A/N: You guys have all been so great! Thank you so much for your thoughtful comments. I am still in the middle of replying to them and will continue to do my best to reply to most, if not all. I really appreciate you all! Thanks to Faeyero for her thoughts on this chapter and letting me bounce my idea off of her. Though all grammar mistakes remain my own. XX, LDI as an addition to this Author's Note after a few comments: this is a marathon not a sprint...I would not have promised an M/M ending if that wasn't in the cards. And as someone who loves Mack, I don't think it's disloyal to enjoy him for what he is and what he has done and will do for Mary. Just trust me and trust the process...or maybe this story isn't for you.

Chapter Six

Richard publishes the story, on the second page (perhaps as a concession?), naming only Lady Mary Crawley, and leaving her mother and Anna out of it (perhaps as another concession?).

Richard never did like kicking a horse when she's down. After all, he experienced that very thing for much of his engagement to Lady Mary.

So the telegrams of warning and comfort fly over the Atlantic over two days time.

From Mary's mother: R published STOP Second page STOP I love you STOP Be happy STOP Mama

From Edith: I'm sorry STOP Really truly sorry STOP Never wanted this STOP Edith

From Sybil: Mama told STOP If you need a thing STOP Kisses from Baby Dec and me STOP Tom thinks sloppy stupid journalism

From Granny: My advice STOP Enjoy America STOP Yes you read this message correctly STOP Your dearest grandmother

From Isobel: You are a smart brave strong woman STOP Do not forget STOP Cousin Isobel

From Lavinia: Oh Mary STOP I loathe R STOP So very sorry STOP Wish I could help in some way STOP Lavinia

Even Papa sent something. Mary wonders how Mama told him and how he reacted. For one moment, she chews on her fingernail in worry. Then, she decides to enjoy his telegram for what it is, even if he did shout with rage when told: Find a cowboy STOP From the Middle West STOP Then come home STOP At least he will know how to ride STOP Papa

She takes all the telegrams and smoothes them. She places one on top of the other, the pieces of paper, the reminders that she is loved and is lovable, that each of these people love her uniquely. She watches the clock. She allows herself two minutes to miss them, to ache for Mama's tinny voice, those debates with Papa over a book, Sybil's sweetness, her baby nephew, Declan, Tom's passionate speeches, even arguments with Edith. Two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds to miss these pieces of her old life. Then she puts the telegrams in her desk drawer.

One piece of paper is already in the trash; one piece of her old life she does not allow herself one second to ache over, let alone one hundred and twenty seconds: Mary STOP What can I do to help STOP Wish you weren't so faraway STOP Maybe it is better after this for a time STOP Thinking of you STOP MC

She does not give the trash a second glance.

She has to go. She promised Mack that today they would go out on to the lake, before the summer ends, and the heat and sun fade away completely.

The small boat slides across the body of water, somewhere between the size of a pond and a lake, which Mary's Grandmother claims convinced Mary's Grandfather to purchase this house once upon a time. Mack rows with an effortlessness Mary envies, his jacket left on the grassy shore, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows to expose his even tanner forearms, the muscles tightening all up and down his arms. Though Mary wears a hat, she lifts her hand to shade her eyes as she continues their banter, "I am not going to that wedding."

He grins, one side of his smile sliding further up his cheek. Regardless, he does not stop rowing as he insists, "You have to go."

Mary is hot beneath her hat. Propriety wars with comfort. "Why?"

He goggles at her a bit. "It's the last event of the summer."

"That's not a reason," she argues. "I don't understand your obsession with summer."

"Well, for one, when summer is over, it's back to work for me," he says seriously which makes Mary laugh since he is the heir apparent to the ice cream fortune and for him, work is a luxury. He nudges her foot with his own but then gives into laughter as well.

"Try harder." She nudges his foot back.

He never stops rowing them. "Mary, even you have to admit there is something magical about summer...Endless possibilities?" He pauses. "Ice cream?"

Before this summer, she never thought of it that way. For Mary, this summer means allowing a part of herself to die away so that the rest of her can go on living and yes, in this row boat, with Mack, she can feel all the possibilities in the heat and shimmer of sun on the lake. She smiles at Mack. "Well, I did enjoy the ice cream."

He watches her and she meets his gaze. She knows that he knows that is as much as she will give him, can give him, even though she doesn't know what she would have done without his friendship and laughter this summer. It buoys her up as she treads water; keeping afloat grows easier. But she can only tell him that she enjoyed the ice cream.

"So the wedding." He stops looking at her to gaze at the horizon. "All of our friends will be there."

"All your friends will be there," she retorts. "They don't like me." They don't like her, at least all the girls, because Mack is their favorite and they believe Mary must have designs on him. How could she not when all of them do? They envy the easiness of her friendship with Mack and cannot take it for what it is, believing something much deeper and complicated than friendship is between the two of them. Mack knows this as well as her. He may laugh at social conventions but he isn't without intuition.

"Mary," Mack pleads, his brown eyes adorable. "Come to the wedding."

She removes her hat from her head, smooths her hair back from her face. "Why is this so important to you?"

For the first time, Mack looks uncomfortable. He stops rowing, as if the rhythm of the whole endeavor is off, only to begin again. "Well, it will be fun...and as your friend, Mary Jo, I have to be an advocate for more fun in your life."

She rolls her eyes and chooses not to address his hideous nickname for her. "Be serious, Mack."

His rowing is haphazard at best now. "My family...they will be there...I want them to meet you and I want you to meet them." As she asked, his voice is serious, though he does not meet her gaze which does not matter since Mary is avoiding looking at him as well. She feels as if they are on the edge of the something very important, something she cannot name and cannot face, something inevitable, something scary.

"Why do you want me to meet your family?" Her voice catches a bit in her throat. She is used to laughing with Mack, dipping her finger in strawberry ice cream and wiping it on his nose, making fun of his ties, throwing mock tantrums at the name Mary Jo. It is so easy to be with him. It is so easy to be a Mary who laughs often, who laughs so hard and so often, her belly aches as she falls asleep at dinner. This feels so different.

"Well, you know my sister. She's a huge anglophile and has been begging to meet you. She thinks life is a Jane Austen novel–" When he sees Mary's face, he stops. He stops speaking, stops trying to make a joke of it, stops rowing.

"Mack."

He starts over. "Because...this summer...you became my best friend and I want you to know them and I want them to know you."

The edge of this something grows closer. Mary's heart skitters backwards away from it. "As your friend."

"As my friend." He agrees, nodding, before jumping up to stand, the boat tilting back and forth as they watch one of the oars float away from them.

Her voice is shrill and girlish and she does not care. "If you tip this boat, I will kill you, Mackenzie. Did you hear me? Kill you."

"I heard you." He waves a hand at her. "I think everyone on the coast heard you. I lost the oar; what do you want me to do, row us in a circle?"

"I want you to get that oar."

"Well, Lady Mary Jo," he laughs at her, helpless against it, against her. His face creases into a smile and the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes appear. While usually charming, Mary is not charmed by his expression this time. "How do you suggest I do that?"

She holds her arms over her chest, in deference to the laugh that wants to bubble out of her own throat. She knows she is being ridiculous. The difference between Mack and everyone else in her life is that not only does Mack know she is being ridiculous, he knows that she knows as well. He has unique leverage. It's difficult for her to speak with a straight face: "I suggest you take a swim."

He laughs some more. "You aren't serious. This lake is disgusting."

She bites the inside of her cheek. "Well, if you like your shoes you can remove them before you go after the oar, but for propriety's sake, you'll have to keep the rest on."

"I didn't think proper ladies could even speak of men's clothing," he taunts her, leaning forward.

She takes his chin in her hands and pushes his face away, making the boat rock, as they both laugh."You have one oar, Mack. Get in the water." She starts to giggle, reaching to take his single oar from him. He holds it out of her reach.

"I'm not getting in the water." Gently, he shoves her away while she continues to giggle.

"Then we'll just stay out here forever, will we?"

"I'm thinking." Indeed, his brow creases which makes Mary laugh harder. A serious Mackenzie. What could be more funny.

"You're being ridiculous," she insists. "Give me the oar. I'll hold it while you jump in." She is laughing so hard, she would like to hold her belly and yet she reaches out towards him with shaking hands to grapple for the oar. He laughs with her as he argues but with a quick push forward she is able to get her hands on part of the wooden oar. She feels a single second of triumph, Mack's hand on her waist, her nose brushing the skin of his neck, before the boat tips over completely.

They are dripping, wet from head to toe as they walk towards the house. Mary's hair is a disaster. Mack's shirt is plastered to his skin. Their shoes both make squelching noises. "I was serious, you know," Mary tells him. "I now have to kill you."

"You can kill me after the wedding," he agrees as he grins and swings his arm around her shoulders and neck in what can only be called a friendly way. She has long since grown used to the way he touches her as a friend and nothing more, or as used to it as she will ever be.

"After the damn wedding," she tells him.

"Oh, it's serious. Mary Jo is cursing..."

"You know," she informs him, "At a dinner party, I once compared myself to Andromeda."

He laughs until he is bent over and she bends as well since his arm is still around her neck. For some reason, she loves that he laughs at her, that she is funny to him, instead of serious, or sad, or lonely. He makes her feel very young, very happy. "Only you, Mary. So, what does that make me in this lake scenario? The Sea Monster or Perseus?"

"You certainly smell like a sea monster," she retorts with too much dignity and her nose in the air. They collapse together in a fit of giggles, their clothes already drying in the sun.

A/N: Sooo...what do you think? Dying to know.