by Mary Davis
Bruce ran a hand over his aching eyes. Great. It’s not enough to ruin my witness to my family. No sir, I’ve got to alienate Brock, too.
With a heavy sigh, Bruce bowed his head and took his fears—and his failures—to the only One who could help.
Bruce stood in Meghann’s house, waiting for her in the living room.
Gayle had let him in with a broad smile and promptly took the dog for a walk. His confidence was bolstered by Gayle’s smiling support. But he didn’t think it would be right for him to make himself comfortable when Meg didn’t even know he was here, so he stood near the kitchen counter, pushing papers back and forth.
A large manila envelope had been waiting on his desk when he got to work that morning. Opening it he found all the work she had done on the ball: What still needed to be checked on at the last minute, the schedule of what would arrive when, and what should be done by what time. Along with the ball information was a neatly typed resignation, which he was here to refuse. He tore it up as soon as he read it.
He looked up expectantly when he heard her footsteps as she entered the room.
She stopped when she saw him and narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here?” She looked around for her absentee mother.
He dropped his gaze—and frowned. His attention honed in on one of the papers he’d been shuffling…the one with a signature he recognized all too well. He turned and picked it up. “A better question would be, what is this?”
She strode over and glanced at the check he held. “It’s a check from your father.”
“I can see that. What are you doing with it?”
“It’s made out to me. Why else would I have it?”
“Why, may I ask, did he give this to you?”
“Well, it seems my absence from your life is worth a great deal to him.”
“And you accepted his money?” He struggled to stay calm, to still the voices of condemnation that screamed out at him. It took all his willpower to refrain from crumpling the detestable piece of paper into a small, little wad.
“No. I did not accept his money. He wouldn’t take it back.”
“So you just decided to keep it.”
“He didn’t give me much choice. He left before I could give it back to him.” She snatched the check from his hand and tore it in half. “I don’t want his money or your money or any Halloway money. And if you don’t believe me, then why don’t you just leave.”
He wanted to believe her, but how could he be sure? It was a fair enough question. Bruce just wished he had an answer.
Meg watched the emotions shifting across Bruce’s face with rising frustration.
She stuffed the shreds of the check back in his hand. Enough was enough.
“If you’re quite finished accusing me of being a gold digger, would you mind getting out?” She opened the door for him, watching in sorrowful silence as he complied.
He actually thought she would take a bribe from his father.
He strode outside and to his car, gunning the engine into life and racing off down the road. And, more than likely, out of her life for good. She closed the door and slid down to the floor.
If, as she’d so firmly told Brock, she really didn’t care about Bruce any longer, why did it hurt so much that he thought she would accept a bribe? And why did she ache with the thought of never seeing him again?
God, help me. Take away this pain.
Bruce threw the two check halves at his father. “Stay out of my life.”
“It’s for you own good.”
“My good? You haven’t a clue what’s good for me!”
“I was only trying to make this breakup go more smoothly for both of you. Everyone has their price, and she did name hers.” His father’s cool, dispassionate manner infuriated him.
His eyes narrowed with contempt. “And money wasn’t it—” he pointed to the crumpled scraps of check—“was it?” His father’s silence was all the confirmation he needed. None of this was Meghann’s fault. He knew how his father worked. His father had pushed her and pushed her until she had no choice but to keep the check. “If you meddle in my life again, I’ll walk away from you and never look back.”
“You don’t mean that, son.”
“Don’t push me,” he ground out and stalked away.
This rift between Meghann and him was the worst pain he had ever felt. It ate at his heart. But what could he do to fix it when she wouldn’t listen to or believe him?
Trust.
That’s what it all boiled down to…trust. And Meghann obviously didn’t trust him. But there must be something he could do to gain her trust again. To rebuild what Charmaine had ruthlessly torn down.
How could he go about restoring her faith in him when she wouldn’t even talk to him?
Trust.
It wasn’t his fault. Charmaine had taken advantage of the situation. No, he was to blame. He never should have listened to a word she said and simply called security as soon as she arrived.
Lord, forgive me for allowing a circumstance where Charmaine could manipulate me into a compromising position. Show me how to win Meghann back. I never wanted to hurt her.
Trust.
I do trust her, Lord. When I’m thinking straight. She is one of the most trustworthy people I know.
Do you trust Me?
Bruce was silent for a long while. He trusted God for his salvation, but did he really trust him with anything else? He was used to being in control, making his own way, solving his own problems. This time he was helpless. He had no control over the human heart.
He took a deep breath. Okay, Lord. I give Meghann and this whole situation over to You. Whether I get her back or not is up to You, and I will find a way to be thankful either way.
As he finished he realized he might have just prayed his love right out of his life.
Please bring her back to me.
Meghann answered the door to find a gray-haired deliveryman in a blue shirt and pants with several large boxes and garment bags. “If you would sign line 17, ma’am, it would make my day,” he said with a wink and a nod to the clipboard resting on the box he held.
She signed in bewilderment and exchanged the clipboard for the cumbersome box.
“Thank you very much and have a great day.” He was a little Johnny sunshine on a gloomy day.
“What is all this stuff?”
“It’s from Costumes and More. Have fun.”
Her costume for the ball tonight. She had forgotten all about it. Well, when they returned tomorrow to pick it all up, it would be untouched and still safely in its packaging.
“What’s all of this?” her mother asked, fingering one of the two garment bags lying on her couch.
“They were supposed to be our costumes for the ball tonight.”
A quick zip and her mother had exposed a green velvet dress. It matched her mother’s eyes beautifully. “That was to be yours.”
The dress was freed from its plastic casing. “It’s gorgeous.” She held it up to herself. “If this is my dress, yours must really be something.”
“It’s too bad we won’t be using either of them.”
“Why not? You’ve worked so hard on this event. You should be there.”
“I can’t go with Bruce there.”
“As many people as will be there, you probably won’t even see him.”
Meghann closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s part of the program…I’m supposed to make a grand entrance, and we were going to dance together. How could I avoid him then?”
“Would it really hurt you to have one little dance with him?”
Yes, it would hurt. Deep inside she would cry out in agony and unbidden tears would come. Tears she was barely able to keep at bay as it was. “No, Mother. I’m not going.” Absolutely, positively not!
“But—”
“No.”
Twenty-Eight
BRUCE SAT AT HIS COMPUTER AND HAMMERED OUT INSTRUCTIONS for George. He couldn’t believe t
he nerve of Charmaine to show up here tonight for the ball. As if the evening wasn’t going to be bad enough without Meghann to share it with. Charmaine thought she had sufficiently destroyed all possibility of him and Meghann getting back together, and that he would be ready now to accept her advances, even if reluctantly on the rebound. The thought repulsed him.
As he escorted Charmaine from the building, he informed her that if she were the last woman on earth, he wouldn’t have her. He thought finally he might have gotten through to her. Was it too much to hope for?
He looked up at the knock on his door. “Come.”
“You wanted to know when Bennet and Cora Jones arrived.” The employee speaking to him was dressed to look like a French servant from the early 1800s. Meghann had worked to find suitable costumes for all the people who would be working the ball, and she pulled it off wonderfully with plain black trousers and a white shirt with detachable ruffle collar and cuffs. The women had long black skirts, white blouses, and prim white aprons.
“Thank you. I’ll be right out to greet them.” As the young man was closing the door Bruce added, “They know to skip Cinderella’s entrance, right?” No one would even know it had been planned and was now being edited.
“Yeah. It’s just too bad she got sick at the last minute and couldn’t find a replacement.”
Sick of him was more like it. As for a stand-in, he could have easily gotten one, but he just didn’t have the heart. How could he ever replace Meghann?
He finished his document and saved it. Grabbing his black mask, he fastened it in place and headed out to the ballroom. The huge room had been converted into a conference hall, but for tonight it was returned to its former glory. Meghann had done all the research and had it decorated much the way it would have been fifty years ago: elegant, glowing candelabras; silk banners; rented imitation King Louis chairs lining the walls; fresh flowers; and all the staff dressed in period costumes. On the far end of the festive room, near the seats reserved for Bennet and Cora, sat a large, red velvet chair: his throne to preside over the festivities.
He went over the program in his head. An hour after the ball got rolling when all the guests had arrived, the trumpets would sound, and the doors would swing open. Meghann, dressed as Cinderella, was supposed to sweep in and they would dance. But she wasn’t coming.…
So they would skip that little spectacle, and no one would be the wiser.
He ushered Bennet and Cora to their reserved seats. They were a cute old couple and still very much in love. He ached to have a love like theirs—one to last a lifetime—and had had hopes with Meg, but now it seemed an impossible dream. He sauntered through the room, greeting people and dancing with a few women, the wives or daughters of influential men. Then he took his seat and watched over the proceedings, but his heart was not in it. He would rather be anywhere but here without Meg. But she was too angry with him to even speak, let alone come to this public forum.
It wasn’t right! She should be here instead of him. She was the one who’d put most of the work into making sure this night happened.
He watched dully as people mingled and couples moved around the dance floor in a swirling mass of color. If he kept a watchful eye, he could probably slip out unnoticed in a little while, work in his office, then return for the final waltz; not that there would be anyone special for him to dance with.
Glancing at his watch, he realized it was almost time for what would have been Cinderella’s arrival. He hoped the band leader had gotten the message and remembered to can it. He held his breath as the music faded away. The band director was saying something, then the trumpeters raised their horns. He closed his eyes, praying they wouldn’t give the signal for something that wouldn’t happen. But they softly built into the next melody and the other instruments joined in. His captive breath left him in a rush. They were playing another piece, everything was fine.
He eyed his watch, hoping for an opportunity to escape.
Placing his hands on the arms of the chair, he pushed himself halfway up when the band cut the tune short. Not really standing and not really sitting, he stared as the trumpeters stood, raised their instruments, and blew the announcement of the fairy tale arrival.
Oh no! Bruce looked up at the double doors at the back of the room—as did everyone else in the room. But he knew nothing was coming. What a disappointment for everyone. And what a sad way to end Meghann’s perfectly planned party.
Suddenly the doors burst open, but the threshold was empty. This was not good; embarrassing, at the very least. People were already glancing his way, expecting him to give some kind of explanation after the fanfare. He stood, opened his mouth—and halted when a collective gasp filled the room.
Turning, he followed the rapt gazes up to the double doors. There, like a vision from a magical time, stepped a masked figure. Framed in the doorway, she stood, smiling, her flowing gold gown fit for a queen. Her hair was pulled up, and ringlets fell in a silken cascade all around her head. Jewels sparkled in the ringlets, glittering under the room’s bright lights.
Bruce’s breath caught in his throat. Whoever this was, she was stunning. She inclined her head to those gathered before her, and the action held a strange familiarity. There was something in the way the woman held herself, in her bearing, in the way she waved her hand.
He fell back into the waiting throne. Meg? Could it really be her? Or had she sent someone in her place? He dared not move, or the beauty of this mirage would vanish as surely as he lived and breathed.
As he and Meg had so carefully planned, the crowd stirred and every eye was locked on her as she entered the room. People parted a way for her as she reached them. Was it really her? There was no way to tell from this distance and she was wearing an iridescent mask.
“This is your cue,” someone whispered beside him.
“What?” He kept his eyes glued to the vision before him. Was it Meg? Had she come? Was there hope after all?
“You’re supposed to walk to her, like you’re surprised at her arrival.”
Right. That would be easy enough. He was surprised. Stunned, in fact. He stood and strode with calculated calmness to where the vision stood poised, near the doorway. As he drew closer, the certainty within him grew.
It was Meg!
But why? They stood facing each other and murmurs rose from the crowd. The band flowed into a familiar waltz. After she curtsied and he bowed, he held out his hand to her. She placed her palm in his, and he wondered at the perfect fit. Slowly, he escorted her to the middle of the floor.
She moved into his arms, fitting in them as though she’d been made to do so. He gazed down at her, drank in the sight of her eyes, the emotions he saw there. Wordlessly, still scarcely able to believe she was here, he moved his feet, and they began waltzing around the room. At first the only sound in the room was the music, the rustle of Meg’s dress—and the pounding of Bruce’s heart. Then, slowly, others joined them in the dance.
He dared not speak lest the spell they had created would float away on the music.
After another dance, he escorted her off the floor, her hand still nestled in his. When they were apart from the crowd, he looked down at her. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t expect it.”
“I didn’t want to disappoint everyone. A lot of people put a great deal of time and energy into making this night a success.” Her voice was flat and passionless.
He couldn’t help the stabbing disappointment that she had only come out of obligation. “I appreciate your sense of duty.” He guided her near the red velvet throne to the elderly couple seated holding hands like a pair of schoolchildren. “May I introduce Cora and Bennet Jones. This is Meghann Livingston, the person responsible for all of this splendor.” He motioned toward the room.
“I am so happy to finally meet you.” The spark of energy was back as she spoke with their honored guests.
“This is all so beautiful,” Cora said. “It’s taken us back fifty years. It’s almost exactly the wa
y it was then.”
“We feel like kids again.” Bennet raised Cora’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I don’t know why you chose us out of all the couples that were here that night, but we thank you for recreating one of the happiest nights of our lives.”
It was all Bruce could do to not turn and walk away in defeat. Too bad he and Meghann wouldn’t have any happy memories of this night as well.
Meghann wandered around the ballroom barely aware of the beautiful decorations and cheerful voices. This was supposed to be a night of dreams and fairy tales…and love. Instead, it was one agonizing moment after another, dragging on and on. The night she looked forward to for months, she now wished would just end.
In a moment of weakness she had let her mom and Brock persuade her into coming. It was hard being here, painful, in fact, but she knew it was the right decision. She had a responsibility, and she would play her role to the bitter end of the evening.
She looked to Cora and Bennet, longing for the lifetime of love they shared. The elderly couple didn’t dance much thanks to arthritis and a bad hip, but they seemed to be the happiest couple in the room. Their faces glowed with the love they shared.
Meghann, on the other hand, had a steady stream of dance partners: Brock heading the list.
“You did an excellent job pulling this all together,” he said, twirling her around the dance floor.
She smiled. “Thank you, but I didn’t exactly do it all by myself.”
“You and Bruce make a good team. I look forward to your next endeavor.”
“I’m afraid you will be disappointed. There won’t be a next endeavor. Our collaboration was short lived.”
“That’s too bad; you two make a wonderful couple.”
Meg held back a frustrated sigh. Brock was forever putting in a good word for his brother, and it was getting tiresome. She didn’t want to think about what could have been with Bruce. She wanted to salvage what she could of this evening and didn’t want to spoil it with could-have-beens. Bruce had had plenty of opportunity to explain himself, but he chose not to.
