she sees another woman in your life.”
Philip laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of that. Remarry? Him? He’d rather dine on crushed glass. Wade through an alligator-infested swamp. Or jump off the Space Needle. No, he wasn’t interested in remarrying. Not him. Not in this lifetime.
“Carrie’s a lot like me.”
So this was what the conversation was all about. Carrie and him. Well, he’d put a stop to that right now. “Hey.” He raised his hand, palm out. “I guess I’m a little slow on the uptake here, but the fog is beginning to lift. You’re playing matchmaker with me and this—” person he couldn’t recall a single thing about “—neighbor.”
“Woman, Dad. Carrie’s young, attractive, smart and funny.”
“She is?” He hadn’t noticed that earlier, but then how could he? They’d met for about a minute in the elevator.
“She’s perfect for you.”
“Who says?” As soon as the words left his lips, Philip knew he’d made a strategic error. He’d all but invited an argument.
Mackenzie’s smile blossomed like a rose in the sun. “Madame Frederick, for one. Me for another. Just think about it, Dad. You’re in the prime of your life and all you do is work. You should be enjoying the fruit of your labors.”
“I’m building the house,” he said, wondering where she’d heard that expression.
“Sure, to impress Mom, just so she’ll know what a mistake she made leaving you.”
His daughter’s words brought him up short. Philip sincerely hoped that wasn’t true. He wanted a new home for plenty of reasons, none of which included his ex-wife. Or so he believed.
“Why would your mother care about a home I’m building?”
“Think about it, Dad.”
“I am.”
She shot him a knowing look, one tempered with gentle understanding, which only irritated him further. “Let’s leave Laura out of this, all right?” His feelings for Mackenzie’s mother were long dead. He’d tried to make the marriage work, as God was his witness. Even when he discovered she was having an affair—the first time—he’d been willing to do whatever was necessary to get them back on track. It’d worked for a few years, but for the most part he’d been deluding himself.
The divorce had come well after there was any marriage left to save. He’d berated himself for a long time before, and since. He had his daughter and his dignity, and was grateful for both. The last thing he intended to do at this point was risk that hard-won serenity.
“I want you to ask Carrie out.”
“What?” He couldn’t believe her nerve. “Mackenzie, for heaven’s sake, would you stop? I’m not dating Carrie Westchester or anyone else.”
“It’s Carrie Weston.”
“Her, either.” He stalked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He took one sip, cringed at the bitter taste and dumped the rest in the sink.
“Please? She’s in Apartment 204.”
“No! Case closed! I don’t want to hear another word about this, understand?” He must have added just enough authority to his voice because she didn’t pursue the subject again. Philip was grateful.
The next time he glanced at his daughter, he saw her sitting in the middle of the living room, her arms folded tightly around her. The sour look on her face could have curdled cream.
“Say, why don’t we go out and buy a Christmas tree?” he suggested. Despite what Mackenzie might think, he didn’t enjoy fighting with her.
She turned to stare at him disdainfully and consider his proposal. With what seemed to require an extraordinary amount of effort, she said, “No thanks.”
“Fine, if that’s the way you want to be.”
“I thought you said a Christmas tree would be too much trouble this year.”
It would be, but he was willing to overlook that if it’d take his daughter’s mind off her present topic of interest. “We could put up a small one.” He figured a compromise would go a long distance toward keeping the peace.
“She likes you,” Mackenzie said with a righteous nod.
Philip didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. He pressed his lips together to keep from saying something he’d later regret. Such as … how did this Carrie person know enough about him to either like or dislike him?
“She told me what happened to her when she was about my age,” Mackenzie continued undaunted. “Her parents divorced when she was around five and her mother didn’t date again or anything. She closed herself off from new relationships, just the way you’re doing, so Carrie felt she had to take matters into her own hands. And who could blame her? Not me, that’s for sure.” She paused long enough to draw in a breath. “By the time Carrie was a teenager, her mother had shriveled into this miserable, unhappy shrew.” She stared pointedly at him before saying, “Sort of like what’s happening to you.”
“Come on now!”
“So,” she went on, ignoring his outburst, “Carrie felt she had to do something. She offered to pay this guy to date her mother. Out of her own meager savings from babysitting jobs and walking the neighbor’s dog. She took everything she’d managed to scrape together to pay this man. She told me she would’ve done anything to give her love-starved mother a second chance at happiness.”
Philip restrained himself from rolling his eyes at her melodramatic rendition. All she needed was a violin playing softly in the background. “How noble of her.”
“That’s not the end of the story,” Mackenzie informed him.
“You mean there’s more?”
She paid no attention to his sarcasm. “When her mother found out what she’d done, she was furious with Carrie.”
“I can well imagine.” Philip crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. He glanced at his watch, indicating that there was only so much of this he was willing to listen to and he was already close to his limit.
“But she withstood her mother’s outrage. Knowing she was right, Carrie gladly accepted the two-week restriction her mother placed on her.”
The strains of the violin grew distinctly louder.
“Carrie didn’t pick just any Tom, Dick or Harry for her mother, though. She carefully, thoughtfully surveyed the eligible men around her and chose this really cool guy named James … or something like that. His name isn’t important—what is important is that Carrie knew her mother well enough to choose the perfect man for her. She chose the very best.”
Now his daughter was beginning to sound like a greeting-card commercial. “This story does have a point, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, yes.” Her eyes gleamed with triumph.
