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Excerpt:
Chapter One "Dad, you don't understand." “Mackenzie, enough.” Carrie Weston hurried through the lobby of her apartment complex. "Hold the elevator," she cried, making a dash for the open doors. Her arms were loaded with mail, groceries and decorations for her Christmas tree. It probably wasn't a good idea to rush, seeing that the two other occupants appeared to be at odds, but her arms ached and she didn't want to wait. Patience had always been one of her weaknesses, along with several other notable virtues. The man kept the doors from closing. Carrie had noticed him earlier, and so had the other residents. There'd been plenty of speculation about the two latest additions to the apartment complex. "Thanks," she said, sounding breathless and grateful all at once. Her eyes met those of the teenager. A girl, around thirteen, Carrie guessed. The two had moved into the complex a couple of weeks earlier, and from the scuttlebutt Carrie had heard from the other residents, they would be staying only until the construction on their new home was completed. The elevator doors glided closed, with no particular hurry, but then those who lived in the brick three—story apartment building off Seattle's Queen Anne Hill weren't the type to rush. Carrie was the exception. "What floor?" the man asked. Carrie shifted the weight of her burden from one arm to the other. "Second. Thanks." The thirty—something man offered her a benign smile as he pushed the appropriate button. He stared pointedly away from her and the teenager. “I'm Mackenzie Lark," the girl said, smiling broadly. The surly tone was gone, Carrie noted. "This is my dad, Philip." "I'm Carrie Weston." By balancing the groceries on one knee she was able to offer Mackenzie her hand. "Welcome." Philip shook her hand next, his grip firm and solid, his clasp brief. He glared at his daughter as though to say this wasn't the time to be doing this. "I've been wanting to meet you," Mackenzie continued, ignoring her father. "You look like the only normal person who lives in the entire building." Carrie smiled despite her effort not to. "I take it you met Madam Fredrick." “Is that a real crystal ball?" “So she claims." Carrie remembered the first time Madam Fredrick stepped into the hallway, carting her crystal ball with her, predicting everything from the weather to a Nordstrom shoe sale. Carrie hadn't known what to think. She'd plastered herself against the wall and waited for Madam Fredrick to pass. The crystal ball hadn't unnerved her nearly as much as the large green emeralds glued above each eyebrow. She wore a modified caftan, with billowing yards of colorful material about her arms and hips, which hugged her legs from the knees on down. Her long, silver—white hair was arranged atop her head like a prom queen straight out of the sixties. "She's really nice," Mackenzie remarked. "Have you met Arnold yet?" Carrie asked. He was another of the more eccentric occupants of the apartment building, and one of her favorites. "Is he the one with all the cats?" "Arnold's the weight lifter." "The one who used to work for the circus?" Carrie nodded, and was about to say more when the elevator came to a bumpy halt and sighed loudly before the doors opened. "It was a pleasure to meet you both," she said on her way out the door. "The same here," Philip grumbled, and although he glanced in her direction, Carrie had the impression that he wasn't really seeing her. She had the distinct notion that if she'd been standing there nude he wouldn't have noticed, or, for that matter, cared. The doors started to shut when Mackenzie called, "Can I stop off and chat with you sometime?" "Sure." The elevator closed, but not before Carrie heard the girl's father voice his disapproval. She didn't know if the two had continued on with their disagreement, or if this had to do with Mackenzie inviting herself over to visit. Burdened with mail and groceries, Carrie experienced some difficulty unlocking and opening her apartment door without dropping everything. She slammed it closed with her foot and dumped the Christmas ornaments in the sofa's lap before hauling everything else into the compact kitchen. "You'd been wanting to meet him," she said aloud, "now you have." She hated to admit it, but Philip Lark had been a major disappointment. He showed about as much interest in her as he would a loaf of bread in the bakery window. Well, what did she expect? That she anticipated anything was testament that she'd listened to Madam Fredrick one time too many. The older woman claimed to see Carrie's future and predicted that, before the end of the year, she'd meet the man of her dreams when he moved into this very apartment building. Yeah, right. She refused to put any credence into the prophecy. To do so would be ridiculous. Madam Fredrick was a sweet, old lady with a romantic heart. Carrie reached for the mail, quickly scanned the envelopes, tossed the majority in the garbage and started to unpack her groceries when the doorbell chimed. "Hello again," Mackenzie Lark said cheerfully when Carrie opened the door. The quickness of her return took Carrie by surprise. "You said I could come see you," the teenager reminded her. "Sure, come on in." Mackenzie walked into the apartment, glanced around admiringly and then collapsed onto the sofa. "Are you still fighting with your dad?" Carrie asked. She'd had some real go—arounds with her mother before Charlotte had married Jason Manning ten years earlier. At the time, Carrie and her mother had been constantly at odds. Carrie knew that she was to blame, in part, but she was also aware that her mother had been lonely and unhappy. The two had grated against each other. Hindsight told her the root of their problem had been her parents' divorce. Carrie didn't remember a lot about her father—her parents had separated when she was four or five. For reasons that were never clear, Carrie blamed her mother. As she grew older, she came to resent that she didn't have a father. All this was buried deep in her subconscious, she realized now, years later, and reared its ugly head when she was thirteen or so. "Dad doesn't understand." Mackenzie lowered her eyes; her mouth dropped. "About what?" Carrie pried gently. The girl stood and walked over to the kitchen and watched while Carrie put away groceries. She folded her arms atop the counter and then rested her chin there. "Everything. We can barely talk without fighting. It's tough being a teenager." "You might find this difficult to believe, but it's just as difficult raising one, " Carrie added. Mackenzie's shoulders moved up and down with a deep sigh. "It didn't used to be this way with Dad and me. We were buds. It was hard when Mom left, but we got through it." "So your parents are divorced?" She didn't mean to pry, but she was curious. Mackenzie wrinkled her nose and nodded. "It was the pits when they split." "It always is. My parents divorced when I was just a kid. I barely remember my dad." "Did you see him very much afterward?" Carrie shook her head. It had bothered her a great deal when she was younger, but she'd made her peace with it as an adult. It'd hurt to know that her father didn't want to be a part of her life, but that was his choice. "I'm spending Christmas with my mom and her new husband." Carrie's eyes brightened. "I haven't seen her in almost a year. She's been busy," she offered as an excuse. "Mom works for one of the big banks in downtown Seattle and she's got this really important position and has to travel and it's hard for her to have me over. Dad's a systems analyst." Carrie heard the pain in Mackenzie's voice. "You're fifteen?" she asked, deliberately adding a couple of years to her estimation, remembering how important it was to look older when one was that age. Mackenzie straightened, and looked self—important. "Thirteen, actually." Carrie opened a bag of fat—free, cheese—flavored rice cakes and dumped the minishape round disks onto a plate. Mackenzie helped herself to one and Carrie did, as well. They sat across from each other on opposite sides of the kitchen counter. “You know what I think?" Mackenzie said, her dark eyes brightening with intensity. "My dad needs a woman." The rice cake stopped midway down Carrie's throat. "A woman?" "Yeah, like a wife. All he does is work, work, work. It's like he can forget about my mother if he stays at the office long enough." She grabbed another rice cake. “Madam Fredrick said so, too." "Madam Fredrick?" "She looked into her crystal ball for me and said that she saw lots of changes in my future. I wasn't overly pleased. There've been too many changes lately with the move and all. I miss my friends and it's taking so much longer to build the new house than it was supposed to. Originally we were going to be in for Christmas, but now I wonder if it'll be ready before next Thanksgiving. Dad takes all the delays in his stride, but it bugs me. I'm the one who's attending a strange school and having to make new friends." Her chin returned to the countertop once again. "I want my life back." "That's understandable." Mackenzie seemed caught up in a fantasy world of her own for a moment. "You know, I think Madam Fredrick might have stumbled onto something here." Her voice elevated with enthusiasm. "Stumbled onto something?" Carrie was beginning to think of herself as an echo. The teenager delivered one surprising statement after another. "You know, about a relationship for my dad. I wonder how one goes about arranging that sort of thing?" Carrie wasn't sure she understood. "How do you mean?" "Finding a new wife for my dad." "Mackenzie," Carrie said and laughed nervously. "A daughter can't arrange that sort of thing." "Why not?" She seemed genuinely taken aback. "Well, because marriage is serious business. It’s love and commitment between two people. It's . . . it's . . ." "The perfect solution," Mackenzie finished for her. "Dad and I have always liked the same things. We've always agreed on everything . . . well, until recently. I know what he likes better than he does himself. It makes perfect sense that I be the one to find him a wife." "Mackenzie . . . " "I know what you're thinking," she said, without a pause. "That my dad won't appreciate my efforts, and you're probably right. If I've learned anything from my father, it's the art of being subtle." Carrie laughed. "I can't believe this," she whispered, and shook her head. This teenager was a reincarnation of herself eleven years earlier. "What?" Mackenzie demanded, apparently offended. "Take my advice and stay out of your father's love life." "Love life?" she repeated. "That's a joke. He doesn't have one." "He won't appreciate your help," Carrie warned. "Of course he won't, but that's beside the point." "Mackenzie, if you're not getting along with your father now, I hate to think of what would happen when he discovers what you're up to. My mother was furious with me when I offered Jason money to take her out and—" "You were willing to pay someone to date your mother?" Carrie didn't realize what she'd said until it was too late. "It was a long time ago," she said, hoping to leave it at that. She should have known better. Mackenzie's eyes brightened until they turned into huge spotlights as they zeroed in on her. "You actually paid someone to date your mother?" "Yes, but don't get any ideas. He refused." Already Carrie could see the wheels turning in the girl's head. "It was a bad idea, really bad, and like I said, my mother wasn't the least bit happy with me." "Did she ever remarry?" Carrie nodded. "Anyone you knew?" Again she nodded, unwilling to tell her it was the very man she'd tried to bribe into dating her mother. Mackenzie's gaze cut into hers and Carrie looked away. "It was him, wasn't it?" "Yes, but I didn't have anything to do with that." Mackenzie's laugh was short and sarcastic. "I bet. You offered him money to date your mother; he refused, but dated her, anyway. That's great, just great. How long did it take before they were married?" "Mackenzie, what happened with my mother and Jason is unique." "'How long?" she repeated, stubbornly pressing the question. "A few months." She smiled knowingly. "They're happy, aren't they.” It was more a comment than a question. Carrie nodded. She only hoped she would find a man who would make her as blissfully content as Jason Manning had made her mother. Despite ten years of marriage and two children, her mother and stepfather behaved like newlyweds. Carrie marveled at the strength of their love. It inspired her and in some ways had hampered her. She wanted that kind of relationship for herself and wasn't willing to settle for anything less. Her friends claimed she was too picky when it came to men, and she suspected they were right. "My point exactly," the teenager declared triumphantly. "You knew your mom better than anyone. Who else was more qualified to find a husband for her? It's the same with me. I know my dad and he's in a rut. Something's got to be done, and Madam Fredrick hit the nail right on the head. He needs a love interest." Carrie's smile was forced. "Madam Fredrick is one of my favorite people, but I think it's best to take what she says with a grain of salt." "Well, a little salt enhances the flavor, right?" Mackenzie added. Excited now, she stood and started to pace. "What about you?" she asked all at once. "Me?" "Yeah, you. Would you be willing to date my dad?"  |
 
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