My Dearest Mackenzie

Chapter One

My Dearest Mackenzie—

If you’re reading this…well then, you know. I’ve gone and crossed over to the dark side.

I always was a fan of those movies…remember when you were younger, and we went to see them in the theaters? Of course you do!

I know you’re probably upset with me, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the melanoma. Truly.

One day I was fine, and the next, I was dying. Honestly, I didn’t believe Dr. Hall at first. And then I didn’t want to bother anyone. I’ve always felt life is for the living, and there was no reason to interrupt everyone’s regularly scheduled programming with sadness and worry.

There’s nothing more to say now (because I’m gone).

My one hope is that you won’t forget me. Please. I’m rambling, but one thing is for certain: I never imagined leaving you this soon. When your grandpa had a heart attack when you were ten, I figured I’d be a widow for a long time, watching you grow older, fall in love, and maybe bring a little one into the world yourself. I always believed I’d live to be a great-grandmother!

Now that I’m gone, I want you to think about how I made you soup when you were sick or homemade fried chicken fingers when you were sad. It was a labor of love, and I hope you bring the same sort of compassion to your own life and those who you hold close.

Remember going to an R-rated movie when your dad wouldn’t let you see one? That was exhilarating and the type of excitement you should assign to everyday doldrums.

Bend the rules, my dearest. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do something.

As I write this, I don’t know what it’s like up in the sky, but if it’s possible to miss something or someone, you can be sure I miss you the most.

You, my dear grandson, were the bright spot in many of life’s bleary moments. Being your grandmother was my greatest treasure. Sure, I love your cousins, but you were my golden angel. My chance to do it all better, correct the mistakes I made with your dad. We all know Susie wasn’t meant to be molded, and I did the best I could with her, but your dad got caught up in something he shouldn’t have. I don’t mean your mom; I mean my baggage and me. It was me who haunted him. You won’t ever understand, but I promise you—it was me.

As for Samantha, I wish your mom well, but her missing out on life with you was a deficit she could never make up for in my mind. I wasn’t a substitute, but I’m sure glad I was there for you. These are the experiences, moments, and snippets I never would give up.

The past few years, I know you’ve been building your career and learning to be out on your own, and I only wish you could have spent more time at home, so I could watch. Although spreading your wings, launching new products, expanding the company, it’s all important, and I know you’re exceeding all expectations. Like when you surprised yourself as the kicker on your football team. Those guys were your brothers and extended family, and you did not disappoint them. It’s time to create a new family…

I made myself a big pot of mishy-mashy soup today, and I couldn’t help but think of you and wanted to remind you of a few things before I left this world.

Aren’t you glad I made you learn to read and write in cursive?

I love you.

Grammy Milly

I stared at the flowing words on the crinkled piece of paper, knowing every single letter without reading it. The cursive dribble had been living rent-free in my head and at the bottom of my sock drawer—like my football days—for the last twenty years. Leave it to Milly to haunt me today; it was just like her to captivate me when I least wanted it.

I’d not done a single thing on her list other than remember her and the moments we shared. About once a month, whether I tried to avoid it or not, I thought about what item she would be most upset about—my seeking out my good-for-nothing mother (repeatedly, until I gave it a permanent rest), or my total lack of caring when it came to finding love. Maybe the way I’d visited her tombstone a million times and carefully placed flowers? Or perhaps my notorious bachelor habits. I rarely flushed when I drained the dragon, and I lived on a rotation of delivery service meals. Sometimes I screwed the chef, but I tried not to. Why? Because I didn’t do leftovers. Sexy cooks aside, my grandmother meant well in her advice, but she had to know these sorts of things were unattainable for a man like me. None of this meant I was a bad guy or mean person. In fact, if anything, I was protecting my softie heart from a lifetime of disappointment.

At least that’s what I told my friend, Teddy, when he called, reminding me of the letter and his similar wishes…

Thankfully, my phone buzzed, and it wasn’t my aforementioned friend.

Knocking me out of my reverie, I was grateful for the distraction. I hit the button and accepted the call, hearing my name ring through the speaker.

“Mack!”

“What’s up, Corey?” It came out gruff, but a perpetual frog stuck in my throat left me hoarse throughout the day. My assistant knew this fun fact about me, and I was sure paid it no mind.

Corey also happened to be obsessive and easily excited on his worst day; when he was having a good day, his exuberance was obscene. My mood barely ever registered on him through his own jubilation.

“There is some woman here, Frances is her name. Wait, what? My apologies…”

I imagined him flapping his lips as fast as he could. Hallelujah, his work was impeccable.

Corey trailed off in the background, mumbling to the mysterious woman. “I’m here, sorry, Frankie is her name. And she’s here to see you, boss.”

“Hmmm? Did I miss an appointment?”

“No, no, you didn’t miss a thing. She doesn’t have one.”

Tugging my French cuffs down and inserting the cuff link in the holes while my phone sat on the dresser, I tried to remember if I knew a Frances or a Frankie.

“Do we have business with her?” I was already on my second cuff link, and five steps ahead in my day. We had a ribbon cutting at a new store, and afterward I was meeting with a bergamot supplier in town.

“She won’t say. All she said is she needs to see you. ‘The Mr. Mackenzie Miller’was how she referred to you.”

“Corey, I hope this isn’t some dramatic plan of yours to set me up.” I growled the last part into the phone. A few times over the last several years, Corey got it in his mind that I needed a happily-ever-after and added me to dating sites. “The last time, I fired you.”

“You were kidding. You couldn’t live without me. But, yes, yes, I still took you seriously.”

I could live without Corey, but it wasn’t worth the energy explaining that to my needy assistant.

“No, it’s not a fix-up. Frances, I mean Frankie, walked right in here this morning, somehow dusted right past security, sped into the elevators and straight up to the top floor, asking to see you.”

I could tell Corey lowered his voice and was attempting to be private, but imagined he wasn’t as stealthy as he thought he was.

Snagging my money clip off the top of my dresser, I shoved it in my pocket and walked out of my massive bedroom. The smell of coffee dragged me down the hall toward the kitchen.

“As you’re aware, I’m off to Westchester this morning for an opening there. The car is getting me here, and I won’t be back until lunchtime. And then I have meetings. So if Miss…what is this woman’s last name?”

Stealing a mug from the cabinet and pouring a healthy dose of coffee, I waited while Corey asked.

“Miss Will-Tell-You-When-She-Meets-You. Her words, not mine.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m forty-six and graying by the minute. I don’t have time for these games. Have her make an appointment. I think I’m booking for October.”

I disconnected the call without any further conversation spent on this ridiculous woman and what was more than likely Corey’s hijinks.

Double-checking my phone was in silent mode, I made sure it was June and laughed to myself. October was a long way off for Miss Will-Tell-You-When-She-Meets-You to wait.

Oh well.

As I climbed into the black SUV idling outside my building, I remembered the exact moment I’d received the call about my grandmother dying. I’d graduated from a very prominent business school—based on my own merit and not my family’s name—almost a year to the day, and I was working myself to the bone, climbing the ranks at a shitty, albeit huge cosmetics company, hoping my dad would let me come on board at the family business soon. At twenty-six, my only goal was proving myself worthy enough for my father, turning out better than my mom ever imagined, and being richer than anyone I knew. To me, money and notoriety and success were the ultimate companions. People became too messy, involving themselves where they were not wanted, and were largely unreliable. Other than one friend in college, who forced me under his wing, I’d had no one to lean on. Ever.

My dad had delivered the news about Milly as if it was the daily sales conference call. Those two always had beef, but my dad couldn’t run the business and raise me at the same time, so he leaned on my grandmother, allowing her involvement when it came to me.

Currently seated in the back of my chauffeured SUV, as we hit the highway my mind traveled back to Grammy’s funeral. Ironically, today was mostly about her. Tears no longer came when I thought of the feisty old lady who helped raise me. But on the day of her burial, I cried when I slipped into my car. I still drove myself back then—in the car gifted to me by my father.

Later that week, after the funeral, the lawyer who managed Milly’s estate handed me the infamous letter and access to a sizable trust. I would never forget my aunt, Susie, eyeing the envelope, and later asking me what it was. I’d replied, “Oh, nothing. Silly nothings,” when she’d asked, not admitting I’d welled up again reading it.

That same evening, over a double Lagavulin, I couldn’t help but think how Grammy handed out her advice without strings; I wondered why the trust wasn’t connected to my doing the tasks in her letter. Probably because she knew I wouldn’t ever follow through.

Now, in the present moment, at a godforsaken mall, I did the only thing I knew how to do when it came to my grandmother—honor her name. Here I was, dedicating another store to the woman. Carrying on her legacy was the best I could do. It was more than my aunt or dad ever did, so I considered it a win as I entered the mall with a squadron of magazine and newspaper journalists following me.

After the ribbon cutting and obligatory pictures, I stood in the hallway and admired the storefront.

“Hey, hey, Mr. Mackenzie, hey, Mr. Miller, excuse me.” A shorter blond with all the right curves and an even more fabulous smile yanked on my arm.

I wasn’t immune to advances, but this didn’t feel much like a come-on. More like a summons to stand in front of a jury. “I’m sorry, but a little space, please.” I spoke softly. Of course, this tiny female wasn’t an imminent risk to me, but I never wanted to be viewed as one to her. Closeness sometimes equaled threat, my Southern gentleman of a coach told us in college, and I’d taken it to heart. Somewhere deep in my dark soul, I was a gentleman.

The petite woman took a step backward, but then firmly planted herself and eyed me up and down. Her hair was ironed straight, the smallest curl starting to perk up by her ear, the telltale signs she’d blown out her waves. A small huff of breath released from her mouth before she spoke. “Mr. Miller,” she said as if this was a pertinent matter.

“Mack, not Mr. Miller. That was my dad. And honestly, never Mackenzie. Ever,” I corrected her, thinking this must be my infamous visitor from the morning. “Frances, I assume.” I felt my eyebrow raise.

“Frankie to almost everyone. Frances Burns.” She held out her hand.

I slid my hand in hers—the gesture meant to be professional, yet it felt more provocative than an invitation to jump into bed together. Something scintillating wafted between us, and I waved it away with my imagination. I didn’t mix business and pleasure.

“What can I do for you, Miss Burns?” I returned my hand to my side.

“Congratulations. I’m sorry to barge in on your party, but your assistant scheduled me for October, and that simply wasn’t going to work.”

“You seem to be barging into several places today. My office, the mall. Where’s next?”

A sliver of a smile crept up her face, and there were a few crinkles on the sides of her eyes. As I watched her chest rise and fall, I tried to calculate how old Frances Burns was. I’d put my money on thirty-eight…maybe -nine.

“Nowhere, thanks. I found what I was looking for…”

“Did you want to try the perfumery? I know they’re booked for a few weeks, but judging by your stalking tendencies, I could arrange for you to go. You know, so you don’t harass the manager.”

Milly’s Perfume Lounge was fully my concept, and if I was truly honest, my baby. I’d turned my family’s skin care line into the top of the luxury cosmetics totem pole, and then started adding beauty outposts in high-end malls and shopping areas. First was Silky Skin, and now Milly’s, whose fifth store was opening today in Westchester. My dad never believed in the idea all the way to his deathbed, but I wasn’t up for thinking about him today.

“No. I mean, it looks lovely, but that’s not what I came for. It seems you and I have mutual history, and—”

“Have we met?” I was starting to become equal parts intrigued and annoyed. I needed to get back to the city, but this woman had me mesmerized for no reason whatsoever.

“We haven’t met,” she said while scrunching her brow. “My grandpa recently died, and he left the world carrying a torch for your grandmother.”

Now I was beginning to think this woman was taking me for a fool, which I certainly was anything but.

“You mean, my grandmother, who this store behind me is named for?” I half turned, catching a glimpse of the Tiffany blue speckled exterior, the store name written in cursive across the top. It was meant to look whimsical and classy at the same time.

“Your grandma, Rose Miller, who, I know from Google, your family called Milly. But my grandfather referred to her as ‘my Rosie.’”

“Listen, Frances—Frankie—it’s been nice of you to find me, but I can promise you I never once heard anyone call my grandmother Rosie. In fact, she would’ve probably punched them in the jaw, let alone someone who added my before Rosie.”

I took a closer look at the woman in front of me, wearing a pencil skirt and coral-colored blouse. Her green eyes were carefully made up and lips a shade lighter than the silk in her top—hey, I worked in makeup. “Maybe on another day, a different time or place, we would have hit it off, but using my grandmother as bait is a firm no from me.” I turned to walk away, and I’ll give it to the peanut, she grabbed the fabric of my suit.

“Can’t you at least listen to me? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for weeks.”

I stared at where her manicured hand clasped onto my arm, a million retorts running through my head, including something about the cost of the suit. Then, a look in her eyes, something far-off or nostalgic, caught me and I sucked back any agitation.

“Why don’t we go to my car? And you can meet with me there and tell me about your grandfather and this Rosie theory. My driver, Alex, will be with us, so it’s safe.”

A visible sigh of relief flowed out of her chest, and I watched her fingers slide away from me. “I’m not worried about you. I do kickboxing.”

That was her response. Seriously, she did kickboxing.

All I could manage was a nod, and I started moving toward the exit.

Outside the mall, Alex had the SUV idling, and before he had a chance to get out I opened the door and slipped in to the far seat. “So you don’t have to slide,” I explained to my guest.

Frankie hoisted her tiny frame into the mammoth vehicle and sat in the seat next to me.

“Alex, this is Miss Burns. She has some information for me. Feel free to stay or go get a coffee. Frankie does kickboxing, so we are safe and sound.”

“Are we done with that joke?” Frankie asked me while half turning in her seat so she could meet my gaze. “I know you’re mocking me and I don’t appreciate it, soccer boy.”

“Football,” I corrected her.

“Only because you were the kicker thanks to your soccer skills, tough guy.”

She had me there. For the second time, all I could manage was a nod.

“The internet, sorry. I’ve been trying to find a connection to link me to you for a while.” She gave a halfhearted explanation for her information gathering.

“I’m thinking you couldn’t find one, so you went with harassment instead?”

I’d give it to the pint-sized blond. She didn’t back down, only shined a slow smile on me, and said, “It was necessary.”

A quiet beat passed between us, neither of us winning the showdown.

Alex took advantage of the peaceful moment and slipped out of the SUV.

“Look, I’m sorry about your grandfather. I don’t recognize the last name Burns. I’m sure he meant a lot to you. Nonetheless, I just don’t see how this connects us.” I decided to get this whole discussion over with, so onward it was. I ran a hand through my hair, noting it needed to be trimmed. I’d call my stylist to come over to the office this week.

“Thank you. He was a very kind man,” my new friend acknowledged. “His name was James Burns. Jimmy to all his friends, and Paps to family. My dad is James Jr., and I was supposed to be…wait for it…James the Third. Surprise…I was a girl! I was named Frances for my maternal grandmother, and called Frankie by my dad and Paps because I was the tomboy they always wanted.”

Despite being focused on her story and family history, I did take pause when she mentioned tomboy; she certainly didn’t look like any buddy of mine.

“Are you listening?” She was intuitive, I’d give her that.

“Yes. While I’m glad you felt the need to share, I’m not sure what your family tree has to do with me. I have my own. Do you want to know?” I was being snarky, but this all seemed a bit superfluous. “I’ll fill you in. My grandmother and grandfather, Rose and Harold Miller, gave birth to my dad, Jake Miller, and his sister, Susie. Jake married Samantha for a quick cup of coffee and had me. Samantha appropriately named me after her favorite soap opera star because that’s what women who don’t really have any emotional ties to their child do. She didn’t wait long to split. Most of that you can read on the internet, except for the splitting and soap opera bit. Those facts have mostly been scrubbed from my history. I’d appreciate you not sharing that little fact.”

She nodded, casting her gaze to the floorboard, her long eyelashes accentuated by a coat of mascara. The strange but fascinating woman appeared deep in thought, giving me pause. Not sure why I’d dumped all that information on her; sharing the history of my name was deeper than I went with anyone since Teddy, and he and I were teammates. It wasn’t the type of information I spread around freely, let alone with strangers.

Ha, Teddy…no one busted my balls like him. I hadn’t thought about the guy in a while. I made a mental note to reach out to him.

“Look,” Frances spoke, bringing her gaze to meet mine, “are you listening?”

“To your personal mission to resurrect your grandfather’s love affair? Only half—”

“None of this is easy for me to say. It’s clear your grandmother never mentioned my Paps, and that stings. Fact is, he spoke about her a lot. ‘Rosie, the one who got away…’”

Clearing my throat, I stopped her from going on. “This is nonsense. Did you hear me say my mother didn’t raise me? S.P.L.I.T. My grandmother stepped in, and she never once mentioned your Paps, as you call him. She was married to my grandfather and died never loving anyone else. If you want money or a payout, or I don’t know what, this isn’t the place to get it.”

“But—”

“I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle now.”

I felt a twinge in the back of my neck. It was the spot where stress always hit me, and I didn’t need this shit today. What I needed was a new bergamot supplier and a stiff cocktail, and now, a massage.

“It was nice meeting you, Ms. Burns, but our time is up. Again, I’m sorry about your grandfather.”

Her smile now a full-on frown, she opened the door and set one foot outside. “I have a few things I could show you.”

She half turned to look at me with her doe eyes, and I almost acquiesced, but I didn’t need any more deadbeats coming out of my past. I’d stuffed my mom firmly in the back of my mind, and this James or Jimmy dude wasn’t making an appearance in my world. “No thanks. Have a good day.”

Frances didn’t look back. With her loss of pride rippling off her, she stepped fully out of the SUV and shut the door in my face. There was an idiot born every day, and I wasn’t one. No way I was falling for a con.

Thank whoever was up there in the sky, Alex appeared out of thin air and got into the driver’s seat. Being the man I’d come to respect, he didn’t ask any questions.

On our way back to the city, I made another mental note to discuss boundaries with Corey. No more visitors or setups or pranks or whatever this blasphemy was…