Reflections of Yesterday

by Debbie Macomber

  Angie felt like gritting her teeth. “Dad, let me finish. I … I thought you were going to die and I reached out to someone I’ve loved forever … someone I knew would comfort me.” She swallowed against the tightness forming in her throat. “I called Simon Canfield.” Not waiting for a reaction, she quickly moved to the door and stepped outside the room and took Simon’s hand. He smiled encouragingly at her and squeezed her fingers.

  By the time they entered the room, Clay had half risen from the bed, lifting himself up on one elbow. His face was contorted with rage and fury. “Get out,” he hissed. “I won’t have Canfield scum in my room.”

  “Dad,” Angie cried.

  “And you get with him. If you don’t know any better than to bring him here when I’m dying, then you ain’t no daughter to me.”

  The color drained from Angie’s face. “Don’t say that.”

  “I’ll say that and more.” He fumbled with the button to summon the nurse and fell limply against the pillow, his face twisted with pain. “Get out.”

  “Maybe you have reason to hate me,” Simon said, clearly fighting to control his temper. “But I love Angie and I won’t allow you to come between us, old man. So understand that here and now.”

  The nurse with the crisp white uniform entered the room. “Get them out of here.” Clay pointed a finger accusingly at Simon and Angie. “Leave me to die in peace.” His voice shook, he was so weak. His face filled with angry color as he glared accusingly at Simon.

  The nurse’s face was grim as she turned to Angie. “Maybe it would be best if you came back another time.”

  Angie regretfully nodded.

  “Just get one thing clear,” Simon said in a low, hard voice. “I’m marrying your daughter and nothing on God’s good earth is going to prevent that.”

  Clay lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, his features void of expression. “I ain’t got a daughter.”

  “Daddy,” Angie cried.

  “Leave him to sulk,” Simon whispered, gripping her elbow.

  The nurse followed them out of the room, closing the door behind her. She hesitated and cleared her throat. “I don’t want to become involved in family squabbles, but I feel you should understand that at this point your father’s condition is extremely delicate. It would be best if you didn’t do or say anything to upset him. If coming here is going to provoke him, then I suggest you stay away.”

  “But …” Angie couldn’t bear the thought of having Clay step back from the brink of death only to lose him to stubborn pride.

  “Any one of the staff would be happy to report his condition to you,” the older woman continued.

  “You don’t think I should come at all?” Angie was aghast at the thought.

  “Not if it’s going to drain his strength. Your father is going to need all the fight he can muster just to recover properly.”

  “Come on, Angie.” The pressure of Simon’s hand at Angie’s elbow increased. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She nodded and smiled her appreciation to the nurse who had spoken so freely. On the ride back to her apartment, Angie didn’t say a word, her thoughts dragging her spirits lower and lower with every mile.

  Simon pulled in to her parking lot and turned off the engine. For a long minute, they didn’t move. “What are you going to do?” he asked finally.

  “What can I do?” She choked and covered her face with her hands. “Simon, he’s my father.”

  “I’m your husband.”

  Angie felt as if the two men were waging a battle over her. Each was pulling on an arm, driving a wedge between Angie the daughter and Angie the woman, placing her in an impossible position.

  Simon looped an arm around her shoulders and breathed into her hair. His voice was a gentle whisper close to her ear. “Let’s go inside. We can talk there.”

  They made two cups of strong coffee and sat next to each other on the sofa. Simon’s shoulder supported Angie’s head as they became lost in the tangled web of their disturbed thoughts.

  “With my own father so ill, I can appreciate your position,” Simon began hesitantly. “The best solution would be for us to separate ourselves from family altogether. I could leave Groves Point and you could leave Charleston and we’d start a new life.”

  “We can’t do that,” Angie protested.

  “I know, love.” Wearily, he leaned his head back and let his eyes slip closed. “With my father sick, it’d be impossible for me to leave Groves Point.”

  “And Clay needs me in the same way.”

  “If you think I’m going to suggest the noble thing, you’re wrong,” he said quietly. His hand gripped hers. He’d endured too many miserable years without Angie. A hot anger surged through him at the thought of facing more of the same. He couldn’t part with her when he’d come this close.

  “What are we going to do?” Angie whispered, close to tears.

  “About the only thing we can do for now. Wait. When Clay has recovered, we’ll face him again. Only next time we won’t back down. Agreed?”

  Angie didn’t hesitate. “Agreed.”

  Simon returned to Groves Point three days later when he could no longer ignore the commitments awaiting him. Clay Robinson was released from the hospital sixteen days after being admitted. Angie had visited him daily. At first he refused to speak to her. That was fine; she did most of the talking, chatting with him about little things that went on at the flower shop. She brought him the afternoon edition of the newspaper, his mail, and a daily supply of fresh-cut flowers. After a day or two Clay started asking her about Simon. Angie ignored his questions.

  “You aren’t seeing him, are you?” Clay had demanded.

  Angie opened the blinds and stared into the sun. “I can’t ever remember a more glorious afternoon. The sun is brilliant.”

  After two or three days of that type of response, Clay quit asking.

  Because his condition remained weak and he would need someone to care for him, Angie drove her father to her apartment when he was released from the hospital. “You’re to stay here until you’re completely well, understand?” She didn’t expect much of an argument. Clay knew a good thing when he saw it.

  The situation wasn’t ideal, but it soothed Angie’s conscience.

  With Clay at the apartment, Simon, who phoned daily, was forced to contact Angie while she was at Clay Pots. Their conversations were often short, as she was interrupted by customers and the usual hectic activity of running a flower shop.

  “Simon.” She drank in the sound of his voice after one particularly bad morning. “I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

  “How’s Clay?”

  “Demanding.”

  “In other words, he’s running you ragged.”

  “Nothing seems to satisfy him,” came her trembling reply. “Yesterday he called me three times with different requests. He wanted me to pick up his mail, which I do every night anyway. Then he didn’t like what I’d planned to cook for his dinner and wanted me to shop at the grocery store and pick up something that wasn’t on his diet. I don’t know why he bothered to ask. He knew I wouldn’t.”

  “Angie, this can’t go on much longer.”

  “I know,” she agreed with an exaggerated sigh. “He’s playing the deathbed recovery to the hilt. He makes it sound as if each request is his last.”

  “If I got hold of him it would be.”

  A slow smile touched her tired eyes. “Simon, just let me complain. I need someone to sympathize with me.”

  “I’m willing to comfort you as well.” His voice went low and suggestive.

  “Are you, now?”

  “Eager, even.”

  Angie giggled. “I bet you’re not half as eager as me.”

  “Angie,” he groaned, “don’t say things like that. Three hundred miles never seemed so far. I’m dying for you.”

  “It shouldn’t be much longer,” she promised. “Clay’s going to the doctor tomorrow afternoon. I’ll ask about having him move back to h
is own place. As much as I love my father, he’s driving me crazy.”

  “Another minute without you is too long,” Simon argued. “I’m coming this weekend.”

  “Simon.” She breathed his name, pushing the hair back from her forehead with one hand. “Do you think you should?”

  “I’ll go crazy if I don’t.”

  “Me, too,” she admitted.

  “You are going to marry me, aren’t you?”

  Her smile was filled with contentment. “I’ve been your wife in my heart for twelve years. I’d say it’s time we made it legal.”

  “More than time.”

  Donna glanced to the back of the shop, andAngie straightened. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Me, too.”

  But neither hung up. “Bye, love.”

  “I love you, Simon Canfield.”

  “You better. I’m counting on collecting on that promise this weekend.”

  Saturday morning, after being assured by the doctor that Clay would be with her for another two weeks and perhaps longer, Angie was as nervous as a teenager about Simon’s visit. Simon’s flight was due to arrive shortly after noon. From the airport he was checking into a hotel, where she was meeting him for lunch.

  “What’s the matter with you this morning?” Clay snapped. “You’re as jumpy as water on a hot griddle.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You should be sorry to leave a sick man on a Saturday.”

  “That can’t be helped,” she said, and swallowed down the guilt.

  “Where did you say you was going?”

  “To a meeting.”

  “You’re dressed up mighty pretty for a simple meetin’.”

  “This one is with someone important.”

  Clay snorted. “You just remember what that fancy doctor said. I ain’t out of the woods yet. I could have a relapse any day.”

  “You’re getting stronger by the minute,” she countered. Checking her watch, Angie brought Clay the television guide and kissed him briefly on the cheek. Dutifully, she tucked the blanket around his waist.

  “What time will you be back?”

  “I … don’t know.”

  “The least you can do is give me my cell so I can reach you in case something terrible happens while you leave me.”

  Angie froze, making a pretense of checking the insides of her purse. “I’ll have to call you.”

  “The person you should be calling is Glenn.”

  Glenn’s name had been mentioned at least five times every day. “How come he ain’t been around lately? I would have thought Glenn would stop by to see me. It’s the least my future son-in-law could do.” He paused, and Angie could feel the heat of his gaze as he studied her.

  Angie decided the best thing to do was ignore him. “Bye, Clay.” The minute the door was closed, Angie released a pent-up breath and relaxed. This was worse than anything she’d endured in her secret meetings with Simon the summer they were seventeen.

  The drive seemed to take forever. Angie was anxious to get to him. She was afraid of wasting a single minute, afraid Clay would demand an accounting of her afternoon.

  Simon was waiting for her in the hotel lobby. Their eyes met from across the width of the room. At the intense emotion shining from his deep, gray ones, Angie paused. He seemed to be digesting everything about her as if he couldn’t determine if she was illusion or reality.

  The tension eased from Angie and she offered him a trembling smile of happiness. They met halfway into the room.

  “Hi,” she whispered, as their eyes drank in the sight of each other.

  “You are so beautiful.” He stopped himself from taking her in his arms and kissing her in front of a lobby full of people. Impatiently he glanced around. “Are you hungry?”

  Shyly, Angie lowered her lashes. “Only for you.”

  “Room service?” he asked with a chuckle, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm.

  “I think we’d better.”

  The minute they were inside Simon’s suite, he took her in his arms and kissed her with a hunger that had been building inside of him for three interminable weeks. They undressed each other with trembling, eager hands, pausing only long enough to kiss. Their bodies were on fire for each other, their mouths clinging, twisting, yearning. Their hands paused to explore with awe and promise. When they were both completely nude, Simon’s head drew back to look into her dark eyes. His thumbs lovingly brushed the high arch of her cheekbones.

  “Oh my sweet love.” He dropped his forehead against hers. “I love you so much I think I’d die without you now.”

  “I’ll always be yours,” she whispered emotionally, then surrendered to the exquisite agony he inflicted upon her with his hands and mouth. Angie thought she would die from the sweet torture before he carried her to the bed. He took her then, with a tenderness that was unlike anything she had ever known.

  When they had finished, Simon drew her into his arms and kissed the trail of tears that ran down her cheek. Nestled in his embrace, she laid her cheek upon his chest and breathed in even, contented breaths, thinking that nothing this side of heaven could be more wonderful than being loved by Simon.

  “Are you asleep?” he whispered, after a long moment.

  “I don’t want to waste a moment of our time together by sleeping.” Each second was precious. Angie didn’t know how long it would be before she could see him again.

  “In some ways I think I’m going crazy. I’m still warm and content from loving you, and already I’m worried about how soon it’ll be before I can have you again.”

  She smiled and kissed his neck, letting her tongue tease his Adam’s apple. “Any time, Mr. Bank President.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Angie, I’ve thought of a way to bridge the gap between our parents.”

  He sounded so serious that she lifted her head and turned onto her side, supporting her head with the palm of her hand. “You must be more of a genius than I give you credit for.”

  “A baby,” he whispered reverently, placing a hand on her trim stomach. “The best thing that could happen to us is to get you pregnant as soon as possible.”

  Angie closed her eyes to the tenderness in his voice.

  “My mother would give anything for a grandchild. I can think of nothing better to make us acceptable to the other’s parents.”

  Angie recalled Clay’s words about wanting to bounce a grandbaby on his knee. “Jeffrey Simon Canfield,” she responded dreamily.

  “Or Carolyn Angela Canfield.” His hand traveled from her smooth stomach to capture her breast. “Only I think we should make this marriage legal, and the sooner the better.”

  Happiness beamed from Angie. “Yes,” she said, and gave him a watery smile. “I think we should.”

  “Next weekend?”

  Angie shook her head. “I don’t ever expect Clay to give me his wholehearted approval, but I’d rather wait until he’s at least well enough to be on his own.”

  Simon’s hand caressed her shoulders. “As soon as possible, though.”

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  Long after Angie had left, Simon lay staring at the tiled hotel ceiling. A feeling of dread he couldn’t shake settled over him. He didn’t usually have premonitions, but the fear continued to grow in his chest until he couldn’t bear to stay still. Jerking to a sitting position, he sat on the edge of the mattress and buried his face in his hands. Angie was close to being his. He could think of no reason that this fear should assail him now. She loved him more than he dared hope, more than he deserved. They had talked of making their marriage legal and starting a family. There were twelve years of wasted time to make up. Years of love and laughter.

  He glanced at the phone, more than half tempted to call her. These past few weeks, he had lived for those few minutes each day when they spoke. It was never enough time.

  The irony of their situation caused a frown to mar his brow. Twelve years ago, his family had stood in their way. They’d been forced to meet
secretly then. They had been married twelve years and the first time he’d spent the night with Angie had been when Clay was in the hospital. Now they were compelled into that same kind of clandestine meeting, only it was her father who was keeping them apart. Their relationship, he thought pensively, was only a sad reflection of yesterday.

  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.”