Reflections of Yesterday (24 page)

Angie raised stricken eyes to him. “I do believe that. It’s exactly what happened.”

Simon’s snort was filled with disgust as he stalked to the far side of the room. “Are you so naïve as to believe that your father didn’t have a hand in that? I don’t doubt for a minute that Clay was responsible for Glenn’s sudden appearance.”

Angie stared at him in shocked disbelief. She thought she knew Simon so well, but discovered that she didn’t know him at all. Together they owed a great unpayable debt to Glenn Lambert. Glenn’s love and patience had given her the courage to face the past and go back to Groves Point. Even after she’d returned to Charleston, he had loved her enough to step aside until she’d sorted through her feelings for Simon. Angie didn’t try to kid herself. None of this had been easy for Glenn, but he had acted with a patience, love, and understanding that was, at times, almost superhuman.

A frozen, deadly silence iced the room.

“You may be right.” Angie’s words shattered the cold quiet. “But we both should thank God for Glenn.”

Simon lifted one dark brow at her, assimilating her words. “I didn’t realize your feelings were so intense.”

“Stop trying to make something sordid out of Glenn’s affection for Clay and me. He at least had the common decency not to pressure me into—”

“Choosing between your father and me.”

“Yes,” she finished, her voice quavering.

“That’s the beauty of the situation,” Simon returned with heavy sarcasm. “With Glenn there would be no decision to make. Clay would love to see you married to him.”

“I’ve already agreed to be your wife. What else do you want?” Swallowing down her irritation, Angie sank onto the side of the queen-size mattress, struggling against the rising hysteria. She had so looked forward to this weekend with Simon. She couldn’t believe that they would waste this valuable time together fighting.

“Where’s the ring I gave you, Angie?” His slicing gaze fell to her bare fingers.

One hand curled over the top of the other. “With Clay feeling the way he did, I couldn’t wear it. Surely you can understand that.”

“No.” Simon’s voice was deadly calm. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

“All right, I should have worn it,” she cried, knowing he was hurt and hating herself for
being so weak. The ring, the most precious piece of jewelry she owned, was locked in a desk drawer at Clay Pots. A hundred times she’d thought to slip it on her finger and decided against it, knowing the sight of it would cause an argument. She’d been so tired lately and hadn’t wanted to battle Clay at every turn.

“What’s in a ring? Right?”

Her head snapped up, positive she hadn’t heard him correctly.

His eyes narrowed on the soft rise and fall of her breast.

“Simon,” she whispered pleadingly. “Your ring is a symbol of your love. I’m sorry I haven’t worn it.”

“Not sorry enough.” He sat beside her impatiently and tugged at the buttons of her blouse, jerking it open and off her shoulders. Shocked and appalled, Angie was stunned.

“If you love me so much,” he taunted, “I’ll let you prove it.”

“Simon, what are you doing?” she cried, attempting to cover herself.

In answer he stripped off his shirt and slacks, his eyes avoiding hers.

“I love you,” she murmured in a choked voice, “only don’t do this to me. This isn’t making love.”

He was a stranger whom she didn’t recognize.

Tears swam in her eyes as she slumped onto the mattress. “Simon, what’s come over you?”

“You keep saying that you love me so much.” He leaned toward her. “I want you to show me how much.”

Angie was numb with disbelief. This couldn’t be happening to her. Not with Simon. He’d always been such a gentle, kind lover. He had given of himself, never taken. Their lovemaking was special, a sharing of their intense joy of each other.

“Why are you doing this?” she begged, her hand stopping his.

“Why?” he echoed cruelly. “Because it’s clear to me now that you don’t love me enough,” he said. Harshly, he took her mouth, grinding his lips over hers until Angie pushed herself free.

“You think I should have been more diplomatic with your father.”

“Yes,” she cried. “He’s ill.”

“The time for diplomacy is past. Either you want to be my wife or you don’t.”

“Oh Simon,” she whispered, needing his tenderness. “I do love you.” She turned her face to him and hesitantly laid her fingers over his rigid jaw. He was angry and hurt and lashing out at her in a way she’d never expected.

Momentarily, his steely eyes softened. “Then marry me. Today. Now.” Again, his mouth claimed hers, parting her lips with a deep, languorous kiss. Angie locked her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily in return. He burned a hot trail of kisses down the scented hollow of her throat to just above her bra line. “Simon,” she whispered, “please.”

“Do you want me?” he taunted in a low voice.

“Yes,” she pleaded.

“Enough to come away with me today for the rest of our lives?”

Angie’s eyes flew open and she went limp against the mattress. Simon raised his head, his eyes boring into hers. “Today,” he repeated starkly.

“I … can’t. Don’t ask that of me.”

“I just did.”

“All I want is your love.” She raised her head and tried to kiss him, but he held himself stiff and unyielding, avoiding her touch.

“I won’t settle for what’s left over when Clay takes advantage of you,” he said harshly.

“But I’m offering you everything,” she said desperately. “Everything. If you’ll only be patient. I love you so much.”

A long moment of tormenting silence passed as his expression clouded over with bitterness. “Words no longer satisfy me.”

She tore herself from his grasp when he tried to reach for her and bring her back into the comfort of his arms. Grabbing her purse, she rushed to the door. Her throat was burning with the effort to suppress the tears. She hesitated as she turned to look back and found Simon was sitting at the end of the bed. His face was buried in his hands, his shoulders hunched over, giving a profile of abject misery. As she reached the door Simon raised his head, his eyes pale and haunted.

“Angie, wait.”

She didn’t hesitate, but turned the doorknob.

“Please.”

Her hand tightened around the doorknob and she paused. “Clay always said you were a
spoiled rich boy,” she whispered through her pain. “I never believed him until today.”

Dejected and utterly defeated, Simon didn’t try to stop her as she pulled open the door and walked out of his life.

In the long days that followed, Angie had plenty of time to think over their last meeting. In many ways she understood why Simon had behaved the way he had. That didn’t excuse his actions, but granted her the time to be more forgiving. In the beginning, she decided that when he phoned she’d treat him aloofly, with mild contempt. A miserable week passed and she realized she would have given her soul to hear from him. Another week and she recognized that Simon never planned to contact her. He’d given her the option either to marry him then or it was over. She had made that choice.

Not knowing what had transpired, Clay watched her guardedly for several days. The afternoon following the doctor’s appointment, he moved back to his own place and showed up only at periodic intervals. They never mentioned Simon.

Glenn called once a week to chat and ask how she was doing. Their conversations were brief and one-sided. He didn’t ask her out, intuitively recognizing, she supposed, that she’d turn him down. In many ways Angie would always be grateful to Glenn. He had been a good friend when she needed one most, but she had abused that friendship and was paying dearly for it now. She didn’t know if Clay had asked Glenn to visit her or if he’d come of his own initiative. It didn’t seem to matter, and she didn’t inquire.

When she realized that she wouldn’t be hearing from Simon, Angie prayed fervently that she would become pregnant, and wept the morning she learned she wasn’t. For a time she thought he might contact her if only to ask if that last time together had given life to his seed. Angie didn’t know if her tears were from bitter disappointment that she wasn’t going to have his child or that Simon didn’t seem to care enough to find out.

Slowly, each day a test, Angie began to gain her perspective again. She had a good life, a meaningful one. Her business was profitable, and she made casual inquiries into opening a second shop on Calhoun Street near Marion Square. At the end of the third week, Angie discovered that she could smile again and occasionally even laugh.

The hottest days of summer came in late August and the muggy afternoon heat was unbearable. Angie took long walks along the beaches, watching the children play in the sand.
The world seemed full of children and young mothers. In a month they would both be thirty. Friday afternoon, a half hour before closing time, Angie was working in the back of the shop when she heard the small bell ring, indicating that someone had entered. She set aside the centerpiece she was constructing from dried wildflowers and approached the counter. Her eyes met the elegant ones of Georgia Canfield and she faltered slightly. Quickly regaining her composure, Angie braced her hands on the counter.

“Hello, Mrs. Canfield.”

“Hello, Angela.”

She looked calm but out of place in something as common as a flower shop. “It’s a lovely place you have here.”

“Thank you.”

“I understand you named it after your father.”

“Yes.” Angie didn’t feel all that comfortable with this woman. She couldn’t understand what Simon’s mother would be doing here unless something had happened to Simon. An instant of panic filled her mind, but she dismissed it quickly. Knowing Georgia Canfield, she was sure the woman would tell her soon enough the reason for her unexpected visit.

“I never wrote to thank you for the arrangement you sent for Simon’s funeral.”

“I understand that you were very busy.”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “My husband’s death was a shock.”

“I’m sure it must have been.”

The phone rang and Angie excused herself to take an FTD order from Boston. As she wrote it out, she noticed that Georgia sauntered around the shop as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The woman was amazing.

Replacing the receiver, Angie cleared her throat softly. “Was there something I could do for you, Mrs. Canfield? I’m sure this isn’t a social call.” Angie wanted to fill this order before closing time and there were only a few minutes left. She didn’t know what kind of game the woman was playing, but she wasn’t in the mood to go along.

Georgia Canfield sighed appreciatively. “Charleston is such a lovely city.”

“Yes,” Angie agreed, letting her eyes drop to the FTD order. “Mrs. Canfield,” she said, breathing heavily, “I don’t mean to be rude, but if you have something to say, I wish you’d say it. I don’t have time to play cat and mouse with you.”

The older woman paled slightly. “If you insist on being direct, then I shall. I’d like to know what happened between you and my son.”

Angie’s smile was bittersweet. “You’ll have to ask Simon that.”

“My dear girl, I would hardly come three hundred miles to quiz you if I wasn’t forced into doing so.” Her voice was calm and even. The only outward sign that she was angry was the drumming pulse in her neck.

In spite of herself, Angie smiled anew. “No, I don’t suppose you would.”

“My son is deeply in love with you.”

Angie walked briskly past the woman to the flower case. Opening the refrigerated cabinet, she withdrew several long-stemmed roses and a variety of other flowers she would need for the arrangement.

“Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” she demanded.

“Yes,” Angie admitted with an uncomfortable feeling of guilt. “It means a great deal.”

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

A small, admiring smile twitched at the corner of the older woman’s mouth. “I strongly suspect that you do.”

Angie’s fingers tightened around the unstripped stems in her hands. The thorns cut unmercifully into her palms. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“No,” the woman barked.

Angie turned, surprised at the uncharacteristic rise in the older woman’s voice. “Twelve years ago, I paid you ten thousand dollars to leave Groves Point,” she said in a low, controlled voice. “Today I would offer you everything I own if you’d agree to come back.”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t intrude on Simon’s life a second time,” Georgia Canfield continued, more subdued now. “But my son needs you.” Her gloved hands were folded primly in front of her creaseless linen suit. “I thought at first it was my husband’s death that had affected him so greatly. But now I believe it’s you.”

“Mrs. Canfield, if Simon loves me as much as you say, then he would have come back for me.”

“And if you love him as much as you say,” she fired back, “you’d make the effort to go to him. Listen, Angela, you’re not the woman I would have chosen for Simon, but I’ve already had my chance at handpicking one wife. All I want is my son’s happiness, and if that means you, then I’m willing to accept you as a daughter-in-law.”

“Maybe we should understand each other, Mrs. Canfield,” Angie shot directly back. “I don’t play bridge and have no intention of learning. I don’t want to have anything to do with the country club and I plan to be far too busy to join all the charities that interest you. Furthermore, if I come back to Groves Point I plan to bring my flower shop with me and work in it until the babies come.”

The frown that drew the delicately lined eyebrows into one stiff curve relaxed at the mention of children. “You do want children?”

“A house full.”

“And you wouldn’t restrict me from seeing them?”

“Mrs. Canfield, we’ve all made mistakes. I don’t hate you. I couldn’t. You’re Simon’s mother, and the very things I love about Simon are the best parts of you. You would be the only grandmother our children would have. They would need your love just as much as Simon and I would.”

The older woman’s tight mouth relaxed and trembled at the corners. “My dear,” she whispered, so softly that Angie had to strain to hear, “perhaps you would consider being a guest speaker at the Garden Club someday.”