Reflections of Yesterday (9 page)

“Hello, Angie. Is this a busy time? Should I phone back later?”

Briefly, she toyed with the idea of delaying this conversation. Even a few hours would help her compose her thoughts.

“Angie?”

“No … no, this is as good a time as any.”

“I want to see you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left. There’s so much we left unsaid, and more that needs to be made right.”

Angie closed her eyes and measured her words carefully. “Simon, listen to me. What happened is in the past. We can’t resurrect that now.”

“Why not?” he argued. “I love you.”

“You love a memory. I’m not a sweet, naïve teenager anymore. I can’t go back to being seventeen.”

“Me neither, but I’m anxious to meet the woman you’ve become.” His voice went low and seductive, as if he’d put his hand over the mouthpiece so as not to be overheard. “I’m eager to show you the man I am now.”

Angie’s heart slammed to her knees. Her throat went dry and she discovered she couldn’t
speak.

The bell over the door chimed, indicating that someone had entered the shop. Angie was so grateful she could have cried. “I’ve got to go, a customer just came in.”

“Angie, listen, I’ll phone you later.”

“Simon, don’t. Please, don’t.” Angry with herself for being so weak, she didn’t wait for his farewell, and replaced the receiver. With a forced smile, she turned toward the deliveryman who was approaching the counter.

Simon stared at the auditor’s report on his desk, knowing he couldn’t concentrate on it when thoughts of Angie dominated his mind. His phone conversation with her earlier had been awkward. He should be in Charleston, not Groves Point. He needed to talk to her face-to-face and not try to carry on a serious conversation with customers walking in and out of her shop every few minutes. But with his father away from the bank so much of the time now, Simon couldn’t pick up and leave. He rubbed a hand across his eyes to ease the growing pain that throbbed at his temple. The walls seemed to close in around him and he stood, jerking his suit coat from the back of his chair.

“Mrs. Wilson, I’ll be back in an hour,” he announced to his assistant on his way out the door.

“But Mr. C-Canfield …” she stuttered. “What should I do about your two-o’clock appointment?”

Irritation furrowed his brows. “Reschedule it,” he snapped, then stalked from the room before she could comment further.

Georgia Canfield was in the backyard, pruning her rosebushes. A straw hat graced her silver head and was secured under her chin by a brightly colored scarf. Spotless white gloves hid her veined hands. At a glance, his mother looked like an aged southern belle of the era of the War Between the States.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Simon.” She spoke without turning. “I wondered how long it would take you to come.”

“Then you know why.”

Turning, she set the wicker basket filled with blossoms on the wrought-iron table. “Sit
down and I’ll ring for coffee.”

Without question, Simon did as requested. The urge to hurl accusations at his mother seared his mind, and he clenched his fists.

The maid quietly delivered a tray with two cups of coffee. Resolutely, Simon glanced away, counting the interminable seconds before he could speak. At the sound of the retreating steps, he returned his attention to his mother. She sat across from him at the round ornate table.

“I understand that Angela returned the money,” Georgia Canfield began, without preamble. She offered no excuse or explanation, but added two lumps of sugar to her coffee and stirred it briskly. From her outward appearance they could have been discussing the unusually mild weather instead of the gross interference in his life.

Not for the first time, Simon marveled at his mother’s aplomb. Sometimes the sheer bravado of her actions astonished him. From his youth, Simon had been taught to look upon his mother as fragile and delicate. At all costs, she was to be protected from the cruelties of life. Now he felt as if he needed protection from her.

“Is that all you have to say?” he demanded.

“I did what I thought was best.”

“You interfered in my life.”

A nerve near Georgia’s eye twitched, and she set the china cup in the saucer. “Don’t raise your voice to me, Simon.”

It took everything in him not to cry out at the injustice of her actions. The hurt and betrayal must have shone in his eyes.

“I don’t expect you to understand why I acted as I did, nor do I expect your approval,” Georgia continued calmly.

Unable to sit politely in the chair, Simon vaulted to his feet. “If you think I’ve come to applaud your wisdom, Mother, you’re wrong.”

“No,” she replied evenly, “I don’t imagine you did.”

“And what did Dad have to say about this?” Simon doubted his father’s involvement. Not that he was incapable of this deception, only that ten thousand dollars sounded like far more than Simon Senior would have parted with freely.

Her slim hand shook perceptively as she sipped from the edge of the dainty cup. “He was in full agreement. Something had to be done. You were barely eighteen and on the brink of your
college career. Angela Robinson was ruining that.”

“I was in love.”

“You were too young to know about love.”

“And when I married Carol I was mature enough to know that kind of thing. Is that what you’re saying?”

“At twenty-one, I would say so. Yes, you were.”

“Do you want the real reason my marriage failed, Mother? The honest-to-God reason?”

“Simon, please, that was all a long time ago. Let’s not drag up this unpleasantness.”

“You handpicked Carol yourself, but you made one basic mistake, Mother dear. I was still in love with Angie. I married another woman because I’d given up the hope that Angie would ever come back. I didn’t love Carol then, and, God forgive me, I didn’t love her the whole miserable year we were together.”

Georgia Canfield went as pale as alabaster. No longer did she make the pretense of sipping her afternoon coffee. Her eyes became dull and lifeless. Simon’s divorce had devastated his mother. Carol had become the daughter Georgia had never had, the one woman Georgia could mold into a replica of herself. The two had taken delight in the pointless avocations that filled his mother’s life: bridge, the Garden Club, and numerous charities. For months following Carol and Simon’s separation and divorce, his mother had held the hope that they would get back together. Not until Carol remarried did Georgia abandon the possibility of a reconciliation.

For Simon it had been only when Carol remarried that he was released from the guilt of having married a woman he didn’t love.

Pulling the long white envelope from inside his jacket, Simon placed it on the table in front of his mother. “Unfortunately, the cost of sending Angie away was higher than you assumed.”

“Simon?” A faint pleading quality entered her voice.

“Angie’s repaid that now, but I doubt that you’ll ever regain my respect.”

Painfully, Georgia Canfield lowered her gaze to the envelope, knowing its contents without being told. “I’ll ask only one thing of you, Simon. Your father’s health isn’t good. Don’t mention this to him.” She hesitated and added softly, “Please.”

The air conditioner kicked on, and soothing cool air drifted into Angie’s small apartment,
relieving the intense afternoon heat. Barefoot, her hair swept up on her head, she filled the claw-footed cast-iron tub with water. Now that the money had been repaid, she could think about moving to a more modern apartment. The thought caused her to pause.
No
. Soon she’d be married to Glenn and they’d find a nice place to live. It bothered Angie the way Glenn escaped her mind. She did love him, she rationalized. She was confused, that was all.

The tub was filled, and still Angie stood with her cotton robe loosely tied at her waist. The urge to locate her high school yearbook from her senior year drove her to the bedroom. She crouched down on her knees and dragged out the narrow, flat box from under her bed. Sitting cross-legged on the polished hardwood floor, she lifted off the lid. Memories sprang out and danced around her on all sides. On the top, in a sealed bag, was the crushed corsage that Simon had given her for the junior-senior prom. Those were the first flowers any boy had ever given her, and Angie had treasured them more than riches. Even when Georgia Canfield had sent Angie away, she hadn’t been able to part with these memories. Reverently she set the corsage aside and pulled out the yearbook she sought. With a sense of unreality she turned the pages and stared at the picture of herself as valedictorian of the graduating class. Had she really ever been that young and innocent? A sad smile touched her eyes. For someone so intelligent, she had been incredibly stupid.

She turned the pages one by one and a slow smile grew until it hovered on the verge of laughter. She wasn’t the only one who looked young and innocent. Bob and Cindy were barely recognizable. And Simon—the gray eyes that stared back at her were so serious; his dark hair was several inches longer than the way it was currently styled. They’d changed, all of them. Without conscious effort, Angie realized that her index finger was brushing over the black-and-white photo of Simon.

The doorbell chimed and shook her from the deep retrospection. A moment passed before she realized what was causing the noise. Stumbling to her feet, she tightened the sash of the thin robe and hurried into the living room. A glance through the peephole confirmed her visitor was Glenn.

Angie unlocked the dead bolt and pulled open the door. “Glenn, I apologize, I’m running a little behind schedule tonight.”

His loving smile was filled with a warmth women dream of seeing in a man. “I don’t mind,” he said, taking her in his arms. His mouth claimed hers, parting her lips in a deep,
languorous kiss. Angie linked her arms around his neck and tried to kiss him back and found she couldn’t.
You’ll learn
, her mind assured her, and Angie didn’t doubt that she would.

Glenn’s grip relaxed and his hand continued to hold her loosely. “I’ve had quite a day,” he announced, and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m finding that I like being engaged, but I have a feeling I’m going to like marriage a whole lot more.”

Tipping her head back, Angie smiled into his shining eyes. “I’m sure I will, too.” This man loved her, and she wasn’t going to let anything ruin that. “Pour yourself a glass of wine while I hop in the tub.”

“Are you sure you don’t want company?”

Angie’s laugh was light and breezy. “I don’t know. That sounds interesting.”

She’d been teasing and was surprised when Glenn followed her into the bedroom. He stopped short at the papers, books, and pressed flowers scattered about the floor.

“What’s this?”

Angie hesitated. She’d rather not explain, but Glenn had a right to know. “I was looking through some things I saved from high school.”

“In Groves Point?” His eyes met hers in a sober exchange.

Angie nodded, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I can’t believe I was ever that young.”

Glenn bent down and retrieved the yearbook that lay open on the floor. Sitting on the bed beside her, he turned the pages to the senior pictures and grinned when he found hers.

“You go ahead and look while I take a bath,” she suggested, with feigned disinterest. Her back was to him as she took a sleeveless summer dress from the closet.

“Is there anyone else’s picture I should look for?” Glenn asked, in a bland voice that revealed all.

A tingling sensation ran up her spine, and Angie’s fingers groped and bit into the wire hanger. Removing the dress gave her vital seconds to collect her thoughts. She was marrying Glenn; he had a right to know. “Simon Canfield’s.”

“And he is?”

“Was,” Angie corrected. “Simon was the first man I loved.”

“Heart and soul?”

“And body.” Angie didn’t leave room for any misunderstanding.

A heavy silence fell over the room. When Glenn made no response, Angie turned, her
gaze seeking his. For months Glenn had lovingly wooed her. He had courted her in word and deed in the most romantic of ways. Eventually his persistence had won her over enough to encourage her to face the past head-on.

Sending her back to Groves Point had been a measure of how much he did love her. The hurt in his eyes revealed the pain her words caused him. Angie could offer no vindications or apologies. Nor could she alter the circumstances of years long past.

The last person she ever wanted to hurt was Glenn. He was the only man patient enough to peel down the barriers she had erected around herself.

Closing the book, he set it aside. “He was the one you went to see in Groves Point.”

“Yes.”

Their eyes were level now, unflinching. A minute passed before he spoke. “Go ahead and take your bath and I’ll get myself that glass of wine.”

The questions in Glenn’s eyes were shouting at her, demanding some kind of explanation. But he asked for none. The tension flowed from Angie until her knees felt weak with relief.

The bathwater was lukewarm by the time she had settled in the bubbles and washed. Her mind was crowded, uneasy. She had agreed to be Glenn’s wife. Maintaining secrets, even the most painful ones, was not the way to start their lives together. Before her resolve could weaken, Angie stood and roughly dried herself with a bath towel, rubbing her sensitive skin with unnecessary force. Hurriedly she dressed and moved into the living room.

Glenn was standing with his back to her, staring out the window to the parking lot below.

“Glenn.”

“Angie.”

They both spoke at once, then laughed nervously.

“You go first.” He took a sip of wine as if to brace himself, his dark eyes uncertain. Glenn was such a positive, forthright man that it was a shock to read the doubts in him. He loved her, and by all that was right didn’t deserve to be hurt.

“You should know …” she began, then paused and gestured weakly with her hands. “The thing is, I don’t know where to start.”

“You need something stronger than wine,” he said.

“I think I do.”

Glenn brought down a bottle of bourbon and poured her a glass, adding ice.