Passages is a collection of short stories loosely based on the theme: When one door closes, another opens. What door opens for which person makes all the difference.
I write the Mackenzie Wilder/Classic Boat mystery series. The protagonist is Dr. Mackenzie Wilder, a widowed small-town physician with a passion for old boats and a knack for fixing both boats and her patients.
The following story (presented in eight installments) is about Mackenzie’s cousin, Lara, who feels she has been unfairly compared to Mackenzie (Mackie) her whole life.
Installment 1
Love’s Door
Lara shoved the card from her cousin into her purse and glanced at her watch. She had no time for or patience with the ridiculous agonizing her cousin was going through over her boyfriend. Something about not being able to decide how to answer his proposal.
“You say ‘yes’, cuz!” she muttered. “You just say ‘yes.’ ”
She glanced at her watch again. Rodger was late. So was Camille, their wedding planner.
Lara let her drink ease her sour mood. This was the couple’s third meeting with Camille. Others had been scheduled, but one of them was always canceling to make some other meeting or keep an appointment or see a client. Over-scheduling was epidemic in their age group.
She and Rodger had to nail down their plans or everything would be chaos. Bev would hate that. Bev--Lara’s mother--liked order, peace, predictability. Probably a holdover from when her first husband, Lara’s father, left her with a toddler to care for. Lara didn’t care how crazy the wedding got--so long as she married Rodger and was bound to him fully, tightly, and completely. Forever.
“Another bourbon and water,” she told a passing waitress. Aah, bourbon. Fiery, mighty bourbon: builder of backbone, liquid mettle. Lara enjoyed the self-confidence it spawned. She was savoring her refill when she heard familiar laughter. Rodger and Camille stood by the foodie pub’s leaded glass door, laughing at themselves for struggling over who would open it.
Lara frowned. Did Rodger give Camille a lift? She lives at the other end of town! That wouldn’t deter Rodger. He was the kind of guy who’d give someone a ride no matter how far out of his way it took him. Her frown softened, faded away. It was one of his sweetest qualities. Still, she didn’t have to like that the passenger was Camille. She was just too... perfect.
She waved the pair over. “I hope this was close enough for you! I’ve ordered oysters, Scotch eggs, and hot pretzels with cheese-and-ale sauce. Come on, sit down!”
She stood and stepped aside to let Rodger slide into the booth while Camille eased her white sundress past the table and took her seat, directly in the middle so as to view them both, her face serene, sweet, not a jet-black hair out of place.
Lara frowned. Too perfect.
Camille touched her hair and poised her elbows on the wooden table-edge. “I am parched. Please, get me a Long Island iced tea, Rodger.” Lara frowned once more at the inconvenience this caused as she stood to let him out again. Why couldn’t Camille have waited for the waitress?
Camille watched as Rodger backtracked to the bar and made the order, then waited for it. Returning her eyes to the standing Lara, she remarked, “You know Lara, I don’t know if you realize how lucky you are. Rodger is such a good man, isn’t he?” She leaned in chummily. “What I wouldn’t give to find somebody like him!”
Lara smiled tightly. “I’m sure you will find someone as wonderful for you as my Rodger is for me. Now, about the wedding plans, Camille,” Lara looked at the planner’s empty arms. “You didn’t bring your notebook?”
“I have to admit I left it behind. My mistake. However, I can make notes on my phone...Thank you, Rodger, you are so accommodating.” She took a long sip while the others re- settled in the booth, Lara wrapping an arm around Rodger’s, tugging him close. He smiled and patted her hand, then withdrew his arm to lean forward and give Camille his full attention, an engaging smile on his face.
He’s as eager to get down to business as I am, Lara thought, but her arm felt cold where his left it. She shook her shoulders. What is wrong with me? Am I coming down with something? She touched her forehead briefly. She didn’t feel feverish, just odd. She needed to listen, but all she could think was how Rodger should have his arm around her, and his right thumb should be making circles on the back of her hand. Stubbornly she slid her hand over his.
Camille tossed her head and fingered her phone. “Now, where were we? Lara, you said you’d hired the band. Are you sure that’s wise—going with unknown talent? I can get you a discount on a truly talented group; they call themselves ‘Incorporated’.”
“’Incorporated’? What kind of a band name is that?” Lara exclaimed. “How old are these guys?”
“Oh, I’ve heard of them,” said Rodger. “They play a lot of dance music, sweetheart. They’ll strike just the right note for our wedding.”
Lara groaned, but Camille trilled an appreciative laugh at this unconscious witticism. Rodger chuckled in return.
Lara felt a familiar nausea kick in. She gave Rodger a sharp look.
“I’m glad this is so amusing for you all, but no. I have already hired the band. Nix on ‘Incorporated’.”
“Oh, well,” Camille said with a flip of her hand. “Let’s move on, then.”
Rodger sobered a moment, shaking his head, then burst into another short laugh when his eyes met Camille’s.
What is he doing? Lara’s stomach rumbled. She sat back to regard Rodger, sensing a bit of movement beneath the table as she did so. Wait, what? Who?
She narrowed her eyes. That didn’t- Was that on purpose? Her insides stabbed at her again. All her life her body had acted out emotions carried deep inside, sometimes before Lara recognized them.
“Lara, what do you think of fried ravioli as a bold appetizer? Perhaps with Yorkshire bites and shrimp kabobs. I think trios work best, don’t you?”
“Not in everything,” Lara muttered.
Camille continued. “I have the two of you set up for a tasting at Ernesto’s this coming Saturday. We can all meet there at ten. If you like what he has to offer, we can arrange an order—two hundred guests plus wedding party, right? His catering crew will do their own set-up and tear-down. That would leave us the cake and the venue layout to consider.” Her thumbs swiped upwards on her phone. “Lara, when can I get into the church? I can’t plan flowers until I do.” She smiled, but her lips didn’t reveal her teeth, and her thumbs continued to tap on the phone’s surface.
Lara was too distracted to reply.
So was that Rodger – or – ick—Camille? I can’t tell! Why is she texting during our appointment? Fried ravioli? As a wedding appetizer? Lara’s throat clenched, and her insides turned over again. Butterflies? Or –
“Excuse me, I think I’m going to-.” She dove out of the booth and dashed for the ladies’ room, trying frantically not to let herself think about the fact that she was leaving Rodger alone with an evil conniving arachnid. She failed, but what was most urgent was that she was going to be sick.
She made it just in time. Afterwards, wiping her mouth and cupping her hands at the sink to catch water to rinse with, she eyed the tasteful beiges, blues, and greens the bathroom designer had chosen. Clearly the designer had worked hard to make this a soothing comfortable sanctuary. But the impression it made was feeble compared to the one made by the face she saw in the mirror. Her own face, but not the one that she’d seen returning a smiling gaze the last few months. Brown eyes bored back into her own. Honey blond hair carefully pulled back with artful tendrils stood out against the pallor of her face. Full lips drawn tight.
“Of course you look pale, idiot,” the visage snapped. “You puked all over the place! Stomach carrying on, right? Figured it out yet? Let me give it to you straight: Camille and Rodger are playing you!”
Lara fought back the way she had all her life—arguing with herself before anything else. “You don’t know that—I don’t know that. Maybe it’s like a—a final fling. Yeah, that’s all.”
“As if that makes it any better,” the mirror scoffed.
“But I love him! I worked hard to find him – to win him. I’ll fire her! I’ll take her to court! I’ll—damn!” She looked down at her hand and fumbled in her purse for a nail file to smooth the nail she’d broken on her dash in. Her reflection watched as she filed the jagged edge. Lara raised her head suddenly.
“Do you suppose they’re really in love?” A shiver of a memory rustled through her, an unanchored sense of deja vu. A deja vu she did not care to revisit.
She stilled and held the file thoughtfully.
Sharpening that to use on Camille?
“Stop it! That wouldn’t fix anything!”
It would be awfully satisfying”
The smile lurking on the visage’s lips reflected Lara’s own. “I know,” she murmured.
Long ago Lara had learned to listen to her gut – learned the hard way, in fact. Regardless of how devastating it felt, it was right again today. Now it tightened with resolve. This was not going to be like Chieftain.
She propped herself with her arms on the sink rim. Her jaw slid into place, molar to molar, locking tight. She swung her hands up, patted her face with cool water, and blotted away some of the droplets, her reflection consigned to syncing with her movements in the mirror. She tugged loose a lock from her hair. As a last thought, she spattered her shirt with more water as if she’d been unable to properly clean herself up. Slumping her shoulders, she pushed through the rest room door and returned to the booth, eyes fixed on the duo she’d left behind. Was it her imagination, or was Rodger holding Camille’s hand? She forced herself to pause, stepping out again slowly, touching the corners of her mouth. After all, she’d just been sick.
Lara stepped up to the booth gingerly. “I am so sorry,” she said. “I feel terrible. Sick, really. Do you mind if I get back to you? We can set up another appointment, can’t we? I think I need to go home.”
At the rush of words, Camille drew back from the table. “Please, Lara, go on home. Feel better. I hope it’s not contagious. I’ll go over the outline of things with Rodger before we break up. We need to get something out of this meeting, don’t we?” Camille tilted her head and slid a side-long glance at Rodger.
Lara’s stomach rumbled. She fled the room, barely giving Rodger time to stand and pat her shoulder.
Lara glanced back at the table as she closed the door behind her. Rodger was already seated beside Camille, his back toward her.
A shoulder pat? That’s all he offered? No, “I’ll take you home, Lara,” or “Honey, we should get you to a doctor.”
She released the door and began the long stalk to her car. I’ll be damned if I’ll let them do this to me!