Day by Day
Narrated by Alexandra O'Karma
Sandra SteffenUnabridged — 13 hours, 37 minutes
Day by Day
Narrated by Alexandra O'Karma
Sandra SteffenUnabridged — 13 hours, 37 minutes
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Overview
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940171137274 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Recorded Books, LLC |
| Publication date: | 05/14/2010 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
One
Spencer McKenzie parked on a side street around the corner from Harbor Avenue. Reaching for the dark suit jacket he'd folded over the seat an hour ago, he closed his door and hurried toward Gaylord and Yvonne Wilson's home a block away. The breeze was uncommonly warm for an evening in late April. It was the first truly warm weather they'd had in this part of Michigan this year. Shirtsleeve weather, he and his brothers used to call it. He would have preferred to roll up his sleeves and remove his tie. Instead, he slipped into his jacket, smoothed a hand along the length of his lapel, and started up the steps leading to the estate situated at the top of a steep hill overlooking Lake Michigan.
Party balloons bobbed atop the gold-colored strings mooring them to the polished brass railing that meandered upward through well-lit, immaculately tended grounds. Three-fourths of the way to the top, Spence paused, taking a moment to appreciate the view behind him. Trilliums were just starting to bloom on the sand dunes. Earlier that day, colorful sailboats had tacked back and forth near the shore. Farther out, yachts and tugs and tankers had skimmed across the horizon. Tonight, darkness was fast obliterating the line where water met sky. Already, lights dotted the shoreline. In the distance, the beacon of the Grand Haven Lighthouse flashed at the end of the pier. The tourist season was nearly upon them. Local businesses thrived on it. Spence tolerated it, preferring the slower pace of the off-season, when Grand Haven belonged to its local residents.
Several of those local residents were standing in small groups when Spence reached the patio on the first level of theWilson estate. The breeze billowed through imported suits, designer dresses, and some pretty impressive stuffed shirts. It ruffled a toupee or two, but it didn't hinder the guests who had gathered for Gaylord's seventieth birthday celebration. Just as Spence had expected, anybody who was anybody was here. A rising star in the field of architecture, he was considered one of those anybodies, but he was here because his wife, Maggie, was here. Somewhere.
"There you are!" Gaylord's wife, Yvonne, placed an elegantly manicured and garishly bejeweled hand on his arm. "You're late."
Spence leaned down to brush his lips across the perfectly made-up, lined cheek. Yvonne made a clicking sound with her tongue. "All right, all right. I forgive you. The question is, will Maggie?"
He glanced around the courtyard for his wife. "Maggie knew I was going to be late. If she's upset, I'll have to think of some way to make it up to her." Yvonne's eyes, slightly watery and faded, held warmth and humor. "If I were ten years younger." Looking him up and down, her expression became wry. "Better make that twenty."
"It's a good thing you're not," Spence said, indulging the older woman with one of his rare smiles. "Because that, Maggie wouldn't forgive."
"I'm pleased Maggie doesn't have to worry about that," Yvonne insisted.
For all her social graces, Yvonne Wilson had a voice like a foghorn. Even her whispers could penetrate steel. Therefore, it wasn't surprising that several of her guests turned to look at them. Abigail Porter, whose husband was a known philanderer, strolled closer. Abigail and Yvonne had been friends for years, but not even Yvonne knew exactly how old her friend was. There wasn't a telling line on Abigail's face. In fact, her latest facelift had raised her eyebrows so far she wore a constant look of dismay.
"Every woman has to worry, darling," she said sadly. "It's the nature of the beast."
Not this beast, Spence thought, casting another practiced eye around the courtyard for a glimpse of his wife. Since he didn't see Maggie on this level, he excused himself, accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter, then made his way toward the steps leading to the patio on the next level.
Fifteen years ago, a noted architect from Chicago had designed the Wilson house and the surrounding tiered gardens and patios. Personally, Spence would have used less glass, chrome, and cement, and more stone, iron, and other products that lent themselves to warmth and dimension, and blended with the rocky hills, sandy beaches, and jagged shoreline of Lake Michigan.
He wasn't here to critique the architecture. He was here because Maggie had asked him to attend. Although he didn't find her on the second level, either, he knew she was here because nearly everyone he came into contact with spoke of her. He shook hands with Gaylord's attorney, said hello to an accountant, spoke to a real estate tycoon who made it a point to attend all the right parties. Many of these men and women had been born to families who had made their fortunes in the shipping, mining, or railroad industries. Spence's association with the architectural firm of Hastings and Wiley might have been the reason the McKenzies had initially been invited to parties such as this one, but it was Maggie's warmth, charm, and poise that had won their hearts. She was their Cinderella, Grand Haven's princess.
It wasn't only the elite who sought her out. Maggie McKenzie was a joiner, a doer, a woman with a dozen causes and a hundred friends. Everyone loved her. And she loved everyone. But she loved Spence most of all. And he loved her. She was the reason he got up every morning and came home every night. She and their two young daughters made his life about as perfect as a man's life could be. It wasn't that other men didn't have what he had. It was just that few men appreciated it the way he did.
It took Spence half an hour to reach the other end of the wide patio. He said hello to the men and women he met along the way, discussing everything from politics and global warming to local building trends. Placing his empty wineglass on another passing waiter's tray, he finally reached the stairs leading to the highest courtyard surrounding the house. This patio, with all its curving walkways, black and white tables and chairs, and a host of abstract garden ornaments, was the most ornate, and the most crowded.
He spotted Maggie immediately, just as he always did. It was more than her blond hair that made her stand out in a crowd. She was talking to four of her friends from the Ladies Historic Society, who, along with Yvonne's help, had planned tonight's surprise birthday party for Gaylord. It required effort to suppress Spence's grimace at the sight of one of those so-called friends. Jessica Michaels had been married to a friend of Spence's. She'd latched on to Maggie, and then had proceeded to make a play for him behind Maggie's back. He'd turned her down cold, of course.
Spence wouldn't have had to tell Maggie. She'd already known. It was no use wondering how she'd guessed. Months later he'd asked her why she continued to be civil to the backstabber. She'd said, "Jessica isn't best friend material, but she can't hurt me, Spence. Only someone you truly love can do that." He thought about that as he watched Maggie from a distance. The flicker of candlelight and the glow of dozens of Chinese lanterns threaded her hair with gold.
Her only jewelry was a narrow watch and the tiny diamond earrings he'd given her for their second wedding anniversary when they'd been struggling beneath the weight of student loans and their first mortgage. She hadn't spoken to him for three days, but she'd worn the earrings every day ever since.
Her dress was a pale shade of blue, and loose enough to allow for plenty of movement. It had a rounded neckline in the front and a row of pewter-colored buttons down the back. Spence liked that dress, liked the fit and the feel. She claimed it hid the ten pounds she'd battled since Allison had been born six years ago. Spence happened to like where she'd put those ten pounds.
There wasn't a man at the party who could take his eyes off her for an extended period of time. She appeared oblivious to everyone except the people she was talking to at that moment. It wasn't an act. Maggie McKenzie was the most genuine woman he'd ever known.
He was so intent upon watching his wife on the other side of the courtyard that he didn't notice Edgar Millerton's advance until the old codger had stopped directly in front of him, planted his feet, and said, "Spencer, my boy."
And then it was too late. Spence was cornered.
Chewing morosely on a dead cigar, Edgar launched into his favorite topic, his fascination with groundwater, sediment, pollutants, microorganisms, and their effect on all of mankind.
It promised to be a long night.
Maggie McKenzie hugged her arms close against a sudden chill. She'd been having a relatively innocent, innocuous conversation with Melissa Bradley and Hannah Lewis before Jessica Hendricks and MaryAnn Petigrue had joined them. Within seconds, the conversation had turned into a he-said-she-said gossip session, interspersed with a large dose of male bashing.
"Come on, Maggie!" Jessica declared. "Give us something low-down and dirty on Spence."
Maggie pulled a face. "I hate to disappoint you, but I'm drawing a blank."
"Are you telling me Spence doesn't do anything that annoys the hell out of you?"
Maggie ran a quick check through her mind. The truth was, she didn't have many issues with men. Spence wasn't perfect, but she didn't expect him to be. He'd grown up with three brothers, and the toilet seat had been a problem at first. She'd taken a few midnight splashes early in their marriage, but these days they both knew how to work the lid. He had a serious connection with the remote control, and he loved a clean garage but never seemed to notice when the house was a mess.
For lack of anything more serious, she shrugged and said, "Well, he's late for a lot of things."
"Not Peter," Hannah exclaimed. "He's on time for everything, and when I'm running late, he has this look, not to be confused with a look or that look. I'm talking about the look."
"Uh," Melissa Bradley exclaimed. "I know exactly what you're talking about. Aaron does that, too. Ever notice that when you and your husband are getting along, you like most everything about him?"
"And when you're not," MaryAnn Petigrue interrupted, "you don't even like the way he breathes."
Even Maggie smiled at that one.
The surprise party had been a success in every sense of the word. She, Yvonne, and several members of the Ladies Historic Society had planned it down to the tiniest detail, and yet Gaylord had surprised them with his announcement that he was making a six-figure donation to the society. It would be all over the papers tomorrow. Tonight, Maggie just wanted the party to wind down so she could go home, kick her shoes off, slip out of her dress, and unwind with Spence.
She'd been feeling strange all day. She wasn't prone to bad moods, and although she'd read about people who had premonitions, she rarely experienced them herself. Her parents, who were doing missionary work in Africa, would have blamed it on atmospheric pressure and a change in the weather pattern. Neither Joseph nor Adelle Fletcher believed in premonitions. Perhaps premonition was too strong a word. It was more like trepidation. Maggie felt antsy, uneasy. For the life of her, she couldn't say why.
She wondered where Spence was. He said he'd be here tonight, and Spencer McKenzie kept his word. She didn't know many women who'd been married nearly thirteen years and still missed their husbands simply because they hadn't seen each other all day. Sometimes, she worried that she loved him too much. How could she love him too much, when he loved her just as fiercely? She was almost thirty-four years old, and incredibly, undeniably happy. No one could ever accuse her of being weak. She didn't cling, and she certainly didn't define herself by her husband's success. It was just that she felt more alive when they were together.
The goose bumps that had been skittering up and down her arms trailed away. More relaxed now, she glanced at the guests scattered throughout the courtyard. Her gaze flitted over dozens of people, but it settled on one man.
Spence.
Their eyes met, held. Something unspoken and powerful passed between them. Just over six feet tall, he stood in the shadows with Edgar Millerton, looking more like a shipbuilder of bygone days than a modernday architect.
No wonder she was no longer cold. He'd been watching her. All the years of marriage hadn't dulled or diminished the passion that had taken on a life all its own the first time they'd met, but time had honed their response to it.
She cast him a small smile, and watched the effect it had on his features. His lips parted, as if he'd suddenly taken a quick, sharp breath. The breeze lifted his dark hair off his forehead and ruffled his tie. She couldn't see the color of his eyes from here, but she knew they were a deep shade of blue, as vivid and changeable as the great lake they'd both come to love.
Spence could have lived anywhere from Alaska to Timbuktu, but Maggie, the daughter of a career Army man, had known this was where she'd wanted to grow old the first time she'd visited the area some fifteen years ago. She'd lived in twenty-two towns before she'd graduated from high school, but she'd lived right here in this one small city for the past thirteen. She and Spence belonged here, the way she'd always longed to belong as a child.
Spence nodded his head at the staunch old codger he'd been talking to, but Maggie noticed he didn't take his eyes off her. Almost of its own volition, her hand went to her hair. She twirled a lock around one finger. Nobody watching could have known that the simple mannerism was her way of telling Spence that her thoughts had taken a slow, luxurious stroll to the bedroom. But he knew.
He had an angular face and, when he chose to use it, a devastatingly attractive smile. Bidding Edgar farewell, he proved it, smiling as he strode closer. He kissed Maggie on the cheek, an old-fashioned, gentlemanly gesture few men bothered with anymore, then said hello to Melissa, Jessica, Hannah, and MaryAnn.
The other four women moved, en masse, to the buffet table. Maggie shifted slightly closer to Spence, so that her shoulder rested lightly against his arm. "How was the meeting?"
"All things considered, I'd say it went well. I'll tell you about it later. It looks like your party was a success, too, although everyone's more interested in talking about the surprise Gaylord had for all of you."
Maggie nodded. "Even Edgar Millerton?"
Spence ran the tips of three fingers up her arm, as if he'd waited as long as he could to touch her. Goosebumps of a different nature followed the path his fingertips took.
"You know Edgar," he said quietly.
Oh, dear. Maggie knew Edgar, all right. The man moved slowly, and spoke the same way. He took twenty minutes to order a sandwich. For excitement, he watched paint dry. Maggie herself had been known to go on and on about history, but even she had a difficult time staying focused when Edgar launched into conversation about sediment and water seepage. As tight-fisted as Gaylord was generous, Edgar idolized Jay someone or other, the United States' first Ph.D. to study groundwater. Once, Edgar had invited all the members of the Ladies Historic Society to his home, where he'd shown slides of how water drained through sand, gravel, and rock.
"Fascinating stuff, groundwater," Spence said close to Maggie's ear.
"You don't say."
"Did you know that it travels through pores in rocks one-seventieth of the speed of snails?"
Oh, dear. Maggie loved these social functions. She was perhaps the only person present who knew that they bored Spence silly. He made the best of them for her sake. It was one of the things she loved about him. There were plenty of other things.
"Biological reclamation is going well."
"Spence?"
"Evidently, it works by activating natural bacteria. It seems this natural bacteria eats most of the pollutants like degreasers and solvents and septic tank cleaners we humans have been dumping into the ground since they were invented."
She leaned lightly into him. "He must have had you cornered for a long time."
"It's hard to gauge minutes when time is standing still."
She shook her head. "You were bored to death."
"I'm a big boy."
He was a big man.
"I'm surprised to see Jessica Michaels here," he said tersely. "Last I knew, she was living in the Caribbean."
Maggie shrugged. "It's Jessica Hendricks again. She took back her maiden name."
Spence gave a derisive snort. "She took John for everything he had. I'm surprised she didn't want to keep his name, too."
Maggie whispered, "I don't think I could ever do that."
"What? Keep my name?"
"No. Waste so much energy hurting someone I loved."
Sometimes, when Spence looked at her the way he was looking at her right now, she got lost in his eyes.
"I'd be a fool to give you a reason." She smiled, because Spence was no fool.
With the barest movement of his head, he gestured toward the back steps. That was all it took, one look, and she knew he was asking how much longer she wanted to stay.
Earlier, the courtyards had been bursting at the seams. There were still some forty guests milling about on this level, but the party was winding down. "We should be able to make our escape in half an hour or so. What did you have in mind?"
The sound Spence made deep in his throat was half moan, all male. Taking her hand, he led the way to a small dance floor nearby, where two other couples were dancing to music provided by a three-piece orchestra. Fitting her body close to his, he proceeded to give her a detailed outline of what he had in mind.
His words conjured up dreamy images that worked over Maggie like moonlight. Despite the heat emanating from him, she shivered again.
"Cold?" he whispered, close to her hair.
"Hmm. I don't know why, but I've been shivering all night." She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she felt as if she were looking at her life from outside herself, and something precious was about to slip away. A sense of dread washed over her. She kept her eyes wide open after that.
It didn't make sense. Her sister, Jackie, was home with the girls. Jackie loved Grace and Allison almost as much as she and Spence did. Jackie knew their favorite games, favorite foods, their latest secrets and oldest fears. She also knew the Wilsons' phone number by heart. Grace and Allison both knew how to dial 911. There had been no sirens, no weather rumblings or threats of disasters. Even the sky was clear. Why, then, did Maggie have to force herself not to hold on to Spence too tight?
"About that getaway," she whispered.
"I'm listening."
"Think anybody would notice if we crept away right now?" she asked.
Several guests turned at the sound of the little yelp she made when he followed his smooth turn in one direction with a surprise dip.
"Nice going," she chided once she was back on her feet. "Now everybody will notice."
"I aim to please."
Yes, she thought, he did. She was overtired, that was all. Everything was fine. Perfect. Feeling more like her old self, she finished the dance in Spence's arms. Then, hand in hand, they mingled with the other guests, enjoying being together, anticipating being alone.
They did manage to slip away half an hour later. Since they'd driven to the party separately, he walked her to the family van then held her door. "I'm parked just off Harbor Avenue," he whispered. "I'll meet you at home."
Maggie smiled. Home, with Spence and their girls, was exactly where she wanted to be right now. And then, because it suddenly seemed of life-and-death importance, she called, "Drive safely."
He glanced over his shoulder and cast her another of his devastating male smiles. "You, too."
Maggie was shivering again as she started the van.
Copyright © 2002 by Sandra Steffen
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