Vision in White

Cheered, Mac draped her arms over her friends’ shoulders. “I’ll just think positive thoughts. I guess we should go down and help Emma finish. It’s almost showtime.”

THERE WAS NO DRUNKEN BRAWL, AND NO ESCAPE. MAC COULD be grateful she’d insisted on meeting Carter at his parents’ home, so she had the drive alone, a little time to calm down.

Diving into the pool, she reminded herself. And she was a strong swimmer. Generally. She followed the directions Carter had given her, complete with landmarks, into the pretty, settled neighborhood.

Exactly what she’d expected, she realized. Solid New England home, on the upper-middle-class side of things. Patches of melting snow over generous lawns, old trees full of character, tidy hedges, neat fences.

Dignified, but not stuffy. Well-to-do but not showy.

God, what was she doing here?

Swallowing hard, she pulled into the left of the double drive, parked behind Carter’s Volvo. A lot of cars, she thought. An awful lot of cars beside the sturdy, two-story house with its comfortable sitting porch.

She started to flip down the vanity mirror, check her makeup. But what if someone was looking out, she thought. Then she’d look vain and prissy. God, Mac, get over yourself.

She got out, walked around to get the basket of flowers. She’d second-guessed that simple gesture a half dozen times. Leftover wedding flowers as a hostess gift. Was it tacky?

The vote had been for sweet and thoughtful, but . . .

Too late now.

She climbed to the porch, wished fleetingly she’d checked her makeup after all, and knocked.

It took only seconds—she wasn’t prepared—but she felt a trickle of relief when she saw Sherry’s familiar face.

“Hi! Oh, wow, look at those! Mom’s going to flip. Welcome to Maguire madness.” She bustled Mac right in. “Wii,” she continued, gesturing toward the shouts. “The game? We got it for Dad for Christmas. Nick and Sam—my brother-in-law—are taking on the kids in baseball. Here, let me hold that while you get out of your coat. Most everybody’s back in the great room. Oh, you’re wearing the earrings! Aren’t they fabulous? Here, let me take your coat.”

Sherry pushed the basket back at Mac, took the coat. And realizing she’d yet to have to say a word, Mac smiled.

“Mom’s fussing with dinner. She’s nervous. Are you? When I first met Nick’s family, I was so nervous I hid in the bathroom for ten minutes. It never occurred to me Georgia—that’s Nick’s mom—it never occurred to me

she’d be nervous, too. Later, she told me she’d changed her outfit three times before I got there. It made me feel better. So, Mom’s nervous. Feel better.”

“Thanks. I do.”

As Sherry whisked her in, Mac had an impression of people, of movement inside a bright, open space, of Carter laughing with a handsome man with white hair and a trim beard. Of the good aromas of home cooking.

A moment, was all Mac could think. Easy family moment. She’d never once had one of her own, but she recognized it.

“Hey, everybody, Mac’s here.”

Then the movement stopped—freeze-frame, Mac thought—as the attention shifted to focus on her.

Carter moved first, pushing off the counter where he’d been leaning to come to her. “You made it.” He kissed her lightly over the fragrant white lilies and Bianca roses. Since her hands gripped the basket, he brushed a hand over her shoulder as he turned. “Mom, this is Mackensie.”

The woman who walked over from the stove had a strong face, clear eyes. Her smile was polite, with a hint of warmth. And, Mac thought, a hint of reservation. “It’s nice to meet you, at last.”

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Maguire.” She offered the basket. “These are from today’s event. Emma—you know Emma—does the flowers. We thought you might like them.”

“They’re stunning.” Pam leaned in to sniff. “And delicious. Thank you. Sherry, put these on the coffee table, will you? We’ll all enjoy them. How about a glass of wine?”

“I’d love one.”

“Diane, pour Mac some wine.”

“My sister Diane,” Carter said.

“Hello. Cabernet or Pinot? We’re having chicken.”

“Ah, Pinot, thanks.”

“My father, Michael Maguire. Dad.”

“Welcome.” He gave Mac’s hand a strong shake. “Irish, are you?”

“Ah, some of me.”

“My grandmother had hair like yours. Bright as a sunset. You’re a photographer.”

“Yes. Thanks,” she said when Diane handed her a glass of wine. “My partners and I run a wedding business. Well, you know that, as we’re doing Sherry’s wedding.”

He shot out a teasing grin. “As father of the bride, I just get handed the bills.”

“Oh, Dad.”

He winked at Mac as Sherry rolled her eyes at him.

“We send a flask along with the final invoice.”

His laugh was full and rich. “I like your girl, Carter.”

“So do I.”

By the time they sat down to the meal, Mac had a good sense of who was who. Mike Maguire liked a laugh, adored and was adored by his family. While he might have been the doctor, it was his wife who had her finger on every pulse. She’d have said they worked as a team, and it appeared to be a strong one. But when nitty met gritty, Pam ran the show.