Vision in White

“I’d like to believe that, but here you are, Mac, paying the price as usual. While as usual she pays nothing. No consequences for Linda. She’ll bring your car back when she’s damn good and ready. You’ll confront her, bitch, complain. She’ll pull out all her usual crap. Then she’ll forget the whole thing because she’ll have gotten and done what she wanted, and topped it off by being the center of your world while you bitch and complain.”

“What am I supposed to do? Beat her to death with my tripod?”

“I’ll help you hide the body.”

“You would.” Mac sighed. “You’re a true friend. I’m not a coward or a pushover about most things.”

“No, you’re not. Anything but. I guess that’s why it irritates me down to the marrow when you are. When she causes you to be both. Make her pay for once, Mackensie. I bet once you do, the next time will come easier.”

“How? Believe me when I say I want to. I can’t actually call the cops. I gave her the damn keys. And maybe I think—know,” she corrected, “it was passive-aggressive bullshit that she didn’t leave me hers, it still . . .”

“I like that look. That is not the look of cowardly pushover. What?”

“She left her car.”

“Oh, oh, we’re going to smash the toy. I’ll get my coat and Del’s old baseball bat.”

“No. God, you’re a violent soul.”

“I like smashing. It’s therapeutic.”

“We’re not going to beat up the car. It’s an innocent bystander in this. But I am going to have it towed.”

“That’s not bad, but having it towed to her house just means she doesn’t have to bother to come get it.”

“Not to her house.” Mac’s eyes narrowed as she thought it through. “Remember a few months ago, that guy rear-ended Del’s new car. It had to be towed. The guy, the mechanic guy who took care of all that. He’s got the tow truck, the garage, the lot. Damn it, what’s the name? Where is Parker with her magic business cards?”

“Call Del. He’ll remember. And let me just say this is why we’re friends. When you get your teeth into it, Mac, you’re beautiful.”

“So lend me your car.”

“Make the calls, and it’s yours.”

SHE FELT RIGHTEOUS. SHE FELT STRONG. BY THE TIME SHE’D completed her shoot, run her errands, stopped off to buy more twenty-gauge wire for Laurel, she decided she deserved new shoes. Maybe, considering the trauma and triumph of the last few weeks, she deserved new earrings, too.

Earrings for Linda, she decided. Shoes for Carter. Celebration and commiseration.

Maybe she’d go by his place on the way home. While she was feeling strong and righteous. They were two smart people who cared about each other. Surely they could find a compromise, some middle ground, some solution.

She didn’t want to lose him, she thought. She didn’t want to go through her life Carter-less.

She wandered through the mall until she hit the Holy Grail. The shoe department at Nordstrom.

Maybe she needed new boots, too. You could never really have too many boots. New shoes

and new boots would give her that firm sense of self-reliance she needed to go to Carter’s. She could pick up a bottle of wine, like a peace offering. And they’d talk, and he’d look at her that way he looked at her. And . . . that would be pulling a Linda, she decided, as she had Laurel’s car.

But she could still go by, still take the wine. She could ask him to dinner at her place. It could be a kind of joke, an icebreaker. Hey, I brought you this wine. Why don’t you come over for dinner later tonight and bring this with you? Of course then she’d have to stop off and buy something to fix. Or she could just raid Mrs. G’s supply.

No, no, she thought as she picked up a pair of electric blue ankle boots that sang her name. She had to

cook. Had to show him he mattered enough for her to make the effort. He mattered. It all mattered.

Which was why she was so screwed up over it in the first place.

“It’s . . . Meredith, isn’t it?”

Mac turned, glanced at a vaguely familiar blonde. “No, sorry.”

“But aren’t you the wedding photographer?”

“Yes. It’s Mackensie.”

“Of course! Sorry. I’m Stephanie Gorden. I met you at my cousin’s wedding last Saturday.”

“Oh, right. How are you?”

“Surrounded by shoes. I’m great. What fabulous boots! Corrine and I are playing hooky this afternoon. Corrine! Come over and meet Mackensie.”

Oh God, Mac thought. How could fate hand her fabulous boots and a kick in the ass at the same time?

“Corrine, this is Mackensie. She’s a wedding photographer, and a

very good friend of Carter’s.”

“Oh?”

And Corrine was perfect, Mac thought. So make that a kick in the ass along with a slap in the face. She glided over in exquisite red peep-toe pumps with her glossy dark hair spilling in romantic curls to her shoulders. Eyes, deep and sultry, scanned Mac as her soft, shapely lips curved in a cool smile.

“Hello.”

“Hi. Great shoes.”

“Yes. I think they’re going to be mine.”

Even her voice was perfect, Mac thought bitterly. Low and just a little throaty.

“So, you know Carter Maguire.”

“Yes. We went to high school together. For a while.”