waiting to start.” She glanced at the garment bag that was still on the floor. “Mama, are you going to change into something else, or are you just planning to take that garment bag with you to the pew?”
Margo laughed, brushing her lips against Melanie’s cheek. “Always had a smart mouth, didn’t you, pet?”
Melanie’s eyes crinkled in response. “Matches the rest of me.”
Lips pursed thoughtfully, Bruce shook his head. “I’d say it’s a little too crowded in here to change. Maybe you’d like to use the rest room?”
Margo waved away his suggestion, narrowly avoiding hitting Joyce. “Don’t worry about me. I can manage just fine anywhere.”
The limited space presented no challenge to her. There had been a time—a very short time, mercifully—right after Melanie had been born, when she’d shared a tiny Las Vegas dressing room with thirty other women. She’d learned how to change quickly, with a minimum of movement.
With a smile, Margo shut the door in his face and then turned around.
“If the groom looks anything like his father,” she said to Melanie, quickly stripping off her jacket and shirt, “you have found yourself one devil of a good-looking man, sweetheart. I compliment you on your taste.”
Melanie found it impossible to think of Lance without a wave of happiness rippling through her. “There’s a resemblance.”
Shedding her skirt in one fluid motion, Margo wiggled into her dress of soft, shimmering blue, chosen to bring out her eyes as well as the figure she was proud of. “How old is he, anyway?”
Glancing one last time in the mirror, Melanie adjusted the braided gold chain around her neck. A wedding present from Lance. “Lance is thirty.”
Margo deftly slipped into the pumps she’d packed in the bottom of the garment bag. “Not him, his father.” She turned her back to Joyce. “Joy, do the honors, will you?”
From her cramped position behind the full-length mirror, Joyce reached out and managed to zip Margo’s dress up for her. The whole incident, so typically Margo, made her smile. Joyce had grown up living next door to Melanie, her mother and her great-aunt, Elaine. There wasn’t a day during that time that she hadn’t envied her best friend. Bohemian, unorthodox Margo McCloud had seemed so vital, so dynamic, a box of endless surprises, while her own parents had seemed so mundane and humdrum in comparison.
The fondness had never abated, even after she had become a grown woman.
“Bruce?” Melanie asked in surprise. She paused, thinking. “I don’t know.”
Glancing in the mirror to make certain everything was in place, Margo retreated, satisfied with her appearance. “He looks more like an older brother than the father of a thirty-year-old man.”
Was that a glimmer of interest she saw in her mother’s eye? Probably, Melanie decided. There wasn’t a man alive Margo McCloud didn’t like for one reason or another. The feeling was always returned. Margo made it clear that she enjoyed men’s company, enjoyed getting to know them. Not a one of them ever left a relationship with her without becoming a lifelong friend.
She wondered if her mother was just being curious or if there was more to it. “His father was married at a very young age. He and Lance’s mother were very much in love. Nature took its course, and Lance’s imminent appearance kind of hurried along marriage plans.”
She could relate to that, Margo thought. Except that in her case, the result had most definitely not been marriage. Melanie’s father had performed his first and last magic trick by making himself disappear out of her life when he learned about her pending appearance.
His loss, Margo thought, looking at her daughter.
“Very romantic. A pity.” She stepped out of the room. “There, I’m ready.” She turned around quickly for Melanie’s inspection. “Fast enough for you?”
“Yes, thank you.” Melanie took her mother’s arm and started to walk toward the entrance. She saw Joyce signal someone inside. Music began being played in earnest. “What do you mean, it’s a pity?”
Margo shrugged carelessly. “That Bruce is married.”
Melanie stopped just shy of the double doors. “Oh, but he’s not. He’s a widower. His wife died in a plane crash years ago.”
That put a completely different light on the matter. So good-looking, and free, too. “Hmm.”
Melanie didn’t know whether to be pleased or ever so slightly concerned. “I know that look.” A well-timed warning might be in order. “I think Dad’s a wee bit too conservative for you.”
The word stopped Margo in her tracks. She stared at Melanie. “Dad?”
It was Melanie’s turn to shrug. She’d felt a little awkward about it in the beginning, although secretly it had pleased her.
“Bruce wants me to call him that. I’m trying it on for size.” She couldn’t help the smile that came. “I have to admit it’s nice having someone to call Dad.” She’d never had the opportunity to before. There was a time that had bothered her. Perhaps, in a small way, it still did, just a little.
A pang squeezed Margo’s heart. “I know it is, baby.” It hadn’t been easy for her daughter, Margo thought in sympathy, never having had a father to turn to. That had been her fault, though no one had been more surprised than she when Jack had walked out on her. Still she should have known that someone like Jack would never have wanted to be tied down, never have wanted to have a wife, much less a family.
She’d tried her best to make up for it. Maybe she hadn’t succeeded as well as she’d thought.
“Hey,” Melanie chided. Ever since she’d been a little girl, she’d been able to read her mother the way no one else could. “Don’t look like that. I’m just saying that it’s nice, after all these years, to have a father, even if I am sharing him” She gave her mother a quick hug. “But I never had to share you with anyone for long, and you were the very best part of my life.”
Carefully, because she suddenly needed something to do with her hands, Margo adjusted Melanie’s veil about her face. “And you were the best part of mine, baby. The best part of me.” The music took on a louder tempo.
Joyce popped her head out into the hall, wondering what was keeping them. “I think the natives are getting restless.”
“One second.” Without looking in Joyce’s direction, Margo held up a single finger. “I would have had more time if the cabdriver had driven the way they do in the movies.” A sense of urgency struck Margo, and she took Melanie’s hands in hers. A kaleidoscope of memories suddenly flipped over in her mind forming a collage of colors and events, sounds and smells. She loved Melanie more than anyone or anything in this world. Her daughter’s happiness was of supreme importance to her. “Do you love him, honey?”
Was that all she wanted to know? The answer was easy. “So much, it hurts.”
Margo’s eyes held Melanie’s. “And does he love you?” Before her daughter could answer, Margo upbraided herself for letting her career get in the way of what was the most important part of her world. “Oh,
