Reflections of Yesterday Read online

  There were similarities. In this clearing she was returning to a time long past and a love long dead. But from the way her nerves were reacting, nothing about this time and place had been forgotten. Every tree, every limb, was lovingly familiar.

  To someone who didn’t know these woods, the clearing would come as a surprise. The climb up the hill was steep, and just when she felt the need to pause and rest, the quiet meadow came into view. Even now, the simple beauty of this small lea caused her to stop and breathe in the morning mist. The uncomplicated elegance had been untouched by time. As she walked down the hill to the center, Angie felt like a child coming home after a long absence. The urge to hold out her arms and envelop this feeling was overwhelming. She wanted to swing around and sing, and laugh … and cry.

  It had been here that Simon had held her in his arms and assured her that heaven and earth would pass away, but his love wouldn’t. It had been here that they’d talked of the children to come and the huge house he’d planned to build her.

  She’d laughed when he’d taken a stick and drawn out the plans in the fertile ground. They’d have lots of bedrooms and a large kitchen with plenty of cupboard space. He’d build it himself, he claimed. And remembering the skill he had with wood, Angie didn’t doubt him.

  Then that night in June, he had brought her to their imaginary home, lifted her in his arms, and carried her over the threshold. Drunk with happiness, she’d looped her arms around his neck and kissed his face until he demanded she stop.

  “Just where are you taking me?” Angie had murmured, playfully nibbling on his earlobe with her teeth.

  “To the master bedroom, where else, Mrs. Canfield?”

  Angie tossed back her head and laughed. “Oh Simon, I do love you. I’ll make you the best wife in all of South Carolina.”

  “I’m holding you to that,” he said, and kissed her until she was weak with longing. His tenderness had brought tears to her eyes as he unbuttoned her blouse and slowly slipped it from her shoulders. Her long hair fell forward as she bowed her head. Tears filled her dusky, dark eyes.

  “Angie, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered. “I love you so much. It’s just …”

  “What?” Gently, he had brushed the hair from her face and kissed the corner of her eyes, stopping the flow of tears. “Angie, I’d do anything in the world for you.”

  “I’m being silly to cry over a piece of paper. I don’t need it. Not when I have you. But, Simon, do you think we’ll forget our anniversary?”

  “I’ll never forget anything about you, or this night,” he vowed. Straightening, he had taken the knife from his pocket and crossed the meadow to a huge pecan tree. It stood regal and proud, the tallest tree on the edge of the clearing. With painstaking effort he’d engraved the date and their names in the bark. The tree would stand for all time as their witness.

  A distant sound of a barking dog shook Angie from her reverie. The tree. That was what was missing, gone. Sadness overwhelmed her when she located the stump. From the look of it, the tree had been crudely chopped down years ago. Simon had done this, cutting her out of his world as ruthlessly as the ax had severed the life of the mighty pecan. It shouldn’t hurt this much, she told herself. But it did. The pain dug as deep as the day Simon’s mother had come to her with the money.

  Her legs felt as though they would no longer hold her upright, and she slumped down, sitting on the stump as the strength drained from her. Gone was the outrage, vanishing as quickly as it came. Her tears were those of sorrow for what they had lost. There was no more fight left in her. Simon had appointed himself judge and divorced her with an ax. If their marriage had been a document instead of bark, she at least would have had the advice of counsel. Without conscience he had cast their love aside as though it had no meaning.

  A dog barked again and the sound was noticeably closer. Brushing the hair from her forehead, Angie straightened. A black Labrador raced into the clearing, barking, his tail and ears alert.

  A sad smile touched Angie’s eyes. “Oh Blackie, is it really you?” Simon had trained the dog from a pup.

  The angry dog ignored her, intent only in voicing his discovery.

  “Blackie, don’t you remember me?” Crouched as she was, Angie held out her hand for him to smell. Blackie had once been her friend as well.

  “That isn’t Blackie.”

  Simon’s gruff voice from behind startled Angie. She sprang to her feet, her eyes wide and fearful as they fell on the rifle in his hands.

  “This is Prince, Blackie’s son.” He lowered the gun at his side so that the muzzle was angled toward the ground.

  Prince continued to voice his displeasure, but one sharp word from Simon silenced him.

  “What happened to Blackie?”

  “He died,” Simon answered starkly.

  “I’m sorry … I know how much you …”

  “You’re trespassing.”

  The sun was high enough now so that it invaded the clearing, its brightness peeking through the limbs and bathing the earth with a gentle glow.

  “Am I?” she asked, in a voice so soft it could barely be heard. “Once it was my home.”

  “Don’t try to make this place something it wasn’t.” A withdrawn look marked his features. His calm declaration chilled her more than angry words. “There was only one room here and that was the bedroom.”

  “Oh Simon,” she pleaded. “Don’t ruin that, too.”

  “Too?” His intense gray eyes narrowed and a bitter laugh escaped his throat. “If anything was ruined, it was your doing, Angie.”

  Their gazes clashed for a long moment, and Angie swallowed back an angry retort.

  “Look at us, treating each other this way.” She tucked the tips of her fingers into her jeans pockets and looked past him into the clearing. There had always been a special magic to this place, a calming reassurance she hadn’t found elsewhere, even in church. Here, the love they shared had sheltered and protected them from the influence of the outside world. “At one time we were best friends, and … and a lot more. There wasn’t anything we couldn’t share.”

  Simon tensed. “That was a long time ago.” Again bitterness coated his words.

  “I’ve hurt you, and, oh, dear Simon, I’m deeply sorry for that. But you need to realize that I was hurt, too. It nearly killed me to leave you and Groves Point.”

  “Did the money help soothe the pain?”

  Stinging tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, turning her hurt, questing gaze to him. She’d come to Groves Point to make peace with Simon, but he seemed intent on lashing out at her with a storehouse of twelve years’ resentment.

  The curve of his mouth quirked in a derisive frown. “Tears, Angie? Believe me, I’m too old and too wise for that female trick.”

  Her heart wanted to cry in anguish, but no sound came. Proudly, she lifted her trembling chin. “It’s taken me so long to come back. This place has haunted me all these years. But I never thought to find you so cold and bitter.” The hard lump in her throat caused her to swallow before continuing. “I’m sorry for you, Simon. Sorry for what you’ve become, but I can’t accept the blame.” Her gaze swept the meadow, and again she was soothed by its peacefulness.

  Turning away from him, she started down the steep slope toward her car. She felt Simon’s presence looming above her. Proud, bitter, hurtful … hurting. A part of her yearned to ease that pain, but she doubted that anything she could do would touch Simon now.

  Once inside the car Angie risked a look into the trees, but Simon and his dog were gone. Her hands gripped the steering wheel until the grooves made deep indentations into her palms. This wasn’t the way she’d wanted things to be. Deep in her heart she’d expected to find Simon married … and happy.

  The sudden need to escape was almost overwhelming. Glenn was right; she had needed to come back to Groves Point, but it wasn’t working out as either of them had anticipated.

  The turn of the car key pr
oduced a dull, grinding sound. Angie tried again. There shouldn’t be anything wrong, she thought. She’d driven there without a problem. Again she tried the ignition, but only a sickly coughing sound returned.

  “Oh great.” She slammed her fist against the steering wheel and groaned. She didn’t know a thing about the internal workings of a motor. Pulling back the hood release, she climbed out of the car. The hood was open and she inserted a finger to release it fully. A full three minutes later, her finger hurt and she had yet to loosen the hood latch.

  “What’s the problem?” Simon’s gaze impaled her, grim displeasure thinning his mouth.

  “My car won’t start.” She felt like an idiot, standing there massaging her finger.

  “Why not?”

  “Go ahead, car, tell me why you won’t start.” She turned and mockingly questioned the Ford. “How am I supposed to know? Believe me, Simon, I want out of here just as much as you want me gone.”

  A brittle smile cracked his mouth. “I sincerely doubt that. Here, let me take a look.” He handed the rifle to Angie. “Hold this.”

  Doing her best to disguise her uneasiness, Angie accepted the gun.

  “It isn’t loaded,” he said with his back to her, as he released the latch and lifted the hood. “Has this car been giving you problems?”

  “No. I drove from Charleston without a hitch.”

  “Charleston,” he repeated.

  “I live there now.”

  The hesitation was barely noticeable. “It’s a beautiful city.”

  Angie was holding her breath. This brief exchange was the first civil one she’d had with Simon. His dog was eyeing her again, his sleek ebony head tilted at a curious angle. Crouching down, Angie held out her hand to him a second time.

  “I remember your daddy,” she told him softly.

  The long, black tail began to move as his cold nose smelled her fingers.

  “How long have you had Prince?” Angie asked, more to carry the conversation than any desire to know the dog’s age.

  “Must be five, six years now.” Simon’s voice was muffled, his upper body folded over the side of the car. “I’m going to need a couple of tools.”

  “Can I get them for you?” Angie’s voice was faintly high in her eagerness to help. “Believe me, car problems were the last thing I expected.” She gave a small, tight laugh. “Truth be told, I was hoping to make a grand exit.”

  A hint of a smile came and went. “My tools are in the garage.”

  The house had to be a good quarter-mile down the gravel road.

  Simon’s gaze followed Angie’s. “You can wait here if you prefer.”

  “I’d like to come with you.” It felt so good to talk to Simon again without more than a decade of bitterness positioned between them like a brick wall. There was so much she wanted to say, and just as much she had hoped to ask. Tomorrow she’d be gone.

  His gray eyes brushed over her speculatively. “If you like.”

  Fingertips tucked in her pockets once again, Angie matched his stride as they walked toward the house. Covertly, she studied him. The sprinkling of gray hairs at his temples gave him a distinguished look. His hair was shorter now than she recalled. But little about Simon was the way she remembered.

  Her mind searched for something to say and came back empty. They were strangers. But intimate strangers. She doubted that others in this world knew Simon as well as she had at seventeen. He lived behind a stone mask now, closing himself off from the world. It hadn’t taken much to discern from her conversation with Cindy and Bob that Simon had become an entity unto himself. He needed no one and had made that plain to the citizens of Groves Point.

  “What do you think’s wrong with my car?” she asked after a long moment, disliking the silence.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Angie’s shoes kicked up the gravel as they walked. Her usual pace was somewhat slower, but she wanted to keep even with Simon. Undoubtedly, he wanted to be rid of her as quickly as possible. But this unexpected reprieve was a welcome respite. Prince marched at his master’s side, content to be with Simon rather than run ahead.

  Angie’s gaze roamed over the trees and flowers that grew in abundance there. Once, years ago, she had been as young and fresh as the wildflowers, pushing through the fertile ground and seeking out the sun. Now she felt as old as the earth and not nearly as wise.

  Glancing at Simon, she witnessed the proud defiance in the tilt of his head. Even the beauty of this land had been tarnished by his hate.

  “I’ve always loved it here,” she said quietly.

  The subdued tone of her voice drew his gaze. “Then why did you leave?”

  “Oh Simon, if I could change our past, rectify all my mistakes, don’t you think I would? I left Groves Point because I felt I was doing what was right for us. Don’t you realize that it hurt me, too?”

  His jaw was clenched and tight, but he said nothing as he stared unfalteringly at her.

  A strained silence followed.

  “Then why did you come back?”

  Angie didn’t know how to put into words the emotion that had driven her to Groves Point. “I wanted to return the money.” An uncomplicated answer seemed best.

  “You could have mailed it.”

  Her hand burrowed deeper into her jeans pockets. “Yes, I could have.”

  They approached the back of the property, giving Angie a moment to study the house. Briefly, she wondered if the interior was anything like the plans Simon had drawn for her. Excitement flashed through her and died as quickly as it sprang. Feeling the way he did about her, Simon would have gone to great lengths to avoid a house that would even faintly resemble their dream one.

  “This way,” Simon spoke, holding a door for her that opened into the three-car garage. The gloomy interior was filled with shadows, the open door dispersing slivers of light into the dark.

  Angie’s gaze fell beyond the Mercedes to the red convertible.

  “Simon,” she whispered unsteadily, as she moved into the room. “You still have the car.” Reverently her hand brushed the polished fender. Some of the best times of her life had been in this old convertible. Their first kiss had taken place in this ’51 Chevy. Simon had come to her house so she could help him study for a science test. Afterward he’d taken her to the A&W for a root beer. And later still, he’d nervously leaned over and lightly brushed her mouth with his. Their first kiss hadn’t been much more than that, but with time their technique had greatly improved.

  On countless summer evenings they’d driven up to Three Tree Point and gazed at the stars. Some evenings the heavens loomed so close that it seemed all they had to do was reach out and pluck the stars from the sky. Simon had cradled her in his arms and whispered that if it were in his power, he’d weave moonbeams as a crown for her hair.

  “I’ve been meaning to sell that old thing for years,” he said flatly. “It doesn’t run and hasn’t in years. All it does is take up space in the garage.”

  Angie dropped her hand to her side. “It brings back a lot of memories.” She smiled sadly.

  He didn’t speak for a minute. “Yes, I suppose it does,” he said, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him.

  Simon would like her to think the old Chevy convertible was a useless piece of junk, but Angie wasn’t easily fooled. There had been too many hot summer days when she’d helped him smear the car wax over a spotless surface, her reflection shining like glass from the polished hood. Simon loved this old car. The fact that it was in his garage said as much.

  “I’m ready to go.” His eyes had narrowed into silver slits as he paused at the door, toolbox in hand. “Are you coming or not?”

  Reluctantly, Angie left the car. She would have liked to look inside the glove compartment, to see what secrets it held.

  They were several yards down the road before Simon spoke again. “How’s Clay?”

  The question surprised her. Clay and Simon had never been close. They had tolerated each other. Cla
y’s dislike of the Canfields had been as strong as Simon’s distrust of her now. “He’s doing well,” she said, and didn’t elaborate.

  Simon breathed in deeply. “What about you, Angie. Are you happy?”

  Her throat went dry and a bubble of hysterical laughter choked off a reply. For twelve years her life had been in limbo. Could anyone be content there? She hadn’t thought about being happy, not really, not in years. Happiness was relative to her circumstances. “I suppose.”

  “You must enjoy Charleston. It’s a beautiful city.”

  Each question was a gentle prod. He cared enough to be curious, and that pleased her. “I own a flower shop.”

  Simon nodded, seemingly unsurprised. “You always did love flowers. Business must be good.” He was referring to the envelope she’d given him.

  She lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I can’t complain.”

  Idly she picked up a stick and threw it for Prince. Playing catch had been Blackie’s favorite game, and his son was sure to appreciate it, too. Immediately the Labrador kicked up his feet and shot into the woods. Angie’s musical laughter followed him.

  Simon stopped and studied her, their gazes clashing. “Your laugh is the same.”

  Angie dropped her eyes first. “I wouldn’t like to think much about me was different.”

  “Why not? We all change in twelve years.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to explain. Simon was right, there were several things different about her. She was a mature woman now, not a naïve teenager.

  Proudly, Prince returned with the stick, and bending over to retrieve it gave Angie a moment to compose her thoughts. “In some ways, I’m looking to recapture that enchanted summer of my life. That summer with you.”