Reflections of Yesterday

by Debbie Macomber

  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.

  Angie so rarely drank anything stronger than wine that when she took a sip, the burning feeling sank to the pit of her stomach and stayed there like a red-hot coal. Grimacing, she handed the glass back to Glenn. “I’ll do better without this.”

  “From the look about you, I think I may need one of those myself.” He sat across from her, resting his elbows on bent knees. White lines of tension bracketed his mouth. “Go on.”

  Angie knew what it had cost him to make light of this situation and appreciated him all the more. “I don’t deserve you, Glenn.”

  “Just don’t tell me you’re married and have five kids waiting for you in Groves Point.”

  Her pain-shadowed eyes dropped to her hands. “There were no children,” she whispered brokenly.

  “But you were married?”

  “Yes … no.” This was the worst part. How could she possibly explain that through all these years she felt married?

  “Which is it?”

  “I was married to Simon, but the marriage wasn’t legal.”

  “You’d better start at the beginning,” he murmured after a lengthy pause, his voice aching and confused.

  They talked nonstop for an hour until there was nothing Glenn didn’t understand or know. When Angie was only a few minutes into the painful details, Glenn crossed the room and sat beside her, holding her close, lending her his strength. Angie was amazed that she could recount the events with such a lack of emotion. It was almost as if she was relating another person’s story. Angie started the story when Simon and she were in high school, and ended with the bitter man she had found in Groves Point Citizens Federal and her confrontation with his mother the following evening. Sparing no particulars, accusing no one, she completed her narration and paused to study the grave look on Glenn’s face.

  “If you have any questions, ask them now,” she requested softly. “After tonight, I want us to make a pact to never speak of Simon or Groves Point again.”

  Glenn was motionless beside her. “I don’t think that will work,” he said finally.

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I were Simon I’d be here right now. From everything you’ve said about him, I’m surprised he hasn’t arrived already.”

  Angie wanted to bury the past, not resurrect it. “No, he won’t,” she returned, sounding more confident that she felt. “I told him it’s over and that he’s dredging up a memory. I asked him not to phone again.”

  Angie felt the room temperature drop ten degrees. “He phoned?”

  “Today … I told him it’s over. We can’t go back to being seventeen again.”

  “Is it really over, Angie?”

  “Yes,” she cried, her mind in turmoil. “Would I have agreed to be your wife otherwise?”

  Naked uncertainty flashed across his handsome face as he clasped her hands tightly within his own. “I want to believe that.”

  “Oh Glenn. My first instinct is to suggest that we go away and get married tonight. That would settle everything. But I can’t. And I won’t.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” Glenn drew in a long, labored breath. “Everything will be right for us and between us when I make you my wife.” His voice was soft with tenderness.

  Angie turned brilliant eyes to him and smiled her gratitude. He was telling her that he understood her need to do everything properly this time. Her marriage to him wasn’t going to be a hushed affair, with their vows whispered behind closed doors in the dead of night. She wanted to stand before God and friends and proclaim their love. With Glenn she would have a maid of honor and bridesmaids and her picture in the paper. This marriage was for a lifetime, and there would be nothing to make it sordid. In the years to come she would look back and remember the joy in Glenn’s eyes when he slipped the wedding band on her finger. This marriage would be a good one, and with it would come the years of happiness that had been so elusive. The pain in her heart that had spread like cancer into every facet of her life would forever be healed.

  Threading his fingers through her hair, he framed her oval face between his hands and gazed into her eyes. “I love you, Angie.”

  With a sublime effort, Angie forced herself to smile and echo his words.

  “The same man as yesterday called,” Donna announced, when Angie entered the back door of the flower shop the next morning.

  Angie dragged her gaze from her friend to the desk and the offending telephone. “Did he leave a message?”

  “No. Only that he’d phone back later.”

  Angie panicked, then became ice-cold as resentment filled every pore of her body. “If he phones again, tell him I’m not here. Better yet, inform him I’ve taken a six-month cruise to Antarctica.”

  Donna stared at her with wide-eyed astonishment. Angie instantly regretted her outburst, ashamed that she was crumbling because Simon Canfield had tried to contact her for the second time in two days.

  The worst part, she thought, was that she couldn’t chastise and berate him for interfering in her life. They shared a special bond of friendship, love, marriage, and betrayal. Simon could never be just an old “boyfriend” in her life, and finding the proper place in which to fit him could be impossible.

  Angie’s eyes strayed back to the phone. She hardly believed the surge of emotion she was experiencing. Vividly she recalled the look in Simon’s eyes as she had pulled out of the driveway on his property. His gray eyes had grown soft with confusion as if he wasn’t sure if he should let her go or plead with her to stay.

  The phone rang again ten minutes later. Donna’s eyes sought hers. “Do you want me to get it?”

  “No.” She shook her head as she spoke. “I will.”

  She drew in her breath and squared her shoulders as she walked to her desk in the rear of the shop. The area was small but granted her more privacy than if she were standing at the front counter.

  “Clay Pots.”

  “Angie, it’s Simon.”

  His voice was a gentle caress filled with the tenderness she had known from him in her youth. A surge of unexpected compassion spread over her, warming her. “Simon, before you say anything, there’s something you should know. Something important.”

  “Nothing could be more important than the fact that I love you, Angie Robinson. Listen, I’m doing everything I can to make arrangements to—”

  “Simon, please, will you listen to me?”

  “Good. We need to talk. There are a few too many skeletons in our closets.”

  “I can’t talk now,” she insisted. “Not in the middle of the day.”

  “It’s not even nine.”

  “That’s the middle of the day to a florist. Please don’t argue with me long distance?” She nearly choked at how ridiculous that must have sounded. Simon Canfield drove a ninety-thousand-dollar car, lived on choice South Carolina soil, and dressed in two-thousand-dollar suits. A phone call wasn’t even worthy of a mention.

  “I want to see you.”

  “No.” It took all her restraint not to cry at him to stop pressuring her like this.

  “Why not?”

  Tell him you’re engaged, her mind screamed. He’s got to know. It’s the only thing that will get through to him now. “I won’t see you, it’s too pa
inful.”

  “Angie, I swear to you, I’ll never hurt you again.”

  “Oh Simon.” Her voice became a throbbing whisper. “There’s something you’ve got to know.”

  “Angie, please—”

  “No,” she cried shakily. Her hand pressed against her forehead and lifted the hair from her brow. “There’s someone else who loves me now. He’s a good man—” Her voice cracked, and she sucked in a calming breath.

  A stunned silence echoed over the line.

  “Please, Simon, don’t phone me again,” she begged. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just leave me alone.” Blind determination gave her the courage to sever the connection. Her hand remained on the phone, half expecting Simon to immediately call again. Hundreds of miles might be separating them, but it didn’t take much to imagine the cold displeasure hardening Simon’s face. Simon was a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted. A full five minutes passed before she gave up the vigil. And it was another couple minutes more before she realized that Donna was studying her with a worried frown.

  In a flower shop the phone and Internet were essential to run a profitable business. Angie learned that day to hate the phone. With every ring she cringed, fearing it was Simon. No day had ever lasted so long. She was out the door at ten minutes after five, relieved to have escaped partially unscathed.

  This was the night she and Glenn were having dinner with her father. An evening to celebrate. Glenn was bringing his grandmother’s ring to her, and they were going to announce their engagement.

  “This should be the happiest day in your life,” Angie muttered out loud, as she slipped her feet into delicate high-heeled sandals. “At least try to look the part.” She checked her appearance in the mirror and groaned. Clay would take one look at her and demand to know who died.

  She pinched her cheeks, hoping that at least would add color to her ashen features.

  As usual, Glenn was on time. His mouth caressed hers in a slow, undemanding kiss. “Are you feeling okay?”

  Nodding took a monumental effort. “I’m fine.”

  The doorbell chimed in short, impatient bursts, and Angie tossed a stricken glance across the room. Panic filled her, and her gaze flew to Glenn.

  “Do you want me to get it?” he asked, almost tenderly.

  “Please.” Apprehension rooted her to the floor.

  Glenn walked across the room and pulled open the door. “Hello, Simon,” he said firmly. “I’ve been expecting you. I’m Angie’s fiancé.”

  Six

  Charleston had often been called the Holy City. Her skyline was punctuated with the graceful spires of churches, the symbols of man’s faith in a merciful God. Angie’s faith was at its lowest ebb as she sat beside Glenn in his Lexus. Silently, he drove to an elegant French restaurant, where her father was meeting them for dinner.

  Angie’s thoughts drifted to the scene that had recently happened. Simon and Glenn had faced each other like warlords defending their titles. At Glenn’s announcement that he and Angie were engaged, Simon had turned his shocked gaze to her, demanding that she tell him it wasn’t true. Instead Angie had inched closer to Glenn’s side. To her surprise, Glenn didn’t place a proprietary arm around her.

  “Does he know about us?” Simon directed his question to Angie, ignoring Glenn.

  “Everything,” Angie told him.

  Simon continued to concentrate his fierce gaze on her. “We need to talk.”

  “As you can see, Angie and I are going out tonight,” Glenn intervened.

  Her thoughts drifted to the present as Glenn pulled to a stop at a red light and turned to her, laying his hand over hers. “Are you angry?” He looked as if he could stand fearless against the strongest enemy but crumble under her distrust.

  “Angry?” she echoed, and scowled. “How can I be? Why, oh, why, do you have to be so noble? I don’t want to see Simon again. I want him out of my life.”

  Glenn’s face tightened as he returned his attention to the road. “As much as I love you, as much as I want you to be my wife, I can’t see us ever truly happy with the shadow of Simon looming between us.”

  “I went back to Groves Point,” she argued. Already she had done everything he’d asked of her. More. The future stretched before her like an eagerly awaited journey, and for the first time this heavy load of guilt and unhappiness had been lifted. She was free. It wasn’t right that Glenn was forcing her to turn around and go back.

  A weary smile relaxed the tight lines about his eyes. “Yes, my love, but you didn’t bury the past, you simply stirred it up.”

  Smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her favorite blue skirt, Angie said, “But I don’t want to see Simon.” If Glenn harbored small doubts, then hers were giant mountains.

  Glenn’s hand reached for hers and squeezed it lightly, lending her his conviction. “He’s only here for a few days. If you don’t spend time with him, then you’ll always wonder. We both will.”

  Again Angie marveled at this man beside her. He loved her enough to risk losing her. And although he presented a façade of unwavering confidence, Angie realized that he wasn’t entirely convinced things would work out as he desired. “I don’t want anything more than to be your wife,” she said.

  “Good.”

  The restaurant came into view, presenting another complication. “Glenn,” she breathed, “what are we going to tell Clay?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But …”

  “My grandmother’s diamond is in my pocket, but as much as I want to slip that ring on your finger, I won’t. The time isn’t right for you to wear it yet. Spend this weekend with Simon. A few days will make all the difference in the world.”

  That was exactly what Angie feared most. Another concern bobbed to the surface of her mind: her father. “Clay mustn’t know I was in Groves Point.”

  They exchanged meaningful glances. “Is it the money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whatever happened to it?”

  She lifted one delicate shoulder, not wanting to say the words.

  “Clay spent it?”

  “It gave him the chance to follow his dreams. He’s a wonderful musician,” she said, a trifle too defiantly. “He went to Nashville looking for a chance to sell his songs.”

  “And blew it.” Glenn completed the sad tale in three simple words.

  “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven himself. Although he never mentions the Canfields, he hates them almost as much as he detests Groves Point.”

  Clay had followed his dreams, and in doing so had shattered Angie’s. With the money in his hands, he had become a stranger. He left Angie staggering with shock and grief in Charleston and bought a secondhand car to drive to Nashville. The way to impress the powers-that-be was with money, Clay had claimed. He’d return, he promised, as rich as Rockefeller. Wealthier than the Canfields, at least. Within a month he was back, broke and broken. For a time he tried to convince Angie that she had sold herself cheap, and that the thing to do was to return to Groves Point and get more money. For the first time in her life, Angie refused her father something. Now he hated Groves Point and the entire population. His music would never be sung, and it was easier to blame the Canfields than to accept fault with his own actions.

  “But he’s going to wonder why we’re celebrating. In all the time we’ve been going out, we’ve never taken Dad to a fancy restaurant. He’s expecting us to announce our engagement. What are we going to tell him?”

  Glenn grinned suddenly. “We’ll simply have to make up something. Should I tell him you’re pregnant?”

  “Glenn!”

  “All right, you come up with something.”

  In the end, they called it a belated Father’s Day gift, until a sober, disappointed Clay reminded Angie that she had already given him a shirt and tie.

  Friday morning, Angie must have glanced at her wristwatch fifteen times between eleven and eleven-thirty.

  “You’re doing your bullfrog routine again,” Donn
a mentioned casually. “You sure have been jumpy this week.”

  Arguing with Donna would be useless, especially since she was right. In spite of herself, Angie glanced at her watch again. Simon had said he’d be by to pick her up for lunch between eleven and noon.

  The door opened and Angie looked up. Her breath froze in her throat, nearly choking her. Simon’s smile was filled with a wealth of love. A slow, admiring grin crept across his face. He was dressed casually in an open-collared sport shirt and cotton slacks. Angie couldn’t recall him looking more devastatingly handsome. Her eyes were glued to him, and for the life of her she couldn’t speak or move.

  Donna’s gaze swung from the immobile Angie to Simon and then back to Angie.

  “Can I help you?” Donna intervened, obviously confused.

  “I’ve come to take your employer to lunch.”

  Angie’s fingers worked furiously with the satin ribbon she was forming into a huge bow. With a dexterity that came with years of practice, she wove the ribbon in and out of her fingers, twisted it with a thin wire, and set it aside for Donna to insert into a floral centerpiece.

  “Are you ready?” Simon directed the question to her.

  “Yes. Give me a minute.”

  Donna’s face scrunched up with a frown. “You’re the man who called earlier this week.”

  Simon’s gaze didn’t waver from Angie’s. “Yes.”

  Flustered and eager to make her escape before Donna asked any more questions, Angie moved around to the front of the counter. “I’ll be back at two.”

  “Make it three.” Simon’s gaze traveled to Donna as he flashed her a quick smile.

  Once outside, Angie squinted in the sunlight. Simon strolled at a leisurely pace through the historic section of Charleston. Actually, Simon strolled and Angie followed, her arms crossed in front of her to convey her feelings about this arrangement. They drifted in and out of quaint shops along the way, browsing. Simon didn’t seem to be in a hurry, but Angie wanted this afternoon over with.