Happy Ever After
Page 62
Ordered, efficient, she thought again, and very spare.The space, she thought, of a man used to moving on, and doing so with little fuss.
Shallow roots, she mused, and hers were so very, very deep.
She wasn’t sure, not at all sure, just what that meant.
Pushing it away, she turned on her phone and began to work her way through texts and voice mail.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MALCOLM ARRIVED AT THE CRASH SITE WELL AFTER THE COPS, THE fire department, the paramedics. As a concession to the cold, light rain, he yanked up the hood of his sweatshirt as he walked to the yellow tape and flares.
They’d removed the bodies—he had no doubt there had been bodies when he saw the crushed and twisted mass that had once been a BMW.
The second car had taken an ugly hit, but could probably be salvaged.
With some luck, whoever had been in the Lexus should have walked, limped, or been carried away still breathing.
His job was to tow away what was left.
Over a road slick from an incessant drizzle, the cop lights shone through the shifting mist onto broken and glittering safety glass, skid marks, bent and blackened chrome, blood, and, more horribly, a single shoe not yet recovered from the shoulder of the road. It etched a picture in his mind, one of fear and pain and shocking loss.
The accident reconstruction team was already at work, but he could put it together for himself.
Wet road, a thin haze of fog. BMW, driving too fast, swerves, skids, loses control, crosses the center line, clips Lexus. Goes airborne, flips, slams, rolls twice, maybe three times.
Yeah, given the weight, the velocity, the angles, figure three times.
Somebody goes through the windshield, probably a passenger in the backseat of the mangled M6 who hadn’t been wearing a seat belt. If there’d been a front-seat passenger, he or she would’ve been crushed.The driver wouldn’t have been any luckier.
He could see the fire department had sliced through the BMW, using the Jaws of Life like a can opener, but the odds they’d pulled anyone alive out of that violent wreck were next to nil.
He’d seen pictures of the car he’d been driving after his wreck, and got a flash of it now. It hadn’t looked much better than the M6. But then stunt cars were built to wreck, built to protect the driver when they did, unless somebody up the chain decided to cut a few corners, save a few bucks.
He hoped the passengers had been unconscious or dead before that slam and roll.
He hadn’t been.And he’d felt it all, the shocking pain, the brutal tearing and snapping. Felt it all before he’d gone to black. If he let himself, he could feel it all still, so the smart thing to do was not let himself.
He stood, hands in his pockets, waiting for the cops to clear him to tow away the destruction.
WHILE MALCOLM STOOD ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, BLOOD AND pain in his mind, Parker smiled at the roomful of women chattering and laughing their way through the final stages of Mac’s bridal shower.
“We done good.” Emma slipped an arm around Parker’s waist.
“We done really good. She looks so happy.”
“I didn’t want to say it before in case it tempted fate, but I worried right up until the last minute that Linda would hear about this and crash.”
“You weren’t alone there. The advantage of having her living in NewYork now is she doesn’t hear everything, and having a new, rich husband keeps her busy.”
“May it last,” Emma prayed aloud.“This whole evening’s been great—and Linda-less. Everyone’s had such a good time.”
“I know. Look at Sherry. She still has that new bride glow, and the way she’s talking to your sister—”
“Pregnancy really agrees with Cecelia, doesn’t it?”
“It does, and the way they have their heads together, I think Sherry’s already wondering how it would agree with her. I think I should take over as photographer for Laurel. She’s—”
“No.”
“I don’t see why she should—”
“Parker, we talked about this.” Emma turned.“Laurel got voted in because I get too distracted and end up talking to everybody, and you . . . Well, you take too damn long trying to make the perfect composition or whatever so you end up getting next to nothing.”
“But they’re very good next-to-nothings.”
“Exceptional, but we’ll take less exceptional bunches.”
Parker sighed in defeat. She really liked taking pictures. “If we must. I guess we should mingle again. People are going to start leaving soon.” She slipped her phone out of her pocket when it vibrated. “It’s a text from Del.”
“Probably wants to know if it’s clear for him and Jack and Carter to come home.”
“No. He says there’s a bad accident on North, south of the parkway. Traffic’s diverted and backed up. We should let anyone planning to use that route know, and that they’d be back in a couple hours.”
“I hope no one was hurt,” Emma replied, then smiled as her mother beckoned her from across the room. “I’ll help pass the word.”
Like a good party, it tipped over its scheduled time, involved numerous stragglers, and left its hostesses limp with happy exhaustion.
“Now I want champagne.” Parker grabbed a bottle and poured. “You sit, Mrs. G.”
“I believe I will.” Mrs. Grady plopped down, slipped off her party shoes, stretched out her legs. “Fill that up.”
Obediently, Parker filled glasses to the rim while Laurel cut slices from what was left of the triple-tiered buttercream cake she’d covered with free-form chocolate petals.
“Golly. Look at those fabulous prizes!” Mac beamed blurrily at the gift table, where Parker had carefully arranged gifts as Mac had opened them. “It’s like I won a small, tasteful department store. Did I thank everybody?”
“Numerous times. Just how much champagne have you already consumed there, pal?” Laurel asked her.
“Bunches because I’m allowed to get a little blitzed at my own bridal shower.We had my bridal shower!” She took the cake from Laurel, plucked one of the chocolate petals. “Oh, mmmm. Did I tell you I love my cake?”
“Yeah, baby.” Laurel leaned over, kissed the top of Mac’s head.
“And that I loved absolutely everything? I’m so glad we did this in here, in family rooms. It just felt more home, you know? And everything looked so pretty. Em, the flowers. Just wow.You were so right to go with lots and lots of little arrangements and use that orange—what are they?”
Shallow roots, she mused, and hers were so very, very deep.
She wasn’t sure, not at all sure, just what that meant.
Pushing it away, she turned on her phone and began to work her way through texts and voice mail.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MALCOLM ARRIVED AT THE CRASH SITE WELL AFTER THE COPS, THE fire department, the paramedics. As a concession to the cold, light rain, he yanked up the hood of his sweatshirt as he walked to the yellow tape and flares.
They’d removed the bodies—he had no doubt there had been bodies when he saw the crushed and twisted mass that had once been a BMW.
The second car had taken an ugly hit, but could probably be salvaged.
With some luck, whoever had been in the Lexus should have walked, limped, or been carried away still breathing.
His job was to tow away what was left.
Over a road slick from an incessant drizzle, the cop lights shone through the shifting mist onto broken and glittering safety glass, skid marks, bent and blackened chrome, blood, and, more horribly, a single shoe not yet recovered from the shoulder of the road. It etched a picture in his mind, one of fear and pain and shocking loss.
The accident reconstruction team was already at work, but he could put it together for himself.
Wet road, a thin haze of fog. BMW, driving too fast, swerves, skids, loses control, crosses the center line, clips Lexus. Goes airborne, flips, slams, rolls twice, maybe three times.
Yeah, given the weight, the velocity, the angles, figure three times.
Somebody goes through the windshield, probably a passenger in the backseat of the mangled M6 who hadn’t been wearing a seat belt. If there’d been a front-seat passenger, he or she would’ve been crushed.The driver wouldn’t have been any luckier.
He could see the fire department had sliced through the BMW, using the Jaws of Life like a can opener, but the odds they’d pulled anyone alive out of that violent wreck were next to nil.
He’d seen pictures of the car he’d been driving after his wreck, and got a flash of it now. It hadn’t looked much better than the M6. But then stunt cars were built to wreck, built to protect the driver when they did, unless somebody up the chain decided to cut a few corners, save a few bucks.
He hoped the passengers had been unconscious or dead before that slam and roll.
He hadn’t been.And he’d felt it all, the shocking pain, the brutal tearing and snapping. Felt it all before he’d gone to black. If he let himself, he could feel it all still, so the smart thing to do was not let himself.
He stood, hands in his pockets, waiting for the cops to clear him to tow away the destruction.
WHILE MALCOLM STOOD ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, BLOOD AND pain in his mind, Parker smiled at the roomful of women chattering and laughing their way through the final stages of Mac’s bridal shower.
“We done good.” Emma slipped an arm around Parker’s waist.
“We done really good. She looks so happy.”
“I didn’t want to say it before in case it tempted fate, but I worried right up until the last minute that Linda would hear about this and crash.”
“You weren’t alone there. The advantage of having her living in NewYork now is she doesn’t hear everything, and having a new, rich husband keeps her busy.”
“May it last,” Emma prayed aloud.“This whole evening’s been great—and Linda-less. Everyone’s had such a good time.”
“I know. Look at Sherry. She still has that new bride glow, and the way she’s talking to your sister—”
“Pregnancy really agrees with Cecelia, doesn’t it?”
“It does, and the way they have their heads together, I think Sherry’s already wondering how it would agree with her. I think I should take over as photographer for Laurel. She’s—”
“No.”
“I don’t see why she should—”
“Parker, we talked about this.” Emma turned.“Laurel got voted in because I get too distracted and end up talking to everybody, and you . . . Well, you take too damn long trying to make the perfect composition or whatever so you end up getting next to nothing.”
“But they’re very good next-to-nothings.”
“Exceptional, but we’ll take less exceptional bunches.”
Parker sighed in defeat. She really liked taking pictures. “If we must. I guess we should mingle again. People are going to start leaving soon.” She slipped her phone out of her pocket when it vibrated. “It’s a text from Del.”
“Probably wants to know if it’s clear for him and Jack and Carter to come home.”
“No. He says there’s a bad accident on North, south of the parkway. Traffic’s diverted and backed up. We should let anyone planning to use that route know, and that they’d be back in a couple hours.”
“I hope no one was hurt,” Emma replied, then smiled as her mother beckoned her from across the room. “I’ll help pass the word.”
Like a good party, it tipped over its scheduled time, involved numerous stragglers, and left its hostesses limp with happy exhaustion.
“Now I want champagne.” Parker grabbed a bottle and poured. “You sit, Mrs. G.”
“I believe I will.” Mrs. Grady plopped down, slipped off her party shoes, stretched out her legs. “Fill that up.”
Obediently, Parker filled glasses to the rim while Laurel cut slices from what was left of the triple-tiered buttercream cake she’d covered with free-form chocolate petals.
“Golly. Look at those fabulous prizes!” Mac beamed blurrily at the gift table, where Parker had carefully arranged gifts as Mac had opened them. “It’s like I won a small, tasteful department store. Did I thank everybody?”
“Numerous times. Just how much champagne have you already consumed there, pal?” Laurel asked her.
“Bunches because I’m allowed to get a little blitzed at my own bridal shower.We had my bridal shower!” She took the cake from Laurel, plucked one of the chocolate petals. “Oh, mmmm. Did I tell you I love my cake?”
“Yeah, baby.” Laurel leaned over, kissed the top of Mac’s head.
“And that I loved absolutely everything? I’m so glad we did this in here, in family rooms. It just felt more home, you know? And everything looked so pretty. Em, the flowers. Just wow.You were so right to go with lots and lots of little arrangements and use that orange—what are they?”
