03_The Doctor's Perfect Match (13 page)

But it was the two people with him who drew her attention.

A slender woman with reddish-brown hair swept back into a chic chignon stood beside a gray-haired man who fell an inch or two shy of Christopher’s height. He, too, wore a sport coat—wheat-colored—with dark slacks and a blue shirt.

As she drew close, Marci saw the family resemblance at once. Christopher had his father’s lean build and broad shoulders. From his mother he’d inherited his blue eyes and strong cheekbones.

All at once the older woman turned toward her. Smiling, she touched Christopher’s arm.

If his mother’s smile had been warm, Christopher’s melted her heart. As if sensing her trepidation, he came toward her and took her hand in a firm clasp, weaving his fingers with hers. Giving her a reassuring squeeze, he drew her into the circle of his family and made the introductions.

Marci shook hands with Christopher’s father and found herself pulled into a hug with his mother.

“Call us Brad and Carol,” the older woman told her. “We’re a very low-key, informal bunch.”

That might be true, but the understated elegance of her attire reeked of class—and money. Marci couldn’t afford expensive outfits herself, but she could spot quality. In people and clothes.

And Christopher’s parents had it in spades.

As she and Christopher followed his parents to their table, she smoothed down the skirt of her dress. It was the same black number she’d worn to J.C.’s wedding, bought on sale at Target, and somewhat the worse for wear after her trek through the rain that night.

No way could the polyester frock compare to Carol’s silk shantung sheath, which matched the hue of the blue hydrangeas beginning to bloom outside the window. And now that she’d seen Carol’s discreet but stunning gold and diamond pendant, she wished she’d left her cheap costume pearls at the cottage.

They were shown to a linen-covered table by the window that offered a panoramic view of the sea. As Marci took her seat and opened the menu the waiter handed her, she stifled a gasp. A person could eat at Ronnie’s for a month on what this dinner for four was going to cost!

“Does that sound good, Marci?”

At Christopher’s question, she turned to him. “I’m sorry, I was distracted for a minute.”

“I’m having that problem myself.” He winked at her, and her heart skipped a beat. “Do you like crab?”

“Sure.” Not that she’d ever eaten much of it. It wasn’t a menu staple at Ronnie’s.

“How about some crab cakes to start?”

“Okay.

“Christopher tells us you’ve just gotten your master’s in social work, Marci. Congratulations,” Carol said.

“Thank you.”

“And you came to Nantucket for your brother’s wedding?”

“Yes.”

“What brought him here?”

“He was a detective in Chicago and took a leave of absence.” Marci closed the menu and set it aside. “A friend of his is the police chief here, so he took what was supposed to be a temporary job as a summer officer. He ended up meeting his future wife, and the rest is history.”

“It’s odd how you can meet the right person in the most unexpected places, isn’t it?” She cast an amused glance at her son.

Squirming in her seat, Marci diverted the conversation with a question of her own. “How did you two meet?”

Carol smiled at Brad and took his hand. “Shall I tell the story, or do you want to?”

“You do a much better job of it,” Brad deferred.

“All right. We were both students at Harvard. Brad was in the law school, and I was in government with my sights set on a diplomatic career in some exotic location. Our paths never crossed on campus, but one summer I did an internship in Paris. Brad happened to be doing a typical student tour of the continent with some of his buddies, and we ran into each other under the Eiffel Tower, of all places. We started chatting, and realized we were both from Harvard. As you said about your brother, the rest is history.”

“Mom and Dad just got back from Paris,” Christopher offered as he helped himself to a roll. “They celebrated their fortieth anniversary with dinner in the Eiffel Tower.”

“And she looked as beautiful as the day I met her,” Brad added.

The waiter delivered the appetizers, saving Marci from having to reply. That was providential, since she had no idea how to respond. There was no such thing as a student tour of Europe in her world. Nor had there been trips to Paris. Or a Harvard education.

“Did Mark call you today?” Carol asked Christopher when the waiter departed.

“Yes. The whole crew was on the phone with their usual off-key rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’ And Eric—” Christopher turned to Marci “—he’s my seven-year-old nephew—wanted to tell me all about the trip to Bermuda.”

Marci stared at him. “Is today your birthday?”

“Yes. But I’m trying to ignore them these days.” He grinned at her.

“You’re too young to use that line,” his father admonished. “Wait till you’re our age. We’ve heard all about Bermuda, too. A dozen times.”

His brother’s family vacationed in Bermuda.

Marci picked at her crab cake, feeling more and more as if she’d stepped into an alternate universe. These people went to Europe—and other foreign places—as matter-of-factly as she went to the Loop.

“Say, Christopher, you’ll never guess who we had dinner with the other night. He wanted us to pass on his regards.”

He lifted one shoulder in response to his father’s comment. “I have no idea.”

When the older man mentioned one of the Supreme Court justices, Marci almost choked on the sip of water she’d taken.

“Are you okay?” Christopher gave her a solicitous look and touched her shoulder.

“Fine,” she coughed out the word.

“Anyway, he’s thinking about retiring. Told me I ought to do the same.”

“Maybe you should consider it. That would give you and Mom the chance to spend some time in Italy and take that Greek island cruise you’ve always talked about.”

“I might cut back. But it’s hard to step away from a firm with your name on it.”

“There are plenty of lawyers there who could pick up the slack,” Carol commented.

Christopher’s father owned a law firm.

Any hope she’d harbored about meshing their two worlds was dwindling as fast as an ice cube in Ronnie’s sweltering kitchen. Christopher had never talked about
any
of this stuff! But she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. He was one of the most unpretentious people she’d ever met.

“Tell us more about your family, Marci.”

At Carol’s question, a bite of crab cake got caught in her throat.

Coaxing her lips into the semblance of a smile, she took a drink of water and prayed for inspiration. She didn’t want to lie, but this wasn’t the time to go into her dysfunctional childhood.

“Besides J.C., I have one other brother. He’s still in Illinois. But we stay in close touch.”

She was saved from further explanation by the waiter’s return, and Marci used the food-ordering interlude to think up questions that would deflect the attention from her.

As they all handed over their menus, she addressed Christopher’s mother. “I’ve never been to Paris. I’d love to hear more about your trip.”

That conversation took them through their salads and up to the delivery of their entrées.

Poking at her seared halibut, Marci searched for another innocuous topic. She’d already gleaned that Carol didn’t have a career outside the home, but she had a feeling the dynamic woman across from her was the type who kept busy with worthwhile causes. A discussion of those should carry them through the entrée portion of the meal.

“So tell me, Carol. Do you have any special interests?”

The older woman laughed. “Too many, to hear Brad talk.” She sent her husband an affectionate glance.

“Only because you manage to rope me into all kinds of activities,” he teased. “I’ll never forget the year you signed us up to serve Thanksgiving dinner at a homeless shelter and we had to traipse all the way downtown on streets better suited to ice hockey than driving.”

“Yeah.” Christopher chuckled. “Mark and I threw our skates in the car just in case.”

“But you know what? That was one of our best Thanksgivings. All of the people we served were so grateful,” Carol said. “And it made us appreciate our blessings all the more.”

“That’s true,” Brad agreed.

“In terms of ongoing activities, though, my volunteer commitment to Birthright means the most to me,” Carol said. “I didn’t know much about the organization until Christopher joined the board and got me involved. It’s such worthwhile work. Can you imagine anything better than saving the lives of unborn children?”

The crab cake congealed in Marci’s stomach.

“Anyway, I’ve been volunteering there one day a week for the past five years. By the way, Christopher, Allison asked me to say hello.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Great. She’s one of the best workers there and has really gotten her act together. Can you believe Sam is almost four?”

Christopher shook his head. “Time slips away, doesn’t it? I’m glad things are going well for her.”

“Allison was a patient of Christopher’s at the clinic,” Carol explained to Marci. At the younger woman’s blank look, she tipped her head. “He’s told you about the clinic, hasn’t he?”

“No.” Marci was beginning to realize how little she knew about the man beside her.

“Why am I not surprised?” Carol gave Christopher an affectionate smile.

“It’s no big deal, Mom.”

“It is to the people you treated.” She redirected her attention to Marci. “He volunteered at this clinic in a, shall we say, less-than-desirable area of Boston. Allison came in asking about an abortion. She’d had one a couple of years before and found herself back in the same situation. Different father. Christopher encouraged her to at least talk to the people at Birthright.

“Well, long story short, thanks to his efforts, she decided to not only have the baby, but keep it. As you can imagine, since she speaks from personal experience, she’s very effective when talking with young women who are thinking about making a different choice.”

“We need more women like her,” Christopher added. “Think of all the innocent lives we could save if we could help women understand that there are better ways of dealing with an unplanned pregnancy than killing the child.”

Marci couldn’t think of one thing to say in response.

When the silence lengthened, Christopher stepped in. “Speaking of helping people out, I have some news on the elder-assistance plan I’ve been working on.”

The conversation during the remainder of the meal focused
on Caring Connections, but though Christopher played up her role and tried to draw her in, Marci didn’t add much. How could she maintain an upbeat front when the fairy-tale dreams she’d allowed herself to indulge in were disintegrating before her eyes?

As dinner wound down, Christopher leaned close to her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You didn’t eat much.”

She surveyed her plate. Most of her entrée was untouched.

“Would you like to take that home, miss?”

A waiter was hovering at her shoulder, waiting for her response. At the prices this place charged, she’d feel guilty about wasting her food. But did well-bred people take food home from a classy joint like this?

“You’re lucky you live here,” Carol said. “I’d take mine home if I wasn’t staying in a hotel.”

That cinched it.

“Yes, please,” Marci told the waiter.

No sooner had he whisked her plate away than another waiter appeared carrying a cake with flickering candles on top. He set it in front of Christopher.

“Shall we sing?” Brad asked.

“No. The wake-up call rendition this morning was sufficient, thanks.” Christopher shook his head. “When did you arrange this?”

“Your mother took care of it.”

“What’s a birthday without a cake?” Carol said. “Make a wish.”

Marci had folded her hands tightly in her lap as she regarded the cake, but all at once Christopher reached out and covered them with one of his.

Startled, she lifted her chin to meet his gaze. In his eyes
she saw his wish—but also concern. As if he sensed something was amiss.

And there was. She didn’t belong here, in this close-knit family circle. Thanks to her own sordid family history and a past she couldn’t change.

Although the temptation to simply get up and walk out was strong, she refrained. No way did she want to cause a scene or ruin Christopher’s birthday.

But the instant they finished their cake, she was out of here.

S
omething was very wrong.

As Christopher ate his last bite of cake, he took a quick look at Marci. She’d eaten no more than a couple forkfuls of her dessert, mashing the remainder into a small, gooey lump in the middle of her plate. And she’d grown increasingly more subdued as the meal had progressed.

He supposed it was possible her encounter with the guy in the bar was responsible for the pall that had fallen over her, but some instinct told him that wasn’t the explanation.

Maybe she was just nervous, he reflected, clenching his napkin in his lap. Meeting a guy’s parents was a big deal, even though his mom and dad had done their best to put her at ease with their usual charm and grace. But he didn’t think that was the reason for her withdrawal, either.

Too bad she’d insisted on driving herself tonight. If she’d let him pick her up, the ride back to the main town would have given him plenty of opportunity to try and ferret out the reasons for her mood shift.

That not being a possibility, he was left with only one alternative.

Beside him, Marci set her napkin on the table and reached for her purse. “It’s been lovely meeting you both.” She directed her comment to his parents. “I hope you won’t mind if I make it an early evening, but I have a busy day tomorrow.”

She rose, and Brad immediately did the same. Christopher wasn’t far behind.

“Of course not, my dear.” Carol smiled and extended her hand. Marci took it, then shook Brad’s.

“Drive safe,” the older man said.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

At Christopher’s comment, she turned to him. An emotion that looked a lot like panic flashed across her eyes.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is.” He set his own napkin on the table, stepped back and waited for her to precede him. Short of making a scene, he’d left her no option but to go with him. And she’d told him earlier she didn’t like scenes.

Still, he’d expected her jaw to tip up just a bit in defiance. But to his surprise, he saw it tremble very subtly instead, and noted an almost imperceptible droop of her shoulders.

With one more stiff smile at his parents, she eased past him and headed for the door, Christopher close on her heels.

Once outside she took off at a good clip. But his stride was longer, and he moved beside her, taking her arm as they walked down the restaurant path toward the quiet lane on the bluff above the beach where she’d parked.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

She missed a step, and he tightened his grip. Once she regained her balance, she picked up her pace again. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Sorry. Not buying it.”

Silence.

“Come on, Marci, talk to me.”

As they approached her car, she fumbled through her purse for her key. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

Was that what this was all about?

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated to get me a present. Your presence at this dinner was gift enough. Is that why you’re upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Marci.” He took her upper arms in his hands and forced her to look at him. “I know you’re upset. Just tell me what’s wrong, okay?”

He could feel her trembling as they stood there in the moonlight, the faint crash of the sea on the beach below them unable to mask her soft, sad sigh.

“I’m sorry, Christopher, but this thing between us…it’s not going to work.”

His mouth went dry. “Why not?”

“Our different backgrounds, for one thing. I knew you came from money, but…” She shook her head, as if at a loss for words. “Look, your parents and brother fly to exotic places as easily as I take the bus downtown. Your dad owns a law firm. A Supreme Court justice is a family friend. Trust me, blue-collar Marci would never fit into your blue-blood family.”

He should have told her more about his family’s circumstances, Christopher realized with a sinking feeling. But it had never occurred to him it would be an issue for her. It wasn’t for him.

“You have as much class as anyone I’ve ever met, Marci. And I don’t care about your background. Family pedigree—or lack of one—has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

“I would never fit into your world, Christopher.” There was a hint of tears in her words now. “There are probably a dozen socialites waiting for you to come back to Boston. Women who know which fork to use with which course. Who know
which side of the Seine is frequented by high-class people. Do yourself a favor. Forget about me and hook up with the right kind of woman.”

Stunned, Christopher stared at her. For the first time in their acquaintance she’d given him a revealing glimpse of the insecure woman behind the tough facade she presented to the world. A woman whose trust level with men was as low as the diminutive Brant Point Light, thanks to jerks like the guy in the bar. Whose hardscrabble background made her feel unworthy of mingling with what she considered the upper class.

Somehow he had to convince her that the right kind of woman for him was named Marci Clay.

“Let’s talk about this, okay?” He tried to twine his fingers with hers, but she shook his hand off.

“Talking won’t change our backgrounds.”

“I told you, I don’t care about that. And neither do my parents. They’re not snobs.”

“They also don’t know my family history.” There was a touch of anguish in her tone now as she looked up at him and the moon turned her too-pale skin to alabaster. “Did you tell them my father deserted us? That we lived in a tenement? That J.C. raised us?”

“No.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shoved one hand into the pocket of his slacks. “It never came up.”

“It will. And there’s a lot more you don’t know.”

“Such as?”

A few beats of silence ticked by as their gazes locked. When she spoke, the words came out broken, like shells on a beach that have been pounded by the elements. “Your mom asked me about my other brother tonight. I evaded the question. You know why? Nathan’s serving time in prison for armed robbery.”

Jolted, Christopher took a second to regroup. “Okay. So you have a black sheep in the family. A lot of families do.”

“He’s not a black sheep anymore. We reconciled last summer, after being estranged for a dozen years. And when he’s released next spring, I intend to do whatever I can to help him get a new start. So an ex-con is going to be part of my life. How do you think your parents will react to that?”

“If things become serious between us, they’ll be completely supportive.”

“How do
you
feel about it?”

“If he’s important in your life, he’ll be important in mine.”

No response.

“Marci, the only thing that matters is the way we feel about each other. I still want you to take the Caring Connections director job.”

More silence, while he prayed she wouldn’t turn him down outright.

“I’ll tell you what.” The tense line of her shoulders collapsed, and she suddenly sounded bone weary. “How about we let things rest for a day or two? Once we get Henry home and settled, we can talk again. You might feel differently once all this sinks in.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Humor me, okay?”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Please, Christopher…don’t push on this tonight. Your parents are waiting for you, and I don’t want to spoil your birthday.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she slipped into the car and pulled the door shut behind her.

He thought about trying to stop her. To
make
her listen. But it was obvious she wasn’t in a receptive mood tonight.

Stepping back, he let her drive away—for now. But he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

Marci adjusted a fork on one of the lace-edged placemats she’d found in Henry’s dining room. They’d moved the café table from Edith’s guest cottage to the gazebo for the welcome-home dinner, and she’d set it with Henry’s good dishes. A tiny vase in the center held an array of flowers from his garden, which she’d weeded once more yesterday. The yard looked pristine.

The dinner was ready, too. She and Heather had prepared the meal together at The Devon Rose earlier today—including the chocolate tarts Henry loved. It was all waiting in his kitchen.

Everything was perfect for his homecoming.

Except the relationship between his two main benefactors.

Marci hadn’t seen Christopher since the dinner with his parents two nights ago. Meaning he’d either been very busy or was having second thoughts.

For both their sakes, she hoped it was the latter.

Because if he persisted, she would be forced to tell him her secret. And from what she’d gathered at his birthday dinner, she’d face a rejection far more devastating—and deeply personal—than one based purely on family background.

The crunch of tires interrupted her musing, and she rubbed her palms on her denim skirt. There’d be time to think about her own problems later. For now, she wanted to give Henry her full attention—and the joyous homecoming he deserved.

Moving to the porch, Marci positioned herself for a good view of Henry’s face as he came around the back corner of the house and got his first glimpse of the gazebo that had risen in the empty corner he’d left behind.

She heard a car door shut. Then another. Next came the sound of the latch on the gate being lifted. Her heart began to thud.

Fifteen seconds later, Henry rounded the corner.

And came to a dead stop.

From her spot half shielded by a profuse hydrangea bush, Marci watched his face.

First came shock. Then awe. Then delight, followed by a flush of pleasure that pinkened his cheeks.

“My.” She heard his hushed comment, saw the sudden sheen in his eyes, and looked at Christopher. He was standing on the other side of the older man, and their gazes met over Henry’s head. For a brief instant, the walls between them dissolved and their hearts touched in a moment of shared joy and satisfaction.

Together, they’d brought Henry home again.

And thanks to Caring Connections, they’d be doing the same for many more people in the future.

Stepping down from the porch, Marci crossed the lawn to join them.

“Did we get it right, Henry?”

He turned to her, his eyes still misty. “The only thing missing is Marjorie. But you know what? I can feel her presence again for the first time in two years.” He surveyed the yard and shook his head in wonder. “The garden is just like she always kept it, and the gazebo is perfect. How did you manage this?”

“We showed Chester Shaw the photo by your kitchen table, and he drew up the plans. He and Christopher and my brother pitched in to build it.”

“But it was all Marci’s idea,” Christopher added.

Henry smiled at her. “You are one special lady, Marci Clay. Would you mind if an old man gave you a hug?”

“Well, I don’t see any old men around here. But I’d love to have a hug from you.”

She stepped into his thin arms, and he gave her a good squeeze. Shifting toward Christopher, he stuck out his hand. “Thank you both. For everything.”

“Hey, the evening’s just getting started,” Marci said. “You two gentlemen take your seats and I’ll rustle up the first course.”

By the time she returned with a tray of salads, Henry was settled into his place at the table.

“You know, I wasn’t real sure I’d ever be looking at this view again,” he admitted as she put his salad in front of him.

“I told you all along you’d come home.” Marci set the tray aside and took her place.

“I guess the good Lord was watching out for me. I think a little prayer of thanks is in order.”

Without waiting for a response, he bowed his head. Christopher did likewise. Marci wasn’t accustomed to praying before meals, but if ever there was a day to be thankful, this was it. And even though she wasn’t into formal prayers, she’d been sending a few heavenward since her visit to church with Christopher. That hour in the Lord’s house had given her an unexpected sense of peace—and an inkling about the reason for J.C.’s staunch faith and Nathan’s conversion.

“Lord, we thank You for this day of great blessings. For this meal shared with friends. For eyes to see and ears to hear the beauty of Your sea and sky and flowers. For restored health and hope for tomorrow.

“I thank You, too, for sending these two special people into my life when I needed them most. Please bless them as You blessed me, with the kind of love that transcends time. And help them recognize it when they see it. Amen.”

As Henry finished his blessing, Marci didn’t dare look at Christopher. But she could feel him watching her—and knew he was wondering why she wasn’t open to exploring the relationship everyone else in their acquaintance was pushing them toward.

To her relief, he didn’t bring up the subject during the dinner. Neither did Henry. The conversation was lighthearted,
and Henry’s stories about his early years on Nantucket kept them laughing. It was a perfect homecoming dinner.

By the time they finished dessert, however, it was clear he was tiring. A cue Christopher picked up as well.

Setting his coffee cup back in its saucer, he smiled at Henry. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a night.”

The older man checked his watch. “At seven o’clock?”

“It’s been a long day.”

“For me, maybe. I suspect you have some life in you yet. Why don’t you walk me in and then come back and spend a little time in my new gazebo with this pretty lady?” He winked at Marci.

Ignoring the implication, she rose, keeping her gaze fixed on the table. “If you want to get Henry settled, I’ll start the cleanup.”

Christopher scooted his chair back and stood. “Okay. But I’ll be out in a few minutes to follow through on Henry’s suggestion.”

“That’s my boy.” Grinning at Christopher, Henry leaned on his arm as he got to his feet. Then he reached out and squeezed Marci’s hand again. “Thank you again. For everything.”

Warmth filled her heart as she smiled at him. “It was my pleasure, Henry.”

She watched as the two men slowly crossed the yard, one tall and strong in body, the other a bit stooped and strong only in spirit. Yet they were both men of integrity and deep moral fiber, whose hearts beat with the same kindness and caring and decency. And they both considered her special.