As he’d promised, there wasn’t so much as a raised eyebrow as they entered the foyer. Charlie signed in for them, and with a hand cupping Angie’s elbow, he led the way into the dining room.
The round tables were covered with pure-white linen tablecloths. An expertly folded red napkin was standing at attention at each place setting. The lights had been lowered, and flickering candles cast a festive glow across the room. The hardwood dance floor was toward the front, and the band instruments were set up and waiting.
Cindy was whispering excitedly to Bob, who was walking behind Angie, but she couldn’t hear her friend. Perhaps she would have been more in awe of the fancy club if Simon hadn’t brought her here all those years ago. Once for a birthday dinner, and again for a dance. But his parents had objected strenuously to Simon taking Angie to the club. They had fought, and Angie, not wishing to be a source of problems for Simon at home, had refused to come again.
Charlie pulled out the high-backed chair for Angie, and Bob followed suit. The two women exchanged happy smiles.
“I guess I have to come to the country club for Bob to pull out my chair,” Cindy teased her husband affectionately.
Within minutes they were studying an oblong menu, a gold tassel hanging from the top.
The women ordered veal piccata and the men chose steak au poivre. Charlie insisted on paying for their meal, but Bob picked up the tab for the domestic wine, a delicious chardonnay.
Nostalgia flowed as freely as the wine, and an hour later while they lingered over freshly brewed coffee, the five-piece band started up.
Only a few couples took to the floor.
“Do you dance, Angie?” Charlie leaned toward her and asked.
“It’s been awhile,” she admitted. Her lifestyle didn’t include many evenings like this. She and Glenn shared many quiet evenings alone, but he was a lumberjack of a man and had never suggested they go dancing.
“My feet are itching already,” Cindy confessed, and pointedly batted her curved lashes at her husband.
As Angie recalled, Bob and Cindy made quite a couple on the dance floor. They proved her memory correct as they took to the floor with an ease that produced a sigh of admiration from Angie.
“Shall we?” Charlie held out his hand to her.
“Why not?” Angie answered with a warm smile. “But forgive me if I step on your toes. It’s been a long time.”
“I’ll come up with some penance,” Charlie teased, drawing her into his arms when they reached the outskirts of the floor.
Angie felt stiff and a little awkward as Charlie tightened his hold. “You’re still as beautiful as ever,” he whispered. “I always thought you were the prettiest girl in class.”
Angie managed to hide a soft smile. Charlie had dated a long succession of cheerleaders. In four years of high school, she doubted that he’d ever given her more than a second glance.
“You were dating Canfield, and he let it be known in no uncertain terms that you were his.”
A part of her would always be Simon’s, Angie mused, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. She didn’t want to have to think about Simon.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Charlie.” Early in the evening, Angie had realized that Charlie enjoyed talking about his success. It was easier to listen to self-proclaimed accolades than discuss her relationship with Simon.
The music was slow, and as they turned, Angie caught sight of a silver-haired woman with delicate features sitting at a table against the window. Georgia Canfield, Simon’s mother. Angie’s heart stopped cold. The older woman had changed dramatically. In twelve years, she’d aged thirty. One look confirmed that life hadn’t been easy for Simon’s mother, and a rush of unexpected compassion filled her. She had often wondered what she’d feel if she saw Mrs. Canfield again. The bitterness had been with her a lot of years, just as it had been with Simon.
“Excuse me a minute,” she said, as she broke loose from Charlie. “There’s someone I’d like to see.”
Charlie dropped his arms, surprised. “Sure.”
Making her way across the crowded dance floor, Angie formulated her thoughts. This was possibly the worst thing she could do, but the opportunity was here and she wouldn’t allow it to escape.
“Hello, Mrs. Canfield.” She spoke softly as she stood before the older woman, who was sitting alone at a small table.
A network of wrinkles broke out across her face as she turned, unable to disguise her shock. “Angela.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me for being so brash as to intrude.”
“All young people are brash,” Mrs. Canfield said, recovering quickly. “What are you doing here? As I recall, my husband and I paid a steep price to keep you out of this town.”
Angie’s fingers laced in front of her, tightened. “I realize that. I’ve only come for a visit.”
“I didn’t know you had relatives in the area,” Mrs. Canfield said stiffly.
“I don’t.” Angie eyed the empty chair across from Simon’s mother. “Would you mind if I sat down? I’d like to talk for a moment.”
Georgia Canfield answered with a polite nod, but Angie noted that her shoulders were arched and her back was uncomfortably straight.
“I won’t stay long,” Angie promised, as she took the seat. Her insides were tied in a double knot, but she knew she appeared outwardly calm, as did Mrs. Canfield. “First, I want to ask your forgiveness for taking that money. There hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t regretted it.”
Gray eyes, so like Simon’s, widened perceptively.
“By accepting your offer,” Angie continued relentlessly, “I confirmed every bad thing you wanted to believe about me.”
“I realized at the time that it was more your father’s doing than yours.”
“That’s no excuse.” Both were aware that Clay Robinson was a weak man, but Angie refused to lessen the blame on herself.
“Have you seen Simon?” Georgia Canfield gave no indication that she was concerned, and Angie marveled at her composure.
“Yes, I talked to him at the bank yesterday when I returned the money.”
“Returned the money …” The piercing eyes held Angie’s for a long moment. “Are you planning to move back?”
An intense sadness settled over Angie. Simon’s mother was more concerned that she was going to intrude on their lives. The fact they might discover her subterfuge didn’t appear to concern her.
“No,” she answered simply. “I’ll be leaving town in the morning.”
The older woman looked relieved. “It was good to see you again, Angela. Although you may think differently, I do wish you well.”
Their eyes met and held over the top of the table. “I bear you no ill will,” Angie said, and, placing her hand against the edge of the table, stood. “Good-bye, Mrs. Canfield.”
The silver-haired woman lowered her gaze first. “Good-bye, Angela.”
Angie inserted the key into her apartment door, turned the latch to open it, and reached inside for the switch. A flood of light filled the room. She blinked and lowered her suitcase to the floor. Charleston seemed a different world from Groves Point. Here there was an elegance and grace that had all but vanished from the rest of the South, or at least what she’d seen of it.
Reaching for her cell, she called Glenn.
“Glenn,” she said, barely giving him time to answer. “Listen to me.”
His husky laugh met her. “Angie, of course I’ll listen to you. Are you back?”
“Yes, yes, I just walked in the door and I’m dying to see you.”
“I’m on my way, babe.”
The phone clicked in her ear, and with a sigh, Angie carried her suitcase into her bedroom. The drive would take Glenn a good twenty minutes; she would have time to shower and look her best.
The doorbell chimed exactly eighteen minutes later, and she crossed the floor quickly, flinging open the door. “Glenn,” she whispered. “Oh Glenn.” She reached for him, faintly aware that he
was taller and more muscular than Simon. Her arms slid around his neck as she met his mouth in a fierce kiss.
With his arms wrapped around her waist, Glenn lifted her from the carpet and swung her around, closing the door with the heel of his shoe.
“If that’s the kind of warm welcome I get, I just may send you away more often.”
“And I’d go.” Angie smiled up into dark eyes. Glenn was a dear, dear man. There were few in all the world whom she trusted more. He wasn’t handsome, not in the way Simon was. His brow was wide and intelligent, his mouth a little too full and his nose a trifle too pronounced. But at this moment, Angie couldn’t recall a man more wonderful.
“Glenn, dear, sweet Glenn.” Leaning back, she held both his hands with her own. “You’ve asked me this question a hundred times and finally I can answer you.”
The teasing, happy glint left his eyes and Angie watched as they grew dark and intense.
“Yes, Glenn, I’ll marry you.”
Four
With Prince trotting at his side, Simon rounded the last curve in the road that led him back to the house. The sun was rising, bathing the earth in the golden light of early morning. Sweat rolled off Simon’s face as a surge of energy carried him the last quarter-mile.
Just inside the driveway Simon paused, his hands on his knees as he leaned forward and dragged deep gulps of oxygen into his heaving lungs. He hated these early-morning runs and did them only as a means of self-discipline. But this morning had been different. With every foot that pounded the pavement, he filled his mind with thoughts of Angie. For the first time in more years than he cared to remember, his thoughts of her weren’t tainted with bitterness. Unbridled, his mind roamed freely over their early days and the little things that had attracted him to her. His heart hammered, and with every beat it repeated her name: Angie, Angie, Angie. He remembered the first time he’d ever really noticed her. She’d been standing by her locker in their high school, laughing with a friend. Her long, straight hair had reached her waist and shone as if blessed by a benevolent sun god. The musical sound of her laughter had caught him by surprise, and he paused to see what was so amusing. His gaze had found hers, and the feelings he had experienced when he viewed this slim, dark-haired girl had enthralled him. He knew she was a girl from Oak Street. Simon hadn’t even been sure he remembered her name.
From that moment on, he began to notice little things about Angela Robinson. His classmates often sought her out, pausing to say a few words to her on their way to class. Her smile had a way of lighting up her entire face. Her eyes were the darkest shade of brown he’d ever seen, a mysterious deep color. The girls came to her with their problems, knowing Angie was never too busy to listen. Even the guys set her aside in their minds. Subtly Simon had tried to find out what he could about her and discovered that where the guys were usually loose-tongued about girls, they weren’t about Angie. Even his best friend, Cal Spencer, seemed reluctant to talk about her.
“What do you want to know for?” Cal had insisted.
“I hadn’t noticed her before, that’s all. Is she new?” Simon knew she wasn’t. Faintly he could recall seeing her there sophomore year.
“No. She’s been around awhile.”
“Who’s she dating?” Simon pressed.
“Hey, man, she’s a nice kid, leave her alone. Okay?”
Cal’s words had irritated Simon. Why does Cal care, anyway? he had thought. This girl had captured his attention. The truth was, she wasn’t even that pretty. Not in the way Shirley Radcliff was, and he’d been dating her for weeks. The way things were going, he’d be sleeping with Shirley by summer. Most of the guys were already sexually active and took pride in recounting their experiences. Simon was seventeen, and he felt it was high time to share his own conquests.
“If you must know,” Cal cut in abruptly, “Angie looked over my term paper before I handed it in to that old biddy Carson.”
“You mean she wrote it for you, don’t you?” Simon teased, nudging his friend with an elbow.
“No. I offered to pay her, but she refused. She said that she’d be happy to help, but she wouldn’t do it for me.”
“Did she?”
“Yeah, and she’s helped me and a lot of the others having trouble, too.”
“What do you mean?” Simon didn’t like the sound of that.
“She’s got brains and isn’t a snob about it.”
From then on, Simon had found that he watched her even more. Angie wasn’t the cheerleader type, nor was she outgoing and vivacious. But she was the heart of their junior class. She was admired and respected, and there wasn’t a person in all of Groves Point High who had a bad thing to say about her. It wasn’t that Simon was attracted to her. He had Shirley. But he was captivated by this long-haired girl with the shy smile and the warm heart. The longer he studied her, the more he realized that people were comfortable around her. Nothing about her was manufactured.
It had taken Simon a week to gather up enough courage to approach Angie. He had started by passing her in the hall and talking to her as if he’d been doing it for years. “Hello, Angie.”
The first time, she had looked shocked. “Hi …” It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not know his name. Everyone knew the Canfields.
Other meetings, supposedly by accident, followed. He just happened to be driving by one day when she was walking home from school alone.
“Hi.” He pulled his shining red convertible to the curb and looped an arm over the seat. “I’m going your way. Can I give you a lift?”
Angie had tucked a piece of hair around her ear and shaken her head. “No, thanks, it’s only a few blocks.”
Her refusal vexed him. This was Simon Canfield she had just turned down. The boy who scored the most points on the basketball team, the son of a banker, and the richest kid in town. Who did she think she was, anyway?
Another week passed before Simon approached her again. This time they both were in the city library. Simon played it cool and didn’t say a word. He did, however, nod in her direction once when he caught her eye. She smiled in return and glanced down at her books.
Simon picked up a book on archaeology and sat at the table across from her. For a full twenty minutes, neither said a word. Simon pretended to be reading, but his gaze was drawn unwillingly to her several times. The feeling of being this close to her was euphoric. But for all the attention she gave him, he thought, he might as well have been a pillar of salt.
Even now he couldn’t remember who spoke first. What he did recall was that they sat and talked until the library closed. Simon discovered that he loved to hear Angie speak. Her voice was low and melodic. It wasn’t her voice so much as what she said; her insights were refreshing. She made him feel intelligent and awakened a sense of humor in him he’d never known he possessed. He liked Shirley and had even thought he might be in love with her, but after an hour with Angie he found Shirley utterly boring.
Although it was dark when they left the library, Angie again insisted on walking home. Simon remembered that he tried to sound casual about meeting her again sometime and had even made an excuse about needing help with one of his subjects. Undoubtedly, she saw through that. He was an honor student himself.
After that they met nightly at the public library. With each meeting, Simon tasted a little more of the secret beauty that attracted Angie to his friends. She was lovely without being beautiful. Intelligent without being shrewd. And shy without being docile.
At school she smiled at him in the halls, but never sought him out. Since they didn’t share any classes, Simon had to go out of his way to see her. He did so willingly, not caring who saw him or what they said.
Two weeks after he first started meeting Angie at the library, Shirley announced that she’d decided to start seeing another guy. If she’d expected Simon to argue, she was disappointed. Actually, Simon was grateful. He wanted to ask Angie to the dance after the game Friday night and would have felt obligated to ask Shirley.
r /> Angie turned him down flat.
For two nights he didn’t show up at the library. Nor did he make a point of passing her in the halls. He wasn’t stupid; he’d gotten the message.
The Wednesday before the game, Simon stayed after school, shooting baskets at the basketball hoop beside the tennis courts. Almost everyone had gone home. He didn’t know how long he had continued to drive to the hoop … long after his muscles had protested the exercise … long after his throat felt dry and his stomach ached … long after Angie had walked over to watch him. Even when he did notice her, he pretended he hadn’t.
“Simon.”
“Yeah.” He continued to bounce the ball, took aim, and shot from the free-throw line. The ball swished through the net.
“About the dance …”
Bouncing the ball, Simon drowned out her words, shot, missed, made a rebound, and slam-dunked the basketball.
“Simon … I …” She hesitated, and her voice became small.
He tucked the ball under his arm and wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. “Listen, I got the picture. You don’t want to go to the dance with me. Fine, there are plenty of other girls who would jump at the chance.” His throat felt as dry as sandpaper. Without a backward glance, he walked to the water fountain and drank enough to ease the parched feeling.
Angie followed him. “Would you consider taking me if”—she swallowed—“if I met you there?”
“Met you there?” Simon repeated, astonished. “Listen, Angie, I know you live on Oak Street. I do drive in that part of town. It isn’t any crime to live where you do.”
“I know, it’s just that my dad, well … Would it be all right if I met you at the gym?”
“No,” he said calmly, “it wouldn’t be all right. If I ask a girl out, then I expect to pick her up and take her home. Understand?”
Slowly Angie nodded. Her arms tightened around her books, crushing them to her chest. “That’s the kind of thing you should do.”
“Are you coming with me or not?” Simon shifted his weight to his left foot, the basketball still tucked under his arm. He tried to give the appearance that it didn’t matter to him either way. If she went with him, fine. If not, he’d ask another girl. The choice was hers.