Rocky Point Reunion (3 page)

Marcie hadn't thought about that. She looked at him in horror.

Zack nodded thoughtfully. “I'm the best man.”

“My daddy is the bestest man in the whole world,” Jenny said.

“He is, but for the wedding, I'm called the best man. I hand him the ring so he can put it on Gillian's finger.”

“Oh.”

“Are you the maid of honor?” Zack asked Marcie.

Marcie smiled, knowing who the maid of honor would be. “Not me. Another friend of Gillian's. I'm a bridesmaid.”
At least she wouldn't be paired up with the best man! What would Zack think when he found out Gillian's maid of honor was the ninety-two-year-old friend of her great-grandmother?

“My bike's at the café,” Jenny said, heading down the stairs.

“We'll swing by and pick it up,” he said, making no effort to descend the stairs. “I still want to talk with you, Marcie,” he said softly.

“You said enough on Sunday.”

“We didn't talk at all.”

She took a deep breath. “Since we're sure to run into each other if you stay around for a little while, I mean, in church and maybe bumping into each other on the street or something, or if Jenny comes to visit and you pick her up, though once Joe gets back, you won't have to do that anymore—and if you're going to be in the wedding, I guess we should make sure we know where we stand.” She wanted to groan, she was babbling!

“I agree. And we want the wedding to go well.”

“Well, you might take off again. The wedding is three months away,” she couldn't resist saying. Then she was immediately ashamed of herself. The past was over. She needed to focus on the future and not contribute to the bad feelings between them. Every time there was a wedding in town, she was again reminded of all the planning they'd done, the bridesmaid dresses, the flowers, the music. Her dress, which still hung in the very back of her closet. She should have given it away years ago. It probably wouldn't even fit now. But it was the most beautiful wedding dress she'd ever seen. She couldn't bear to let it go, though it would probably never be worn.

Every wedding. She never spoke about it—not since her best friend's wedding when they'd discussed how hard it
was for Marcie to be part of the wedding party. Surely the ache would fade in time. At least no one knew how sad weddings made her feel—no one but her and the Lord.

“I'm not taking off again,” he said, a hint of impatience in his tone. “But that's the reason we need to clear things between us. So you'll understand and believe me.”

She shrugged, knowing nothing he could say would change the past.

“Sally Anne's mother let me know she'd be happy to watch Jenny anytime. So why don't we go to dinner tomorrow?”

That was much too like a date. “How about lunch at the café instead?” At least she'd be on her own turf.

“Too public,” he said.

“Dinner isn't public?”

“Not if we go to Portland. We'll have privacy in the city.”

“I'd be more comfortable with lunch tomorrow.” A romantic dinner in a Portland restaurant was more than she could bear. They weren't dating. She needed to keep some distance, though it was growing harder every time she saw him.

“Pack a picnic, we'll eat at the marina,” he countered.

She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Deal. I provide fantastic picnics, as it happens.” A picnic could be equally romantic. Hadn't they stolen away as teenagers, picnicking on Carlisle beach, or in some of the woods around town? Being with Zack had been romantic in the old days. Could she keep her perspective meeting him for one last picnic?

“One o'clock? And I'll pay for the picnic—I invited you, after all.”

“Okay, pick it up at one at the café. It'll have your name on it.”

He turned and headed down the stairs. Marcie closed the door and leaned against it. She felt as if she'd run a mile. Excitement built as she thought about another picnic with Zack. This one wouldn't end in sweet kisses. Nor in the knowledge she'd see him again the next day and the day after. It would be a bittersweet lunch, memories of happier picnics crowding with the reality of the present. She sighed for what would never be repeated. It was just lunch, not a romantic tryst.

 

Zack turned into the driveway of his family home, hearing the bike slide a little in the back of the pickup truck. Jenny had been talking the entire trip from town, but he'd been only half listening. Tomorrow he'd have Marcie's undivided attention. He wanted to make sure she listened to him and understood that he regretted the past more than he could say.

Pulling in by the back door, he turned off the truck and gazed at the sea. The house sat on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic. It had been in the family for years. Currently his brother Joe and Jenny lived in it, but that would change when Joe married Gillian. He and Jenny were moving into the house Gillian inherited from her great-grandmother. She'd never had a place to call home, so Joe wanted her to have that house.

“Uncle Zack, can I call Sally Anne to tell her about the new dresses?” Jenny asked.

He smiled and nodded, then watched his niece dash into the house to call her best friend. He was grateful for this time at home. Chasing after a dream, he'd neglected family and friends. The fame and fortune he'd garnered wasn't as fulfilling as he'd thought it'd be. Traveling around
Europe sounded glamorous—but the reality was it was racetracks he knew best, not capital cities. The telling moment, though, had been when Jacques had died.

He still couldn't believe his best friend for the past eight years was gone. He and Jacques had started out together on the team, bunked together until they earned enough in winnings to get their own rooms. Ate together when away from home. Shared parts of themselves no one else knew. They'd been closer than brothers. Zack had told him how often he thought about Marcie. Jacques had told him time and again to go back to see her. Zack never had. Now that Jacques wasn't around to tell him again, Zack had finally come home.

Shaking off the painful memory of his friend's fiery crash, he got out of the truck and lifted Jenny's bike from the back. Setting it near the back stoop, he glanced across the yard to the house next door. That's where Joe and Jenny would be moving—to Gillian's house—after the wedding. He looked at the family place. Maybe he could buy out Joe and put down roots.

Or, maybe, he thought as he shut the truck tailgate, life would be too uncomfortable in Rocky Point if Marcie didn't forgive him. Maybe he'd better make a fallback plan.

But he didn't want to. He wanted the future they'd once talked about. He'd learned from the past decade that going his own way had its rewards, but also drawbacks. Yet he was torn. The racing circuit was what he knew best. His life was exciting and predictable. For a moment he wondered if he was truly ready to stay in Rocky Point and give up the life in Europe. A lot to leave behind. A lot to gain by staying in Maine. Only he could decide what he wanted. With plenty of time lately to consider everything, he'd
discovered he wanted family, friends and love. They would last. The rest was fleeting. For a moment he frowned, wondering where he'd heard that before.

 

Marcie kept telling herself it was just a meeting to clear the air. She had no reason to feel anticipation or excitement. But as the morning wore on, her expectations rose. She tried not to remember meeting Zack for other picnics, but memories crowded in. Sometimes they'd meet on the lawn at the marina. Other times he'd drive them to the beach. Always together. This was so unlike other picnics, but she couldn't stop the hopeful feelings that grew. Would he tell her something that would ease the pain of the past? Give her insights into who he was today?

She'd ordered the lunch in his name and debated whether to be out front when he picked it up or walk over to the park early and be there when he arrived. If it was going to be awkward, better to be in the park and not have to walk over together. And the fewer people who saw them together, the less likely the rumor mill would spike.

“Marcie, your dad's out front,” one of the busboys called when passing her office doorway.

She frowned. She hadn't expected her father to drop by. As she walked from her office into the café, she realized she hadn't seen him at church on Sunday or at the picnic. That had flown from her mind when she had seen Zack at the picnic.

Bill Winter sat at a table by one of the large windows facing the street. He had a cup of coffee in front of him and was gazing out the window.

Marcie slid into a chair opposite him.

“Hi, Dad,” she said. “If you'd told me you were here, I could have joined you.”

He smiled at her. “You just did. Things going good?”

She nodded. He always asked that when they got together. “You missed the church picnic.” Should she tell him about Zack?

“I also missed church Sunday. Too much going on.”

“Like what?”

He looked at her a moment, then shook his head. “Fishing and things.”

“Ah, the great excuse—you're closer to God fishing than anywhere else.”

“Pretty much,” he said.

Marcie shook her head when a waitress asked if she wanted anything. For some reason, today her father looked older than she'd noticed before. Her mother had died long ago and her father seemed content to live alone since Marcie had moved into her own apartment. She was his only child. She had wanted her own place several years ago, to be independent. But at what cost to her father? Had he regretted her decision? She'd fought against the idea of being an old maid caring for an aged father. Of course, before today she'd never thought of her dad as old. He looked all of his fifty-some years now.

Still, they remained close. Having dinner together most Sundays. Having lunch together now and then during the week. Sometimes she wondered if the Lord had plans for her to remain single all her days. She knew her dad would love grandchildren. No one in town had ever caught her eye since Zack left. And she didn't want to leave Rocky Point.

“So things are okay with you, Dad?” she asked again, fishing herself.

“Sure.” He gave her a quick smile and took a sip of coffee.

Marcie wasn't convinced. Then it occurred to her he'd
probably heard about Zack being back and was trying to find the best way to tell her.

“Dad, I know Zack Kincaid's back,” she said softly, her eyes watching for his reaction. It would be hard not to in a small town like Rocky Point. Did her dad think to shelter her by never talking about Zack?

His expression hardened. “I haven't seen him, but I knew. You doing okay?”

She nodded. “He actually came to the picnic on Sunday. He apologized for what happened all those years ago.”

“No apology's enough,” her father said gruffly, reaching out to pat her hand. “He hurt you badly, cupcake.”

“I'm over that now,” she said, relishing the comfort of her father's concern. He alone knew how much she'd grieved that lost love. He and the Lord.

“Stay strong. Stay focused on the Lord and He will see you through all the tough times.”

She nodded, knowing it was true. “I'm fine.” She smiled at her father. His love had always been as steadfast as God's.

“I might get some more fishing in this week,” he said.

“If you catch enough, come over and I'll clean them and cook them for us.”

“What's this
if?
Of course I'll catch enough.”

Marcie laughed. “Of course—what was I thinking?” She tilted her head slightly. “How many did you catch on Sunday?”

He scowled. “Not enough for a meal.”

She laughed again and pushed back from the table. “I've got to go, Dad. Let me know about the fish.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You take care, cupcake,” he said.

Something in his tone had Marcie pausing. “I will. You sure things are okay?”

“Right as rain.”

Marcie bid him goodbye and went back to the office. Checking the clock, she realized it was later than she'd thought—and that much closer to time to meet Zack. She couldn't concentrate on anything. Might as well have stayed visiting with her father.

At five to one, she closed her office, telling Priscilla Cabot she was going to lunch, and left by the back door. The short walk to the marina did nothing to calm her nerves. She chose a picnic table in the shade with a view of the water and the boats bobbing on the gentle waves. The minutes ticked by. The breeze from the sea rustled the leaves of the oak shading the table. A sailboat moved silently on the horizon.

The café sack appeared in front of her on the table. She looked up. Zack took the bench opposite, his back to the water. “I thought you'd be at the café,” he said.

She shrugged. “I came early.”

He pushed the bag toward her. “Want to do the honors?”

Glad for something to do, she withdrew the lavish shrimp po-boy sandwiches, the small containers of coleslaw, along with utensils and napkins. The beverages were icy. Dessert was in another small container, which she rested on the collapsed bag.

Zack took the sandwich she offered, unwrapping it and taking a bite.

“Good,” he said.

She nodded, feeling all thumbs. She unwrapped her own sandwich and nibbled on it. Her nerves churned. Now that they were face-to-face, with no hope of interruption, she wished she hadn't agreed to see him.

“I'm sorry,” he said again, laying down the sandwich
and gazing directly at her. “I handled it badly and I've regretted it ever since.”

“It's been ten years. You couldn't call or write before now?” she asked, setting down her own sandwich. She opened the soda and took a sip, more for something to do than because she was thirsty.

He glanced away, then looked back. “I should have.”