The First Gardener (23 page)

“No. No, I’m good. If I drink anything else, I’ll just have to pee again.”

Jessica smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

Mackenzie turned from her glass-topped worktable to the hand-painted French desk that overlooked the north lawn. The tea was at three, but she had some business to tidy up before she met her guest, the Duchess of Wilshire, at the north entrance. She slid another one of her monogrammed thank-you notes inside its envelope. The notes were going to all the volunteers who had given of their time to decorate the mansion for Christmas.

She was grateful the holidays had come and gone. Maddie’s absence had been so glaring then. She’d rammed into it every time a child laughed or a commercial for a toy appeared on television. She and Gray had actually fled to Florida for Christmas, relying on the change of scenery to keep their focus away from what they had lost and on the new life inside her. Their gift from the ruins.

Now that January was here, though, things were easier. She and Gray were even talking seriously about his upcoming reelection campaign. Gray was created to be governor. Mackenzie had no doubt of that. And she was created to love people, serve them, believe with them. Championing their causes. Listening to their stories.

She ran her hands across the small pooch in her stomach. Her yellow wool dress clung to it. She loved being pregnant. And she loved the freedom she’d had the last two months to let it show.

Over the weekend, the last bit of furniture had come in for the baby. Several times a day, Mackenzie or Gray would walk past Maddie’s closed door—she still couldn’t go in that room—and visit the now completely decorated nursery.

It was their little shrine of hope.

Eugenia walked through the door and right to a sofa, throwing herself on it with an exasperated sigh. “If I ever say I’m bringing those women anywhere again, just shoot me.”

Mackenzie didn’t even turn as she placed a stamp on the last of the thank-you letters. “You take them everywhere, Mother.”

“I know. I’m pathetic. I need to get out more. Burt took me to a show the other night.”

“The movies?” The shock in Mackenzie’s voice was evident as she turned her head.

“No, child, a show. The theater. I don’t go to the movies. I’m not going to pay to watch people shoot people, drink their blood, or flaunt their fake boobs. I get enough of that with Berlyn. I live with characters far more entertaining than I’ll ever see at the movies.” She paused and looked up toward the ceiling. “Unless of course Gena Rowlands is in it. You know I—”

Mackenzie cut her off. “Favor her. Yes, I know.”

“Or a movie about Southern women. I love those movies.”

Mackenzie turned her chair around to face her mother. “If you hate all movies other than ones with women who look like you or act like you, then why exactly are you in charge of the Franklin Theatre restoration project?”

Eugenia shook her head as if Mackenzie could ask the dumbest questions. “Because who else would do it like I would? Seriously, child, who raised you?”

Mackenzie let out a soft laugh. “Do I have options?”

Eugenia rolled her eyes. Then Mackenzie saw them cut over to the round antique side table and come to rest on Maddie’s picture. Eugenia reached over and picked it up.

Mackenzie knew what was coming. She turned her chair back around. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hear it you will.” Mackenzie heard her mother rise from the sofa. “You haven’t finished grieving her, Mackenzie.”

“I didn’t do anything
but
grieve, Mother. Until—”

“No, you didn’t grieve. Not really. You just stopped breathing for a while. Then you found out about the baby, and it’s like you just . . . forgot. Just picked up your life again and left Maddie behind.”

Mackenzie ignored the catch in her mother’s voice. She couldn’t go there. Couldn’t afford to go there. Not now.

“I did not forget. I will never forget.” She kept her voice cool and hard. “You’re the one who hid your tears, remember? Do not lecture me on grief.”

“I’m your mother. I will lecture you until the day I die. And I may have hidden my tears from you, but I didn’t hide them from
me
. I felt them. Every one of them. I still feel them. That’s why when y’all try to push Burt down my throat, it’s such a tough pill to swallow because I’ve still got all that love for your father down deep—”

“How do you know I don’t hide my tears from you?” Mackenzie’s words came out with more sarcasm than she intended.

Eugenia hesitated an instant. “Like I said, I’m your mother. I have eyes in the back of my head. And giddy and grief don’t usually cohabit.” She stood and put the picture back on the table. “Anyway, your flowers are beautiful. Your attitude isn’t so hot. But your flowers look like a million bucks.” And with that she marched out, closing the door hard enough behind her to reiterate her frustration with her daughter.

Mackenzie turned. The door cracked open again. “Mother, I mean it. Not another—”

Jessica’s head peeked through. “Do I need a white flag?”

Mackenzie’s shoulders dropped. “No, sorry. Just my mother. How did she get here again?”

“You invited her, remember?”

“Right. I can only blame myself. Shoot, I wanted to blame you.” Jessica didn’t smile. “I’m joking, Jessica.”

Jessica sat down on the edge of her chair, notepad on her lap, a single strand of pearls around her neck, the hem of her baby-blue sheath dress tucked under her, and those impossibly long legs crossed neatly. Eugenia would so approve.

Mackenzie did her best to wrestle her mind around again and focus on the new baby. On the strand of hope that was keeping her sane. On the work she had to do.

“Did the humane society find a new chair for their event next month?”

“They did, but they still have requested you be listed as honorary chair.”

Mackenzie sat back. “That’s so sweet of them. Tell them I’d be honored. And I would love to attend.”

“I will.”

Mackenzie leaned back in her leather desk chair, plopped her hands up on her stomach, and laced her fingers. “There are days I still can’t believe it, Jessica. Any of it. I just wish my mother didn’t try to spoil the entire thing.”

Jessica looked up, obviously noticing that Mackenzie was no longer talking about work. “We all needed a miracle around here, Mrs. London. And this child gave us one.” She smiled. “Your mother will come around. As soon as she holds that little one in her arms, she’ll come around.”

Mackenzie shook her head, trying to shake off the frustration that lingered. “I know. You’re right.” She stuffed the frustration down. She’d worry about her mother later. Eugenia wasn’t going anywhere.

“Can you believe that in just four months I’ll be holding a new baby in my arms? It doesn’t seem possible. I should be feeling it move pretty soon.” Mackenzie ran her hands across her stomach. Then she pushed her chair back from the desk and stood. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Jessica looked at her watch, a nervous twitch starting at the base of her neck. “The tea is in two hours. We’ll be eating then. Plus, I’ve already gained weight since you got pregnant.”

Mackenzie walked toward Jessica’s chair and grabbed her arm. “You can’t gain weight on lettuce.”

“No, but you can on banana splits.”

Mackenzie pulled her from her chair. “Well, you needed to gain some weight.”

“That’s what your mother says.”

“Of course she does. Now, let’s go give this little miracle a bite to eat.”

The two women headed toward the kitchen. As Mackenzie made her way across the hardwood floor, she felt something warm roll down her legs. She looked and saw a streak of blood start from beneath the bottom of her skirt and run down to the top of her Michael Kors honey-colored snakeskin shoes.

She gripped Jessica’s shoulder. “Call Gray. Now.” She could barely get the words out.

She watched as Jessica turned and caught sight of the blood that was now running down the side of Mackenzie’s shoe.

“Oh no,” Jessica whispered. She frantically pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed while Mackenzie watched the hope drain out of her body and onto the floor.

Chapter 28

Gray closed the bedroom door behind him once he and Thad and Sophie were on the other side. He felt as if he were closing the door on any hope of life inside the walls of this mansion again.

“It should help her sleep. But monitor this medicine, Gray.” Thad’s warning tone encased his words as he extended the bottle. “Do you hear me?”

Gray nodded solemnly. His eyes burned. He patted his friend on the shoulder and walked him toward the top of the stairs. He could feel Sophie at his heels. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to her now. I honestly don’t know.”

Thad stopped and looked at Gray, his eyes full of deep hurt for his friend. “This isn’t just about her loss, you know. You’ve lost something here too. You need to remember that. And you need to talk to someone. I mean it. Even governors can’t carry everything. Y’all have been through too much.”

He pulled a card from the side of his bag. “Ken Jantzen is a good friend of mine. He’s a wonderful grief counselor. Call him.” He placed the card in Gray’s palm and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. His words came out softly. “I’m so sorry, my friend.”

Gray embraced him back. He needed someone else’s strength, if only for a moment. Thad released him and stepped back. “I’ll see myself out. You go take care of Mackenzie, and I’ll call tomorrow and check on you both.”

Gray watched his friend walk down the circular staircase. He looked toward the opposite end of the hall from his bedroom at yet another closed door. He hadn’t been inside that room since they’d set up the new crib in there. He didn’t know if he ever would because it was just another reminder of what was never coming home.

He had tried to get Mack to realize they could lose this baby. But she had determined the pregnancy was a gift. A reward or consolation or something. And she had been so adamant about announcing it, celebrating it, preparing for it. How could he deny her that? It wasn’t fair for her to have to keep secret one of the greatest joys a woman could have.

She had looked so beautiful. The changes in her body only made her more beautiful. And she had loved every minute of it. He knew she was still stuffing down the loss of Maddie. But he didn’t care. To have her happy, to have her available to him was worth it. Truth be told, he had helped her.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the door. Something drew him. Something internal tugged at him. He walked toward the door and turned the knob. He pushed the door open and entered the nursery.

It looked like something from a magazine. Mackenzie’s friend Lucinda Walters, who had decorated the governor’s mansion back in the Lamar Alexander days, had helped her add the finishing touches in ivory and a funny green color—“celadon,” Mack called it. Gray could barely pronounce it, but he figured it was in the celery family.

Gray walked over to the pine armoire and opened it. It was already lined with little white hangers. He shut the door and moved to the pine dresser. He pulled open the top drawer and saw a row of diapers lined up perfectly. Stored next to them was everything needed to give a baby that smell that makes every parent melt.

Mack had paid attention to every detail. The room had everything. Everything except a baby.

The pain of this insurmountable loss raced through him. Then he caught sight of the antique rocker in the corner. It was Maddie’s rocker. The chair that he and Mack had rocked their baby girl in almost every night for two years . . .

He slammed the door shut and closed himself inside the room. A guttural scream came from depths he didn’t know existed in the human soul. It was angry and bitter and desperate. He pounded his fists against the dresser until it seemed the wood was bending beneath the force of his blows. Pain shot through his arms, but he didn’t care. He would beat that dresser all the way to hell if he could.

It was the pain inside that forced him to his knees, forced the words to spew out of him.

“Why? Why?” he demanded. “What are you doing to us? Do you hate us? Do you want to destroy us? Did we do something so horrible that we need to be punished? Punish me if you need to—but don’t punish Mack!”

His words were venomous, and spittle flew as he wept and yelled, his fists now beating the fluffy rug Mack had placed over the hard wood. But heaven was silent.

“You can’t speak?”

He wouldn’t wait for a response. He already knew the answer.

“Of course you can’t. There’s no defense for this. There’s no answer for this!” His face was raised toward the ceiling, and his words were coming out with a force that made his head hurt.

“How will we get through this? Do you think we’re superhuman? That we can just take anything you dish out? Mack barely made it through last time—and now you expect her to survive this! And I—” pain surged through him, pushing his tears harder and forcing his chest to heave in a frantic attempt to make room for the hurt—“I’m not that strong. I can’t do it this time.”

His body lowered with his defeat. “I don’t have anything left to give. I can’t make it okay. It’s
not
okay. This is too big for me.”

He brought his head down and buried his face in the rug, the newness of it filling his nostrils. His body gradually lowered until he was fully prostrate.

As he turned his head to the side so he could breathe, Sophie’s hot breath came quickly toward him. And his body surrendered. Sleep came over him, strong and deep. When he awoke, the room was dark.

Sophie’s head popped up when his did. Apparently she had decided to take a nap too. He raised his head and felt a salty residue still on his face. His hands dug into the carpet until he was able to push himself from the ground. His body ached.

He walked back down the hall and opened the bedroom door. Mack was sitting by the window, staring into the blackness of the night. He walked over to her and sat on her chair’s ottoman. He pulled her body into his arms and held her tightly there.