Pretense (53 page)

Her tears waited until Jack called in the middle of February, and Mackenzie Bishop rushed to California to stand by her mother's hospital bed. Jack was beside her, but Delancey hadn't arrived in time. Mackenzie wasn't aware of anyone else. She had eyes only for the mother she adored, the mother she didn't feel she could live without. Beside herself with pain, she held Marrell Avery's hand as she slipped away, and at the same time told God she would never forgive Him.

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Thirty

"You could wear a lot of these, Mic," Jack said gently. They were standing on Marrell's side of the walk-in closet. Delancey had left the day before, urged by both her stepfather and sister not to change her flight and miss any more school. But Mackenzie was taking a little more time.

"Are you in a hurry to have them out of here?"

"Not at all. I just wanted you to take what you wanted, especially since you're the same size."

Mackenzie fingered the sleeve of a long-sleeved dress but didn't take it down.

"I'm going to come back this summer, Jack. Maybe then."

"All right. Anytime."

Mackenzie looked at him. "Will you stay in this apartment, Jack? I mean, it's so big."

"It is big, but right now I just want to be here. I think I'll move at some point, but the advice everyone gives is not to do anything sudden for at least six months or even a year."

"I can't even picture myself a year down the road."

"I know what you mean."

Marrell Avery had been buried just four days, and already life seemed strange and incomplete. Mackenzie was leaving in two days' time, and the thought was so odd to her that she couldn't quite reckon with it.

I'll
be in Virginia, but Mom won't be here. I canpick up the phone and talk to her. It's not the same with Jack.

The phone rang as they walked toward the living room together, and Jack answered it in the kitchen. From the way he began to speak about the Lord's provision, Mackenzie knew it

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was someone from the church. For this reason alone she was eager to leave on Sunday. She had sat so still during the service, listening to every word from the pastor and asking herself how anyone could believe that God loved people. She concluded that Pastor Timm had never said goodbye to his mother.

"How about some dinner?" Jack asked after he hung up.

"I'm not very hungry. How about you?"

"Actually, I have a headache, so I think food is just what I need. Come talk to me."

Mackenzie accompanied him to the kitchen and watched as he pulled several casseroles from the depths of the refrigerator. She had to say that much for the church family: They had certainly been caring. Mackenzie's disinterest in food changed when she smelled something like lasagna. She rose from the table to serve her own dish when Jack moved from the microwave. The sight of the Kitchen Aid mixer that Jack had given her mother the Christmas before they were married was too much for her. She turned her back on it and tried to swallow the tears.

"I think I'll have it easier, Jack," Mackenzie said softly as she turned to him. "I think staying here, seeing all her things, would be harder."

Jack looked around. "You might be right, but whatever you do, Mic, let yourself grieve. Don't try to stuff it down. When you hurt, let yourself cry."

"I want to cry every time my mind sees Delancey's face when she learned that she had missed Mom by a few hours."

"That was pretty awful." Tears filled Jack's eyes. "There's something about seeing that person one more time. My sisters were really shaken when I called them."

"Did I hear you tell Oliver that you'll be going to see Kate and Anne?"

"Yes. I've taken three weeks off work, and I'll be there for about ten days. Your mom and I were there last summer and had a great time. Anne, especially, is very upset."

"Who's older again?"

"Anne. She's 78 this year."

Mackenzie worked at picturing herself at 78 and couldn't manage it.
Don't kid yourself Mic. You won't make 78. Cancer runs in the family. You've seen that with your own eyes.

If Mackenzie had voiced her thoughts to Jack, he might have

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helped her, but she kept them tucked neatly away in a painful little pocket that made her ache at all times. She didn't know how to deal with pain and loss, and in most ways she had no desire to try.

It turned out to be a myth that handling her mother's death would be easier in Virginia. Ignoring Jack's advice to let herself grieve, Mackenzie dealt with the pain inside her the only way she knew how: She threw herself into work by day and writing by night. She was on a destructive path but didn't care. Her CO could see she was hurting and even tried to talk with her, but he could not get past the respectful expression she kept plastered on her face. She had already informed him that she would be leaving the Army in August.

Surprisingly enough, a month after she returned to work, rescue came from an unexpected source. Tom Magy had asked to see her. She had known when she got off work at 5:00 Friday evening that he wanted to see her the next morning, but she had worked on her novel until the wee hours.

"You look awful," he wasted no time in saying.

"Thanks, Tom. It's great to see you too."

Gone was the upright, well-dressed woman from their first meeting. Mackenzie had dropped into a chair, swung her bluejeanedlegs over one arm, and stared at him. If she hadn't been wearing a navy blue sweatshirt-a color she always looked good in-she would have appeared totally washed out.

"Long night?"

"Yeah."

"Hot date?"

Mackenzie snorted but didn't answer.

"You know," Tom said as he watched her, "it occurred to me right before you arrived that I'm already here five days a week. Would you possibly agree to going to my place to work on these manuscripts?"

"Does your wife mind?"

"No, my wife doesn't mind at all."

Mackenzie shrugged. "Sure. Where do you live?"

"Not far from Pax." He stood. "Just follow me so you'll have your car."

Mackenzie was more than game. Indeed, she thought if she didn't keep moving, she would fall asleep on her feet. She hadn't

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planned to write so late, but the story, now down to the last quarter of the book, was pouring out of her. She was afraid that if she stopped, she would lose her train of thought.

She almost missed Tom's turning off because her mind had drifted back to her story. Getting her act together in time to see where he was motioning to her to park, Mackenzie got out and followed him to his door.

The condo was much like Paxton's and only a few buildings away. Mackenzie followed on automatic, so it took a few moments to realize that although they'd stepped inside his place, he hadn't moved forward but only stood staring at her.

"Do I really look that bad?" she questioned.

"No. I was just trying to figure out what goes on behind those incredible eyes of yours."

Staring back at him, Mackenzie had no idea how she should reply. As though fascinated with these new surroundings, she glanced around and asked, "When do I meet your wife, or is she out?"

"I don't have a wife, Mackenzie."

Mackenzie turned to look at him and laughed a little at his amused eyes. "The picture on your desk
. . .?"

Now Tom laughed. "That's a joke picture. It's actually one of the receptionists at IronHorse. One of my authors had it out for me, so Chris had a glamorous picture done of herself and put it on my desk. It worked, and that was all I cared about."

Mackenzie's mouth had opened. "You're just a bundle of surprises, Mr. Magy."

"That makes two of us," he said bluntly. "Here," he said, shoving some papers at her. "Look at these and I'll make some coffee, unless you'd rather have something else."

"Actually Pepsi or ice water sounds better."

"Coming up."

Mackenzie moved to the sofa, dropped the manuscript pages on the table beside the sofa arm, and decided first to scrutinize the place. His condo was a pleasant surprise. It was laid out with modem furniture and art. Although contemporary interiors were not her taste, she noticed that it still managed to be cozy and warm. Opposite the sofa was a huge recliner, and against the far wall was an entertainment system, the likes of which most people could only dream. She thought Jack would

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have drooled a little had he seen it.

The kitchen was set back and away from the front door. She could see a small chrome dining table and four padded chairs. Nearer to the kitchen than to the living room was an opening that presumably led to the bedrooms and bathroom. Feeling as though she could move right in, Mackenzie told herself she would have a townhouse or condo like this someday.

"You're in luck," Tom said as he entered with two glasses. "I just shopped last night, so I have plenty of Pepsi."

"Thank you," Mackenzie said fervently as she took the glass. Tom started to take the recliner, but the phone rang.

"I'd better get that," he said as he moved to the kitchen.

Mackenzie settled back. She had been a bit tense but was now feeling tired all over again. She knew she should get up and move around the room, but she was just too lazy. She worked on the liquid in her glass, eventually setting that aside as well.

Tom came back about five minutes later to find her sound asleep. She started to waken when he lifted her legs onto the sofa and put a pillow under her head, but when he stopped his movements, she went back to sleep. She didn't stir at all when he spread a blanket over her; neither was she aware of the way he stood and stared down at her for quite some time.

Mackenzie woke slowly. She felt a little stiff and frowned when she heard the sound of a baseball game. For a moment she thought she was in the apartment in San Francisco with Jack. Almost at the same instant she felt someone's eyes on her and looked over to see Tom watching her from the recliner. She sat up in one move.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About three hours."

"Why didn't you wake me?" She swung her legs off the couch, embarrassed and disoriented.

"I thought you could use the rest."

Mackenzie looked at him, blinking slightly.

"You called for your mother a few times."

Mackenzie let her head fall against the sofa back. She felt as though someone had dropped her on her head. A glance down told her Tom was still watching her.

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"I'm sorry, Tom. I've taken up your whole morning, and we haven't gotten a thing done."

He shrugged. "I just wanted to be home today, Mackenzie. I didn't care what I did. Right now I'm more concerned about you."

"I'm all right."

"I doubt that, and I'm a man who recognizes the signs."

Mackenzie wasn't sure of his point. Was it the late night or losing her mother? She didn't want to ask, but he wasn't saying anything either. She was still debating the issue when the doorbell rang.

"That'll be our pizza," Tom said simply, moving to answer it.

Mackenzie was thunderstruck. She didn't know this man very well-at least not on a personal level. Their meetings had always been over business. The last time she had even taken a day off to work on the books, so they had met in his office. Mackenzie's foggy mind was still trying to find its bearings when he handed her a plate with three pizza slices on it and put a fresh glass of cola on the table beside her.

"Thank you," she said automatically.

"You're welcome. Do you like baseball?"

"Sure-whatever. Tom-" she began, but with the remote control in his hand, he turned up the sound and looked at her, his eyes amused.

Mackenzie looked down at the pizza and realized she was hungry. Concentrating on her food, she tried not to cry. She didn't even know why she wanted to cry but could have sobbed her eyes out. It took her a few seconds to realize that the sound of the TV was low again. She didn't have to look up to know that Tom was watching her again. She hadn't thought him this sensitive.

"Why don't you have a wife, Tom?" she asked. It was the first thing that had come to mind.

"I've come close," he told her without hesitation. "In fact, I just broke off with someone, or rather, she broke off with me, about six months ago."

"Is it still hard?"

"Yes. It's worse than a death-not to be insensitive to your loss. It's just that I know where she is and who she's seeing now, so the hurt takes even longer to work itself out."

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"I've heard people say that about divorce, so I think I know what you mean."

"Your parents weren't divorced?"

"No, my dad died two and a half weeks before my fourteenth birthday."

"And you're how old now, 21?"

"Not until June."

"And you lost your mom ..."

"A month ago."