That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(15)

“Inviting us both to lunch was very thoughtful of you,” Carrie said, “but your father seems to think you asked us to suit your own purposes.”

Mackenzie lowered her gaze. “All right, I did, but is that such a bad thing? I like you better than anyone. It’s clear that my dad’s never going to get married again without my help. My parents have been divorced for three years now and he’s never even gone out on a real date.”

“Mackenzie, your father needs time.”

“Time? He’s had more than enough time! He can’t keep going through life like this. He’s put everything on hold while he tries to forget what my mother did. I want him to marry you.”

“Mackenzie!” Carrie exhaled sharply. She couldn’t allow the girl to believe that dealing with human emotions was this simple. “I can’t marry your father just because you want me to.”

“Don’t you like him?”

“Yes, I do, very much, but there’s so much more to marriage than me liking your father.”

“But he cares about you. I know he does, only he’s afraid to let it show.”

Carrie had already guessed as much, but that could be because she wanted to believe it so badly.

“My mom is really pretty,” Mackenzie said, and she lowered her gaze to her hands, which clutched a paper napkin. “I think she might’ve been disappointed that I look more like my dad’s side of the family than hers. She’s never said anything, but I had the feeling maybe she would’ve stayed married to my dad if I’d been prettier.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.” Carrie’s heart ached at the pain she heard in the girl’s voice. “I used to feel those kinds of things, too. My dad never wanted anything to do with me. He never wrote or sent me a birthday gift or remembered me at Christmas, and I was convinced it was something I must have done.”

Mackenzie raised her eyes. “But you were a little kid when your parents divorced.”

“It didn’t matter. I felt that somehow I was the one to blame. But it didn’t have anything to do with me. And your parents didn’t divorce because you took after your father’s side of the family. Your parents’ problems had nothing to do with you.”

Mackenzie didn’t say anything for a long moment. “This is why I want you to marry my dad. You make me feel better. In the past couple weeks you’ve been more of a mom to me than my real mother ever was.”

Carrie reached out and silently squeezed Mackenzie’s hand.

The girl squeezed back. “I didn’t mention it last Saturday, but that was the first time I’ve ever baked homemade cookies. Dad helped me bake a cake once, but it came in a box.”

Carrie had suspected as much.

“I like the way we can sit down and talk. You seem to understand what’s in my heart,” Mackenzie murmured. “I’m probably the only girl in my school who knows how to crochet, even though all I can do is those snowflakes. You taught me that. The house is going to be finished soon, and Dad and I are going to move away. I’m afraid that if you don’t marry my dad, I’ll never see you again. Won’t you please, please marry my dad?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Carrie whispered and wrapped her arm around the girl’s neck. She leaned forward, resting her forehead on Mackenzie’s head. “It isn’t as simple as that. Couldn’t I just be your friend?”

Mackenzie sniffled and nodded. “Will you come visit me when we move?”

“You bet.”

“But Madame Frederick says my dad’s going to meet someone and—”

Carrie groaned inwardly. “Madame Frederick means well, and she’s a dear, dear person, but I’m going to tell you something that’s just between you and me.”

“Okay.” Mackenzie stared at her intently.

“Madame Frederick can’t really see anything in that crystal ball of hers.”

“But—”

“I know. She says what she thinks should happen or what she hopes will happen, and in doing so puts the idea in people’s minds. If her predictions come true, it’s because those people have steered the course of their lives in the direction she pointed.”

“But she seems so sure of things.”

“Her confidence is all part of the act.”

“In other words,” Mackenzie said after a thoughtful moment, “I shouldn’t believe anything she tells me.”

Seven

If Carrie hadn’t seen it with her own eyes—and dozens of times at that—she wouldn’t have believed any two boys could be so much like their father. Doug and Dillon sat on the sofa next to Jason, watching the Seahawks football game. Three pairs of feet, each clothed in white socks, were braced on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles. Jason had the remote control at his side, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. Each one of his sons held a smaller bowl. So intent were they on the hotly contested play-off game that they gave Carrie little more than a hurried nod of acknowledgment.

The sight of Jason with his sons never ceased to amaze her. The boys were all Manning, too. Smaller versions of their father in both looks and temperament.

Carrie found her mother in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of fudge for the Manning family pre-Christmas get-together. “Carrie, this is a pleasant surprise.” Charlotte’s face relaxed into a smile when she saw her daughter.