Ten
The early light of dawn had washed away the dark, lonely night. Angie sat beside her father’s hospital bed, pressing her forehead against the cold metal railing, fighting off the enfolding edges of exhaustion. Clay remained unmoving, his head lolled to one side as he battled for each breath. Nurses moved in and out of the room with silent steps as they checked Clay’s vital signs and marked their findings on the metal clipboards they carried.
Sunlight crept through the slits in the blinds, and the nurse quietly turned them completely closed. Angie yearned to tell her that she wanted Clay to die with the sun in his eyes. But it took more energy than she could muster just to speak. Instead she waited until the woman had left the room, and then she stood, intent on opening the blinds and flooding the room with glorious light.
“Angie.” Simon’s husky voice stopped her.
An overpowering surge of relief washed over her as she turned to him. They met halfway into the private room, reaching out to each other like lost souls released from a hellish trap. Simon’s arms surrounded her, and he lifted her feet from the floor as he buried his face in her hair.
“Thank you,” she whispered chokingly, over and over. Her body shook violently as she clung to him with the desperation of a drowning woman.
“Angie,” he answered. “Tell me what happened.” Simon’s gaze drifted to the face of the man on the bed. For all his differences with Clay Robinson over the years, Simon felt a stirring sense of loss. Angie and her father had always been close, and her grief affected him now more than he would have believed. Her softly murmured phrases were unintelligible and he could do little more than smooth the hair from her brow and hold her close to his warmth.
The doctor arrived, and Angie and Simon stepped outside the room while the middle-aged man with the serious, dark eyes examined Clay.
Angie’s hand held Simon’s in a tight grip as if she were afraid that he would leave her. If it were up to Simon they would spend the rest of their lives together, starting at this moment.
“Dad had diverticulitis.”
Simon blinked and repeated the words. “What does it mean?”
“I’m not sure I know exactly, but from what the doctor explained, the intestines have tiny sacs along the outside edges. When the diet doesn’t include enough roughage, these sacs can fill and become infected. That’s what happened to Clay. His infection was so advanced that the sacs were filled and ready to burst. If they had, he’d be dead now. As it is … his chances aren’t good.” She paused and ran her fingertips along the hard, sculptured line of his jaw. “How did you get here?”
“Drove.” He hadn’t stayed under the speed limit the entire way. The desperation in Angie’s voice had affected him like nothing he had ever known. Angie had always been the strong one in any crisis. People leaned on her. From the time they were in their teens, Simon had marveled at the way others sought her out with their problems. Now in her own grief, Angie had turned to him. Simon’s heart pounded with the comfort he found in that. She hadn’t called on Glenn, who was so close and who would have been so willing. She had reached out to him.
“Oh Simon, I’m so sorry to put you through this.”
“Don’t be.” He took her in his arms again, unable to keep from holding her. “I tried to book a charter but couldn’t last-minute like this, so I drove.” He didn’t mention the fruitless time spent trying to locate a private plane and pilot. “I’m here now and I’m staying. That’s all that matters.”
“The doctor didn’t think Clay would last the night, but he has. That’s a good sign, don’t you think?”
She was pleading with him like a small child, as if it were in his power to change the course of fate. Gently he kissed her temple. “Yes, I think it must be.” The sight of the old man shook Simon. The Clay Robinson on the bed was barely recognizable as the man Simon had known. Clay had aged drastically in the past twelve years. His hair was completely gray now, and the widow’s peak was more pronounced. His skin color was beyond pale, the grayish hue of a man just on the other side of death. Simon ached with compassion for Angie; his heart surged with the need to protect her from this.
When the doctor reappeared, Simon slipped his arm around her shoulders and held her protectively to his side.
“He made it through the night,” Angie said eagerly, the grip on her emotions fragile.
The doctor’s returning smile was tight. “Yes, he’s surprised us all.”
“How much longer will it be before we know?”
“It could be days. I suggest you two go home and get some rest. The hospital will contact you if there’s any change in your father’s condition.”
Angie turned stricken eyes to Simon, communicating her need to remain at Clay’s bedside. “Would it be all right if we stayed awhile longer?” Simon asked.
“If you wish. Only I don’t think it’s necessary to continue a twenty-four-hour vigil. Mr. Robinson is resting comfortably now. I doubt that his condition will change over the next several hours. At this point I’d say we are optimistically hopeful for his recovery.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Angie whispered fervently, her trusting, dark eyes filling with tears of gratitude.
“No need to thank me. I can do only so much; the rest remains with God and your father.”
Together the couple returned to Clay’s room. With Simon on the other side of the bed, Angie sat across from him, her hand gripping the railing as if needing to hold on to something tangible in a sea of uncertainty.
Simon coaxed her once to get something to eat, but she refused with a hard shake of her head. Her hand clasped Clay’s and she whispered soothingly, as if her words would give him comfort. Gradually her head began to droop, and eventually she propped it up against the back of her hand as it gripped the metal barrier.
“Come on, Angie.” Simon spoke softly, taking her by the shoulders. “Let me drive you home. You need your rest. We’ll come back later.”
Rubbing the sleep from her face, Angie yawned and slowly shook her head. She’d been awake for more than thirty-six hours and was so rummy that she would have agreed to anything. Simon was here. She trusted him. Simon would take care of everything.
He helped her stand, and she leaned her cheek against his chest as he looped an arm around her shoulders, leading her to the parking lot and into the bright light of day.
The sun was shining and reflected off the hood of his sports car as Simon drove down the busy Charleston streets. Most of the traffic was heading for the downtown area, and since they were traveling in the opposite direction, toward Angie’s apartment, they weren’t hampered by rush hour.
Once inside the apartment, Angie flipped the switch to the air conditioner. Immediately a shaft of cooling air weaved its way through the apartment.
“You go ahead and get ready for bed; I’ve a few phone calls to make,” Simon said softly. He wanted to contact the flower shop so they wouldn’t worry about Angie not showing up and to call his bank.
His words barely registered as Angie moved into her bedroom and began stripping off her blouse and slacks. She glanced longingly into the bathroom and decided to shower.
Simon heard the running water and paused to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. While waiting for Angie he discovered that the hall cupboard held an extra set of bedding. He’d get whatever sleep he could on the sofa when the opportunity presented itself.
Spreading the sheets for his makeshift bed, Simon felt a great weight ease from his heart. These past days without Angie had driven him to the brink of insanity. The agony of walking away from her with nothing more than a few parting words had filled him with regrets. His mind had ached like a throbbing bruise that didn’t lessen with time, taunting him. Like Lambert, Simon had gambled. Clay’s illness had hastened Angie’s ultimate decision, but Simon had realized the minute he picked up the phone and heard her voice that she would never leave him again. She was his and would always be his.
The sound of running water sto
pped and Angie reappeared, standing just inside the living room. Her thin satin gown was lilac-colored. Simon’s breath stopped short. She was so exquisitely beautiful that he slowly straightened, unable to tear his gaze from her. Her loveliness reminded Simon of the way she’d come to him in the clearing in the woods. The neckline of the gown formed a deep V to reveal the valley between her breasts, and she stood there waiting for him, as innocent as spring.
“Simon,” she whispered, and held out her hand. “Don’t sleep on the sofa.”
Briefly he closed his eyes to the gnawing ache in his loins. She couldn’t possibly expect him to go to bed with her and not touch her. As desperately as he wanted to, he realized he couldn’t take her now! Not with Clay on his deathbed and Angie distraught and confused. Yet he didn’t know if there was anything he could refuse her.
“Here, let me tuck you in.” He struggled to keep his voice cool and impersonal, and crossed the room, not daring to look at her.
Her bedroom was small and dominated by the bed and dresser. Her slacks and blouse were neatly folded across the foot of the mattress. Simon turned back the covers and fluffed up the pillow. “There,” he said. “Your bed awaits you, my lady.” Again he avoided looking directly into those soulful, dark eyes as she slipped between the crisp sheets. Wordlessly he pulled the covers over her shoulders and tucked them under the lip of the mattress as if he were putting a small child to bed.
Angie cast him a look of mild surprise. “Simon,” she said in a low, husky voice. “Could you … would you mind lying down with me? I don’t want to be alone.”
Simon felt like gnashing his teeth. She had no conception of what she was asking of him. “Sure.” He removed his shirt and trousers and slid between the sheets beside her. The narrow bed that forced her to scoot her thinly clad body close to him was an additional torture. He gathered her in his embrace and closed his eyes to the agony of being so near her. Breathing in the fresh scent of her hair, Simon held himself completely still. He tried not to think of the satin feel of her ivory skin and forced himself to concentrate on anything but the warm, vital woman in his arms.
Angie sighed contentedly, not completely unaware of what she was doing to Simon. Maybe it was selfish to use him this way, she thought sleepily, but she couldn’t help herself. Today, more than any time in her life, she needed him. Dreamily, she smiled up at him and nestled in his embrace, pressing her face to the hardness of his chest. Her arm was draped over his lean ribs, and she paused to murmur. “Thank you,” she whispered, grateful for his sacrifice. Already she felt groggy, as if she were floating away on a thick cloud. Her eyes felt heavy, and Simon was warm and smooth and wonderfully masculine. Gradually she could feel the tension drain out of him. After an exaggerated moment, he released a long, slow breath and curved an arm over her.
“I love you,” Simon whispered sleepily, as his hand roamed down her back in long, soothing strokes.
His voice sounded far away. “I know,” she murmured back, and shifted her head so she could lightly kiss his jaw. “I love you, too.”
“Be good, understand?”
“Yes.”
Neither spoke again, and Angie drifted into a deep slumber, content to be in his arms.
Sometime during the morning, Angie’s sleep became filled with resplendent, color-filled dreams that were vivid with detail. Pleasant dreams of when she was young and her mother was alive. Clay was handsome and happy, singing his songs and loving her mother with everything that was in him to love. Their trio was on a picnic by a clear blue lake. The sun was shining and the birds sang merrily from the flowering trees. Clay and her mother and Angie were in a long wooden canoe on the crystal-clear water. Clay had brought along his guitar and was serenading them with the silly jingles he loved to create. Angie clapped her hands with delight and doubled over with laughter. When she straightened, her mother was gone and Clay sat across from her, old and gray-haired and in terrible pain. His hand was clenching his stomach and he looked at her in such agony that Angie cried out with shock. Clay begged her to get him to the hospital and Angie reached for the paddle—only it was missing. If she didn’t hurry, Clay would die.
Frantic, Angie cried out, her voice piercing the still room. Weeping and thrashing about, she knocked aside the blankets and bolted upright.
“Angie.” The voice was low and frenzied, and Angie opened her eyes to find Simon standing above her.
“Oh Simon.” Her breath came in deep, uneven gasps. “I had a horrible nightmare.” Blindly she reached for him, seeking his comfort. Simon was her closest friend, her most trusted love. Vaguely she recalled that he had been in bed with her, but now it was obvious that he had come from the living room.
“It was a dream.” He bent over her, his hands folding around her back.
Angie’s arms tightened as she clung to him. “Hold me, please, hold me.” She whispered the words against his throat as her hands clenched at him with fear and anguish.
Simon braced a knee on the edge of the mattress and pulled aside the blankets as he came onto the bed and lay beside her. Angie’s arms remained locked around his neck as the full length of his hard body joined her.
“Hold me, hold me,” she repeated again and again.
Simon did as she asked with a tenderness and love she had known from no other. His hands stroked her hair, her shoulders, and her back. Angie buried her face in the hollow of his throat and drew in deep, shaking breaths as she closed her eyes. He didn’t try to soothe her with words but simply held her, his hands caressing her.
Gradually the fear subsided and in its place came another emotion so strong, so powerful, that her senses clamored with the intensity. Her grip relaxed and the muscles under her exploring fingers flexed powerfully. This was Simon holding her so tenderly. Her husband of twelve years.
As if aware of what was happening to her thoughts, Simon’s hands stilled and he tossed back his head. “Angie?” His voice was filled with question.
She answered by kissing the salty-tasting skin at his throat, darting her tongue in and out in a provocative action.
“Angie,” he pleaded hoarsely, “are you sure?”
In response, she kissed his Adam’s apple, her tongue teasing and challenging him as it explored the throbbing pulse point on his neck.
“Angie. It isn’t in me to refuse you … I don’t have the strength to turn you down.”
“Love me, Simon. Please, oh please, love me.”
Angie heard the sharply indrawn breath and opened her eyes to stare into the stormy, doubt-filled gray ones looking down on her.
Her hands slid over his shoulders and back again as their eyes continued to drink in each other. One palm slid down over his chest, and then lower, to his muscle-hard belly. “I want you,” she whispered.
Simon groaned and positioned his hard body over hers. His breath was heavy, coming in deep pants as if he’d recently finished working out. He continued to hold her as he gradually lowered his mouth to hers, feasting on the sweetness of her lips with unhurried ease. He kissed her again and again until her mind was lost, incapable of any function beyond feeling the incredible sensations Simon awoke within her.
Simon’s hands were unsteady as he pulled the satin gown over her head in an urgent movement, tossing it carelessly aside. “Simon,” she moaned, her fingers digging into his hair as she arched her back to the exquisite sensations burning through her.
His lips found hers and she kissed him back greedily. Simon’s fingers worked at removing the last barrier of his clothing that separated them. Free of the restricting material, he laid her back against the pillow.
Mindless of anything but the taste and feel of Simon, Angie dug long nails into his shoulder blades. The pleasure that had been denied her for twelve years burst forth gloriously within her and sent her swirling to the heights of heaven. She gave a small whimper and clenched his neck, kissing him again and again as the tears slid down her cheeks.
“Angie, my sweet Angie, I’ll love you
on my dying day.”
Her hands framed his face and she kissed him, her mouth slanting over his. “Simon,” she whispered, poignantly moved by his lovemaking. “It’s even better than I remember.” She sniffled, smiling up at him. Lazily, his thumb wiped the moisture from her face.
“Yes,” he agreed. He didn’t move, kissing her again and again. “Am I too heavy for you?”
“Never.” She closed her eyes, drinking in the warmth of his body sprawled over hers. “Don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t,” her murmured, close to her ear. “Never again.”
Angie didn’t know how or when it happened, but she fell into a deep slumber. She stirred once and felt the dead weight of Simon’s arm over her waist. He was cuddling her, spoon fashion, in the narrow bed. The sound and feel of his even breathing assured her he was asleep. She nestled closer within his arms and returned to a contented, blissful sleep.
When she woke again it was to the warm sensation of someone kissing her earlobe.
Caught in the delicious sensations that shot through her, Angie rolled onto her back. “What time is it?” she asked, not bothering to open her eyes.
“Almost dinnertime.”
Her eyes flew open. “That late?” She sat up, pulling the sheet with her. “I’ve got to …”
“I’ve already called the hospital. Your father is showing definite signs of improvement. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s in better shape than last night at this time,” he told her, sitting beside her, fully dressed. His hands were positioned on the delicate slope of her shoulders and his gaze was filled with fierce tenderness.
It didn’t seem possible that it was less than twenty-four hours ago that she had been sitting in a doctor’s office with Clay.
“Are you hungry?” Simon questioned.
She smiled at him with all the love stored in her heart these past years. “Starved.”
“Good. I took the liberty of snooping through your kitchen and fixing us something to eat.”
Angie leaned against the headboard and stretched her arms out in a long yawn. “I feel wonderful.”
Reflections of Yesterday Page 14