“It said to remind you to open your card if you haven’t already.”
Oh yeah. Because there’s a gift inside. “It’s probably still on the desk somewhere if you want to help me find it.”
He got up and started going through her inbox while Maggie rummaged in the top drawer of the desk. As she sorted, Mark pulled an envelope from a stack of invoices and handed it over.
“Is this it?”
“It is,” she said, taking a second to examine it. “I hope she’s not giving me a sexy Polaroid of herself.”
Mark’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t sound like her…”
She laughed. “I’m teasing. I just wanted to see how you’d react.” She opened the envelope; inside was an elegant card with a standard greeting, along with a short note from Luanne thanking Maggie for being a “pleasure with whom to work.” Luanne was always a stickler when it came to correct grammar and verbiage. Enclosed were two tickets to the New York City Ballet’s Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. The show was on Friday evening, two nights away.
She removed the tickets, showing them to Mark. “It’s a good thing you reminded me. They’re about to expire.”
“What a great gift. Have you seen it?”
“I’ve always talked about going but never quite made it. How about you?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Would you like to join me?”
“Me?”
“Why not? It can be a reward since you’ve had to work late.”
“I’d like that.”
“Great.”
“I also enjoyed your story, even if you left it with a cliff-hanger.”
“What cliff-hanger?”
“About you, the rest of your pregnancy. The fact that you were beginning to forge a relationship with your aunt. Bryce. I know you agreed that he could be your tutor, but how did it go? Did he help? Or did he let you down?”
As soon as Mark said the name, she felt a stab of disbelief that nearly a quarter century had passed since the months she’d spent in Ocracoke.
“Are you really interested in the rest of it?”
“I am,” he admitted.
“Why?”
“Because it helps me understand a bit more about you.”
She took another drink of her melting smoothie, and suddenly flashed on her most recent discussion with Dr. Brodigan. One moment, she observed cynically, you’re having a pleasant conversation with someone, and the next, all you can think about is the fact that you’re dying. She tried and failed to push the realization away before suddenly wondering if Mark was mirroring her thoughts. “I know you speak with Abigail every day. You’re welcome to tell her about my prognosis.”
“I wouldn’t do that. That’s…your business.”
“Does she watch the videos?”
“Yes.”
“Then she’ll find out anyway. I was planning on posting about this latest development after I tell my parents and my sister.”
“You haven’t told them yet?”
“I’ve decided to wait until after Christmas.”
“Why?”
“If I told them now, they’d probably either want me to immediately fly back to Seattle—which I don’t want to do—or they’d insist on coming out here, and I don’t want that, either. They’d stress and need to wrestle with their grief, and it would be harder for all of us. As an added bonus, it would ruin all their future Christmases. I’d rather not do that.”
“It’s going to be hard no matter when you tell them.”
“I know. But my family and I have a…unique relationship.”
“How so?”
“I haven’t exactly lived the kind of life my parents anticipated. I always had the feeling that I was born into the wrong family somehow, and I learned a long time ago that our relationship works best when we maintain some distance between us. They haven’t understood my choices. As for my sister, she’s more like my parents. She did the whole marriage, kids, suburbs thing, and she’s still as beautiful as ever. It’s hard to compete with someone like that.”
“But look at all you’ve done.”
“In my family, I’m not sure that matters.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” In the silence that followed, Maggie suddenly yawned and Mark cleared his throat. “Why don’t you go ahead and take off if you’re tired,” he said. “I’ll make sure everything is logged properly and handle all the shipments.”