning with a textbook, trying to concentrate on the Cavalier poets, when he came whistling up the walk. Just seeing him again, with the sunshine gleaming on his black hair and turning his eyes to silver, had made her heart ache with gladness. And love. It hadn’t been an easy year, with him so far away. But that was over now; in the autumn, she would follow him to the University, and they would always be together. They hadn’t talked about it exactly, but in Kaitlyn’s mind at least it was all very clear.

  There had been no hint, then, that the long sweet summertime of her youth was almost gone — that perfect time when all things were possible because she was young and in love. The world itself was fresh and shiny, with no hint that it
was about to shift ominously on its axis.

  But then, one hot day in July, Penn’s world had come crashing down — and Kaitlyn’s had begun to crumble, as well, though she didn’t even know it herself for a matter of weeks.

  She’d been getting her teeth cleaned when her dentist said, “Terrible about the Caldwells, isn’t it?”

  Her heart had seemed to shudder to a stop, and she’d managed to mumble through a mouthful of gritty abrasive, “What do you mean? They’re fishing up on Lake Superior this week.”

  She could still feel the sick weakness that had washed over her as he repeated what his last patient had just told him about the accident, and the story that was filtering back to Springhill — of the drunk in the speedboat who had rammed into the side of the Caldwells’ chartered cabin cruiser that morning and split it nearly in two.

  “It can’t be true,” she had whispered, almost desperate in her denial. “You know how stories grow wilder as they’re passed along!”

  But it had been true, and by evening the whole town knew that both of Penn’s parents had been below deck — and now they were dead.

  Penn himself had been at the wheel of the cabin cruiser. He had been thrown clear in the collision, to inhale lake water and spilled fuel, to try to keep himself afloat and dodge the drifting bits of wreckage, until he was picked up by a boater who had witnessed the accident. Still bruised and bandaged, he had brought his parents home a few days later and stood quietly beside their graves, the only survivor not only of a horrible accident but of a family line. They had said — the people of Springhill — that he was made of strong stuff to take it like that. Later, of course, they changed their minds and announced that he’d been too calm, too passive. It had been unnatural, they said; some kind of backlash had been inevitable. They had known it was coming all along.

  But weeks had gone by before the inevitable had happened…

  The screen door squeaked as it opened halfway. Audrey Ross leaned out and said, quietly, “Kaitlyn? Is that you?”