The Last Man on Earth (21 page)

Madelyn returned her watch to her purse and thought about everything Peg had said, especially the part about being terrified and happy.

She completely related to the terrified part. The closer her wedding date got, the more frantic she became. As for the happy, she kept telling herself she was, or at least that she would be. If only she didn’t feel as though she were acting in an odd, surreal play, cast in the role of the tragic heroine.

Marrying James was the right thing to do, she assured herself. Once her actual wedding day was at hand, the second thoughts that jabbed at her like tiny needles would vanish. She would be content as his wife; she promised herself she would. And as for the guilt that seemed to continually eat away at her over her unfaithful night in Arizona, she vowed to find a way to make it up to him.

Right now, though, she had her friend’s ceremony to see to; the rest she should put from her mind.

Peg’s wedding went off without a hitch except for the flower girl—Todd’s four-year-old niece, Cicely—who grew tired in the middle of her walk up the aisle and plopped down where she stopped.

After that bit of tension-breaking humor, the rest had been easy.

Peg recited her vows in a clear, steady voice, all her earlier worries for naught. There were few with dry eyes left in the church by the time Todd slipped the ring onto his new wife’s finger, sealing his own vows with a kiss.

Afterward, everyone converged outside to toss rice and best wishes at the bride and groom as the pair ran laughing to their limousine. It was decorated with streamers and aluminum cans, the words “Just Married” painted across the rear window.

With the couple safely away, the guests disbanded to find their own path to the reception.

Once there, Madelyn relaxed, tapping her toe to the upbeat tune played by the live band. She took a careful sip of champagne and watched the reception festivities around her. A cool stream of bubbles fizzed in her glass. She’d already decided this would be her one and only drink of the evening. She had no interest in leaving inebriated.

One of Peg’s cousins, a lanky sixteen-year-old with too many hormones and not enough brains, was stalking guests with a video camera, claiming he was there to capture perfect candid wedding moments on film. So far all Madelyn had noticed him capturing were shots of attractive female guests.

One pretty young bridesmaid in particular had been forced to seek temporary refuge in the ladies’ lounge. Another woman took her revenge by smacking him over the head with her purse when she realized he’d zoomed in on her breasts.

With a signal to the band, the bridal couple—who’d arrived only a few minutes ago after a lengthy session with the wedding photographer—were urged to the dance floor.

Time for the first dance.

Madelyn set her wine on a nearby table as a slow ballad began. Lovely and romantic, the notes twined in the air like a bough of delicate wildflowers. A collective sigh of sentimental awes soughed from the onlookers as the couple circled slowly.

Everyone watched as Todd murmured to his new wife, words meant only for her ears. An intimate answering smile parted her lips as Peg whispered back, their eyes meeting, joining, as they became lost in each other. Their love was shining like a beacon, clear for all to see.

A swell of bittersweet happiness gripped Madelyn along with a fist of self-pity and envy. She stood for a long moment lost in despair. From behind, a pair of strong, familiar arms slipped around her waist.

James pulled her snug against him as he leaned down to brush a kiss across her cheek. Awash in guilt for her unworthy thoughts, she crossed her arms over his and reached for his hands, squeezing them hard in silent recompense.

She closed her eyes and tucked her head beneath his chin.

“Just think,” he said quietly, “only six more weeks and that will be us, dancing at our own wedding.”

“Yes, just think,” she sighed, watching the bridal couple complete a last few steps.

Why?
she thought.
Why
can’t I love him like that?

The dance ended, guests clapped, then the band took up a new tune, inviting everyone to join in.

“Dance with me,” she murmured, turning in his arms.

“With profound pleasure, darling.” On nimble feet, James swept her across the ballroom floor.

They danced the next two dances. By the end of a third, he had her laughing as they moved to a bit of fast-paced swing that left the pair of them breathless.

“
Whew
, that was fun, but do you think our legs will forgive us tomorrow morning?” James led them off to the safety of the sidelines. “Especially after that last kick?”

“I thought we tackled that last kick rather well. And you should learn to speak for yourself; my legs are fine.” She knew his legs were fine as well since they’d played two sets of doubles tennis last weekend with friends and he’d barely broken a sweat.

“I agree, your legs are very fine. But,” he warned with mock seriousness, “after that workout, your muscles might need relaxing. How about a massage? You’re not eighteen anymore, you know.”

“And neither are you. I’ll remind you who’s the older one here.”

“Only by six months. And you know what they say.”

She crossed her arms. “No, what do they say?”

“Well, that women grow old, while men grow distinguished.”

“Is that a fact? Then might I suggest you take your distinguished butt over to the refreshment table and bring this old woman a drink, preferably something soft. I’m thirsty.”

“Your wish, as always, is my command.” He bowed and came up grinning. “What about food? Are you hungry?”

“I could eat. Nothing too filling, though; I want a piece of wedding cake later.”

“I’ll find something you like. I know all your favorites.” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “I won’t be long.”

Madelyn drifted over to the table where she’d left her glass of champagne. Not surprisingly, it had vanished, cleared away by the top-notch catering staff Peg had hired on Laura Grayson’s recommendation.

Madelyn’s parents were here somewhere, though at the moment she didn’t see them. After introducing Peg to her mother, Madelyn had been amusingly pleased to watch the two women bond like a pair of professional jewel thieves planning a master heist, no detail too small.

If Madelyn had half that much enthusiasm for her own wedding arrangements, she knew her mother would have been ecstatic. Although lately she’d been trying hard to be involved, anything to keep her mind occupied, active. Even hand-addressing wedding invitations was preferable to dwelling on thoughts of the man who plagued her nights and haunted her dreams.

To keep her mind off him now, she surveyed the room with lazy interest, absorbing the noise, appreciating the crowd. Her lips turned up at the edges as she watched a group of children skip, one after the other, around a circular table while they sang some silly nonsense song. Then her sights turned to a tiny white-haired matron who boldly shooed a huge, linebacker-size man out of his chair before calmly stealing his seat.

Madelyn was debating the benefits of slipping into her own seat—the one reserved for her and other members of the wedding party and their dates—when she saw Zack. He was standing across the room looking as tall, dark, and devastating as ever.

She’d known that Peg had invited him to the wedding. But when he hadn’t shown up at the church ceremony, she’d relaxed in the assumption that he wasn’t coming.

Apparently, she’d relaxed too soon.

He turned his head then, as though he’d heard her speak his name, and looked directly into her eyes.

Madelyn tried to break the link and walk away, but her eyes refused to lower, her feet resisting as if locked in place. She sensed his own attempt to pull away and his own failure to succeed.

A peculiar hum pulsed between her ears, a quiet rushing sound like a calm summer sea finding its way to shore. Her hands tingled. Her heart thundered. And in that instant the room dissolved into a mist, leaving only the two of them behind.

Entranced, Madelyn took a single step toward him.

“Here’s the food,” James declared. “I thought I’d never make it through the buffet line, it was so long.”

J
ames’s return shattered the spell around her.

Startled, Madelyn jerked and turned, her elbow catching him in the side.

Unprepared for her move, James reacted instinctively, weaving in a desperate effort to keep from dropping the plates of food and the drinks he carried. He nearly managed the trick with no harm done until Madelyn reached out in her own instinctive attempt to help, and ruined his maneuver.

Fizzy pink punch arced into the air, landing in a very large, very cold splash across the skirt of her dress.

“Oh no. Meg, are you okay?” Carefully, James stepped to a nearby table to put down what was left of their meal, then quickly returned to her side.

“Of course I’m okay,” she said, holding the sticky satin away from her skin. “It’s this dress that may never be the same.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re usually not so jumpy.”

Remembering the reason for her jumpiness, Madelyn glanced at the spot where Zack had been standing, disappointed to see that he was gone.

Actually, the accident had been providential. Who knew what foolish things she might have done if James hadn’t returned when he had. What glimpses of truth he might have witnessed in her eyes had he caught her staring at Zack. Heavens, she hoped no one else had noticed her moment of spellbound fascination.

She darted a quick look around the ballroom, but no one was watching her, the party atmosphere running strong.

“The music’s loud,” she explained, “and I didn’t hear you come up behind me. Don’t worry about it and don’t wait for me. Eat while I go try to rinse out some of this punch before it sets completely.”

She found her way to the ladies’ lounge and armed herself with a handful of wet paper towels, her hands shaking slightly as she worked to blot out the stain. Diligent effort removed most of the punch, but her skirt ended up wetter than ever. Until it dried, there was no way she could return to the reception. Patiently, Madelyn held her skirt underneath the hand dryer. A few ladies passing through offered condolences and disaster stories of their own.

By the time she pushed the door open and walked into the quiet corridor that led back to the main ballroom, she felt almost composed.

Then she turned her head and saw Zack approaching from the direction of the cloakroom.

His step slowed, his fingers falling from the buttons he’d been fastening on his long brown wool coat. Obviously he was leaving.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“I see you managed to repair the damage,” he remarked, nodding toward her dress.

She looked down, noticing the massive water stain that hadn’t seemed nearly as bad in the ladies’ room. “The worst of it anyway.”

“Good. Well, I’d better be going.” He hesitated. “Listen, Madelyn, I only came tonight because I didn’t want to offend Peg and Todd by not putting in an appearance. I had no intention of spoiling your evening.”

“You haven’t. And you’re right—Peg especially would have been hurt if you’d stayed away. A lot of people from the office are here.”

“Yeah. Linda Hernandez brought her kids. Did you see them?”

“I did. They’re adorable.”

She could barely breathe, she realized. He was too close. And his eyes, so beautiful, so green. She felt herself sink into them and knew she could gladly lose herself there forever.

Ask me again,
she wished.
Ask me one more time and maybe my answer will be different. Tell me you want me to go with you now,
she pleaded silently,
and see if I don’t say yes.

For an instant his lips parted, then closed again.

He pulled on a pair of gloves. They smelled of leather and man. Of him.

Madelyn inhaled deeply to catch the scent.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, looking away. “I made my excuses ages ago.”

She stepped back. “I need to go too. I told Peg I’d be there to watch her cut the cake.”

After a moment, he nodded good-bye, then strode away.

She watched until he disappeared around the far corner, then leaned against the wall for support.

I can’t keep doing this.

Seeing him at work, meeting him at parties and events like today’s wedding. Slowly, quietly, it was killing her, and it had to stop.

•   •   •

Zack had never known such a cold December, with a bite that cut clear through to the bone. It was the kind of chill he’d felt for weeks now, beginning that warm Arizona evening when he’d deliberately turned his back on his own happiness for the second time.

More tired than he could ever remember feeling, he made the decision to take a few long-overdue vacation days. He chose a balmy locale, certain that a good dose of fun and sun would set him on the road to recovery. He’d relax, he’d sleep, he’d enjoy the sunny clime, and when it was all finished he would be able to return home with a renewed spirit and a healing heart.

When he arrived, he found Sanibel Island, Florida, as gorgeous as it always was this time of year. White sand beaches, miles of blue sky piled atop miles of blue sea. Warm salt breezes, swaying palm trees, sun and sport, and enough bikini-clad eye candy to lure a Tibetan monk into the warm waters of temptation.

By rights, he should have been having the time of his life, checking out the beach, or better yet, checking out the inside of a hotel room with any one of a dozen willing females.

Instead he was miles away from Sanibel’s beach, seated in a rented beige Ford in the parking lot of an Episcopal church just outside Fort Myers.

In his pocket, he fingered the invitation he’d received before leaving for vacation. Normally he would have pitched it in the trash the moment he slit open the envelope and saw what was inside. But for some odd reason, one he still didn’t understand, he’d tossed it into his briefcase, where the stupid thing had stayed before being added to his carry-on at the last minute.

His mother, for the fifth unbelievable time, was getting married. And for some perverse purpose known only to her, she’d invited him to the ceremony and reception.

What was it these days, he thought, with all these weddings? People had the common sense of moles, living in the dark and running around in circles, deluding themselves that marriage would make them happy. He knew better.

Or at least he thought he did, until Madelyn.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed as he thought of her.

Madelyn.

She seemed to have taken root inside his mind, and he couldn’t force her out no matter how he tried. And believe it, he’d tried and tried hard.

In less than a week she would be another man’s wife. He couldn’t get that out of his mind either.

A familiar ache swelled in the vicinity of his heart. He ignored it as he watched another cluster of guests, decked out in suits and ties and dresses, enter the church—every one of them a stranger.

He wasn’t surprised. He’d never known his mother’s family, respectable, middle-class citizens that they were. Uptight prigs, his father had called them.

As the story went, they’d cut their daughter off completely the day she’d announced at sixteen that she was pregnant and planned to marry the baby’s father, Luke Douglas, a common boy of whom her parents did not approve. To Zack’s knowledge, it was a breach that had never been healed.

As for the Douglas side, she’d had even less cause to keep up with them, not after running out on her husband and kids the way she had.

His lips curled into a cynical half smile and he shook his head at his own folly. He’d spent the better part of his adult life trying to avoid the woman. So what on earth was he doing here today at her wedding?

He sat in the car for another fifteen minutes before he climbed out into the humid midday winter heat, slamming the door behind him.

The service was already under way as he slid into a pew in the rear of the church.

At least she’d had the taste not to wear white, Zack thought. The light blue, knee-length dress she wore was an attractive choice for a bride of her years and dubious marital history.

The groom, from what Zack could tell, seemed a harmless sort, balding, with a slight middle-age paunch and thick glasses that made his eyes look too large for his face. No doubt the poor schmuck had a fat bank account and the promise of more to come, meeting his mother’s number one requirement in a mate.

Zack had always assumed that particular shortcoming was one of the chief reasons why his own father had never measured up. What he’d never been able to reconcile was why she’d stayed as long as she had. Eleven years in one place was a long time for a woman of Georgia Douglas’s habits and tastes. Correction: Georgia Steadman, now that the vows had been said—assuming he remembered the name on the invitation correctly.

The church, located near the shore, boasted an extensive flower garden and its own private stretch of beach. Arrangements had been made to hold the reception there on its grounds. A magnificent magnolia tree dominated the garden, towering high and wide, a few silky white petals fallen from its branches scattered across the redbrick courtyard.

Zack allowed the honeyed scent of the tree to linger in his nostrils for an extra moment as he stepped outside. He’d have a beer, he decided, or whatever alcoholic concoction they were serving; then he’d be on his way.

“Zack? Is that you?”

He turned his head to the right, and there she stood, as beautiful and bloodless as ever, the bride herself. He wished he already had his hands on that drink.

“It really is you,” she declared, the heels of her dyed-to-match shoes clicking against the bricks as she rushed to greet him. “You came. I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t much believe it myself,” he muttered, avoiding the embrace she tried to press upon him. He saw her stiffen, then smile, as he drew back, pretending she hadn’t noticed his withdrawal.

“Were you here in time for the ceremony?” she asked.

He nodded. “I drove over from Sanibel Island. I’ve been here vacationing for the last few days.” He didn’t want her to think he’d come all this way solely on her account. “I suppose I ought to offer best wishes. Congratulations, Georgia; maybe this time it’ll last.”

The warmth of her smile dipped a degree or two, but again she recovered rapidly. She’d long since given up correcting him for using her first name. “I know it will. Harold’s a wonderful man and I’m lucky to have found him. You must come and meet him. It looks like he’s catching up with some friends right now, though.” She paused. “Beth isn’t with you by any chance?”

“No,” he said, his eyes hardening in grim suspicion. “You didn’t invite her, did you?”

“No, I didn’t invite her. You can relax, Zack. I haven’t had any contact with your sister, exactly as we agreed.” She sighed. “Frankly, I’m surprised to see you, especially since you don’t seem terribly happy to be here. Why did you come?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Probably for the same reason you sent the invitation to me. Curiosity. Beyond that, I haven’t a clue.”

“I sent the invitation to you because you’re my son.”

“A fact you’ve made a career forgetting whenever it’s suited your purpose.”

She flushed. “This is my wedding day. I’d hoped, at the very least, that we could put aside the bitterness for a few hours and be a family.”

“Since when were we ever a family? You’re right, though; this is no occasion for arguments. I should leave.”

“No.” She put out a hand, catching him on the shoulder. “Don’t go. I want you to stay. Come on, you must be hungry. Men are always hungry.”

After a moment of indecision, he relented. “I missed lunch. I suppose I could eat, as long as it’s more than finger sandwiches.”

“There’s a whole roast beef ready to be carved, and mounds of steamed shrimp. Will that do? You used to love roast beef.”

He still loved roast beef, and shrimp, although there’d rarely been money for either one when he was a child. “Sounds okay.”

She settled him at the buffet table, departing only after she’d made him promise not to leave until he’d met his new stepfather. Zack kept from rolling his eyes at that thought. He could hardly wait.

Soon she drifted off to circulate and accept best wishes from the fifty or so guests in attendance, stepping into the part of gracious bride with the dignified ease of a queen. If only they knew the truth about her. He wondered if Harold did.

Resentful and irritated, he helped himself to generous servings of both entrées, pinning the man carving the roast with a hard eye when the guy hesitated over serving him an extra large portion. In no mood for company, Zack found an empty table and sat down to eat.

As his hunger lessened, so did the rougher edges of his bad mood. That was when he began to watch Georgia and her new husband.

It could all be an act, he decided, and very probably was, but as she stood next to Harold, laughing and chatting, dancing the traditional dance, Zack glimpsed a difference in her, a softness around the eyes that he’d never seen before. It made him wonder, as incredible as the idea might be, if she actually loved the poor sap.

The fact that Harold adored her was more than obvious.

Zack watched the pair of them clown for their audience as they cut the cake, gleefully mashing slices into each other’s faces.
Nah,
he reminded himself, his mother loved only one person, and that person was her. He’d be an idiot to ever believe otherwise.

Still, she was growing older; there was no denying that fact, despite all the extraordinary measures she used to stave off the inevitable.

On the verge of fifty, she could still pass for thirty-five in the right light. But the clock kept right on ticking, and she wouldn’t be able to hold back its effects for much longer. Maybe it was more than age. Maybe she was afraid she might end up alone. Was that why she kept finding men to marry? He’d always thought it was the money, but perhaps it was fear—and the money.

Old and alone.

Madelyn had talked about that, wanting to find someone to spend her life with. Someone who wouldn’t mind the inevitable lines on your face or a little tremor in your hand when you reached up to push back a stray wisp of white.