Happy Ever After

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HE THOUGHT ABOUT INVENTING AN EMERGENCY, BUT THAT WOULD be cowardly. And it wouldn’t result in caramel sauce.

Plus, he had to admit she’d outmaneuvered him, and couldn’t help but admire her strategy. And he’d revved on the execution most of the day.

He finished the work on the Jeep, rebuilt a carburetor, ran a few diagnostics for routine service checks, and took a couple of road calls, as he’d be passing the night shift to Bill.

He skimmed through some paperwork—most of which he intended to dump on his mother—and completed a list of replacement parts he needed her to hunt up for a rehab on a ’67 Mustang.

He took a glance at his balance sheet. It always gave him an odd little jolt to realize he was flush.

Flush enough to pump some back into the business, give his mother and the rest of the crew decent raises, and maybe take a little winter vacation after the holidays.

A week somewhere with a beach and blue water. Things slowed down some at Vows in January, according to Parker. She could probably figure out how to skip out for a week,. Nobody figured like Parker.

He’d teach her to surf.

Maybe she knew how to surf. He should ask her.

And it occurred to him he was planning a vacation around Parker.When had that happened?

He sat for a moment listening to the sounds from the garage, let himself absorb the notion.When it didn’t give him the jitters, he let out a huh.

So it didn’t matter when or how it happened, it just was. And he was okay with it.

Better than okay, he admitted, because he could see her with him on that beach with blue water, drinking some local rum deal, and just letting work go for a few days.

Or . . . maybe a break at her place in the Hamptons. Something to be said for winter beaches—solitude, sex by the fire.

So, he’d toss the idea at her, see where it went.

He gathered up the files, moved through the garage and into the office.

“Got some stuff,” he began, and went over the lists and invoices while his mother peered at the paperwork through her green-framed glasses.

“You’re taking off now?”

“I was going to. I sort of have a thing I have to do. Whatever you don’t get to, I’ll finish up by Monday.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t get it done. Come here.”

He leaned over the counter.And she cuffed the side of his head.

“Hey.”

“Why didn’t you tell me we were getting an invite to Thanksgiving dinner at the Brown Estate?”

“It just came up.” Aggrieved as only his mother could make him, he rubbed the side of his head. “And Parker said she’d call you about it, which I guess she did.What’s the problem?”

“If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have been taken by surprise. And if she hadn’t called, I’d’ve bought a damn turkey on my way home from work today.Then I’d have a turkey I don’t need.”

“Well, she did so you didn’t, and you don’t.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t.” She gave him that smirk that made him want to hunch his shoulders. “You’re wearing a suit.”

He knew it. “She said it didn’t matter.”

“I don’t care what she said. I’m saying you’re wearing a suit. You should buy a new suit.When’s the last time you bought a new suit?”

He nearly did hunch his shoulders, and thanked God all his men were out of earshot. “I don’t know. Jesus.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.” Her finger jabbed out at him like a switchblade. “You buy a new suit. And a tie. And some decent shoes.”

“Good God.”

“You’re seeing someone like Parker Brown, you have more need for a suit than for a wedding or when somebody drops dead. And you’re a successful businessman, don’t you forget it.A successful businessman has more than one suit in his closet. And you could use a haircut.”

“Anything else? Maybe I should learn French.”

She wagged a finger, but her lips twitched. “You could parlay voo if you wanted.You’re bright enough.You get that from my side of the family. You get your build from your daddy. That’s why you look so sharp in a suit. Go on and get out of here so I can deal with this work you’ve tossed at me.”

“If I’d known I was going to get bushwhacked, I’d have found more.” He walked to the door, glanced back—and felt the smirk they shared move onto his face. “Since I have to spend all this dough on clothes, I guess I can’t give you the raise I was planning on.Too bad.”

It took some of the sting out of the idea of shopping when she scowled after him.

BY THE TIME HE GOT TO PARKER’S, THE PLACE WAS IN FULL-EVENT mode. Emma and her flower people had already decked out the entrance with a lot of big straw-colored things holding acres of flowers. She’d mixed in some pumpkins, and what might’ve been gourds.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen gourds at a wedding, but he had to admit they looked good.

Inside they’d draped the staircase with miles of that filmy white stuff they used, more flowers, little lights. Still more flowers stood in pots and baskets and vases.

It was like walking through a fall dreamscape. Which, he supposed, was the goal.

He could hear more work going on in the Parlor, and in what they called the Grand Hall, but resisted the urge to poke his head in. He might get volunteered.

He considered easing through, hitting Mrs. Grady up for a sandwich before he dealt with whatever he was going to have to deal with upstairs, but even as he turned in that direction, Parker moved into view at the top of the stairs.

The woman, he thought, had better radar than NASA.

“Perfect timing.” She shot out a killer smile as she came down. “The groom’s party is just getting started. I can’t tell you how much you’ve taken off their minds, and mine.” She locked on to him like a tractor beam and began to lead him up.

“Everything’s right on schedule.”

“I worried about that all day.”

She gave him a gentle elbow poke. “I know this is a lot to ask, but it does make you a hero. Justin’s mother came through the surgery very well, so we’re in complete celebration mode.”

“That’s good, about the mother.”

“It really is. I’ll introduce you to Channing and his men, help you get set up.Then I’ll come back in about an hour, just to give you a run-through since you weren’t at rehearsal.”

She gave the door of the Groom’s Suite a brisk knock. “It’s Parker,” she called out. “Is it safe to come in?”

The man who opened the door wore tuxedo pants and had a beer in his hand. “I can’t say we’re decent, but we’re covered.”

“Good enough. Malcolm, this is Darrin, recently promoted to best man.”

“I told Channing I’ve always been the best man. You’d be today’s pinch hitter. Nice to meet you.”

They shook hands before Parker nudged Malcolm inside where beer poked their frosty heads out of iced buckets, and a bottle of champagne stood in another. Platters held sandwiches and finger food, and men hung around half dressed. Five of them. Six counting the newly appointed best man.

One—tall, golden, gym-ripped—broke away. “Malcolm? I’m Channing, and I’ll be your groom today.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I really can’t begin to thank you for doing this. It probably seems bizarre, but . . . I know you from somewhere.”

“I’ve been somewhere, but you don’t look familiar.”

“I could swear—”

“Hey.” One of the men paused as he poured a glass of champagne. “It’s Kavanaugh, right?”

“Yeah.” Malcolm narrowed his eyes at champagne guy. “Mercedes SL600. Tire rotation and detailing.”

“That’s exactly right. Best detail job I’ve ever had.”

“That’s it.” Channing ticked the air with his finger.“I knew I’d seen you.You rehabbed my father’s T-Bird. I was there when you delivered it. I dried his tears of joy.”

“Hell of a car. So you’re Channing Colbert.”

“Yeah. I thought my father was crazy when he bought that car. Then I saw it after you’d finished with it and thought, why don’t I have one? Want some champagne, a beer?”

“Beer.”

“I’ll leave you in good hands.” Parker patted his arm.“Your tux is right over there. Our photographer will be here in about fifteen minutes.”

It wasn’t so bad, Malcolm decided. There was food, there was beer, and the other men were in such a damn good mood it was hard to feel put-upon.

At least he felt that way until Mac swung in and pointed her camera at him.

“Hey, I’m just subbing.”

“And they’ll want that documented. Don’t pay any attention to me.” She waved at him, and moved around the room like a redheaded snake—slithery and silent.

He felt a profound sense of relief when she cut Channing out of the herd for formal shots.

He changed into the tuxedo pants and shirt while she was gone. Parker had been dead-on, again.They fit, as did the dark red vest.

Half the guys had questions about cars, but he was used to that. A mechanic was a car doctor, and everybody wanted free medical advice. Since advice could lead to new customers, he didn’t mind handing it out.

When Parker came back, he was struggling with his tie.

“Here, let me do it.”

“When I rent a tux, you just hook this bastard on.”

She smiled up at him.“I think half the reason men wear ties is so women have to get in close to tie them. How’re you doing?”

“It’s okay.” He glanced over her shoulder to his fellow groomsmen. “They’re all pretty easy.”

“Your attendant’s name is Astoria.”

His gaze shifted back to hers. “Seriously?”

She cleared a chuckle out of her throat. “They call her Asti. She’s beautiful, a little bit shy—and married, so don’t get any ideas.”

“And here I was thinking about a quickie in the cloak room.”

“They all do. She works with special needs children in Chicago. She and Leah met in college. There.” She stepped back, angled her head.“You’re fulfilling your part of the deal.You’re having a good time and you look gorgeous.”

Mac stepped back in. “Okay, boys, let’s move out to the terrace for the formals. It’s a risk. I don’t know if my camera can handle this much handsome.”

Parker helped Malcolm into his jacket, brushed at the sleeve. “I’ll be back to do that run-through as soon as Mac’s done with you.”

“With me? I’m not doing the group shots. I’m not part of the group. I’m the sub.”

“Channing really wants you in them. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Listen, Parker—”

“Oh, sorry.” She tapped her headset. “I have to run.”

Sneaky, Malcolm thought as she slid away like butter on a griddle.

He was going to want a lot of caramel sauce.

He did his part, escorting people to seats in the shimmering lights of the Grand Hall. Candlelight and firelight added to the glow.

Laurel swung through for an on-scene check, sent him a wink. “How’s it going?”

“Is the cake as good as advertised?”

“Better.”

“Then it’s all worth it.”

“And there’s plenty of caramel sauce.”

He caught her smirk—they seemed to be going around—as she glided away.

Jesus, did those women tell each other everything?

Fine, he’d make sure they had plenty to talk about over breakfast. Maybe he’d just cop a bottle of the champagne to go with the—

“Well, well, moonlighting as an usher these days?”

His back went tight even before he turned to his uncle.

Not aging well, are you, Artie? Malcolm thought, and there was some satisfaction in that.The man still had all his hair—which had always been his pride and joy—but he’d put on weight, gone thick in the face, in the middle. His eyes, a deceptively mild blue, seemed shrunken in the wide plate of that face.

She’d fared better, he decided, glancing at his uncle’s wife. Kept her figure, maybe had a couple nips and tucks. But the look of distaste didn’t do anything attractive to her face.

“You can find your own seats.”

“Courteous as ever. I’d heard you were chasing after the Brown girl and her money.”

“You never knew your place.” Marge Frank sniffed. “Now it looks like Parker Brown’s forgotten hers. Her grandmother must be rolling over in her grave.”

“Sit down or leave.”

“It doesn’t look like her breeding’s rubbed off on you,” Artie commented.“It shouldn’t take long for Parker to see you for what you are. Just how do you know the bride and groom? Changed a few tires for them?”

Fuck it, he thought. Just fuck it. “That’s right.”

“You can scrub the grime from under your nails, Malcolm, but you’re still a grease monkey. And people like the Browns always end up with their own kind. Come on, Marge.”

He needed five minutes, Malcolm thought. Five minutes to get some air, to settle himself. But even as he backed out, started toward the foyer, Laurel came back.

“Less than a dozen guests left to seat.We’re going to want you and the rest of the boys to take positions in two minutes. Are you—Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay. If you’d nudge the last stragglers into seats, then go around . . .Parker showed you how it works, right?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

“I’ll be there to cue you. Don’t worry. It’ll be painless.”

He didn’t feel pain. He felt a rage that wanted to claw out of his throat. He didn’t want to be there, wearing someone else’s tux, standing in front of a crowd of people in a room filled with flowers and candles watching people he didn’t even know get married.

And feeling—helpless not to feel—the utter contempt from his uncle, coiling its way across the room to clamp onto his throat and trap that rage.

Once he’d escaped it, had traveled three thousand miles to shed it. He’d come back a man, but there was still a piece inside him, he hated knowing it, that burned with that raw and bitter anger.

And struggled, even now struggled, with the echoes of humiliation.

He went along for photos after the ceremony, primarily as an escape route. He listened as Channing’s father rhapsodized about the T-Bird, and did his best to keep up his end.

Then he broke away to find a place in the side garden, to sit in the frosted night and breathe.

She found him there. She was out of breath, coatless, her usual composure shattered.

“Malcolm.”

“Look, they don’t need me for the dinner deal. I’m taking a goddamn break.”

“Malcolm.” She dropped down beside him, took his hand. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know the Franks were coming. I didn’t spot them until I did a walk-through at dinner. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You could be sorry if you’d invited them. Since you didn’t, it’s not your thing.”

“I got you into this. I wish I’d—”

“It’s no big deal.”

“I’ll fix it. I’ll make an excuse to Channing and Leah so you can—”

“And let them have the satisfaction of running me off, again? I don’t fucking think so. I’m just taking a goddamn break, Parker. Give me some space.”

She released his hand, rose.

“Not everybody wants you to handle the details, to fix every damn thing.”

“You’re right.”

“And don’t be so damn agreeable. I know when I’m out of line, and I’m out of line.”

“You’re upset. I understand—”

“I don’t want you to understand. You don’t understand. How could you? This doesn’t have anything to do with you. Did anyone every knock you around when you weren’t able to fight back?”

“No.”

“Tell you, over and over until you started to believe it, that you’re useless, you’re stupid, worthless. That if you didn’t fall in line, you’d be out on the street?”

“No.” But that didn’t mean her heart couldn’t break, her blood couldn’t boil for the child who’d lived through it.

“So you don’t understand. Hell, I don’t understand why my way of coping with it was to do my level best to make it worse, to look for trouble, and to blame my mother, who didn’t know what was going on because I was too afraid or proud or both to tell her.”

She said nothing. She understood now, or hoped she did, that to push meant he’d simply close up. So she said nothing. She just listened.

“I made it as hard on her as I could for as long as I could. And if I wasn’t giving her grief, he was, or his bitch of a wife was. She took it because she was trying to keep a roof over my head, give me a family, because she was trying to get through the grief of losing my father. And I blamed her for that, too. Let’s just pile it on her.Why should she have a life? Artie’s working her like a dog because he could. Her own goddamn brother. And we were supposed to be grateful.

“More than two years of that, every day a misery. I’m just waiting, just waiting until I’m old enough, strong enough, to kick his ass and get the hell out.Then she does it for me. After all that, she does it for me. She comes home early from work one night. Sick. He’d had her pulling doubles and just wore her out. And he’s got me up against the wall, his hand around my throat, slapping me. He liked to slap because it’s more humiliating than a fist and doesn’t leave a mark.”

Someone had stepped out on one of the terraces, and a trill of female laughter floated out on the frosted air.

Malcolm stared toward the house, the lights, the laughter, but she doubted he saw the glow or heard the joy.

“I saw her come in. She was white as a sheet. Until she saw us, and then everything about her went on fire. I’d never seen her move that fast. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anybody move that fast. She yanked him off me. She was bone-thin. He had to have sixty pounds on her, but she yanked him right off his fucking feet, and he landed halfway across the room. She dared him to get up, dared him to try to lay hands on me again, and to see how fast she snapped them off and fed them to him.”

He stopped, shook his head. “There, that’s what I come from, and don’t tell me you understand.”

“I’m not going to argue with you now, but I will say if you think I’d blame a boy and his grieving mother in any way for the situation you were caught in, you must think very little of me.”

His tone went as frosty as the air. “I told you, Parker, it’s not about you.”

“Of course it’s about me, you idiot.You idiot, I love you.”

She caught a glimpse of the utter stupefaction on his face before she stormed away.

She caught another glimpse of him during the reception, talking to the newlyweds, and again a bit later, seated at the bar with the FOG in some intense conversation.

She kept her eye on the Franks, prepared to move in if they headed in Malcolm’s direction. Maybe he thought it was none of her business, maybe he thought she didn’t understand, maybe he was just stupid. But she wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to cause trouble at one of her weddings.

She was almost disappointed when it didn’t happen.

“Did you and Mal have a fight?” Mac eased up beside her when the crowd began to thin.

“Why?”

Mac tapped her camera. “I know faces. I know you.”

“I wouldn’t say we had a fight. I’d say we appear to define relationship differently, except he doesn’t acknowledge we’re in a relationship.We’re in a situation.”

“Men can be dumbasses.”

“They really can.”

“Women should all move to Amazonia, or at least vacation there four times a year.”

“Amazonia?”

“It’s the girl world in my head, where I go when I’m annoyed with Carter, or just men in general.There are five shoe stores per capita, nothing has any calories, and all the books and movies end happy ever after.”

“I like Amazonia.When do we leave?”

Mac draped an arm around Parker’s shoulders. “Amazonia, my friend, is always there, inside every woman’s head. Just close your eyes, think: Manolo Blahnik. And you’re there. I’ve got to go get some more shots, then I’ll be right behind you.”

Amused, Parker let herself imagine a calm, soothing, shoeladened female world, but had to admit, she wouldn’t want to live there. An occasional short vacation? It sounded very good.

She watched as the bride and groom took the floor again for the last dance of the evening.

So in love, she thought. So in tune. So ready to start their life together, as partners, as lovers, as companions and mates.

On their way to their happy ever after.

And that, she admitted, was what she’d always wanted.

To make her mark, yes, to do good work, to be a good friend, a good sister, to build something and share something. And with all that, to love and be loved, to promise and accept the promise. To find someone and take hands with him in their own happy ever after.

She couldn’t try for less.

She didn’t see Malcolm again until she’d stepped outside to wave the newlyweds off.

He’d changed into his own clothes, she noted, and looked considerably calmer and more himself.

“Got a minute?” he asked her.

“Yes, a couple of them now.”

“I took a bad reaction out on you, something that’s getting to be a habit. I don’t like the habit.”

“All right.”

“I thought I’d moved on from having that kind of a reaction to Artie. Apparently not.” He dipped his hands into his pockets. “I don’t like going back there, so I don’t. There’s no point. I understand you were trying to help.”

“But you don’t want any help.”

“I don’t want to need any. I think that’s a little different.That’s no excuse for lashing out at you.”

“I’m not asking for excuses, Malcolm. I don’t need excuses when I know the reason.”

“I guess I’m still working on the reason. So . . . I’m going to take off. Give us both a little time to smooth out.”

“While you’re smoothing, ask yourself this. Ask yourself if you actually believe I think less of a boy, one grieving for his father, for striking back, for looking for an escape from an abusive bully who held every control. Or if I think less of the man he made himself into because of it.When you’re sure of the answer, let me know.”

She opened the door. “Good night, Malcolm.”

“Parker? Whatever the answer, I still want you.”

“You know where to find me,” she said, and closed the door behind her.