Reflections of Yesterday Page 10

  “Used to.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference; you understand my point.” She broke from his grip and crossed her arms, staring bleakly over the water. Her voice was flat and emotionless when she spoke. “It’s time I went home.”

  Simon was silent on the drive to her apartment, and with each passing second Angie felt her confidence drain out of her. Simon was leaving, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to go. And at the same time, with the same heartbeat, with the same breath, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stay.

  Simon pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine. His hands tightened on the steering wheel before he turned and draped an arm over the back of her seat. “I’m not going to pressure you into something you don’t want. All I ask is for you to promise me you won’t make any decision while I’m away.”

  They were saying good-bye, at least for now. She was astonished at the wave of bittersweet nostalgia that bordered on sadness.

  Simon watched her intently. His face contained an uncharacteristic appeal that relaxed his jawline and faintly curved his mouth. She released a sigh of regret. He was, she mused, all the things a man should be.

  Slowly his mouth moved closer to hers. “Promise me, Angie,” he said softly. “Promise me you won’t make any decision about us when I’m not here.”

  Instinctively her arms reached for him, her lips parted to receive his kiss. Simon didn’t disappoint her. His kiss sent a jarring jolt through her.

  “Promise,” he whispered.

  “Simon.”

  His hand cupped the undersides of her breasts.

  “I promise,” she whispered, and the shock waves of his touch racked her.

  Seven

  Angie’s dreams were filled with Simon. He satiated her senses until she woke feeling warm, secure, and loved beyond measure. It was as though twelve years had been wiped out and she lay content in her bed, knowing Simon would come to her soon and take her to the clearing in the woods. Moisture formed tiny teardrops in the corners of her eyes and slowly spilled onto the pillowcase. When Simon had made love to her, it never failed to move Angie to tears. The experience had been so beautiful that she had cried with joy. Even the first time, when they’d both been innocent, it had been the most poignant experience of her life. Man hadn’t created the words to describe the tenderness of that first time. Angie had thought it would be awkward and painful. Instead they had shared a love so ideal, so exquisite, that tears had flowed freely down her cheeks. She had gazed up at Simon in the moonlight and discovered that his face was as moist as her own. They had cried from happiness, their hearts swelling with joy, knowing the love they shared was perfect. It didn’t matter what followed in her life, Angie would always treasure that first night in the woods with Simon. The thought of sharing that kind of experience with another man seemed foreign and wrong. No man could ever reach so deep inside her that he touched her soul. No man could ever love her the way Simon had.

  Wrapped in tranquillity, Angie pulled the sheet over her shoulder and snuggled into the warmth of her mattress. Simon loved her still, and together that love would overcome all the barriers that stretched between them like an impassable mountain range. Together they would forge a pass.

  Drop by drop, the dream drained from her consciousness, and reality intruded. Angie rolled onto her back and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Moisture pooled in her eyes and slid haphazardly down her face. Only these tears weren’t ones of joy. They had been born of heart-wrenching sadness. A love such as theirs was doomed to face more difficulties. But Angie had learned long ago that love didn’t make everything right. She stood to lose Glenn, and only heaven knew how her father would react. They’d talk soon and she’d find out. He hated the Canfields, his judgment tainted with the bitterness of his own weakness.

  The cost to Simon for loving her would be just as great. His family would never accept her.

  Tossing aside the covers, Angie climbed out of bed and reached for the phone. Glenn would want to talk.

  A half-hour later he was at her door with a white bag in tow. “Warm croissants,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Coffee?” She rubbed her hands together to chase off a sudden chill.

  “Please.”

  Glenn followed her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. The look he gave her was long and penetrating, as if he could surmise her feelings with an exaggerated glance. Angie tried to ignore the questions in his eyes. He would wait until she volunteered the information, preferring not to pressure her. Angie didn’t know how she could ever hurt a man as good as this one. And she was about to do exactly that.

  She set out two plates and delivered steaming mugs of coffee to the table, then took a seat. The white lines of strain about his eyes revealed how tense he was. Waiting for her to tell him what had happened was killing him by inches. Her heart lurched with sadness. He cared for her, and she was about to repay that devotion and patience by crushing him. With a concentrated effort, Angie carefully composed her words.

  “Simon and I had a chance to talk last night,” she began haltingly.

  “Good. I was hoping you would.” He blew into the mug before taking a sip.

  Angie stared into the black depths of her coffee. “We didn’t settle anything. Apparently his father is ill and he couldn’t stay.”

  “So he’s gone?”

  Angie nodded.

  “But not forgotten,” Glenn added.

  “I don’t know if I’d ever be able to forget Simon.”

  Glenn’s hand reached for hers and squeezed it reassuringly. “Angie, I’ve known that all along. I wouldn’t have insisted you see him otherwise.”

  Angie felt as if the weight of the world had come crashing down on her. “Why are you so good to me?” she pleaded in a low voice.

  Glenn chuckled and shook his head. “Do you honestly need to ask?”

  Angie swallowed, profoundly touched. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  His hand continued to squeeze hers. “Loving someone is a strange phenomenon. At least the way I feel about you has taken me by surprise. Your happiness is more important than my own. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to see you and Simon together again. The thought does funny things to my heart, if you want the truth. But I’d never stand in your way if you decided that you love him and want to share his life.”

  “Oh Glenn,” she murmured miserably, on the verge of tears. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “But I’m yours,” he whispered, lifting her fingertips to his lips and kissing them gently. “No matter what you decide, I’ll always be here for you.”

  A hundred fifty miles down the road, Simon stretched out his arms as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Within three hours he would be back in Groves Point. The six-hour drive would eat up most of the day, but he’d still have time to phone Angie once he arrived home. He felt seventeen all over again, happy and carefree. He had the world by the tail, and this time he wouldn’t let anyone destroy that happiness. Never again. Not after he’d realized just how much he loved her and always would.

  The road felt good beneath him. Everything felt good. The sun was shining and the birds chirped from their lofty perches. For the first time in a lot of years, Simon thought, he was ready to look at life head-on. There was time to appreciate the beauty of the world around him. He had Angie.

  When Simon pulled into the driveway, Prince was sleeping on the back steps, grateful to see him after spending the night with the housekeeper. Simon’s wheels spit up gravel, and he eased his foot onto the brake, coming to a stop. The sleek, black dog was eagerly wagging his tail in greeting. Simon paused only long enough to affectionately scratch the dog’s ears before rushing inside the house, taking the back steps two at a time.

  The phone number was in his pocket, and he dug it out with anxious fingers. Humming, he hit the number with his index finger, thinking that even the rhythm of her phone number had a musical appeal. He closed his eyes and waited for the soft sound
of her voice. Even after all these years it didn’t fail to affect him. Heavenly angels couldn’t sound more beautiful than Angie.

  After several rings Simon hung up, disappointed. He had to hear her voice again, just to know this inexplicable feeling was real and he hadn’t imagined it.

  Pulling a chair from the kitchen table, Simon straddled it and smiled. Bringing her the corsage the other night wasn’t a brilliant idea. Good grief, the woman owned a flower shop. But that wasn’t the point. He’d wanted to take them back to the days when she had been his and life had been about as perfect as anyone could expect. The minute she’d seen the flowers, those brilliant eyes of hers had softened and he’d known the time was right to take her in his arms. At first he’d tasted her resistance, but he hadn’t been persuaded by it. She had probably felt disloyal to Lambert, but she hadn’t held back from him for long. Simon’s spirits had soared, and he had realized that without much difficulty he could have taken her right then. Only the time was wrong and he had known it. No need to rush. She’d felt so soft in his arms, so right. Her body had responded to him as freely as if the years apart had never happened. Simon didn’t try to fool himself; he knew Angie hadn’t been pleased about that. Just as he had tasted her resistance, he had also been aware of her surprise. She hadn’t wanted to feel those things with him. She might even have been testing herself, thinking she would feel nothing when he held her. Instead it had been like throwing gasoline on a small fire. The years apart hadn’t dulled their bodies’ instinctive message to each other.

  Simon walked back down to his car and lifted the leather suitcase from the trunk. He deposited it in the bedroom, returned to the kitchen, and opened the cupboard. He should be famished, he realized, but a meal without Angie sitting across from him would always make him feel lonely now.

  On impulse, he tried her line again, holding the cell to his shoulder as he checked out the contents of the refrigerator.

  “Hello.”

  Angie’s soft voice caught him off guard. “Hello yourself,” he said, straightening. The refrigerator door made a clicking sound as it closed.

  “Simon?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Home.” She had the most beautiful voice. She was relaxed, and none of the apprehension he’d heard in their previous phone conversations was evident.

  “You must have driven like a madman.”

  “I got an early start.”

  She hesitated, and he could feel the tension crackle over the wire, as if she were freezing up again.

  “How was the drive?” she asked.

  “Fabulous. Thinking of you helped pass the time. I told myself I’d play it cool and call you sometime this week. Then I walked right into the house and reached for my cell. I’ve gone without you for twelve years and suddenly eight hours is more than I can take.”

  Now she did freeze up. Simon prayed that the day would come when he could speak freely to Angie. But for now he had to be patient.

  “Simon, please don’t. It’s difficult enough keeping everything straight in my head without you saying things like that.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “I … know, I thought about you, too.”

  “See,” he declared triumphantly. “You love me, Angie. When we’re apart, nothing is right. We were meant to be together.”

  She didn’t say anything for what seemed like an eternity. “Maybe.”

  This was wrong. He shouldn’t press her. He knew Lambert wouldn’t. The stockbroker would play his hand carefully and press his advantage when the time was right. Simon had too much at stake to bungle this now.

  “I’ll make the arrangements to come back next weekend. But this time I’ll fly in. That way we can have more time together.”

  “Okay. By then I should know what I’m going to do. It’s not fair to keep you dangling this way.”

  “I’d wait a lifetime for you, Angie, but don’t make me. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

  Simon hung up, feeling frustrated and irritated with himself. He had to be more patient. Their conversation had started out well, but as soon as he started relaying his feelings, she had become uncomfortable. In the future, he vowed, he’d be more careful about what he said.

  The late-afternoon sun burst through the window as Angie replaced the telephone receiver. Her heart had soared when she recognized Simon’s voice. Even when she’d spent most of the day with Glenn, her thoughts had been on Simon. The stupid dream that morning was the source of her discontent. Even now the memory had the power to disturb her.

  Angie clasped her clammy hands together in her lap and stared at the light fixture on the ceiling, taking in several long, even breaths while she tried to clear her thoughts. Her simple life had taken on major complications, and there seemed to be no one who could understand her dilemma.

  When her doorbell chimed, Angie didn’t need to guess who was on the other side. Clay almost always stopped in sometime on Sunday, usually around dinnertime.

  His look was sheepish as he smiled at his daughter. “Hello, Angelcake.” He was a tall man, thin and ungainly. His hair was mostly silver now and receded at the forehead to a sharp W at his hairline. The square jaw dominated his face.

  Angie stood on the tips of her toes to lightly kiss his cheek. “I wondered if you’d be coming today.”

  “Been busy.”

  “I know.” Clay was playing with a new band. For a while he had given up on his music, but his life seemed empty without it, and with Angie’s encouragement he had gone back to playing weekend gigs. Although he was involved with music again, Clay had lost his dreams, having long ago abandoned the idea of making it big. He was content to play in taverns and for an occasional wedding. Fewer of those these days.

  “I don’t suppose you got supper cooking. It’s been a powerful long time since I ate a home-cooked meal, you being gone last weekend and all.”

  Here it was. The perfect opportunity to tell Clay where she had been and whom she had seen, she thought. Her tongue swelled, and her throat went dry. The words refused to come.

  “I’ll check out the kitchen and see what I can come up with,” she said finally. Emotions were warring so fiercely inside of her that for a moment Angie felt like blurting out the truth. Instead she turned toward the kitchen and took the leftover ham from the refrigerator. She cut off thick slices and placed them in the frying pan.

  Chancing a look from the corner of her eye, Angie noticed that Clay was engrossed in the Sunday paper. Misery washed over her and she squeezed her eyes closed.

  “Dad.”

  “Yes?” He lowered the paper.

  “I … I saw …” She paused. “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Just spit it out, girl.”

  Angie braced herself for the backlash. “Simon Canfield was in Charleston this weekend.”

  Clay gave no outward appearance of having heard her. Angie knew by his look that he was struggling to control his response. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Did you see him?”

  Angie would have thought that much was obvious. “Yes, we had dinner.”

  With deceptive calmness, Clay laid the newspaper aside and stood. “You had dinner with that bastard after what he did to you?” A muscle leaped in his tightly clenched jaw.

  Angie’s fingers squeezed around the handle of the spatula, cutting off the blood supply to her fingers. She forced herself to relax and give the appearance of being calm. “Simon recently learned … we … we learned that the whole thing was a lie. Simon’s mother made up the part about Simon finding someone else. He—”

  “Of course he’d tell you that now.”

  “I believe him.”

  “Then you’re a fool.”

  Angie blanched and turned back to the stove, making a pretense of turning the meat and rearranging it in the pan. A brittle smile cracked her mouth. She hadn’t even turned on the burner yet.

  There had
been only a handful of times in her life that Clay had raised his voice to her. In some ways it was as if their roles had been switched. Oftentimes it was Angie who did the parenting. Clay was the one who needed protecting. Angie forgave him for his weaknesses and loved him for his strengths. He was a rogue who had claimed her mother’s heart thirty years ago. Carolyn Robinson had died when Angie was eleven, and Clay’s world had shattered. For months he had drifted from job to job like a lost soul seeking his place in eternity. It had been Angie who had held them together, finding excuses for the creditors, smiling calmly at the landlady with the promise that the rent money would be there on Friday. Angie was the one who had insisted they move to Groves Point and settle down. Clay was running, chasing rainbows with his music. They couldn’t eat dreams or pay the rent with good intentions. Clay had hated the job at the mill, but it had given them the stability they needed. Soon he had found other musicians and formed a small band. Within six months of settling on Oak Street, he was a semi-happy man. At least as happy as he would ever be without his beloved Carolyn.

  Clay’s attention was riveted on Angie. “What other foolish lies did he feed you?”

  “Dad, they weren’t lies.”

  “I thought I raised a smarter girl than this.”

  “Dad,” she protested. “I’ll be thirty years old this year. That’s old enough to know when someone’s telling the truth.”

  Clay snorted loudly and crossed his arms. “Darn fool, that’s what you are—a darn fool.”

  “Dad.” Angie couldn’t believe that this was her father talking to her like this. In many ways they were alike. All his life Clay Robinson had loved only one woman. As far as Angie knew, he’d lived the past eighteen years celibate.

  “I just hope to God that Glenn didn’t hear anything about you and that Canfield boy.”

  “He was the one who encouraged me to meet Simon. In fact, he insisted upon it.”

  “I can’t believe that.” Clay continued to pace the confined area of the kitchen in giant, power-filled strides that ate up the distance in two steps.