The Last Man on Earth Read online

  Or at least he thought he did, until Madelyn.

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed as he thought of her.

  Madelyn.

  She seemed to have taken root inside his mind, and he couldn’t force her out no matter how he tried. And believe it, he’d tried and tried hard.

  In less than a week she would be another man’s wife. He couldn’t get that out of his mind either.

  A familiar ache swelled in the vicinity of his heart. He ignored it as he watched another cluster of guests, decked out in suits and ties and dresses, enter the church—every one of them a stranger.

  He wasn’t surprised. He’d never known his mother’s family, respectable, middle-class citizens that they were. Uptight prigs, his father had called them.

  As the story went, they’d cut their daughter off completely the day she’d announced at sixteen that she was pregnant and planned to marry the baby’s father, Luke Douglas, a common boy of whom her parents did not approve. To Zack’s knowledge, it was a breach that had never been healed.

  As for the Douglas side, she’d had even less cause to keep up with them, not after running out on her husband and kids the way she had.

  His lips curled into a cynical half smile and he shook his head at his own folly. He’d spent the better part of his adult life trying to avoid the woman. So what on earth was he doing here today at her wedding?

  He sat in the car for another fifteen minutes before he climbed out into the humid midday winter heat, slamming the door behind him.

  The service was already under way as he slid into a pew in the rear of the church.

  At least she’d had the taste not to wear white, Zack thought. The light blue, knee-length dress she wore was an attractive choice for a bride of her years and dubious marital history.

  The groom, from what Zack could tell, seemed a harmless sort, balding, with a slight middle-age paunch and thick glasses that made his eyes look too large for his face. No doubt the poor schmuck had a fat bank account and the promise of more to come, meeting his mother’s number one requirement in a mate.

  Zack had always assumed that particular shortcoming was one of the chief reasons why his own father had never measured up. What he’d never been able to reconcile was why she’d stayed as long as she had. Eleven years in one place was a long time for a woman of Georgia Douglas’s habits and tastes. Correction: Georgia Steadman, now that the vows had been said—assuming he remembered the name on the invitation correctly.

  The church, located near the shore, boasted an extensive flower garden and its own private stretch of beach. Arrangements had been made to hold the reception there on its grounds. A magnificent magnolia tree dominated the garden, towering high and wide, a few silky white petals fallen from its branches scattered across the redbrick courtyard.

  Zack allowed the honeyed scent of the tree to linger in his nostrils for an extra moment as he stepped outside. He’d have a beer, he decided, or whatever alcoholic concoction they were serving; then he’d be on his way.

  “Zack? Is that you?”

  He turned his head to the right, and there she stood, as beautiful and bloodless as ever, the bride herself. He wished he already had his hands on that drink.

  “It really is you,” she declared, the heels of her dyed-to-match shoes clicking against the bricks as she rushed to greet him. “You came. I don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t much believe it myself,” he muttered, avoiding the embrace she tried to press upon him. He saw her stiffen, then smile, as he drew back, pretending she hadn’t noticed his withdrawal.

  “Were you here in time for the ceremony?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I drove over from Sanibel Island. I’ve been here vacationing for the last few days.” He didn’t want her to think he’d come all this way solely on her account. “I suppose I ought to offer best wishes. Congratulations, Georgia; maybe this time it’ll last.”

  The warmth of her smile dipped a degree or two, but again she recovered rapidly. She’d long since given up correcting him for using her first name. “I know it will. Harold’s a wonderful man and I’m lucky to have found him. You must come and meet him. It looks like he’s catching up with some friends right now, though.” She paused. “Beth isn’t with you by any chance?”

  “No,” he said, his eyes hardening in grim suspicion. “You didn’t invite her, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t invite her. You can relax, Zack. I haven’t had any contact with your sister, exactly as we agreed.” She sighed. “Frankly, I’m surprised to see you, especially since you don’t seem terribly happy to be here. Why did you come?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Probably for the same reason you sent the invitation to me. Curiosity. Beyond that, I haven’t a clue.”

  “I sent the invitation to you because you’re my son.”

  “A fact you’ve made a career forgetting whenever it’s suited your purpose.”

  She flushed. “This is my wedding day. I’d hoped, at the very least, that we could put aside the bitterness for a few hours and be a family.”

  “Since when were we ever a family? You’re right, though; this is no occasion for arguments. I should leave.”

  “No.” She put out a hand, catching him on the shoulder. “Don’t go. I want you to stay. Come on, you must be hungry. Men are always hungry.”

  After a moment of indecision, he relented. “I missed lunch. I suppose I could eat, as long as it’s more than finger sandwiches.”

  “There’s a whole roast beef ready to be carved, and mounds of steamed shrimp. Will that do? You used to love roast beef.”

  He still loved roast beef, and shrimp, although there’d rarely been money for either one when he was a child. “Sounds okay.”

  She settled him at the buffet table, departing only after she’d made him promise not to leave until he’d met his new stepfather. Zack kept from rolling his eyes at that thought. He could hardly wait.

  Soon she drifted off to circulate and accept best wishes from the fifty or so guests in attendance, stepping into the part of gracious bride with the dignified ease of a queen. If only they knew the truth about her. He wondered if Harold did.

  Resentful and irritated, he helped himself to generous servings of both entrées, pinning the man carving the roast with a hard eye when the guy hesitated over serving him an extra large portion. In no mood for company, Zack found an empty table and sat down to eat.

  As his hunger lessened, so did the rougher edges of his bad mood. That was when he began to watch Georgia and her new husband.

  It could all be an act, he decided, and very probably was, but as she stood next to Harold, laughing and chatting, dancing the traditional dance, Zack glimpsed a difference in her, a softness around the eyes that he’d never seen before. It made him wonder, as incredible as the idea might be, if she actually loved the poor sap.

  The fact that Harold adored her was more than obvious.

  Zack watched the pair of them clown for their audience as they cut the cake, gleefully mashing slices into each other’s faces. Nah, he reminded himself, his mother loved only one person, and that person was her. He’d be an idiot to ever believe otherwise.

  Still, she was growing older; there was no denying that fact, despite all the extraordinary measures she used to stave off the inevitable.

  On the verge of fifty, she could still pass for thirty-five in the right light. But the clock kept right on ticking, and she wouldn’t be able to hold back its effects for much longer. Maybe it was more than age. Maybe she was afraid she might end up alone. Was that why she kept finding men to marry? He’d always thought it was the money, but perhaps it was fear—and the money.

  Old and alone.

  Madelyn had talked about that, wanting to find someone to spend her life with. Someone who wouldn’t mind th
e inevitable lines on your face or a little tremor in your hand when you reached up to push back a stray wisp of white.

  He imagined Madelyn white haired and frail, old, and knew he wouldn’t mind.

  “Zack? I’d like you to meet Harold.” His mother walked forward with her new husband. “Darling, this is my son, Zack Douglas.”

  Manners kicking in, Zack stood, towering over the shorter, older man. He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Same here,” Harold declared, taking his hand in a firm, exuberant shake. “When Georgie told me her boy’d shown up, I didn’t expect a full-grown man like you. Of course, I should have, if I’d done the math. Then again, she looks so young I never imagined.” He beamed fondly over at her. “You must have been a baby yourself when you had him.”

  “Very nearly,” she murmured, lips curving.

  Harold angled his chin toward Zack. “You’ve got the look of her, though, no doubt. Especially around the eyes.”

  What else did he have of her? Zack thought sourly. Is that why he’d come here? To prove to himself that he and his mother were nothing alike? Or to prove that they were?

  “So what business are you in?” Harold inquired.

  “Advertising. I’m an art director with Fielding and Simmons.”

  “Oh, sounds impressive. Big firm?”

  “Big enough.”

  “Here in Florida?”

  “No, New York. I came south to enjoy a warm holiday . . . and for the wedding,” he added, oddly reluctant to appear rude in front of the other man. “What about you, sir? What keeps you occupied?”

  “No ‘sirs’ here; that’s a name for old stiffs and generals. Call me Harold.”

  “All right, Harold.”

  “Well, happens I’m in dry cleaning. Surprised your mom didn’t mention it to you. I’ve managed to build up quite a respectable little line of stores over the years. Yes, indeed, a very respectable line of stores. Fifteen of them now, scattered here and there around these parts. If you’ve got any laundry stacked up that needs doing, you swing by one of my shops, and we’ll take care of you fast and on the house.”

  “That’s very generous, and I’d be pleased to accept if I wasn’t headed home tomorrow.” Actually he’d been planning to stay another three days. When had he suddenly changed his mind?

  “Oh well, next trip, then. You come down and stay with us. Georgie and I, we’ll show you the sights, won’t we, Georgie?” Harold tossed an arm around her shoulders and gave a jovial squeeze.

  “Of course,” she replied smoothly, “that would be lovely.”

  For a moment, Zack met her eyes, recognizing the same translucent green that stared back at him every time he looked in a mirror. Was it wistful resignation he read in hers now? He couldn’t be sure.

  Georgia broke eye contact, then turned to straighten her husband’s tie, giving his chest a gentle pat. “I’m just going to visit with Zack another minute or two; then I think we need to start saying our good-byes. Otherwise, we’ll miss our plane.”

  Harold glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist. “Oh, you’re right, and planes don’t wait. Honeymoon in Aspen,” he volunteered. “This one wants snow for Christmas. Great to meet you, Zack.”

  “Great to meet you, Harold,” he said, surprised to actually mean it. They exchanged one more handshake; then the groom strolled away.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He lifted a single dark brow. “For what?”

  “For Harold. For being so decent to him. It was kind.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be kind. I simply had no reason not to be decent . . . to Harold.”

  “Touché.” She sighed. “Well, I hope you got what you came for today. And I hope things work out between you and whoever this woman is who’s set you to brooding.”

  “What makes you say I’m brooding? I don’t recall mentioning any woman,” he said, brows locking in a fearsome scowl.

  “You didn’t have to mention her.” Her smile held a wisdom ages old. “I may not have been much of a mother, I admit, but I am one hell of a woman, a woman who knows men. And you, my dear son, are a man with woman trouble written all over him.”

  “Now I suppose I’m expected to confide in you? Ask for your precious hallowed motherly advice?” he said sarcastically.

  “No, and even if you did, I wouldn’t give you any. I’ve made too many mistakes in my life to hand out advice. Some of those mistakes I regret, a few deeply and for the rest of my life. Others I’ve come to accept as lessons well learned. I have only one comment, one question. If you let this woman go, this one you obviously love, will you look back and see her loss as a lesson learned or as a lifetime regret?”

  For a moment he couldn’t speak, aware of the funny little pain that pinged inside his chest whenever he thought of Madelyn.

  Impatient, Georgia twitched her fingers as if longing for a cigarette. “It’s been interesting to see you, Zack, and I’m truly glad you came to my wedding. Of course, I know you won’t, but give your sister my love. And take care of yourself. I’ll drop you a postcard sometime.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I just heard, and you don’t have to say a word.” Peg stalked into Madelyn’s office, as ruffled as a mother hen whose favorite chick has been slighted by the other barnyard fowl.

  “I’m taking you to lunch right now,” she continued. “A long lunch, to revive your spirits. I already called the girls and they’re going to meet us at the restaurant. And if management doesn’t approve of us taking a few much-needed extra minutes, well, they can stick it up their pipes and smoke it.”

  “I believe the phrase is ‘stick it in their pipes,’” Madelyn said. “And you know smoking’s against company policy, at least inside the building.”

  “How can you joke? You must be furious. Devastated. I know I would be, especially after all the hard work you’ve put in, especially losing out to him.”

  “It isn’t what you think—”

  “Of course it’s what I think. What else could it be? You’re very brave, trying to put such a good face on it, but there’s no disguising the truth. As if it isn’t bad enough their handing the entire Giatta account back to Zack, but then to promote him on top of it. Oh, Madelyn, how dreadful for you. I’m really sorry. You deserve better.” She tapped a carefully filed, pale pink nail against the leg of her slim black pantsuit. “And to think I invited him to my wedding. Makes me feel like a traitor.”

  “Thanks for the support, but it isn’t necessary, really. You shouldn’t blame Zack. The decision wasn’t up to him.”

  “I suppose not, but—”

  “Giatta was returned to him, but they offered the promotion to me. I declined it.”

  “You what?” Peg squeaked, loudly enough to turn the heads of two suits from accounting who were passing in the hall. She waited until they walked on. “I couldn’t have heard you right. Repeat that, please.”

  “They offered me the promotion—senior art director—but I turned it down.”

  Peg’s mouth dropped open. “Why? It’s everything you’ve dreamed of for the past five years. Everything you’ve worked for, and now you’re passing on it? I don’t understand.”

  “I haven’t wanted to tell you. I know you’ll be sad, maybe even angry, and it’s been a difficult decision to make, but, well, I’ve . . . I’ve decided to leave the company. I’m quitting. It’s the right thing to do. I resigned this morning.”

  “Now I need to sit down.” Peg sat, hard.

  Madelyn looked away and gazed out the window as she searched for a way to explain, one that wouldn’t sound like a complete lie, even if it was.

  She sighed and turned back. “It’s time for me to move on, try new opportunities, test my options. I’m getting married in a few days. This seems like a good time to make a new start.”

  “But
why would you want to jump ship? Especially now. Is it James? Is he making you quit?”

  “No, of course he isn’t making me quit. He wants me to do whatever makes me happy. But I have to admit, he’s offered to back me financially, to help me start my own firm. It’s a great opportunity, one I think I’ll be damned good at. Give me a few months and I’ll be calling you with an offer to defect and come work for me.”

  “If you do, I’ll be there in a heartbeat—you know that. I could probably talk Todd into coming on board too.” Sober faced, Peg studied her, a frown lining the smooth skin of her forehead. “And there’s nothing else?”

  “No, of course not.” Peg’s concern and doubt shone in her eyes, as transparent as glass.

  Madelyn knew she needed to convince her friend that she was happy about her decision. Otherwise the prying might begin.

  She planted a big, exuberant smile on her face. “I’m really excited. Starting my own firm is going to be the best move I’ve ever made. And when the time comes and I decide to get pregnant, I won’t have to worry about putting someone like Larry into cardiac arrest over my impending maternity leave.”

  “You’re right about that,” Peg said with a laugh. “And you don’t mind? About Zack getting your promotion?”

  “A little, but they offered the job to me first, and knowing that is what’s important. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Mr. Douglas knows he came in second.” She tossed Peg a smug victory wink.

  “When are you leaving, then?”

  “Steady yourself for another shock. Tomorrow’s my last day. With Christmas and the honeymoon, it seemed best.”

  “Lord, Madelyn, when you heap it on, you really heap it on. Well, Suzy and Linda are holding a table for us and we’re late. I guess our commiseration lunch will have to be a going-away party.”

  • • •

  At midmorning on Christmas Eve, Zack walked into the employee lounge on the slim chance he might find a home-baked treat or two that some benevolent soul had brought in to share with the rest of the staff. He’d missed breakfast this morning and hunger was whittling a hole in his belly.