Joy accepted the glass and stood stiffly apart from the cozy family scene by the fireplace hearth. Her smile was strained, but when Sloan’s father offered a toast, her response was genuine. She smiled warmly at Sloan, afraid her heart was in her eyes. Then, purposefully, she looked down into the sparkling liquid before taking a sip.
“This is fantastic,” Sloan said, and reached for the half-empty bottle.
“French, of course,” Myron Whittaker bragged. “Some of the world’s finest.”
“Honestly, dear, you sound like an advertisement.”
Watching the small family interact naturally with one another produced an ache Joy knew she would endure for years hereafter. She would never fit into the Whittakers’ social circle, with their wealth and position. It wasn’t difficult to tell that Sloan’s parents were concerned with their son’s obvious attraction to her. And with good cause, Joy acknowledged.
“We must have a party.” Margaret Whittaker’s words broke into Joy’s troubled musings. “Invite all your old friends.”
Joy could almost visualize all the wheels turning in his mother’s head.
“Here, of course,” she continued. “It’ll be easier for you that way. We’ll invite the Jordans and the Baxters and the Reagans and the Considines.”
“Mother.” Sloan’s sharp tone caused Margaret Whittaker to pause.
“Yes, dear?”
“There will be no party.”
“Of course there will. You’ve been out of circulation for months. People are beginning to ask questions.”
“Let them. There will be no party,” he repeated forcefully.
“But Sloan.” His mother’s eyes were soft and pleading. Joy didn’t know how anyone could refuse the woman, and she sincerely doubted that it happened often.
“I’m tired. Joy,” Sloan called for her, and held out his arm. “Help me back to my room.”
Joy set her nearly full champagne glass down on an end table and strode across the suddenly silent area.
“Don’t say it,” Sloan murmured as they reached his room and he lowered his weight into the wheelchair.
“Say what?” Joy asked, pretending not to know.
“For most of my life I’ve fallen into Mother’s schemes, but not anymore. I have nothing in common with the Baxters, or any of those people.”
Joy straightened, standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the wooden frame. “Don’t look at me. That’s your decision.”
“Then why do I feel guilty?” He slammed his fist against the rubber wheel.
“Parents have a knack of doing that to us sometimes.”
Sloan whipped a hand across his face. “I mean what I say, and Mother knows that. It’ll be interesting to see what lengths she’ll be willing to go to to get her own way. I love my mother, but I’m not a fool.”
It didn’t take even twenty-four hours for Joy to learn exactly what Margaret Whittaker had in mind. Midmorning, Clara handed Joy a phone message that asked Joy to meet Margaret Whittaker in the best restaurant in Oxnard for lunch. Joy dreaded the confrontation.
“You look nice,” Sloan commented, as she brought in his lunch tray. “Where are you headed?”
“I have an appointment in town.”
“Oh?” He arched one thick brow curiously. When Joy didn’t elaborate, he continued. “Anyone I know?”
“Honestly, who said I was meeting anyone? It could be with the dentist.” Over the years Joy had gained a certain amount of poise. She didn’t want to mislead Sloan, nor did she wish to cause ill will between mother and son.
“What time will you be back?” he questioned.
“You’re beginning to sound like my guardian,” she accused teasingly, with an underlying tone of seriousness.
Sloan reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lovingly. Even his lightest touch was enough to cause chaos with her emotions. A tingling awareness spread up her arm. “That’s the last way I want you to think of me.” He smiled at her, his voice deep and calm while his eyes shone into hers.
Joy nodded and backed away. The need to escape was growing, to the point of desperation. If she couldn’t disguise her feelings for him, then everything would be lost and she would have to leave.
Margaret Whittaker was already seated when Joy arrived.
“My dear, how nice of you to come.”
“How thoughtful of you to invite me,” Joy murmured, hating small talk and knowing she would be forced to endure at least an hour of it until Sloan’s mother came to the point of the meeting.
The waitress arrived, filled Joy’s water glass, and handed her a menu. Joy ordered almost without looking. She doubted that she’d be able to choke down anything more than a salad. Already she could feel the sensitive muscles of her stomach tighten.
“Such lovely weather this time of year, don’t you agree?” Sloan’s mother murmured the question.
“Yes.” Joy nodded. Her right hand surrounded the water glass, collecting the condensation. “May is my favorite month.”
“You’ve done remarkably well with Sloan.”
“Thank you.”
“Believe me when I say I know how difficult he can be.”
“He was in the beginning, but gradually he came to accept me as his physical therapist.”
“How much longer will it be before Sloan’s completely independent?”
“A few weeks, not much more than that.” She swallowed a sip of ice water. It slid down her throat, easing the building tightness.
“One of the reasons I invited you here today is to ask about Sloan’s social readjustment. I’m sure you’ve dealt with situations like this before.”
Joy hadn’t, but didn’t say so. “I believe that, given time, Sloan will readjust automatically.”
“I had hoped he would agree to letting me throw a party in his honor. He knows how much I love parties, and everyone has been so concerned. It seems like such a good way to help my son. Don’t you agree?”
“I really couldn’t say, Mrs. Whittaker.” Uncomfortable, Joy lowered her gaze. So this was the reason Margaret Whittaker had invited her to lunch.
“Has he mentioned the party to you?”
“Not since yesterday.”
“What did he say then?” the older woman probed.
“Mrs. Whittaker, please,” Joy said, and breathed in softly. “I don’t think it’s my place to relay your son’s feelings.”
“But I had so hoped.” She gave Joy a softly pleading glance, not unlike the one Joy had witnessed so recently.
The waitress arrived with their salads. Joy smiled her appreciation and reached for her fork. She didn’t need to take a bite to know the meal would taste like overcooked mush.
“I think that if you talked to Sloan …” Margaret Whittaker continued, her gaze centered on the meal. “What I mean to say is that I’ve noticed the way my son looks at you.”
Joy’s heart leaped into her throat. “What do you mean?”
“It’s only natural that Sloan would feel a certain amount of gratitude toward you. He respects and likes you. If you were to ask him about the party, I’m sure he would agree. Won’t you, dear?” she quizzed softly. “For Sloan’s sake?”
Chapter Eight
Joy laid the fork beside her untouched salad. “I sincerely doubt that my asking will have any effect on Sloan’s decision.”
“But you will try?” Margaret Whittaker entreated.
“Yes,” Joy agreed, nodding reluctantly, when what she wanted was to keep Sloan to herself for the rest of her life.
As Joy returned to the beach house, she knew what she had to do. Sloan’s mother had made the position clear. Joy’s responsibilities went far beyond the physical therapy Sloan required. He was almost to the point of walking on his own now. Her last duty would be to bring him back into the mainstream of life.
Hands clenching the steering wheel, Joy drove to the shoulder of the highway and stopped completely. The scenery was spectacular. Huge waves pounded the rocky s
horeline. Large gulls swooped low in a sky that was cloudless. Heaving a sigh, Joy lowered her face until her brow pressed against her coiled hands. What Margaret Whittaker was really asking was that Joy relinquish her love. Of course, she had been subtle, but she was genuinely concerned that Sloan fit back into the lifestyle he had known before the accident. One that excluded Joy.
Sloan was in the hallway when Joy rounded the corner, eager to escape to her room unseen. She stopped abruptly when she saw him.
Large-knuckled hands gripped the walker. Slowly, Joy raised her eyes to meet his.
“How was your appointment?”
“Fine.”
A smiling knowledge lurked behind his dark eyes. “You don’t look pleased about it. What’s the matter, did the dentist find a cavity?”
“I wasn’t at the dentist.”
His mouth curved in a smile, the look deliberately casual. “I suppose my mother’s been at it again.”
Joy attempted to disguise her surprise. “How’d you know where I was?”
“I didn’t. But I happen to know my mother. I didn’t think she’d let this party thing drop so easily.” He shifted his weight, and Joy recognized that he was getting tired.
“Go back to your room and I’ll bring us coffee.”
Sloan agreed, and Joy returned a few minutes later with two cups of hot coffee and freshly baked cookies from Clara.
When Sloan saw the tray he lifted one dark brow. “You expect this is going to take a while?” The look he gave her was both amused and curious.
“It could,” Joy responded noncommittally.
Her hand shook a little as she handed a cup to Sloan.
“You are nervous.” The sharp gaze followed her movements.
“Not really,” she said, attempting to smooth over her telltale tremble. With her cup resting on her knee, Joy sat across from Sloan, who was at his desk.
“All right, let’s have it. What’s Mother said to you?”
“Nothing so terrible.”
“I can imagine.”
“Don’t,” Joy said quickly, in defense of the older woman. “You’ve spent a hellish nine months; I don’t think you realize how hard this has been on your parents.”
His mouth narrowed slightly. “I admit things haven’t been easy for any of us.”
“Now that you’re walking again, your mother needs the assurance that things are going to be the way they once were.”
Sloan rubbed his hands together, the movement marked with frustration. “I’m not the man I was nine months ago.”
“You are and you aren’t,” Joy murmured, staring into the steaming black liquid.
Sloan’s frown was curious.
“In some ways you can’t change,” Joy continued. “Certainly not who or what you are. But you’re bound to see things differently. Life is suddenly precious, and what was once important means little or nothing.” She sat awkwardly on the edge of the straight-backed chair. “I don’t know if any of this makes sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. That’s exactly how I feel.”
“The struggles, the pain, have made you—”
“Us,” he interrupted, immediately linking them together.
“Us,” she altered, and swallowed. The tightness in her throat was mounting until it felt as if someone’s hands were around her neck in a stranglehold. “I know how it was with me. My whole world revolved around my family. I felt secure with them. I didn’t want to face the world. People can be cruel, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it if someone saw my scars.” Her voice contained the rawness of remembered pain, but she continued steady and even. “Now that time has come for you, too.”
“Or so my mother says,” Sloan murmured dryly.
“And I agree.”
“Has it come down to taking sides?”
“I hoped it wouldn’t,” Joy whispered.
“Apparently, Mother’s conned you into believing this party idea of hers will bring me back into the social circle.” His tone was cynical.
“Your mother hasn’t conned me into anything. She’s concerned and wants what’s best for you.”
“And has appointed herself as my guardian to issue me back into a life I want to leave dead and buried.”
Joy’s responding smile was crooked, despite her best effort.
“You find this situation comical?”
“No.” She shook her head while her finger absently made a circular motion around the top of the cup. “You remind me so much of myself. The thing is, Sloan, as much as you’d like to remain a hermit in this beautiful retreat, there’s a whole world waiting for you.”
He emitted a harsh, bitter sound that Joy chose to ignore.
“My point is that I believe your mother may not be so far off base with this party idea. For weeks now, I’ve battled the fortress you built against the outside world. The time has come to face these doubts straight on.”
He was silent, intense, and to all appearances hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “You’re asking me to let my mother go ahead with the plans for this party.”
“Yes.” Her voice was faintly husky.
Sloan closed his eyes and uttered a low, frustrated groan. “By heaven, she’s done it again.” He slammed his hand against the top of the desk, shooting pens and papers in every direction.
Joy gasped, and her hand flew to her breast.
With his mouth pinched tight, Sloan’s head bobbed in cynical acknowledgment. “She knew the only person in the world I’d do this for was you.”
“It’s got to be for you, Sloan.” If they didn’t end the conversation soon, Joy was convinced she’d break into tears.
Margaret Whittaker couldn’t possibly understand what she had asked of Joy. Not only must she relinquish her love, but she must give Sloan back to a life he claimed he didn’t want.
“All right.” Sloan ran a hand along the side of his head, smoothing his dark hair. “I’ll call Mother and tell her I’ll agree to this stupid party idea of hers.”
“Thank you.” Joy stood before a sob escaped and humiliated her. “I’m sure you won’t regret it.”
“I already do.” Sloan’s muttered words followed her out of the room.
The party was set for the following weekend. Clara couldn’t hope to manage everything, so extra help was brought in. Margaret Whittaker became a permanent fixture, bustling in and out, a flurry of activity following her wherever she went. The house, staff, everyone was thrown into an unbelievable tizzy.
As much as possible, Joy stayed out of the way. Tuesday she phoned Danielle to see if there was a possibility of their getting together that Saturday night, but Danielle had already made plans. Not wishing to involve herself, Joy decided to spend the night at her apartment and return the following Sunday morning.
Sloan joined her on the veranda the night before the planned gala event. He stopped his walker beside her and waited until she’d finished playing the musical score on the flute.
“Do you see what you’ve done?” he teased, referring to the party.
“Does your mother do everything like this?”
“Everything,” Sloan confirmed with a chuckle. “But I admit this one tops the cake. I think Dad nearly had a stroke when Mother handed over the caterer’s bill.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I slip out early tomorrow afternoon—” She wasn’t allowed to finish.
“Slip out!” he repeated angrily.
“Yes, I thought I’d spend the night at my apartment. You don’t need—”
Again, she was interrupted.
“Don’t need!” he shouted unreasonably. “Listen here. It’s because of you that I agreed to this whole fiasco. I have no intention of letting you get out of it.”
“But I can’t be here.”
“What the blazes do you mean by that?”
Not for weeks had Joy seen Sloan so angry. “I … I don’t belong there.”
“The only reason I agreed to this craziness my mother schemed up was because yo
u’d be with me.”
“But, Sloan, these are your friends. I won’t know anyone.”
“You’ll know me.”
A feeling of desolation stole over her. “But I don’t have anything to wear to something like this.”
“Take tomorrow off and buy yourself a dress,” he shot back.
“It doesn’t matter what I say. You have an answer.” Her chin jutted out defiantly.
“You’re right. And you’d better decide soon. Otherwise this whole affair is about to be canceled.”
Nervously, Joy trailed her fingers along the railing. “But I don’t want to go. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
Sloan’s sharp laughter filled the night. “And you think I won’t? There’s no way I’ll endure tomorrow without you. Now, do you agree, or will I be forced to start a war within my own family?”
Her mouth thinned with anger and regret. “I don’t like this, Sloan Whittaker. I don’t like it one bit.”
L.J. offered some comfort early the next morning when Joy walked along the sandy beach and plopped down on a log. With short strokes, Joy smoothed the gull’s feathers down the back of his head.
“It isn’t working like I’d planned,” she complained. “Not at all.”
L.J. cocked his head, undisturbed. A few other seagulls flew overhead and landed down on the beach. L.J.’s interest piqued as he squawked loudly. The returning sounds seemed to excite him, and he scurried toward his friends, his feet leaving wet indentations in the sand.
Joy’s heart plummeted to her feet as she watched the bird she had come to love hurry away. Would she lose him? L.J. was tame now, at least for her. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d fit back into the life he’d once known. She was almost glad when he turned around and hobbled back to her side. The gauze that held his wing against his body was what restrained him. Joy knew she shouldn’t be glad, but she was.
The remainder of the morning and all afternoon was spent shopping. Joy gave up counting the number of dresses she tried on. By afternoon she was weak with worry. It didn’t matter what she wore; nothing could change what she was: somewhat plain, short, and scarred.
Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) Page 11
