Loved Me Once (Love, Romance and Business)

by Gail Hewitt

  "I don't see how she could," Tom said flatly. "Whatever you might think, I never talked about you to anyone."

  "Except Jameson Halbrooks," she pointed out.

  "I didn't tell him very much," Tom protested. "He asked me if there were any unresolved emotional issues in my past, and I told him there had been a girl once who'd broken my heart in a way that made me feel I wasn't good enough . . . " He paused, but she refused to take the bait, and simply looked away, so he continued. "He asked me if I'd reached closure, which in his terms meant no unfinished business. I had to admit I hadn't, that — if I allowed myself to think about it — I still felt anger at you. And that is all that I told him."

  "Well, if your aunt doesn't usually talk about you and she doesn't know about us, why is she telling me all this personal stuff? She even told me she wished you'd find a nice woman and get yourself a hobby."

  Tom laughed. "Maybe we put out a vibe when we're around each other. No, seriously, maybe once you've been in the kind of relationship we had, your auras keep mingling even long after the fact."

  "Mingling auras? That's a new one," she chortled.

  "It was an intense time," he said.

  She started to get up.

  "Don't leave," he reached out a hand. "I'll be good. It's nice just to sit and talk with someone who doesn't have an agenda."

  "You said that before." She leaned back and looked at him appraisingly. "How do you know I don't have an agenda? I may be plotting all sorts of nefarious things with your nine Georgia counties." She grinned, and relaxed against the back of the seat.

  He was looking at her so steadily that it made her nervous. "Don't stare at me like that," she told him. "It makes you look like Jack the Ripper contemplating his next victim."

  "Do you ever think about back then?" he asked abruptly. "Did you feel we had unfinished business — before I showed up, I mean?"

  She had been gazing out the window and did not shift her focus as she answered.

  "If you're asking me for a totally candid answer, I'm not sure I can give you one. It all gets mixed up, especially now that we've seen each other again and found that we were both wrong about what happened." She turned and looked at him. "Does it matter any more?"

  "You know," Tom said thoughtfully, "I think it does. To use your term, I'd really appreciate it."

  She shrugged, thought about it, and decided there was no harm. It was all dead and done with.

  "To begin with," she said, "as I've told you, there was the shock of having you just disappear from my life. I couldn't quite believe it. I kept thinking that it wasn't really over, that you'd show up and make it right. I think I thought you could do anything," she laughed indulgently. "Then I thought if you'd just come back, I'd be prettier or more interesting or better at . . . you know, the sex stuff, like that other girl seemed to be. I think that was the period when it was the most painful. I had this thing I'd say over and over when it hurt too much to just sit there and think of you." She concentrated, crinkling her brow, and it came back to her. "Wherever you are, whoever you're with, whatever you're doing, you think of me, Tom Scott, and you miss me."

  He cleared his throat, and she waited, thinking he would say something, but he didn't.

  "Then I began to wonder why you'd bothered with me at all. Was it just because I was so young and dumb and so available . . ."

  This time he did interrupt. "How old were you anyway? You told me you were nineteen, but when Holt did the background, it turned up that the dates didn't gibe. Why'd you lie?" He sounded actually angry.

  "Because I knew you would go away if I didn't," she admitted.

  "I had my rules," he told her. "It really bothered me when I realized the truth. You were just a kid."

  "It wasn't your fault," she told him. "And it's not as if we broke the law – I was over the age of consent."

  "Maybe in years, but you were so . . . vulnerable."

  "Well, no point in going there," she said practically.

  "You really thought I was attracted to you because I could use you?" he asked her, as if he'd just then realized the implications of what she'd said earlier. "There were lots of girls I could use if that was all I wanted." Then he got as close to a blush as she'd ever seen on his face.

  "It crossed my mind," she admitted, "and it made me mad for a while. Then I sort of stopped thinking about you at all and began to think about how stupid I'd been. That's when it got to be seriously depressing. I stayed in a kind of funk for a long time. Gradually, of course, I came out of it. One does." Again, she laughed indulgently. "I could even see the magazine covers with your picture on them and think what a little idiot I'd been without having it ruin my day."

  She looked at him, her head tilted as she thought about what she'd just said. "Fair's fair. What about you?"

  "A lot of the same stuff," he admitted, "except that I had more of the anger, probably because I'd suspected all along that you'd ditch me as soon as the novelty wore off. You were from such a different background, and the kind of boys you knew were so different, with such different futures all mapped out. So, when I thought you had ditched me . . . it was like an explosion I'd been expecting had finally blown up in my face. I think I stayed in the anger part of it longer than you did. And I'm not sure I got over it. I'm still not sure. Not anger at you, but just at the situation."

  "I thought that was part of Halbrooks' process, that the point of your coming to see me was to neutralize your anger so you'd get over it."

  "Yeah, well, Halbrooks can talk about a lot of things he doesn't get." He hesitated. "I saw you, you know. I was on the porch outside the windows that looked into the room where you and Brewster were dancing that evening before I came to your seminar room the next morning."

  "What were you doing there?" She was surprised.

  "Getting a breath of fresh air. We'd just flown in, and I was too restless to settle down. Holt, Halbrooks and I walked over to see if there was anything going on in the hotel. We stopped outside for a couple of minutes, debating whether to go in or return to the Executive Lodge. I was facing the windows of a room that seemed to be lit mostly by firelight and a big Christmas tree, and I saw this couple begin to dance. For some reason, I couldn't stop looking, and then it suddenly hit me that it was you and you were with exactly the kind of man I'd always pictured you with, a man who was your match. Someone you could take home to your parents and be proud of. The two of you looked so damned good together."

  "You deliberately watched us?" she said in disbelief.

  "I couldn't help myself, and suddenly I was so angry that my fists were actually clenched. For a minute or two, it was as if I'd never stopped being angry at you."

  "That's a long time to stay mad," she told him.

  "I had a lot to be mad about. I never quite got over missing something . . . maybe not you exactly, but certainly that sense of closeness I felt with you." He looked at her, raw emotion replacing his usual rather nonchalant expression. "I never felt that with anyone else, Maggs, and I began to realize I probably never would. It wasn't that I thought we were fated to be together or anything melodramatic like that. I mean, we all grow up – that's the pity of it."

  She nodded sympathetically.

  "Certainly, at least ultimately," he continued, "I realized that it was probably a matter of chemistry and timing and that the two of us had simply been in the right place at the right time to establish that kind of total intimacy, but whatever the reason, it didn't seem to be coming back with anyone else — and I'm fortunate enough to have known some terrific women."

  "That's very sad, Tom," she told him. "But I take it that you feel better about everything, now that we know the truth of what happened and that neither one of us was exactly to blame."

  "I feel better," he admitted, "so I guess Halbrooks was right."

  "Where is Halbrooks by the way?" she asked him.

  Tom laughed, easing the atmosphere in the compartment. "He wanted to come, if you can believe that, but he has
nothing to do with what's going on today, so I asked him to do something for me back in New York."

  "He seems like a possessive kind of guy," Maggie agreed. "Are you going with your aunt to visit her friend?"

  "No, I've got some other business."

  "On Christmas Day?" she said, letting disbelief creep into her voice.

  "Business never stops," he told her. "You know that. There's this Atlanta company that's on the brink and we're trying to decide whether to throw it a lifeline."

  "Capitalist kingpin," she teased.

  He was about to answer when there was a quick knock. "Enter," Tom said.

  The steward slid open the door and moved a couple of inches inside. "Excuse me, Mr. Scott, but the pilot asked me to tell you we're about to start descending and everyone needs to fasten their seat belts."

  Tom sighed and got up. "I've got to get back to the boys. Have a good visit home, Maggie."

  When Maggie resumed her seat and was fastening her belt, she realized that Mrs. Evans had awakened and was watching her, a quiet smile on her face.

  Remembering her promise, Maggie called Amanda to let her know they were landing. An hour later, the driver turned the limo off West Paces Ferry and parked to the side of the front door. Sander Johnson, the security detail, began a circumnavigation of the big, white house. Amanda, who'd been watching their arrival from the front door, grinned broadly.

  "Will these gentlemen be joining us for lunch?"

  "You can ask them," Maggie told her, "but I doubt it. They'd probably prefer a plate in the limo." This turned out to be so, and only Maggie, her mother, and Amanda sat down at the Chippendale-style table in the dining room. Mrs. McLaurin was in a quiet mood, seeming barely to notice Maggie, not responding to her in any way.

  "She's going through some kind of new stage," Amanda told her. "It started a few days ago. It's like she's off in another world. I called Dr. Fowler, and he said it was possible she was entering into a different phase."

  "Is Mother still taking her nap after meals?" Maggie asked. "We can talk about it more then. Also, I do want us to go around the house and make the list I mentioned. I'd really like to start having some repairs made, and I want you to think about what kind of assistance you'd like to have. Dr. Fowler is recommending that you have help; he thinks the situation might reach a point where you'll appreciate having backup."

  "I can handle everything just fine," Amanda protested. "When I told you about what was going on a couple of weeks ago, I wasn't hinting for more help. I just had to get it off my chest. I'm doing fine. Haven't I been handling things just fine?"

  "You handle it amazingly well, Amanda," Maggie said patiently. "My concern is that the whole thing will get so tiring that it'll begin to affect your health. This has to be exhausting for you."

  "Getting another person is just going to cost so much money, Miss Maggie," Amanda warned.

  "The money part of it seems to have worked itself out," Maggie said. "I'll tell you about it after lunch."

  Later, they were sitting in the living room together, a pad of notes on Maggie's knee. After some explaining, Amanda appeared to be at last convinced that things really had changed for the better.

  "So the house is going to be sold, but we can keep your mama in it for at least five years and even longer if we need to? You don't know how that relieves me, Miss Maggie. Your mama sometimes just walks around this place, patting things. As often as not, she goes to that painting of your Daddy at the head of the stairs and talks to it. That's about all she seems to like to do anymore."

  'You didn't tell me that before," Maggie said.

  "I thought it might upset you, especially if things had got so bad that you were having to think about selling."

  "I was," Maggie admitted. "I'm sorry if you were worried. I was never going to sell if there was any way to hang on. I hadn't even listed the house when the agent who's selling the property next door called to say someone had made an offer here."

  "Well, we still need to be careful," Amanda told her. "Selling a house isn't the end all and be all. Money goes like water running downhill."

  "I know," Maggie reassured her. "We'll be careful, but the money will definitely be there to do what's on this list."

  "That's a wonderful thing," Amanda smiled.

  "Now," Maggie shifted gears. "Let's finish the list and talk about the sort of person you'd like to hire to help you."

  When they'd done, there were still a couple of hours left before Maggie had to leave to return to Charlie Brown. She checked in with Sander Johnson to verify that their departure time remained the same, then she went inside and found Amanda in the kitchen.

  "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my old room."

  Upstairs, sitting on the edge of the canopy bed, she thought how different this visit was from the last. She'd been so worried, actually scared for the first time. Now she felt in control again, thanks to Tom's wonderful job and the holding company that had bought the house on exactly the right terms. She didn't know which was the more miraculous. Between them they'd lifted the almost-unbearable weight that seemed to have been pressing against her chest for the last few years. It was an amazing feeling.

  She yawned and lay back against the pillows. She felt very relaxed. The room seemed more pleasant, more welcoming today. Was it because the monetary difficulties relating to the house had been resolved, or because the room had symbolized that unhappy period when she'd thought herself abandoned, an assumption that she now knew was untrue? She leaned back against the pillows and allowed herself to think of that time, surprised at how clearly and completely it returned to her, like a fading photograph in the process of being restored.

  The Most Wonderful of Bad Times

  She supposed it had really begun when — after either she or her mother had objected to other alternatives, she preferring Vanderbilt and her mother Agnes Scott — she had, at age seventeen, been allowed to register at Georgia State for her freshman year in college. The choice was surprising. Located in downtown Atlanta, GSU was a genuinely urban university with the most-diverse student body in the area, a fact that almost certainly had escaped Mrs. McLaurin's attention. At first the plan had been for Maggie to live at home and drive back and forth — the bank manager had authorized from her trust funds the purchase of a Saab 900 — but then something completely unexpected happened. Mrs. McLaurin was invited on a special around-the-world cruise by Eugenia Ward, her best friend. It was a trip that she had always wanted to make, especially since it would begin with a month to be spent in the New York penthouse of Eugenia's sister, going to the theatre and shopping. All that made her hesitate was her sense of duty, or at least public opinion. When Mrs. Ward pointed out, however, that her daughter Carolyn, a couple of years older than Maggie and also a student at GSU, was looking for a roommate, she was already half-convinced. When Mrs. Ward added that the rental was a carriage house behind the large home of a mutual friend in Ansley Park, only fifteen or twenty minutes away from GSU's campus, Mrs. McLaurin announced that the matter was settled. Maggie was to live with Carolyn Ward until her return. She laid down strict ground rules. Maggie was to confine her social life to group activities and then only with suitable young people approved of by her new roommate. There were, above all, to be no romantic entanglements, as she was entirely too young and, in any event, such associations would violate the trust her mother was placing in her. And, most importantly, there was to be no alcohol, not even wine or beer, and particularly there were to be no drugs.

  "You must promise me on your father's memory that you will avoid drinking and drug taking," her mother had insisted, and Maggie had gravely promised. It was a promise she had kept. Fortunately, her mother had not asked her to make any specific commitments about other things, for that — as it turned out — would have been an entirely different matter.

  The carriage house was a pretty place, too small really for two girls and all their clothes and school paraphernalia. That wasn't as much of a problem as it migh
t have been, for Carolyn, the roommate, was rarely home. She fulfilled her duties toward Maggie, she felt, by taking her around and showing her the location of the laundromat at Ansley Mall, the dry cleaner on Monroe Drive, the best places nearby to grab a quick meal, and the fastest route to school both during and outside rush hour. After that, her attitude implied, Maggie was on her own.

  She'd been more than a little apprehensive, Maggie admitted to herself now. She'd never spent any time away from one or both of her parents save for the occasional week at camp with girls she knew or a visit to family friends. It was a heady experience to find herself, more or less, on her own. True, her mother called each Sunday morning, regularly at nine, and she was expected to give a full report, which she did, albeit with slight shifts in emphasis. Not that she was doing anything very adventurous, mainly just attending classes. She simply had this instinctive feeling that, if she appeared to be too happy when she answered the phone, her mother would become suspicious and return home. She'd decided in those early weeks of relative freedom that the safest course was to sound cheerful, be moderately informative, and waste no time before asking her mother about the plays she'd seen that week or, once the cruise had begun, the progress the ship had made.

  She'd first noticed Tom the third week of the term. It was in English class, her last on that particular day. The professor believed that clear communication was the basis for all things good, and he had invited a cohort from Georgia Tech to share his thoughts on technical writing. Maggie had been listening to him, taking the occasional note, when she got a sense that she was being watched. Glancing around, she saw a young man at the back of the room, leaning negligently against the wall. He was now looking rather ostentatiously at the speaker, but she had a feeling it had been his eyes that she'd felt. She wondered why he was looking at her. She didn't think she'd ever seen him before, certainly not in this class. For one thing, he looked more grown-up than the boys around her — not so much older as more assured. She realized that there was something different about him, something that made him hard to look away from.