And yet, she’d have to proceed cautiously. Make certain he didn’t mistake this for some kind of hand-out and become offended. But Carrie had never planned to give him the money, only loan it -- on a long-term repayment, low-interest basis like she had for each of her other clients. It could give him the chance he needed, if he wasn’t too darn proud to accept it.
Carrie paused at that last thought, considering. What if he became furious at her intrusion? What if he accused her of trying to run his life? What if he truly couldn’t see that this was no sort of manipulation; it was a gift from the heart?
Carrie slouched back against her high-backed leather chair and spun to face the window. She supposed it all depended on timing. First, they had to get beyond that proposal part, so Mike wouldn’t think she was trying to buy his affections. But, when oh when, was that proposal part ever going to waltz along?
Mike had said, trust him. But for how long?
She wondered if he’d even considered the wedding angle, or if he’d find using her pre-made arrangements tacky. To Carrie, it just seemed a terrible waste to let all that planning and expense go, just to reinvent the wheel.
Well, they would sort all of that out soon enough. First things first. She’d found the ideal property for Mike’s dive shop and if she didn’t move in on it quickly, somebody else would, she knew. The location was just too hot.
And if after all her trouble, Mike hated the idea? Had completely changed his mind, and no longer wanted to move to the Caymans? Well then, she’d just have to cross that bridge when she came to it. The shop would be a surprise, a wedding gift. And if he didn’t care for it, Carrie would just have to find someone else, another entrepreneur, to take advantage of the opportunity. But that wouldn’t happen. She was sure of it. Once Mike was advised of all the particulars, he was going to be over-the-moon.
Mike sat at his desk mooning over a picture of the house he was about to purchase, and wondering how soon it would be available for occupancy. Colleen had already phoned the owners with his offer and would be letting him know that detail along with their counter-offer, when it came.
Now, if he could pre-occupy -- and be in within a month -- that would be even better. He’d asked Colleen to inquire about the possibility. Mike couldn’t wait to get started on a life with Carrie. Real stroke of luck she already had the wedding arranged. Though they hadn’t talked it over officially, he guessed since he hadn’t proposed “officially,” Mike assumed that’s what they would do. Go ahead and use the facilities and services Carrie had already arranged. She’d never canceled them, as she’d threatened to do earlier. Grandma Russell had told him so. It made his heart spring-dive just to think she’d forgone canceling those arrangements because she’d held out hope for a future with him. With him! And, holy cow, it was happening.
The house he’d found was perfect, so perfect that...
Mike stopped congratulating himself as his blood ran cold. Oh my goodness. What if he’d done the wrong thing? What if Carrie became incensed at him making such a major decision for the two of them? Without even consulting her first?
What if she didn’t even want to live in Virginia, but had someplace else in mind entirely? They hadn’t even had a chance to discuss those kind of future plans. Mike had just seen the house, the white picket fence and -- whammy! He’d gone and done something huge, something impetuous, something nearly irrevocable. Holy cow. Mike blew a hard breath and sat back against his chair, as fear settled into his belly.
Surely, Carrie wouldn’t fault him for a wedding gift? Yes, that’s what he’d call it. And, if she didn’t like it...? Well, though they couldn’t exactly “return it,” they could surely work something out. Find renters, re-sell after a while. But Mike didn’t want to re-sell. He absolutely loved the place. And, Carrie would, too. He just knew it.
****
Chapter Eighteen
Carrie nervously bit into her bottom lip, smearing her lipstick against her teeth. Darn it! She’d have to start all over again. Ever since Mike had called this afternoon, she’d suspected something was up. There was an urgent expectation to his voice. No, it couldn’t be tomorrow; it had to be tonight. Even though Carrie had loads to do at the office and was expected to work late, she’d come home early, showered and put on a fresh sundress. And, he wasn’t even expected until seven-thirty! Seven-thirty. What was Carrie going to do with herself for the next forty-five minutes while waiting for him to come?
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she should probably eat something. No, she was going to throw up. Carrie raced to the toilet thinking she was going to lose her lunch. But after a few moments of staying still, the clench in her belly eased.
Crimminy! She was a wreck. Didn’t even know for certain tonight was the tonight.
Like hell she didn’t, Carrie thought, racing back to the bathroom.
The telephone rang and she limped into the bedroom to pick it up, all the while clutching her mid-section.
“Darling?”
“Oh Grandma Russell, thank goodness! I am such a wreck. Such a WRECK. Mike called and said --”
“Hold on there, child. Slow down. Can’t make out a word you’re saying.”
“I’m, um..."
Carrie sat down on the bed and started to cry. “Oh Grandma, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”
“Calm down. Just take a deep, deep breath.”
Carrie inhaled.
“Now let it out.”
She did.
“Go on, a few more times. In and out. I’m not going anywhere; I can wait.”
Carrie wiped the moisture from her cheeks and sat up a little straighter.
“Now, you still with me?” her grandmother asked. “Or should I call the rescue squad?”
Carrie let out a laugh that released more tears. But, this time, she felt more in control. “Thanks, Grandma,” she said, taking another deep breath. “You’re the best.”
“What’s all this about wanting? You mean, the dang hunk hasn’t proposed by now?”
“Not yet, but it’s coming,” Carrie said, holding out her trembling left hand and examining the bare ring finger. “I can feel it. Just like that musky heat right before a rain.”
“Well,” Grandma Russell said, “he’s been waiting for a reason. So don’t you go jumping all over him with kisses and I do’s before he can get two words out. First, give the rascal a chance to say his piece.”
“Jumping...? Why, Grandma Russell, what do you take me for, an impatient woman?”
Her grandma chuckled. “Just a woman who knows what she wants. And, I can’t say I blame you. He is a dish, that Mike Davis, he is.”
“Grandmother! It’s not all about the way he looks and you know it!”
“Yes, I know. But I also know enough to know looks don’t hurt. Especially when the man in question looks just like a young Robert --”
“There you go with that movie star thing again. I swear, that’s not helping.”
Grandma Russell hooted. “I can’t wait for the big day. It will be so nice feeling like you are finally anchored in Virginia, Carrie love. I just know with that man of yours at home those week-long trips to New York won’t seem nearly as enticing.”
Carrie thought about telling her, but decided against it. Why spoil her grandmother’s jovial mood? Besides, Carrie was finally feeling better herself. Perhaps if she had some yogurt and a bit of soda. She definitely needed something in her stomach and the soda would help her queasies.
“I think I’d better go and grab something to eat before he gets here,” Carrie said, standing and walking to the kitchen. “Keep those fingers crossed for me.”
“Absolutely,” Grandma Russell reported, “and all my lavender painted toes.”
Carrie hung up the phone wondering if her grandmother had really painted her toenails purple, or was just being funny. With Grandma Russell, one never really knew. Perhaps expressly why Grandpa Russell married her in the first place.
Okay, Mike told himself, scooping the brand new engagement ring off his carpet for the third time. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. He was all thumbs tonight. What a wonderful night to propose. Plus, it was predicted to rain. How romantic. He had planned to take Carrie to his special spot, right there in Norton Vineyards. He’d even bought a Norton Sweet Virginia Red and a whole box of mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwiches to compliment the evening.
Before, when he’d acted rashly and proposed to the wrong women, he’d charted a course for disaster. Not this time. Not this time, indeed. Tonight was special. Carrie was special. And the dag-blasted ring he’d traded for Alexia’s had only cost a few hundred more. A few hundred, but worth every dime.
Yet the custom setting Mike had arranged had taken time. An unsettling amount of time. On a couple of occasions, in fact, Mike had actually feared Carrie was going to propose to him instead, if he didn’t hurry it up.
Well, now all that was neither here nor there because he had the ring, he thought, wedging it back in its box and shoving it down in his pocket. He walked to the kitchen counter, completing his mental checklist. He had the wine. Check. He felt his other pocket for the Swiss Army knife with the corkscrew. Check. And the ice cream... He opened the freezer to find it bare.
Mike whirled on his heels toward the center of the kitchen
where a soggy brown paper bag wilted against the table. Holy cow! Not again. But, it was in fact. Even worse than the first time.
Carrie fiddled with her watch and paced the living room. She picked up the remote and switched on the television. News and game shows. She switched it off again.
She checked the mantel clock. Seven-forty-five. Alright, Carrie, she told herself, fifteen minutes late does not a disaster make. He could be running a bit behind, could have stopped for gas.
Carrie felt like she was getting a sick headache. No, not tonight she prayed. Not tonight of all nights. She went to the kitchen and poured some water from the tap, preparing to take two aspirin, when a firm knock sounded at the front door.
Carrie’s stomach revolted.
She raced to the door and tugged it open, just before making a beeline for the bathroom. Carrie slammed the door at her back and fell to her knees.
Mike trailed Carrie to the bathroom, only to have the door slammed in his face. Poor thing, she looked positively awful. White as a sheet. Holy cow. What was happening here?
Mike tapped lightly at the door. “Carrie? Honey, you alright?”
“Fine, fine,” she muttered through running water. But she sounded less than perfect.
Mike looked down at the two bags clutched in his hands, thinking that neither the new ice cream he’d just picked up nor the wine would look too appealing to Carrie at the moment.
After a few minutes of silence, he tried knocking again. “Carrie?”
Finally, she pulled back the door, looking ghostly.
“Oh sweetie,” Mike said, “come over here and sit down. You don’t look so hot.”
She gave him a twisted smile, remembering the first time he’d said that. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“No,” he said, depositing his bags on the coffee table and sitting beside her on the sofa. “Actually, it’s just the opposite..."
He reached out and took her hands in his. “Is it the flu? Did it hit suddenly?”
“You could say that,” she answered smiling past her queasiness.
“Stay put,” he said, releasing her hands and giving her knee a light pat. “I’ll go and get you some ginger ale.”
“What did you bring me?” she asked, when he returned from the kitchen and handed her the glass.
Mike followed her gaze to the two paper grocery bags on the table. “Probably nothing you’d feel much like having now. How about I tuck them in the fridge?”
Carrie nodded and took a very slow, small sip from her glass.
Mike shook his head as he stored the wine and ice cream in the refrigerator. Sick?! She was sick?! After everything he had planned -- rehearsed -- to make this night perfect? Holy cow.
Just when he thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Mike heard the hard rhythm of rain beating against the kitchen window.
Carrie wanted to curl up into a ball and die. Whatever he’d planned... All the trouble he’d gone to, and now she couldn’t even lift herself off the sofa. This was not the way she’d envisioned things at all. Maybe she was jinxed, or perhaps she’d already gotten her fair share of uneventful proposals. Whatever the reason, she was damned upset it was happening to her now.
Carrie glanced up toward the ceiling, hearing a sound smacking the red slate roof. Perfect, it was raining.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Mike said, coming back over to the sofa and sitting beside her.
“Oh Mike,” she said, her voice breaking up, “I’m so sorry...”
“Hush,” he said, bringing a hand to her lips and gently stroking her chin. “You can’t help any more that your sick than I can the color of my eyes.”