“Simon …”
His mouth silenced Angie. Her mind screamed a warning as her emotions rocked and waves of longing racked her. She tried to push herself free, but he wouldn’t let her, holding her fast. His mouth softened, stroking hers with a gentleness until she mentally acknowledged that she had lost. Her mouth parted helplessly beneath his. The very hands that had pushed against his chest seeking freedom now slid convulsively around his neck, clinging to him. Wildly she returned his kiss, on fire for him, loving the feel of his body rasping against her. Abruptly she was free. Reeling under the shock, Angie swayed until a hand at her shoulder righted her and she gained her balance.
“You think of me, Angie, waiting,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. For interminable seconds he stood, staring at her, as if studying every line of her face, drinking his fill before the self-imposed thirst.
Angie didn’t move, didn’t breathe. The four walls closed threateningly in around her, blocking her vision. Before she could utter a word to bid him stay or leave, Simon was gone.
Angie didn’t know for how long she stood, rooted and unable to move. Simon was right. She couldn’t marry Glenn. To do so would be cheating him of the kind of wife he expected and needed.
With confused, sorrowful brown eyes, Angie stared ahead at the road that stretched before her. All she could see was a life of loneliness.
Nine
“You haven’t seen that Canfield boy again, have you?” Clay asked a week after Simon had left Charleston. They sat around Angie’s small kitchen table on a lazy Sunday evening, eating lemon meringue pie. Clay’s favorite.
“No.” Angie cast a pleading glance in Glenn’s direction. His hand reached for hers under the table and held it firmly in a warm clasp.
“Angie won’t be seeing anyone but me from now on,” Glenn said, and his eyes glowed with a triumphant happiness.
Angie had spent long and difficult hours sorting through Simon’s parting words. He was right, she did love him. Nothing could change that. The years hadn’t diminished the intensity of her feelings, and she realized she shouldn’t expect time to ever gloss them over. But that didn’t have to ruin her life. Glenn loved her, really loved her. Enough to accept the fact that her feelings might never be as strong as his.
Clay pushed his half-eaten pie aside and dabbed the edges of his mouth with the paper napkin.
Not for the first time, Angie examined her father’s tired face. “Are you feeling okay, Dad?”
He looked surprised that she would notice. “I’ve been having these funny pains lately. Nothing serious, but I been thinking about seeing a doctor.”
In twenty-nine years Angie had never known her father to admit he wasn’t feeling up to par. Not once could she ever remember him visiting a physician. For years Clay had blamed the medical profession for her mother’s death and claimed that all doctors were crooks.
“Would you like me to make an appointment for you?” She broached the subject carefully, not wanting to appear overly concerned.
“Maybe you should.”
“I’ll do that tomorrow, then.” Worried, Angie looked to Glenn for support and found his eyes studying Clay. Glenn’s features were uneasy.
“I think I’ll be headin’ home,” Clay announced, pushing against the table and scooting out his chair. “I’m feeling a mite under the weather.”
“I’ll go with you,” Glenn offered, dumping his napkin on the table beside his plate.
“No reason for that,” Clay scoffed. “What I’m really doing is giving you two young’uns time alone. A boy like you should be smart enough to see that.”
“In that case,” Glenn said with a chuckle, delivering his plate to the sink, “I’ll put the time to good use.”
Angie walked her father to the door and felt his forehead. Annoyed, Clay brushed her hand aside. “I ain’t that sick. Now you get back in the kitchen with Glenn and give me a call tomorrow, you hear.”
But behind his words, Angie sensed an underlying fear. There was something wrong, and Clay was both worried and confused. Agreeing to a doctor appointment proved as much. “Yes, Daddy dearest,” Angie murmured solicitously, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“Have you two set the date yet?” Clay whispered, glancing into the kitchen. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. It seems time I was bouncing a grandbaby on my knee. I might even compose a lullaby or two.”
Angie stiffened. The pressure was on her from both Glenn and Clay to set a wedding date. As it was, Angie had yet to accept Glenn’s grandmother’s ring. Her emotions were too unsettled to leap into a rushed engagement and marriage. She needed time, and both Glenn and Clay were growing impatient. “Not yet.”
“You aren’t still hankering after that rich boy?”
Angie had been “hankering” after Simon Canfield since she was a high school junior. She shook her head. “No, Clay,” she lied. “I’m over Simon Canfield.”
“Good.” His low hiss was filled with relief. “You won’t be seeing him again?”
“No.”
“He’s not coming to Charleston?”
Angie felt like screaming. Why did Clay insist on dragging this inquisition out? “No.”
Clay wiped a hand across his wide brow. “For all our sakes, I hope so,” he said. Angie stood in the hallway watching the dejected figure as he waited for the elevator.
Glenn had cleared the remaining dinner dishes from the table by the time Angie returned. She paused, deep in thought, and gripped the back of a chair.
Glenn spoke first. “I’m concerned about Clay. I’d bet you anything those little pains of his are a lot more than little.”
Angie agreed with an abrupt nod, worried herself. “I’ll make an appointment for him in the morning.”
“I’d suggest he see an internist.”
“What do you think it is?” Angie turned imploring eyes to Glenn, fear playing havoc with her composure.
“I don’t know, honey. I’m not a doctor.”
Angie nodded, fighting down a sense of panic. For all his weaknesses, Clay was still her father and her only living relative.
“I’ve got the coffee poured,” Glenn announced. “Let’s sit in the living room.”
Angie followed him into the other room. They sat so close on the blue sofa that their thighs touched. Relaxed, Glenn stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. He draped an arm over the back of the sofa. “Is there anything interesting on TV tonight?”
Angie flipped through the pages of the TV Guide and shook her head. “The usual.”
His hand cupped her shoulder and moved slowly down the length of her arm. Angie closed her eyes, wanting desperately to feel the comfort of his touch.
“Dinner was wonderful,” Glenn whispered, and gently kissed her temple.
“Thank you, but I hardly think of fried chicken as wonderful. Wait until you taste my Shrimp Diane.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
Involuntarily, Angie stiffened. It was coming; she could feel it in every breath Glenn drew. He wanted to talk about getting married and her mind was devoid of arguments.
“Sitting here watching television after a big Sunday dinner seems natural,” Glenn said, setting his coffee aside.
“Yes, it does,” Angie agreed.
“Like folks who’ve been married for years and years.”
“Yes.” The word barely made it through the growing thickness in Angie’s throat.
“You know how I feel about you, Angie. I’ve waited a long time for you. I don’t want to lose you now.”
“You’re not going to lose me,” she argued, straightening. Turning, she looped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his throat. “Be patient with me just a while longer.” She paused to lightly kiss his Adam’s apple.
Glenn’s arms tightened around her. “How much longer?” Disappointment coated his voice.
“I … I don’t know.”
“Two weeks, a
month, six months?” he pressed.
“I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes closed, hating herself for doing this to someone as wonderful as Glenn.
“When will you know?”
“Soon,” she promised. “Soon.”
A finger under her chin lifted her face to his. For a long moment, Glenn gazed into the dark depths of her troubled eyes. His voice was deep and velvety as he spoke. “I want you, Angie.” Slowly, enticingly, his mouth inched closer to hers and stopped just when she felt he could go no nearer without touching. “Don’t hold back from me, love.”
Angie saw the look in his eyes and a warning screamed along the ends of her nerves. Glenn wanted to love her completely. He was finished with having her so close and being denied what he craved most. For her own part, she could see no reason to hold back from Glenn. She had shoved Simon from her life—oh no, it was happening again; she groaned inwardly. Glenn took her into his arms and her thoughts flew to Simon.
Filled with self-loathing, Angie twined her arms around Glenn’s neck and eagerly parted her mouth to his.
“Oh love.” Glenn groaned and hungrily devoured her waiting lips. Urgently, his hands moved down her shoulders and back, molding her to his upper torso. His kisses were insistent, thorough, and seemingly endless.
Angie’s resolve to finally give in to Glenn splintered with every kiss, every caress. She longed to be warm and yielding, gifting him with the love he deserved. He had been patient with her, and soon she was going to be his wife. Yet she felt paralyzed with alarm, bewilderment, and even shame, as if she were contemplating something as appalling as adultery.
“Glenn,” she whispered, not knowing how to deal with these reservations.
He didn’t seem to hear her, kissing her with flaming demand. Angie squirmed and jerked Glenn’s arms free. Undeterred, he continued kissing her while fiddling with the buttons of her blouse.
Weakly, Angie submitted, not knowing how to stop him as he slipped the polished cotton cloth from her shoulders. Instantly his fingers sought to release her lacy bra.
“Glenn,” she pleaded with him, but her voice was little more than a strangled whisper. “Don’t, please.”
When he finally drew back, Angie’s forehead fell against his chest. Her hands were flattened against his crisp shirt. She felt disoriented, frustrated, and so confused and guilty. Tears filled her eyes and crept down her face.
“Angie,” he pleaded, “did I hurt you?”
He loved her, urgently wanted her to be his wife, and she’d turned him away from the very things he should expect. Yet he wanted to know if he had hurt her. She buried her face in her hands and wept.
“Oh Angie, I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as if she were a child. He pressed a brief kiss on the crown of her head and rocked her in a gentle swaying motion. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world.”
“Glenn,” she cried. “I’m the one …”
“Shhh.” He kissed her again. “No, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have pressed you.”
“But I don’t think I’ll ever feel differently.”
“Yes, you will,” he whispered confidently. “In time, love. In time.”
Angie couldn’t get Clay an appointment for the internist until the middle of the week. She picked him up at his place and was shocked at his drawn, ashen features. For half a minute she toyed with the idea of taking him directly to the hospital emergency room, but the receptionist had gone to a lot of trouble to squeeze Clay in for the last appointment of the day. Wordlessly, she drove to the doctor’s office, chatting to keep her mind off how worried she was.
The time in the waiting room while Clay was with the doctor seemed interminable. Angie leafed through the magazines with unseeing eyes and checked her watch every few minutes. After an hour, she began pacing the deserted room. What could possibly be taking so long?
The receptionist appeared moments later. “The doctor would like to see you in his office.”
“Of course.” Angie’s stomach had coiled into a hard knot by the time she shook hands with the doctor and sat in his compact office.
“I’d like you to take your father directly to the hospital.”
Angie scooted to the edge of the woven beige cushion. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t alarm yourself. There are a few tests I’d like to run. Unfortunately, he seems averse to the idea.”
“My … my mother died in a hospital.” Angie knew how inane that sounded, but it was the only thing she could think to say. “Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ll get him there.”
Saying she’d deliver Clay to Charleston General and doing so proved to be a formidable task.
“I’m not going to any hospital,” Clay announced stubbornly.
“Dad.”
“I mean it.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Angie started the engine of the car and eased into the evening traffic.
“This isn’t the way to my house.”
“I know.”
“You’re taking me to that hospital, aren’t you?”
“Yup. You can shout, scream, and do anything else you want, but you’re going to that hospital.”
“Angie, don’t. I’m begging you, girl. You take me there and I won’t ever walk out. Mark my words. If I’m going to die, I want to be in my own bed with my own things around me.”
“You’re not going to die, you understand,” she cried, pressing back the growing fear. “I won’t let you. Now quit your arguing.”
“You’re killing me as surely as if you’d stuck a knife in my heart. You’re sentencing me to death.”
“Stop it right now, Clay Robinson. The doctor said that he was only sending you there for a few tests. You’ll be there a couple of hours. Then I’ll take you home.”
“You promise me?”
The doctor had mentioned the possibility of admitting Clay, depending on the test results. “I promise that you’re going for tests.”
“But you won’t let them keep me, will you?”
“We’ll see.”
“Angie.” Clay doubled over in the front seat, gripping his stomach. “Oh God, the pain. I can’t take it.”
Angie’s hand tightened around the steering wheel. “I’m hurrying, Dad. We’ll be there in a minute.” Pressing on her horn, Angie wove in and out of traffic, driving at breakneck speed. She pulled up to the emergency entrance and rushed inside for help. Two men with a stretcher raced to her car and jerked open the passenger door. By the time they arrived, Clay was writhing with agony. He tossed his head to and fro and flung his arms out like a madman.
“Angie,” he cried pitifully. “Don’t let them take me.”
“Daddy.” She gripped his hand. “You’re sick; they only want to help you.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “They’re taking me to my death.”
The two attendants stopped her from going inside the emergency room cubicle. Angie came to a halt outside the room and leaned against the wall, needing its support to remain upright. Clay was right. He was going to die and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She wiped the tears from her face and smiled gratefully to the nurse who led her to a seat in the waiting room. What seemed like hours later, but could have been only a few minutes, a doctor approached her.
“I’m afraid your father will require emergency surgery.”
“Why?”
“He has diverticulitis.”
The word meant nothing to Angie. “Will he be all right?”
The doctor hesitated. “We’ll let you know as soon as we do. If you’d like, you can see him for a few minutes before we take him upstairs.”
“Yes, please.” Angie followed the doctor into the cubicle. Clay lay with his eyes closed on the stretcher bed, his face as ashen as the sheets and marked with intense pain.
“Oh Dad,” she whispered, reaching for his hand and kissing his fingers.
He rolled his head to the side and tried to smile. “I want you to reme
mber that I always loved you, Angelcake. You were the light of your mother’s and my world.”
“Daddy, don’t talk like this.”
“Shhh … a man knows when he’s going to die.” He was so calm, so sure. “I’m ready to meet my Maker …” His voice faded. “Lots of regrets … loved you.”
As the hours passed, Angie grew as certain as Clay that this day would be his last. And with the certainty came the realization that there was nothing she could do. She prayed, pleaded, bargained with God to spare her father. Forcing happy thoughts into her troubled mind, she recalled the times as a little girl that he’d sung her to sleep and made up jingles just for her. He’d tugged her pigtails and called her his Angelcake. She remembered how desolate Clay became after her mother’s death and knew she would feel the same without this roguish old man to love. He was a rascal, a scoundrel, a joy, and a love, all in one. Life wouldn’t be the same without him. He was her link to the past and her guide to the future. And he was dying.
Sweat outlined the greenish-blue surgical gown the doctor wore when he approached Angie several hours later. She could see from the disturbed frown that marred his face that his news wasn’t good.
Linking her hands together, Angie slowly rose to her feet, bracing herself for the worst.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “We don’t expect him to last the night.”
Angie’s head jerked back as if the man had physically struck her. “Can I see him?”
“In a few minutes.”
“Is there someone you’d like to call?” he asked her gently.
Blankly Angie stared at the exhausted man. Clay hadn’t been to church in years. There was no one in all the world she wanted now, save one.
“Yes, please,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. The card he’d given her was in her purse. The phone number was inked across the printed surface of the business card. For several exaggerated seconds she stared at the telephone dial, knowing what it would mean if she called.
He answered on the sixth ring. “Yes?”
“Simon,” she whispered, trying to gain control of her voice. “Clay is dying. I need you.”
Reflections of Yesterday Page 13
