The Marriage List (14 page)

"I didn't want to see it that way."

"How does he feel about you standing him
up?"

"Not too good, I'd guess," Carrie said,
frowning.

"Did you tell him what happened?"

Carrie gave her head a shake.

"I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to
tell him over the phone. He would have tried to talk me into going
with him anyway and his sister's going to be there and…"

"So you bailed without an explanation?"

"I guess I did."

"Not good, Cookie."

"I told him to ask his sister, Barbara. He
asked me what that meant and I sort of hung up on him."

"You didn't! Oh, Cookie! Grey is…he's…a
keeper, a real keeper." Delia clucked her tongue at Carrie.

Carrie took down the pie pan, avoiding
Delia's eyes.

"Do you love him?" Delia asked, softly
leaning toward her niece.

Carrie stopped what she was doing and gave a
slight nod with her head as two tears escaped down her cheeks.

"What if it doesn't work out? My track record
isn't good. Grey has never had a serious relationship…what if he
leaves me? Then I have nothing." Carrie began to pace the length of
the kitchen and chew her lip.

"What if you get fired for another reason?
There are no guarantees on either side of this dilemma," Delia
said, sitting back again and finishing the wine in her glass.

"Then what do I do?"

"I can't tell you what to do. Listen to your
heart. Underneath all that intelligence, your heart knows what's
going on and what the right move is."

Carrie put the pie in the oven as the phone
rang. It was Tony, and Delia disappeared into her bedroom, closing
the door. Carrie went over to sofa in front of the fireplace where
a small fire burned slowly, and sat down. The smells of the room in
her aunt's wonderful house soothed her. She had spent many happy
days here in this little stone house. Memories of sleepovers at
Aunt Delia an Uncle Jack's house, shopping trips with the savvy
Delia, and Uncle Jack teaching her to bake bread came flooding
back, warming her heart.

She missed Uncle Jack, missed being a kid
again where her biggest decision was whether she should have
chocolate ice cream or strawberry for dessert. She hugged her knees
to her chest and thought about Grey. What if he didn't disappear?
What if Delia was right and this schlepping her to meet his family
was a prelude to a marriage proposal? Would she want to marry him?
Get back into that saddle again? Leave my career behind after
all the sweat and tears? If the marriage doesn't work, where will I
be? If there is no marriage, where will I be? An unemployed fiction
writer.
Carrie hadn't been in love since her divorce. Her
ex-husband moved to the West Coast, telling her he was too young
for such a commitment. The responsibility and restrictions of
marriage had weighed too heavily on Todd. He wanted his freedom, he
wanted out and he broke her heart. Now, three years later, would
Grey do the same thing? Was he "a keeper" like Delia said? Too many
questions and too few answers.

As she watched the fire burn down, Delia
finished her phone call and returned to the living room. She sank
down next to Carrie on the sofa.

"So, did you find the answer you're looking
for?"

Carrie continued to stare at the fire and
shook her head.

"It's like a game of
Chutes and
Ladders
, Delia. I'm at the mid-point, one step and either I
will take a ladder up, or a chute down to the beginning again."
Carrie stood up and returned to the kitchen to check on her
pie.

****

Grey broke with tradition, got in his car and
drove north to Pine Grove on Wednesday night. Usually he'd leave at
seven am on Thanksgiving Day arriving in time for breakfast. It was
tradition for his whole family to gather for a big breakfast made
by his dad and then not to eat again until the big meal. After
breakfast everyone pitched in. They had assigned tasks and worked
side-by-side, laughing, joking and teasing while they straightened
the house gathered firewood, sliced, chopped, rolled, basted and
tossed everything for the huge dinner. Most of his siblings arrived
the night before. Grey hated driving through the bumper-to-bumper
traffic slowly leaking out of Manhattan on Wednesday night. So he
arose at the crack of dawn and had an easy drive up the Palisades
and Route 17.

But tonight he was too agitated to stay in
his house. He paced and paced until he couldn't stand it anymore.
Barbara would be there tonight and he had to find out what was
going on. By seven o'clock he couldn't stand it anymore, so he
threw his bag in the trunk and roared the Jag to life. On his way
to the Palisades he was surprised to find a donut hole in the
traffic and he had little difficulty until he reached the George
Washington Bridge, where traffic came to a halt.

Feeling his temper rising, he turned on the
radio, flipping the dial to find some calming music when he came
upon Michael Bublé's song, "Haven't Met You Yet". He stopped
surfing, sat back and listened, remembering the first night they
made love. As he inched across the bridge through the dark of early
evening, he smiled when he recalled dancing with Carrie, then
taking her on the table. How beautiful she was when he was making
love to her; lost in passion, the fire in her eyes, her body soft
and pliable, bending to him, responding to his every touch. He
began to get hard losing himself in the memory. The feel of her
skin, the taste of her lips, the fullness of her breasts wouldn't
leave his mind.

I'm not giving up!
When the song
finished, he surfed until he found a classical music station. The
music calmed him and allowed him to think on the way to Pine Grove.
By the time he reached exit 12 the traffic had thinned out. He
drove most of the rest of the way on automatic pilot, thinking
about Carrie and their time together.

I don't care it's only been a few months.
I want her. She's the one.
About two exits before the one
leading to his parents' house, Grey made up his mind that he would
have Carrie. She would be his wife no matter what the cost and he
would not give up until she agreed. He took a deep breath and a
temporary sense of peace settled over him. A small smile crept over
his face.

He pulled into his parents large circular
driveway and noticed his was the last car to arrive.
Good.
Barbara is here. I can get some answers.
Checking his watch it
was ten thirty and there were lights on only downstairs in the big
Victorian house. Grey pulled out his key and opened the door.

As he stepped into the entryway, the buzz of
voices stopped. He walked under the arch to the living room and his
mother fairly jumped up from her chair, her face breaking into a
huge smile.

"Grey! So happy to see you. Where is she?
Still in the car, did she fall asleep?" His mother asked, her eyes
darting around the entryway.

"She's not coming."

"What?" His mother said, sinking down into
the sofa, her frown evaporating.

Grey looked directly at his sister, Barbara,
and noticed she let out a big breath.

"Why? What happened? She's not sick is she?"
Fran Andrews, Grey's mom, asked.

"No, she's not sick. Perhaps we'd better ask
Barbara why Carrie's not here."

Jenna, John, his father and Fran all turned
to look at Barbara. Even her husband, Earl, turned toward her.
Barbara blushed.

"It's not my fault, Grey. Honestly." She sank
down into a wing chair.

"She hasn't told me what happened. Would
you?" Grey requested as he sat down in a wing chair across from
her.

Barbara told her family the story about the
conflict with her boss and the ad agency.

"And you were going to tell me about this,
when?" Grey asked in angry tones, his face darkening.

"Honestly, Grey, I thought it didn't concern
you. I mean the girl has to decide whether or not to keep her job
or her boyfriend. Can you make that decision for her?"

Silence fell on the room.

"If I had known about it maybe I could…" he
began.

"Maybe you could what?" Barbara said, rising
from her chair.

"Discuss it with her?"

"If she wanted to discuss it with you, then
why didn't she? This is all her choice, not mine." Barbara walked
over to the fireplace, rested her hand on the mantle as she stared
into the fire. "Do you think I want my little brother to lose the
woman he loves?"

"Who said anything about love?"

"You invited her here, didn't you?"

"So?"

"So that says it all. Believe me, I didn't
want to make that phone call. But I can't lose this job. Carrie is
a very talented copywriter. I didn't want to lose her on our
business either, but I had to call Goodhue." Barbara folded her
arms across her chest and paced slowly in front of the fire.

"You wanted her to dump me so you could
continue to have her on your account?" Grey questioned her, rising
from his chair.

All eyes fell on Barbara.

"It wasn't a matter of what I wanted. It was
her decision or Goodhue's. He could simply have fired her." She
stopped moving and looked at each face staring at her.

"Or transferred her to another piece of
business, maybe?"

"He said he didn't have anywhere else to put
her."

"What about all that new business work she's
doing?"

"There's no budget for salaries in new
business. Since there's no income against that, they can't justify
any salary expenses against it. Goodhue explained it all to me.
Believe me, we discussed the options. I didn't want to put you in
this position," Barbara said, putting her hand on his arm.

"You didn't put me anywhere, but you did jam
up Carrie pretty badly."

"It's my boss. If I had my way…"

"I get it. I get it."

Grey strode out of the living room and back
to his car. He opened the trunk and took out his bag. When he
returned no one had moved from their spot and all were quiet.

"And Jenna gave her the thumbs up, too,"
sighed Colin, Grey's younger brother.

Colin got up and took empty coffee mugs into
the kitchen. Jenna walked over to Grey and gave him a big hug. She
whispered to him.

"You can't let her get away."

Grey looked at her.

"I want her in this family. I feel like she's
my sister already."

"After one weekend?" He asked, raising an
eyebrow.

"I like her. Besides, it wasn't an ordinary
weekend," Jenna teased.

Grey put his hand up and stepped back.

"Okay, okay, I know… Please bring her back."
Jenna placed her hand on his forearm.

Bill walked over to Jenna and took her hand,
to lead her upstairs. Barbara walked by trying not to look at Grey
on her way to the kitchen. John Andrews stopped and shook Grey's
hand.

"Good to see you, son," he said before
turning to go upstairs.

Fran hugged Grey.

"I know you're disappointed," Grey
started.

"It's okay, dear. I'm fine. I want you to be
happy. Resolve this in the best way for you."

His mother joined his father. Earl turned and
waved a goodnight to Grey as he went to bed. Only Barbara was left
in the kitchen.

Grey joined her, sitting down at the kitchen
table.

"Coffee?" She asked, the pot poised over a
clean mug.

He shook his head.

Barbara sat down across from him. "I'm sorry,
Grey. If there was any other way…"

"It's not your fault, Barbara. You're right
when you said Carrie should have discussed it with me. I don't know
why she didn't."

"Good luck," she said, patting her brother on
the arm.

"You coming to bed?" Earl asked, sticking his
head in the kitchen.

Barbara got up and left with him.

Grey stood up and looked out the kitchen
window over the sink. He watched the moon shine down on the bare
branches of oak and maple trees covered with a light dusting of
snow. In the moonbeams he could see snow beginning to fall. A white
Thanksgiving, his favorite kind. He wouldn't be sharing it with
Carrie. He missed her in this house. Everyone was going up to bed
with someone and he wanted Carrie there, in his arms, in his bed.
Disappointment welled up in his chest.

"This isn't over," he said aloud, to himself,
before he went upstairs to bed.

Chapter Fifteen

Unable to sleep, Carrie rose early on
Thanksgiving Day. Even with friends bringing dishes, there was
still a lot to do. She put up a big pot of coffee, made a list then
sat down to her computer, she wanted to do a few edits and other
tasks before beginning the job of preparing their meal.

An hour later Delia wandered down in her
robe, yawning.

"I see you have things well in hand," she
said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

Next to a half-drunk mug of coffee was a
chopping board and Carrie was busy making stuffing ingredients
ready, chopping mushroom and celery.

"So much to do. Have to get organized."

"I'm so glad you can cook because, frankly,
it's beyond me, Carrie. I never got the urge to learn. This will be
our best Thanksgiving ever, now you're here."

Though it was only eight o'clock, the phone
rang. Delia jumped.

"Who the hell can that be at this hour?"

She picked up the phone and cleared her
throat. After greetings were exchanged, she took the phone into the
living room and sat down on the sofa.

"Grey, how nice to hear from you," she
purred.

Carrie's head shot up and she stared over the
counter and pass through from the kitchen to the living room at
Delia. Her aunt smiled back at her.

"She's here, but she's preparing our meal.
I'm all thumbs in the kitchen. We're not having a big crowd. Just a
few friends and my main squeeze, Tony. Oh, yes, and Tony's son,
Mario. Mario's single, thirty and quite the Latin lover I
hear."