Reflections of Yesterday (21 page)

Angie let herself into the apartment and painted a smile on her face. Her heart was heavy. In some ways it would have been easier not to have seen Simon. It hurt so much to say good-bye.

“How are you feeling, Dad?”

“I thought you were going to call?” He didn’t take his eyes from the television.

“I’m sorry, I forgot.” Angie knew immediately that she’d said the wrong thing.

Angrily, Clay tossed the television guide to the floor. “Your own father is near death and you run off to some all-important meeting and completely forget about him.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” She flushed guiltily.

“It’d serve you right if I was to up and die.”

“Good grief, I was only gone three hours.”

“And ten minutes. I’m bored. Did you bring me my mail? I wasn’t hungry at lunchtime, but I could eat something now. You can bring it in to me.”

Gritting her teeth, Angie stepped into the kitchen and took the lunch she’d made for him earlier out of the refrigerator. She carried it out to him on a tray. “Do you want anything else?”

He ignored the question. “The way you snuck off like that, one would think you were
hurrying to meet a lover.”

Angie’s step faltered, causing her to nearly drop the lunch tray. “Stop being so dramatic,” she chastised in her sternest voice. She set the lunch on the coffee table and straightened.

“That’s exactly what you was doing, wasn’t it?”

Angie returned to the kitchen, her composure rapidly disintegrating. “The subject isn’t open for discussion.”

“You’re a fool, girl.”

“And you’re interfering in my life.”

Clay pushed the tray aside, disinterested. “Tell me somethin’. What makes you think that those highfalutin Canfield folks is going to want you any more the second time than they did the first? Can you see Mrs. Canfield inviting you to the Garden Club? Not hardly.”

“I’m not talking to you about it.”

“Sure you’re not, ’cause you can’t answer me. Nothin’s changed in twelve years that will make you more acceptable to those rich folks.”

“Dad, you heard me. I refuse to discuss this with you.”

“All these years I thought I was raising me a decent girl,” he mumbled, as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the pillows supporting his shoulders. “You ain’t no better than a common …” He hesitated, apparently thinking better of his choice of words. “You’re making a big mistake, girl. I’m begging you to reconsider having anything to do with the Canfields.”

“Dad. Why do you have to do this to me? I love him. If Mom had come from a rich Atlanta family, would you have loved her less? Would you have decided not to marry her?”

Clay’s cheeks expanded until he looked as if he were about to explode. “I won’t have you dragging the good name of your mother into this. You hear me, girl?”

“I hear you,” Angie said, her voice coated with defeat.

At five-thirty Angie closed up Clay Pots for the night. She had finished counting the money from the till when there was a knock at the bolted glass door. Glancing up from behind the counter, she was shocked to see Glenn standing on the other side.

“Glenn,” she murmured, turning the dead-bolt lock.

“Hello, Angie.” He regarded her sheepishly. “I apologize for stopping by unexpectedly.”

“Please come in.” She re-secured the lock. “Is something wrong?” He didn’t look right. He was darker, tanner, as if he’d spent lots of time in the intervening weeks working outside. As always, he was meticulously dressed in a three-piece business suit and silk tie. Glenn had always been a stickler for neatness.

“I’ve come to ask you to forgive me for the things I said the last time I saw you.”

“My forgiveness,” she gasped. “Oh Glenn, don’t make me cry.” He was such a wonderful, dear man, and she had hurt him immeasurably, and then
he
came to apologize.

“What I said that night was unforgivable.”

“You were only reacting to your anger. I don’t hold any of it against you. We’ve been good friends for a long time. I knew you didn’t mean it.”

“I’ve felt bad about it for weeks. In thinking it over, I realized that the only thing to do was to come back and tell you that I wish you and Simon every happiness. I’ll always love you, Angie, but I know that you belong with Simon. The only thing I want is to be certain that my anger didn’t hurt you in any way.”

“It didn’t. I understood.”

“I thought you might, but I wanted to be sure.” An uncomfortable silence followed. It was so good to see Glenn again; she had missed his friendship, especially now that Clay was recovering and being so difficult.

As if reading her mind, Glenn asked. “How’s Clay?”

“On the mend. Why don’t you stop by and visit him sometime? He’s at my apartment and I know he’d love to see you. He’s bored and out of sorts and would welcome the company.”

“Would you?”

Angie lowered her gaze, ill at ease. She didn’t want to give Glenn any reason to hope
there was a chance they could get back together again.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he amended. “I only wanted to make sure that you didn’t mind if I came by.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise.” Briefly her hand touched his in an assuring action.

“You don’t look happy, Angie. What’s wrong?”

How like Glenn to look past his own troubles to recognize hers and comfort her. “Clay has strong feelings about Simon and me. He doesn’t want me to have anything to do with the Canfields, let alone marry Simon. There’s a continual cold war waging between us that is wearing me down.” It felt so good to talk to someone about Clay. Someone who would understand. Any mention of her difficulties with her father would have only added to Simon’s problems. And he’d been having plenty of those lately.

“In other words, he’s constantly nipping at your heels.”

Glenn had a way of describing it perfectly. “Yes.”

The worst part was that Simon’s father had died suddenly, and Simon had been tied up in Groves Point for the past two weeks. Angie’s heart had gone out to him in his grief, recalling her own overwhelming emotion when Clay had been close to death. Simon had explained that he’d known for several months that his father was extremely ill. The two had never been close, and although he gave no outward sign of oppressive sadness, Angie knew that the death had affected him greatly. Many times in the past weeks she had wanted to be with him, to offer what comfort she could. Simon had assured her that he understood the reason she couldn’t. He was fine. Just knowing that she loved him and wanted to be with him was enough for now. The demands on his time from his mother, settling his father’s affairs, and those of the bank had prevented him from coming to Charleston. But he would be there as soon as circumstances would allow. Angie lived for their daily telephone conversations.

For the funeral, Angie had sent an elaborate floral arrangement, but Georgia Canfield hadn’t acknowledged the gift. Angie comforted herself with the knowledge that it was too soon to expect a note of appreciation.

Only when Clay continued to harp on the differences between the two families, the Robinsons and “those rich folks in Groves Point,” was it difficult to dismiss the doubts. Simon was sure that their love would construct all the bridges necessary. If not, fine. They didn’t need
anyone else, they had each other. Angie’s confirming echo grew weaker every day. She needed Clay, and as much as she resented his intrusion into her life, he was her father. Clay had been her staunch supporter when she’d started in the flower business, and now it was her turn to stand by him. Clay’s unfailing belief in her had helped Angie at a time in her life that she’d needed it most. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a thing in this world that she couldn’t do. Even though she’d bragged to Simon about Petal Pushers, Clay had often helped her. Some days he had spent more hours than she had, taking her assignments until Angie found her feet with Clay Pots. Unwittingly, Clay had worked to repay the Canfields all those thousands. Although Simon might not readily agree, he relied on his mother, too. Especially now. In death Simon’s father had healed the gap between mother and son. They shared an emotional bond, and as the days passed it became all the more evident that Georgia Canfield needed Simon for moral and mental support during the difficult days.

“Maybe you’d like to come tonight,” Angie suggested to Glenn. “Make it a surprise for Clay.”

The handsome male features broke into a smile. “I’d like that. I’ll follow you.”

A couple times Angie checked her rearview mirror on the way home. Glenn had been stopped at a yellow light at a major intersection so she was about three minutes ahead of him when she came through the door.

She greeted Clay with a warm smile and kissed his cheek. “How was your day?”

He grunted and threw back the blanket that covered his legs. “About as good as you can expect a man to feel who’s been cooped up in a stuffy apartment for the last month of his life.”

“But Dad!” Her voice rose indignantly. “I’ve begged and pleaded with you to get some fresh air. It’s not good for you to sit around all day and do nothing.”

“You’re just looking for a way to kill me off so you can marry that rich Canfield boy.”

Angie’s fingers curled around the leather strap of her purse as she battled down the rising irritation. Clay had been living with her for almost a month now, and every day the atmosphere grew more strained.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Don’t want no surprises.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” she said confidently.

The doorbell chimed and Clay’s eyes flew to the door. “Why don’t you get that? The
exercise will do you good.” Not waiting for an argument, Angie disappeared into her bedroom, where she changed into a cool pair of shorts and a sleeveless knit pullover. She paused and smiled when she heard Clay’s happy exclamation of surprise.

Slipping her feet into sandals, she returned to the living room to discover Clay sitting on the sofa, his shoulders shaking with huge sobs. “She’s going to marry him. I know it in my heart, and he’ll ruin her for decent men just the way he did twelve years ago.”

“Clay!” Angie gasped. She couldn’t believe that her own father would talk about her this way.

“See what I mean,” Clay said, and leaned closer to Glenn. Tears ran unrestrained down his face. “Already he’s turned her against me. You’ve got to do something.” Clay’s hands gripped Glenn’s forearm as he regarded the younger man with pleading, sad eyes.

“If anyone’s turned against anybody, it’s you against me.”

“Angie.” Glenn stood and crossed the room, taking her by the shoulders. “Listen, it’s easy to see that you’ve worn yourself to a frazzle taking care of your father. Let me stay with him tonight. Go do some shopping or take in a movie. Anything. Just leave for a while and relax.”

“But I’ve got to fix his dinner.”

His finger lazily wiped a lone tear from her cheek. “I’ve cooked before.”

“He’s on a special diet.”

“Clay knows what he can and can’t eat. Now, don’t you worry. Just go and enjoy yourself.”

She placed her hand in his and squeezed it with all the appreciation in her heart. “Thank you.”

She left without saying a word to Clay, who sat regarding her mutinously. His eyes were slightly red as he glared at her.

In the mood for a peaceful ride, Angie drove to Sullivan’s Island and walked along the sandy beach for what seemed like hours. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair, and the tangy scent of saltwater followed her as the waves crashed against the peaceful shore. Her thoughts weren’t profound. She was too run-down, mentally and physically, to deal with any of the problems that plagued her. She didn’t want to think about Clay or Simon or anyone. The beach had often offered her solace she couldn’t find elsewhere. As if not to disappoint her, the sky turned a
vibrant shade of pink and the warm sand welcomed her bare feet. Granules of the wet beach squished between her toes as she sat and stared out over the swelling rolling waters, at peace at last with her world.

It seemed ironic that the one to rescue her from another night of bickering with Clay would be Glenn, the man she had rejected. Intuitively, it seemed, Glenn had known when she was at her weakest point, struggling to maintain some semblance of sanity. Glenn Lambert was a rare man, she realized anew.

After a peace-filled hour, Angie called Groves Point.

“Yes.” Simon’s answer was abrupt and impatient, as if he, too, was stretched to his limits with the demands and pressures made on him.

“Hello, Simon.” It was so good to hear him that the effort to keep her voice steady was monumental.

“Angie.” Her name was issued on a rush of air that sounded like a warm caress. “Is anything wrong?”

Nothing was right, but Simon didn’t need to hear that. He was under enough stress as it was. “No,” she answered softly. “I just needed to hear the sound of your voice.” She could almost feel the tension drain out of him as he began to speak.

“Where are you? I can hear a strange noise in the background.”

“Landlubber,” she teased affectionately. “Don’t you know the sound of the ocean when you hear it?”

“The ocean?”

“You won’t believe this.”

“Knowing you, I’d believe anything,” he said, chuckling.

“I’m on Sullivan’s Island. Here, listen.” She held up her cell toward the beach. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to go crazy if I don’t see you soon.”

“This weekend?” she asked, trying to disguise how anxious she was.

Simon hesitated, his voice filled with angry frustration when he spoke. “Honey, I can’t. There are a thousand things I have to do with Dad’s estate.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got the rest of our lives. Another week or two isn’t going to matter.” She tried desperately to hide her disappointment.

A long moment of silence stretched between them.

“How’s Clay?” Simon asked finally.

Angie forced a light laugh. “Cantankerous as ever. He seems to be recovering, but he refuses to do any exercise.” Angie had come to believe that he was purposely making himself an invalid to prevent her from marrying Simon. Only she wasn’t going to allow him to do that. The next appointment with Clay’s doctor was the following week. Once Clay was given a clean bill of health, she would move him back to his own place so fast it’d make his head swim.