Reflections of Yesterday (13 page)

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.

“Glenn feels that we can’t make a future together until we clear away the past.”

Clay splayed his finger through his hair in a jerking movement. “Just how much does Glenn know?”

“Everything.”

“Everything!” he exploded. “Only an idiot would have told him how you gave yourself to that rich boy.”

“I don’t have any secrets from Glenn.”

“Well, you should have. You gave yourself to him like a shameless hussy.”

Angie’s head jerked back as if he had physically slapped her with the words. Her fingers tightened around the oven door as she fought to maintain her composure and hold back the tears.

“I’ll just pray that you didn’t tell Glenn about your so-called marriage.”

“He knows that, too.”

Clay turned on her with mocking disbelief. “He knows that you behaved like a common tramp and still has anything to do with you?”

“Dad.” Angie reeled under the vicious attack of words. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?”

The words sliced into her heart like the serrated edge of a knife. This was Clay speaking to her, she reminded herself. But not the lovable roguish father she loved. This Clay was a stranger filled with rage and bitterness. One Angie didn’t know or recognize.

“Glenn loves me.”

“He must.”

Angie’s vision blurred until the tall stranger before her became a haze. Somehow she managed to hold back the tears.

“I suppose Canfield claimed undying devotion. That sounds like something those greedy rich folks would do. He couldn’t stand the thought of you loving another man.” He rammed his hands deep within his pants pockets as he turned toward Angie. “I bet he’s kept tabs on you all these years, just waiting for you to find another man. Then the minute you did he popped back into your life, claiming he’s always loved you. Ha! The only things those Canfields love is greenbacks.”

“I don’t believe that.” Angie’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

“I hope you told him a thing or two.”

“No. In fact, I’m seeing him next weekend.”

Clay looked stunned. “You won’t. I forbid it.”

Angie’s short laugh lacked humor. “It’s a bit late for placing restrictions on me, Clay Robinson. I’m a woman now, not a child that you can order about.”

Clay’s hand gripped the back of the chair as anger contorted his features. “I can’t believe my ears. This isn’t my Angie talking. You’ll do as I say or live to regret it.”

“Just what do you plan to do? Lock me in my room or send me to bed without supper?” Angie didn’t budge, but boldly met his gaze. “You’re talking to a woman now. Threats aren’t going to intimidate me.”

Clay was quiet for an exaggerated moment. “If you so much as speak to that rich boy, then you can forget you’ve got a father. You hear me, girl? I was fool enough to stand back and let you get involved with him the first time. No more. From now on you’re on your own. Understand?”

The thoughts that swam through Angie’s mind were ludicrous enough to bring a trembling smile to her lips. She recalled the last time she’d argued with her father. She had been twelve and afraid they were going to be kicked out of the small boardinghouse in which they were living. Clay hadn’t paid the rent in two weeks, and no amount of sweet talk was going to persuade the landlady to extend their welcome without payment. At the time Clay was playing the fiddle on street corners, collecting change. Angie had been the one to sit her father down and
tell him the time had come to look for a job that paid real money. In his usual jovial way, Clay had sung her a song and claimed that a band would come along needing a fiddler and they’d be in Fat City. Angie had shook her head and calmly explained to him that there wasn’t any band. They needed money for the rent. She needed new shoes. Clay argued that all he needed was a little time. And twelve-year-old Angie, mature beyond her years, had told him time had run out. Clay had wept bitter tears, wetting her patched dress with his emotion.

“You hear me, girl?” Clay repeated.

“I’m seeing Simon.” Composed now, Angie met his gaze without flinching.

“Then you’ve made your decision. You won’t be seeing me again.” He stalked from the apartment, slamming the door as he left.

Crossing her arms to ward off the cold of Clay’s departure, Angie slowly shook her head. This had been far worse than anything she would have believed. Clay hated Simon with a bitterness rooted so deep that it had choked off even the most basic reasoning. Given time, Angie was convinced that Clay would come around. She was his daughter, his only child. By tomorrow he’d be back to apologize, she reasoned. When he’d had time to think things through, they would have a reasonable discussion and everything would be made right.