encouraging shake. “Come on, Mad, don’t look like the world is coming to an end. You know this new idea of mine is going to fly. Bill Gates isn’t the only guy who can get an idea, you know. And Steve Jobs. Those guys started out working out of their own garages, and now look at them.”
Maddy ignored the sales pitch, as she’d heard it all before. They’d argued about all of it before, again and again. Joe was the computer genius, Larry the businessman. Together, they were going to conquer the world.
“Let me get this straight, Joe. You quit your job, liquidated all your holdings and went into business with Larry Barry the Loser? A week before you knew we were going to come here and maybe be married? When were you going to tell me all of this? Oh, yes, it was to be a surprise. You were going to tell me while we were on our honeymoon. Which will be in a cardboard box under a bridge, by the sound of it.”
Joe’s full, sensuous mouth flattened into a thin, white line. “If this is another way of saying, yet again, that we could live very comfortably on your trust fund, Mad, I’m not buying it, okay?”
“Okay, and I’m not Mad. Makes me sound like a wild animal that should be put down.” She broke free of him, turned her back on him once more. “I must be out of my tiny little mind. Allie said so, said I should bring you home, let her meet you before I did anything impetuous. Said I should take my time, not rush into anything. Why do I never listen to her?”
She felt Joe’s hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to listen to her, Maddy? Or is it just that you don’t believe in me? I love you, Maddy. I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you. You know that, and you love me, too. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
Maddy wanted to raise her own hand, place it on top of his. She wanted to lean back, lean against his hard strength. Fall back into the fantasy.
But she didn’t. She stepped out from under his hand, turned to face him, tears stinging her eyes.
“No, Joe. You’d never do anything to hurt me. Not on purpose. You’d only make plans for both our lives, without telling me. This isn’t going to work, Joe. I’m not a gambler, not in Las Vegas, certainly not with my life. And I’m not used to poverty. I don’t even know how to boil water, let alone how to keep a house. Or a cardboard box. We’d hate each other within a month.”
She watched through tears as Joe’s eyelids lowered, as the glitter of—could it be tears?—entered his own eyes. “So that’s it? One small stumbling block and it’s so long, Joe, been nice to know you? Five minutes away from getting married, and you’re going to run away, run back to your cushy life and all that old-money security? Is that love, Maddy? Is that trust?”
The tears spilled down Maddy’s cheeks now as she stood in front of the mirror, watching them drip off her chin, fall onto her wedding gown. All as she stood smack in the middle of the life she had always known, the one Joe had asked her to give up in order to figuratively jump off a bridge with him, into Lord only knew what sort of future.
She wasn’t a snob, damn it all! She wasn’t a rich brat, spoiled and selfish. At least that was what she’d been telling herself for the past eighteen months, ever since leaving Joe standing outside the wedding chapel and flying home to Pennsylvania.
She was a sane, semi-levelheaded human being, one who knew that only disaster awaited a marriage entered so hastily, with a man who acted without consulting her, a man who would “risk it all on this one roll.”
Was what she had felt for Joe love? Did that love have anything to do with trust? “No, Joe,” she whispered, “it wasn’t either of those things. It couldn’t have been. What we had was a dream, only a dream. A dream and a passion for each other that we mistook for love. It’s too late for us now, for so many, many reasons. But this time—this time, Joe—I’m going to get it right.”
“Did you say something, Miss Maddy?” Mrs. Ballantine asked as she stood behind her, fluffing out the long train.
“Yes. I was talking to myself, Mrs. Ballantine,” Maddy said, trying to smile. “Must be another part of prewedding jitters.”
“I don’t know. Living with your grandmother is enough to have anyone talking to herself,” Mrs. Ballantine said. “Now, stand still while I figure out how to bustle this thing. We want everything just right, don’t we?”
“Yes, Mrs. Ballantine,” Maddy agreed, quickly wiping the tears from her face. “We certainly do want everything to be just right….”
Chapter Two
T he fitting finely completed, Maddy gratefully allowed Mrs. Ballantine to help her out of the heavy gown and then went wandering off to take her second shower of the day. The underslips itched, and she’d actually broken out in a few hives along her waistline.
Mrs. Ballantine promised to cover the waistbands with some soft cotton, but Maddy still itched, so a cool shower sounded pretty good to her.
Hives. She never broke out in hives. It was pretty pitiful, being allergic to your own wedding gown. Not prophetic, she was sure. Just pitiful.
Her hair still in the ponytail, and only slightly damp around the edges from the shower, Maddy dressed in a short denim skirt and a pink-and-red flowered denim vest with metal snap closings she’d picked up on sale the previous week.
She loved sales, couldn’t get enough of them, especially considering that she hadn’t looked at a price tag until eighteen months ago. Now paying retail was an anathema to her, buying on credit felt like something akin to mortal sin and, as she’d discovered the delights of the local malls, she’d also developed a healthy appetite for fast food and huge pretzels slathered with mustard.
She knew her family thought she had probably gone a little overboard in her zealousness for economy, her pursuit of cooking and other household skills, even her recently discovered passion for gardening.
Matt was going to get himself one very accomplished wife, the lucky dog. Not that millionaires probably cared all that much about cents-off coupons and buying in bulk.
But, small as her accomplishments must look when compared to those of her older, quite successful siblings, Maddy was happy with her life.
Well, with most of her life.
She sure wished she didn’t have hives. They weren’t a good sign, definitely. The first and last time she’d had hives was on the airplane, flying home from Nevada. They’d started on her face, and hadn’t quit until she was all but covered in the itchy things.
Nerves, the Chandler family doctor had declared when he’d met her in the local emergency room an hour after her flight touched down. He then treated her with antihistamines and the recommendation that she look inside herself and discover what could be troubling her, as her body was merely reacting to her stress in its own particular way. That was Dr. Neally, full of holistic ideas and the patient having the power to cure herself. The man even had a lava lamp in his waiting room.
Maddy had taken the antihistamines, and switched doctors. Her new physician, Dr. Linda Garvey, Matt’s sister, told her pretty much the same thing, but then said she should sit down, examine her life and decide what she wanted from it. For some reason, what Maddy decided she wanted was to learn how to cook. And she ran with it, straight to classes at the local community college.
She hadn’t had a hive since, thanks to her soon-to-be sister-in-law.
Until
