The car, a dark-colored, mid-sized model, was waiting just outside the terminal – directly beside a no-parking sign – with its lights on and the engine running. Mack opened the back door and Wendy strapped the baby's safety seat into place. All the warmth seemed to be sucked out of the car in the few moments the door was open, so she left the extra blanket snuggled around the seat.
The car swerved almost sideways as Mack pulled into the traffic lane.
Wendy bit back a shriek. "Didn't you say something about being in control?"
"It's slick right here because of all the traffic. The highway is all right."
She swallowed hard. I've put myself and that precious baby into the hands of a maniac, she thought. "How can you know that?"
"I've been out on it already."
She was glad he'd tried it out; perhaps he wasn't quite as much the daredevil as she'd been starting to think. On the other hand, if it had been worse than he expected and he'd had a wreck, she and the baby would still be sitting in the terminal, not even aware of what had happened.
But he hadn't, she reminded herself, so there was no point in fretting over it.
"This is nicer than the average rental car," she said, trying to be cheerful. It was almost a sporty model, the seats were leather, and she'd swear it had gauges she'd never seen anywhere before.
"It's not a rental. I bought it."
"You – what?" Her voice was faint.
"It's Christmas and all the rental cars were already out. So I hitched a ride into town and bought one."
"You just bought... Never mind." If she had needed an illustration of the gap between them – of the difference between the kind of upbringing Rory had had for the past few months and what she would have for the rest of her life – this was the most effective one Wendy could think of. It was more than just a measure of his desperation to get home, that was certain.
"It's not new, of course," he added.
As if that was likely to make her feel differently.
She released her seat belt and turned around for a minute to unwrap Rory's blanket; the car was warming up fast now that they were on the road. "How far are we from Chicago?"
"Two hours under normal driving conditions. Probably four or more, with the roads like this." Mack's hands lay loosely across the steering wheel, and he didn't take his eyes off the highway. "I wish you'd stay belted up, just in case."
"Sure." She snapped her seatbelt back in place, but she couldn't resist saying, "I thought you told me this drive was perfectly safe."
"I'm not foolhardy."
Traffic was light, and it was moving slowly. The first time Wendy saw a car abandoned in the ditch she turned wide eyes on Mack.
He shook his head. "Somebody panicked, that's all. Started to slide, slammed on the brakes and ended up in the ditch. It's not hard to do." He glanced at her. "And it's not hard to avoid, either. You don't think I'd take chances with precious cargo, do you?"
She turned her head to look at the sleeping baby. "Not exactly, but..."
"The papers in my briefcase are probably worth half a million bucks."
But she saw the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before she had a chance to be annoyed.
The miles inched by, and the hours crept. Wendy tried not to ask Mack about their progress; instead, she watched for road signs and kept tabs as the distance to Chicago edged downward with each town they passed.
"You're awfully quiet," he said.
"I thought you were concentrating."
"I'd rather have something to distract me."
She began to talk about whatever came to mind. She told him about movies she'd like to see, and books she'd enjoyed, and asked him about his favorites. Two hours went by, then three. Dull gray twilight had long since faded into evening, but the night was not as dark as she had expected, even when there was no town near. Light from any source caught against millions of snowflakes and reflected, and so at times it hardly seemed to be night at all.
Sometimes, in the lulls of conversation, the only sound was the steady, hypnotic thwack of the windshield wipers, industriously keeping the glass clear. Four hours – he'd hoped to be in the city by then, but the road signs told a different tale. Still, slow as it was, they were making progress.
The car was very warm for Rory's sake, and after a while Wendy began to feel sleepy. That was dangerous, she knew. It wasn't any problem if she napped, but if Mack were to doze off...
She started to talk again, determinedly, and after a while, when his easy answers had helped her feel more relaxed, she asked if there was anything she ought to know before they arrived at his parents' home.
He shrugged. "You want to know what to expect? Normally we have rafts of people, but it'll be a bit subdued this year. Just the family."
With Marissa so recently gone, that was no surprise. "You and your parents," Wendy prompted.
"And my brothers, Mitch and John, and John's wife, Tessa. I think it'll be less formal than usual."
That wasn't a lot of comfort; Wendy wondered what he meant by less formal. But she didn't ask. No matter what his answer, it wouldn't change the contents of her suitcase. She'd just have to do the best she could with what she had. Maybe her new suit would do, if she substituted her cream-colored camisole for the blouse she usually wore. Had she put that camisole in, or left it in the pile on her bed?
"You did get the luggage?" she heard herself asking.
"No. They weren't unloading anything off the plane."
Wendy closed her eyes in pain. She didn't even have a change of underclothes; there hadn't been room left in the carry-on by the time she got all of Rory's necessities packed. Her trousers were rumpled from the long flight, and in the terminal Rory had spit up on the shoulder of her sweater.
"Oh, that's just great," she said wryly. "The only thing in the world which would make this whole affair worse is if you were bringing me home for your parents' inspection."
Mack glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "Now why should a kooky idea like that occur to you?"
Embarrassed heat stung her cheeks. What had made her say such a crazy thing? If she'd stopped to think for a moment... "I haven't the vaguest notion," she snapped. "Native optimism, I suppose – there's always something worse out there, and if I can find it, then I can pretend I'm not so bad off after all."
Mack considered. "I see your point."
Well, at least they'd agreed on that much. Wendy groped for something with which to change the subject. "Tell me about Marissa," she said finally.
"Why? You knew her. I hadn't seen her in a couple of years. I only forwarded her trust fund checks once a month, after Dad retired."
The crisp edge to his voice almost made Wendy back down, but she said stubbornly, "You've said some things about her – some very unflattering things. I just think you should explain them."
"Since she can't defend herself? I didn't hate my little sister, Wendy, if that's what you're wondering. I just saw her more clearly than most people did, that's all."
"Tell me about it." He looked doubtful, and she added, softly, "Please?"
"Marissa was beautiful, spoiled, and self-centered. She wasn't evil, but she was manipulative and cold and calculating."
Wendy frowned, trying to fit that picture into what she knew of Marissa. The woman had been beautiful, Mack was correct about that. And spoiled and self-centered – well, yes, that was true enough, but weren't most young people, to some extent?
As for manipulative, cold and calculating... Had Marissa changed from the time Mack had last seen her until she met Wendy? Or had she hidden herself so well that Wendy hadn't seen those traits?
On the other hand, why was she assuming that Mack was right?
"Perhaps it wasn't entirely her fault," he went on thoughtfully. "When a longed-for girl arrives after three boys – well, from the day she was born she was treated like a princess."
"Is that what she meant?" Wendy said, almost to herself.
"Since I don't know what she told you, I haven't any idea what she meant."
She hadn't intended him to hear that, but she could hardly deny what she'd said. "She didn't want your parents to have Rory because she said they'd ruin her, too." She put the emphasis on the last word, as Marissa had.