Marrying Marcus

When she met Marcus at her door on Saturday night, he looked over the low-necked bright pink dress and high-heeled shoes and said, “If you want to show Dean what he’s missing, that’ll do it.”

“It’s a party,” Jenna said defensively. Marcus looked terrific, she thought with mild surprise. She’d never taken much notice of what he wore, but he presented a picture of casual male elegance in a natural linen shirt, darker trousers and a light jacket.

On the journey they hardly spoke. Marcus seemed preoccupied, and Jenna was tense. On their arrival he opened the car door for her and briefly took her arm. “I’ll take you home whenever you’ve had enough.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jenna said, tilting her head and straightening her shoulders.

She felt an inevitable pang when Dean greeted her with a hug and a kiss on her cheek, but kept the smile on her face as she turned to Callie and handed her the gift-wrapped parcel containing a carefully chosen set of crystal wineglasses.

Callie looked radiant and Dean more handsome than ever. Jenna was glad that Marcus soon guided her away from them to get drinks. He handed her the gin and lemon she asked for, murmuring, “You’d better have something to eat too. There are nuts and dips over here.” He guided her to the table.

“Don’t worry.” Jenna took a taco chip and dipped it in guacamole. “I won’t get drunk and molest you again,” she said before nibbling at the chip.

Marcus lifted a brow. “You disappoint me, Jenna. I was looking forward to it.”

Her eyes widened. Was Marcus flirting with her?

His teasing smile said he was. Then he gave a soft laugh. “I told you I enjoyed that kiss. Is it too much to hope for a repeat performance?”

Flustered, Jenna stammered, “Yes…I mean, you know I was…I wasn’t myself that night. Katie says you’re like a big brother to me.”

“Katie says a lot of very silly things,” Marcus pronounced. He watched her take another nibble at the chip and lick at a little guacamole that had escaped. “I think I should make it clear,” he said, “that I don’t regard you as a sister.”

Disconcerted, for a brief moment she felt hurt, then she saw his eyes momentarily shift and realized that Dean was watching them. Marcus looked back at her and inclined his head close to her ear. “If you want a smokescreen, I’m available.”

Light dawned. He was pretending to be attracted by her so that Dean and anyone else with an inkling of her real feelings for him needn’t think she was a discarded wallflower.

Her pride rebelled. “You don’t need to do this, Marcus. Like I told you, I’m a grown-up.”

“I’d have said you had a bad case of arrested development, myself.”

Her eyes widening at his slightly waspish tone, she said, “What?”

“You’ve been in a state of suspended animation ever since Dean went to the States. When are you going to wake up and smell the flowers?”

“I haven’t sat at home pining,” she protested, stung by his portrayal of her languishing for love. “I’ve got an interesting job and plenty of friends—I’ve even dated a bit.”

“You haven’t had a serious relationship, have you?”

Astounded, Jenna snapped, “That’s none of your business!”

Marcus laughed aloud, the sound deep and full-throated. It transformed his face, relaxing the seemingly harsh planes of nose and cheekbones and bringing a warmer look to his eyes. She saw Dean turn again and regard his brother curiously.

“I don’t see what’s funny,” she hissed at Marcus.

The effort he made to control the curve of his mouth belied any implicit apology. “You just reminded me so much of the way you used to be as a kid.”

“Short-tempered?” she asked suspiciously.

Marcus shook his head. “You were such a little thing, but stubborn as a baby donkey. Loyal to a fault and aggressive in defense. No one could put you down. And woe betide anyone who attacked one of the twins.”

“A little monster.”

“Not at all. The loyalty may have been misguided quite often, but it’s an admirable trait, if irritating at times. And the aggression mellowed as you grew older.”

“I was pretty insecure when we arrived next door. I guess I was overcompensating.”

After her father’s death, her mother’s world had crumbled and she could hardly rouse herself to care for a bewildered and frightened six-year-old. Jenna’s father had been a farm worker trying to save money for his own herd when the tractor he was driving rolled down a hillside and killed him.

They’d had to move out to make room for her father’s replacement, and her mother had taken another cottage offered by a neighboring couple at a low rent for six months. “Until you decide what you’re going to do,” the wife said.

They didn’t realize that Karen, sunk in grief, was incapable of making decisions.

Jenna remembered the day she’d taken charge of her own life. Karen was standing with a butter knife in her hand, halfway through making Jenna’s school lunch, but had apparently forgotten what she was doing.

“The school bus will be here soon,” Jenna had told her impatiently. She’d had to go into Karen’s room that morning and wake her to get breakfast. “Mummy?”

Her mother seemed deaf. Jenna realized she was silently crying, tears dripping down her cheeks, oblivious to everything except her own pain.

It was the loneliest moment of Jenna’s short life. Lonelier than when she’d watched her father’s coffin lowered into the ground and dimly, frighteningly, known she would never see him again.

She took the knife gently in her small, capable fingers and said, “It’s all right, Mummy. I can do it myself.”

From then on she’d got her own breakfast and lunch, whether Karen was up or not, and caught the school bus on time every day.

After the six months were up, they moved to a dispirited little town that had once had a dairy factory and was now struggling to keep any population because the factory had closed and there was no work. But rent was cheap.

There was a new school too and Jenna, starting in the middle of a term, was an outsider. She suffered loneliness and some mild bullying, learned to stand up for herself and in time made a few friends.

She patiently reminded her mother when it was time to do the washing or cook dinner, or if they needed more groceries. For two years she looked after her mother as much as her mother looked after her.

Then one day Karen looked about at where they were living as if she’d never seen it before and said, “We’re moving out of here.”

They’d shifted to a pleasant dormitory village where half the population commuted to Auckland every day. Where people grew roses and hibiscus and mowed the lawns every week. Mrs. Crossan welcomed them from over the fence and invited Jenna for a swim and to play with the twins.

She thought she’d loved them both from that very first day.

Chapter Four

“What’s the dreamy little smile about?” Marcus’s voice intruded on the memory.

“I was remembering when I met Dean and Katie.” Marcus must have been there in the background too, she supposed. But she’d naturally been more interested in the twins, who were her own age.

“That accounts for it,” Marcus said dryly.

She recalled only a day full of sunshine and childish laughter, playing tag across the green grass and climbing into the wide, cradling branches of the old puriri, swinging thrillingly back to earth by way of the sturdy rope that hung from it. And her mother looking almost relaxed, acting like the mother she had been two years ago, smiling as she spoke with Mrs. Crossan and watched the children splash about in the pool.

Marcus’s voice interrupted again. “Losing a youthful dream isn’t the end of the world. One day you’ll find it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Is that how it was with you?”

When he didn’t answer, frowning as though at a loss to know what she meant, she reminded him, “You told Katie your childhood sweetheart married someone else.”

“Oh, that.” He looked slightly rueful. “It just shows, you see. I’d completely forgotten.”

“I think you made it up,” she accused.

“Not at all. When I was eleven I was madly in love with a girl in my class. A plump child with apple cheeks, and braces on her teeth. I thought they were incredibly sexy.”

“Sexy?” Jenna nearly choked on her drink.

“Eleven-year-old boys tend to be into hardware. Airplanes, motorbikes and girls with a mouthful of gleaming metal.” He looked blandly solemn.

“Did you ever get to kiss her?”

“Hell, no. I worshipped her from afar—well, two desks away—for six months, then we left for different schools the following year and I never saw her again.”

“That’s sad.” Jenna made her eyes big and sorrowful.

“A tragedy,” Marcus agreed. “Romeo and Juliet all over again.”

Jenna giggled, startled that she still remembered how to laugh. The cold leaden lump that had taken the place of her heart began to melt around the edges.

Marcus was right, she would get over her shock and secret grief. Gratefully she touched his arm. “Thanks, Marcus.”

He shrugged her off, looking faintly irritated. Then, as if to make up for it, he took her hand, his fingers curving about hers in a strong clasp. “You’ve nothing to thank me for,” he said in a rather gravelly tone. “But I’m monopolizing you. We’d better circulate.”

Later in the evening Jenna was placing a platter of rock oysters garnished with lemon slices and parsley on the long supper table, when Marcus appeared at her side.

“Looks good,” he commented. “Shall I save you some before they all go?”

“Thanks.” Jenna threw him a smile and hurried back to the kitchen to help Katie and Mrs. Crossan.

When all the food was laid out and everyone milled about with filled plates, Marcus appeared again at her side, holding a large platter piled with savories, seafood and chicken wings.

“I thought we could share.” He leaned across her to snaffle paper napkins and forks from the table. Looking about, he added, “There’s nowhere to sit. Let’s take it outside.”

He led her into a broad passageway where a few people stood about with plates and forks. “Hold this for a minute.”

Jenna stood with the loaded plate as he disappeared, to return in a few minutes with an opened bottle of wine and two glasses.

Outside, light spilled from several windows, but the perimeter of the lawn was cool and dark. Marcus made unerringly for the big old puriri tree that had been there since before the house was built.

Guessing his objective, Jenna followed. She recalled when his father had built the wooden seat around the tree. And the summer that Marcus had helped the younger ones erect a rickety tree hut in its gnarled branches. They’d used it for several years before they became too old for games and it fell to pieces.

Jenna’s mother, helped by Mrs. Crossan’s practical brand of sympathy, had gradually emerged from the half world she’d been living in, fighting her way back to a normal life. She’d found a job working for a publishing house, first part-time in the office and later full-time in charge of distribution. Mrs. Crossan had promised to keep an eye on Jenna after school.

Once, when Jenna was thirteen, Karen had considered moving to a shoreside suburb closer to her office in Auckland, but when she suggested it Jenna had dissolved in angry tears. All the insecurities and misery of the two years after her father’s death rose to the surface in furious, door-slamming, hysterical protest. The subject was never mentioned again.

Jenna sat on the worn, smooth wood of the seat, placing the food between herself and Marcus. A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, and she rubbed at her arms.

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