White Lace and Promises

M
aggie Kingsbury ground the gears of her royal-blue Mercedes and pulled to a screeching halt at the red light. Impatient, she glanced at her wristwatch and muttered silently under her breath. Once again she was late. Only this time her tardiness hadn’t been intentional. The afternoon had innocently slipped away while she painted, oblivious to the world.

When Janelle had asked her to be the maid of honor for the wedding, Maggie had hesitated. As a member of the wedding party, unwelcome attention would be focused on her. It wasn’t until she had learned that Glenn Lambert was going to be the best man that she’d consented. Glenn had been her friend from the time she was in grade school: her buddy, her coconspirator, her white knight. With Glenn there, everything would be perfect.

But already things were going badly. Here she was due to pick him up at San Francisco International and she was ten minutes behind schedule. In the back of her mind, Maggie realized that her tardiness was another symptom of her discontent.

The light changed and she roared across the intersection, her back tires spinning. One of these days she was going to get a well-deserved speeding ticket. But not today, she prayed, please not today.

Her painting smock was smudged with a full spectrum of rainbow colors. The thick, dark strands of her chestnut hair were pinned to the back of her head, disobedient curls tumbling defiantly at her temples and across her wide brow. And she had wanted to look so good for Glenn. It had been years since she’d seen him—not since high school graduation. In the beginning they had corresponded back and forth, but soon they’d each become involved with college and had formed a new set of friends. Their texts and emails had dwindled, and as often happens their communication became a chatty note on a Christmas card. Steve and Janelle had kept her updated with what had been going on in Glenn’s life, and from what she understood, he was a successful stockbroker in Charleston. It sounded like a job he would manage well.

It surprised Maggie that in all those years, Glenn hadn’t married. At twenty-nine and thirty, they were the only two of their small high school graduation class who hadn’t. Briefly, Maggie wondered what had kept Glenn away from the altar. As she recalled, he had always been
easy on the eyes.

Her mind conjured a mental picture of a young Glenn Lambert. Tall, dark, athletic, broad-shouldered, thin—she smiled—he’d probably filled out over the years. He was the boy who lived next door, and they had been great friends and at times the worst of enemies. Once, in the sixth grade, Glenn had stolen her diary and as a joke made copies and sold them to the boys in their class. After he found her crying, he had spent weeks trying to make it up to her. Years later, his patience had gotten her a passing grade in chemistry and she had fixed him up with a date for the junior-senior prom.

Arriving at the airport, Maggie followed the freeway signs that directed her to the passenger pickup area. Almost immediately she sighted Glenn standing beside his luggage, watching the traffic for a familiar face. A slow smile blossomed across her lips until it hovered at a grin. Glenn had hardly changed, and yet he was completely different. He was taller than she remembered, with those familiar broad shoulders now covered by a heather-blue blazer instead of a faded football jersey. At thirty, he was a prime specimen of manhood. But behind his easy smile, Maggie recognized a maturity—one he’d fought hard for and painfully attained. Maggie studied him with fascination, amazed at his air of deliberate casualness. He knew about her inheritance. Of course he knew; Steve would have told him. Involuntarily, her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as a sense of regret settled over her. As much as she would have liked to, Maggie couldn’t go back to being a carefree schoolgirl.

She eased to a stop at the curb in front of him and leaned across the seat to open the passenger door. “Hey, handsome, are you looking for a ride?”

Bending over, Glenn stuck his head inside the car. “Muffie, I should have known you’d be late.”

As she climbed out of the vehicle, Maggie grimaced at the use of her nickname. Glenn had dubbed her Muffie in junior high, but it had always sounded to Maggie like the name of a poodle. The more she’d objected, the more the name had stuck, until her friends had picked it up. The sweet, innocent Muffie no longer existed.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I don’t know where the time went. As usual, I got carried away.”

Glenn chuckled and shook his head knowingly. “When haven’t you gotten carried away?” He picked up his suitcase and tucked it inside the trunk Maggie had opened. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he examined her carefully and gave her a brief hug. “You look
fantastic.” His dark eyes were somber and sincere.

“Me?” she choked out, feeling the warmth of many years of friendship chase away her earlier concerns. “You always could lie diplomatically.” Maggie had recognized early in life that she was no raving beauty. Her eyes were probably her best feature—dark brown, with small gold flecks, almond shaped and slanting upward at the corners. She was relatively tall, nearly five-foot-eight, with long, shapely legs. Actually, the years hadn’t altered her outwardly. Like Glenn’s, she suspected the changes were more inward. Life’s lessons had left their mark on her as well.

Looking at Glenn, Maggie couldn’t hide the feeling of nostalgia she experienced. “The last time I looked this bad I was dressed as a zucchini for a fifth-grade play.”

He crossed his arms and studied her. “I’d say you were wearing typical Muffie attire.”

“Jeans and sneakers?”

“Seeing you again is like stepping into the past.”

Not exactly. She didn’t stuff tissue paper in her bra these days. Momentarily, she wondered if Glenn had ever guessed that she had. “I’ve got strict instructions to drop you off at Steve’s. The rehearsal’s scheduled at the church tonight at seven.” This evening he’d have the opportunity to see just how much she had changed. Of all the people Maggie knew, Glenn would be the one to recognize the emotional differences in her. She might have been able to disguise them from others, but not from Glenn.

“With you chauffeuring me around, there’s little guarantee I’ll make the wedding,” Glenn teased affectionately.

“You’ll make it,” she assured him, and climbed back into the car.

Glenn joined her and snapped the seat belt into place. Thoughtfully, he ran his hand along the top of the dashboard. “I heard about your inheritance and wondered if it’d made a difference in your life.”

“Well, I now live in a fancy beach house, and don’t plan to do anything with the rest of my life except paint.” She checked his profile for a negative response and, finding none, she continued: “A secretary handles the mail, an estate planner deals with the finances, and there’s a housekeeper and gardener as well. I do exactly as I want.”

“Must be nice.”

“I heard you haven’t done so shabbily yourself.”

“Not bad, but I don’t lounge around in a beach house.” He said it without censure. “I’ve had dealings with a lot of wealthy people the past few years. As far as I can see, having money can be a big disappointment.”