Chapter 13

MacKenzie

It’s the Monday morning after I spent an entire weekend with Michael. I’m relieved that it didn’t turn out to be what I’d expected. As an only child, I’m used to having things my way, and other than Abby, I’ve not spent that much time with someone else, especially in my bed. And yet, if I could, I’d climb right back in there with him now.

I like him, not just him, but everything about him. I like the way he almost snores while he sleeps, the way he butters his toast, and how he rises with the sun to work out on the green grass bank before his shower and breakfast. I can hear his laugh in my mind and remember the way he smells when his arms are around me. I remember the taste of his skin.

I think I’m in trouble. This isn’t what I want, and I remind myself of that. I want my independence. I want to do what I want when I want and not to worry about whether I have to attend a certain social affair next weekend. That’s one of the reasons I don’t want to marry a man with money. It complicates relationships and feels more like combining businesses than bringing two lovers together. But this defiant mindset has its price. This isn’t the way I was raised to be. For as long as I can remember, my purpose is to marry well, have children, be a respected socialite, and hand everything down to the next generation. If I remain alone, this isn’t going to be easy, and I haven’t thought that far ahead. I need to be more like Scarlett O’Hara—I’ll think about this tomorrow.

I walk into The Emporium and see there’s a message blinking on the voice mail. Margaret is nowhere to be seen. At nine, she’s still not here, so I unlock the front door and resolve to take care of customers as well as I can.

Guess who comes in. That’s right, Mr. North, and by the smell of the air that wafts past him as he closes the door, he hasn’t bathed in anything but booze for some time. He’s tentative as he approaches me, and I realize he’s looking for Michael. Damn! Margaret isn’t even here to take over. I’m stuck with him.

“Say there, girlie,” he greets me which is a little better than the last name he used for me, but then I realize he probably isn’t able to remember my real name since he’s generally drunk.

“Good morning, Mr. North. Is there something I can help you with or did you want to just look around?”

He opens his mouth, and I can tell he’s about to give me a wolf’s comeback but thinks the better of it. “Margaret was going to order a new piece by Salinger for me to take a look at, urfurp!” he says and ends with a resounding burp. I can almost taste it due to the strong odor that floods in my direction.

I back up rapidly, and I can’t help making a face. My tolerance level is growing increasingly low with all the confusion I’m dealing with about Michael. It doesn’t take long to realize that I am used to Antonio’s unchivalrous, if not bullying, behavior toward me, and Michael is so very different. He’s courteous, thoughtful, and very, very supportive. Now I feel like I don’t want to tolerate any less. North is getting under my skin.

“What’s the matter with you?” North challenges me. “Never hear a burp before?”

“Of course, I have,” I say smartly. “I just never had to smell them across the room.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and I can tell I’ve pissed him off. Serves him right for treating me like an object without feelings. “Better watch yourself, girlie. I’m probably the biggest customer this joint has.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep back what I want to say. “Let me look in the back to see if the Salinger has come in,” I respond quietly, but bravely. I hear another, although forced, burp as I turn my back, but I ignore him. My thoughts are spinning as I feel the unfamiliar power of righteousness. I know Michael would not let him treat me this way.

Then it hits me. Michael is, for all purposes, nothing more than a casual boyfriend, and that’s been my idea all along. He says he doesn’t want to get married, and I agree and think him safe from my heart, but I’m lying to myself. I feel a sinking feeling as I realize that I really do want a protector, and that although he treats me that way now, there are no guarantees he’ll be with me in a month or even a day. And it’s all my fault!

Now I’m feeling the flush of upset, and the back door opens. In walks Margaret, harried and visibly out of sorts.

“Margaret, I was beginning to worry. Mr. North is asking for the Salinger you were going to order in?”

“Yes, yes; tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Are you okay?”

“Just a little fender bender on the way here. I’m fine, and there’s good insurance to cover the rest. The officers are slow as molasses, and don’t seem to care I’m running late.”

I nod and head to the front, but North is gone. Margaret is right behind me, straightening her dress. “Where is he?”

I shrug. “I guess he left when I went into the back room. I’ll admit, I might have upset him a bit.” I’m regretting my confession as I make it.

“What? What did you do?”

“He was drunk again and smelled horribly. He burped right in my face and treated me rudely. I might have said a couple of words to put him in his place.”

“Oh, no, no, Mac, you didn’t. You know this gallery depends on his business to stay open. He may imbibe a bit too often, but sometimes it makes him more willing to overspend than he otherwise might. You have to treat him with respect, no matter what he does.”

I am biting my tongue again. I’m the product of a mother who stands up to everyone from garden laborer to surgeon and demands respect. It’s very hard for me to handle this newly found courage. Mom is one role model, and Antonio is another. I hope I can learn to be somewhere in the middle. Pouting, I find the dust cloth and head to the further corner of the store, counting my stupidity at being so negative with Michael when it comes to his having some sort of permanent arrangement with me … even if it isn’t marriage.

When the business day finally ends, I head over to Abby’s house, a bottle of wine and a tray of crackers and cheese in hand. I knock and enter, and she’s exactly where she is every time I come over; her head buried in the screen of her computer.

“Take a break and come relax with me a little, please?” I beg, holding out the wine. “I’ve had a rough day, and I need my best friend.

As always, she’s there for me and nods, shoving back her chair and coming over to sit opposite me on the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I think I’ve done it to myself. Well, at least as far as Michael is concerned.”

“Now what did you do?”

“Well, you know how Antonio was, right? He wasn’t always the most respectful.”

“Yeah, he treated you like shit.”

“Boy, you sure have a way of laying it on the line, Abby.”

“Why not? You think it was some big secret? Everyone knew how he was, and plenty of us witnessed it.” She tips her head forward and stares at me. “Especially me.”

“I know, I know, and I got burned enough that I’ve been saying I don’t want to marry, especially anyone with money.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little bit of an overreaction?”

“I’m beginning to.”

“Because of Michael.”

I nod. “I like the way he treats me, the way he makes me feel. So, I relax and start enjoying it, and then I realize that it could all be gone in the space of a moment. I mean, there aren’t any commitments between us whatsoever. I know that’s what I said I wanted, but I was wrong. I want some sense of certainty. I’m not made to be alone and just free float, Abby. It’s just not me.”

“So, what’s the problem?” She is taking huge sips from her glass and downing crackers like she’s not eaten for a while.

“You okay?”

“Just hungry. I’ve been working on a project and hadn’t taken a break.”

“And I’m here asking you for advice?” I’m rolling my eyes.

“Oh, calm down. The answer to your problem is simple.”

She has my attention.

“Just tell him.”

I continue to just look at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. Why does this love stuff have to be such a game? Just tell him you’ve changed your mind and how you feel and let the chips fall where they may.”

“Love?”

“God, when did you go so goofy?” She takes another sip and then sets her glass down hard on the coffee table, leaning forward. “Look, I know you don’t give me any credit for having a romantic heart, but that’s not the truth. I just don’t let it show. It’s obvious to anyone who sees the two of you together that you have feelings … and I mean on both sides.”

“Him?”

“Yes, him, you ninny.”

“You think he has feelings for me?”

“I know he does, but my guess is, he’s holding it back because you told him you wanted things kept cool.”

I sit back, mulling over her words, and the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I could feel a difference in his lovemaking, in his concern and interest in what I’m doing. This gives me a warm feeling inside, and I prefer to hold onto the hope. “So, what if it doesn’t work. What if you’re wrong, and it just drives him away?”

“If I’m wrong, then you’ll know right away before you get in any deeper. Since you’ve already tumbled over the edge, there’s no going back to the shallows. What have you got to lose?”

“I guess you’re right. I really don’t have anything to lose.” I lift my glass and finish the last of the liquid. “Okay, you’ve convinced me.” I stand up.

“Where are you going?

“To call him. I want to drive home and call him where I can relax and be myself.”

Abby shrugs. “Phone works the same from here, as there, but go ahead and go home. I need to get back to work, anyway.”

I nod and give her a hug, and then hurry out to my car and drive home.

I settle onto my sofa, a glass of wine in front of me, and my phone in my hand. I tap Michael’s number, trying to form the lead in for such a conversation in my mind before he answers—but he doesn’t. I don’t want to leave a voice mail; that’s no way to handle this. I put the phone down and decide to try again later. I decide to have a sandwich and a salad while I’m waiting. Standing in the kitchen, I look around and realize how little I’ve done to the house since I’ve moved in. My frame of mind is temporary even when it comes to the house. What a mess I’ve made of things.

I finish my dinner and try Michael’s number again. No answer. This time, I still don’t leave a voice mail but settle back to wait before I try again. I fall asleep on the sofa with the news on, and when I awaken, there is no word from Michael. I try him again, beginning to feel like a pest, but am forced to leave another message.

I force myself to act normally and head to the shower. I’ve just stepped into the bedroom when my phone rings. I run for it and stand there naked and dripping as I answer.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Miss. This is Mortimer Harrington.”

“Yes, Mort. Is something wrong? I’ve been trying to reach Michael all afternoon and evening and don’t get an answer.”

“No, Miss, I don’t suppose you have. Mr. Daughtry has left town on business and asked me to relay that information to you. He will be in touch when he returns.”

“Oh. Then he won’t be calling me this evening?”

“No, Miss, I don’t believe he will. He’s a busy man, you know.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate he wasn’t, I’m sorry.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Mort, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes, of course, Miss.”

“Do you feel as though I’ve come on too strongly or too quickly? I like Michael enormously, and it’s important that I not alienate him, you know?”

“Miss, I can only say that Michael behaves a little differently with each woman. There’s really no predictor.”

“I see. One more thing.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Am I the only one he asked you to call?”

There is a sizeable pause at the other end. Finally, the words come. “No, Miss.”

I swallow hard and want to cry. I’m getting exactly what I’m asking for.

“Thank you,” I murmur and disconnect. There are tears in my new house this night, and I’ve brought them on myself.