The Driven Snowe Page 21

  “I’m sorry, son,” his father rumbled, his voice filled with sympathy.

  “So am I.” His mother stood up, her chair dragging along the floor with a harsh shriek. “Sorry I had to hear this.”

  She stalked off from the table. Stalked. His gentle, smiling mother walked out like a gambler who’d just lost a high-stakes poker match.

  His father’s jaw dropped. “Holy cow. What was that about?”

  Josh rubbed his hands over his face. “Could you please tell me what I’ve done that suddenly makes me vile to women? Please? So I can stop doing it?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.” His father started to stand. “I’d better go find out what’s the matter…”

  “No, Dad. Whatever she’s mad at, it’s something I said. I’ll go see if I can fix it,” he said.

  He walked through the house, looking for her. He finally found her in the attic office. “Mom?”

  His mother was sitting at the small writing table that was set up by the window. She looked out into the sunlight, her back to him.

  He walked up, shut the stairs behind him. “Mom, what is it?”

  She didn’t say anything, but pushed the window open a little further. He felt the cool breeze on his face, like a whisper.

  He was always closer to his father, granted, but his mother had always been comforting—had always supported him, been on the bleachers cheering while his father had been on the sidelines, coaching. To have her be like this, act like this, was a one-two punch following Angela’s refusal.

  “Come on, Mom,” he said, using the charming voice he often employed when he was younger, trying to stay up past bedtime. He thought it would cheer her, make her start talking. “How am I supposed to fix it if you won’t tell me what’s…”

  “Don’t game me, Josh.” Her voice was cold, and he stopped. “I’m your mother. Don’t you dare try to con me.”

  He blinked. Then his anger stepped to the fore. “All right. What is this?”

  She turned to him. Her cheeks were wet, and it hit him like a fist in the gut. “Mom?”

  “I thought I’d raised you better than this.”

  His world had spun out of control when Angela didn’t say yes to his marriage proposal. With that perspective, he supposed this attack shouldn’t have surprised him. Still, he was stunned. “Mom, what did I do?”

  “It sounds like you did everything, from what you’ve told me,” she said, her words mocking his. “You charmed her. You planned things for her. You did everything in your power to show her why she should be with you.”

  “Is that what made you angry? That I was trying too hard?”

  “No,” she said, with an exasperated tone. “I’m angry because you didn’t do the one thing she needed. You didn’t ask her what she wanted.”

  He bristled at this. “Mom, you’re off base here. She wasn’t exactly forthcoming. I did everything I could to find out what she liked, what she dreamed about…”

  “Just so you could use it, Josh,” she said strongly, her eyes rimming with tears again. “Don’t you hear what you’re saying?”

  He stopped.

  “Josh, I’ve known you all your life,” she said, with a small smile that reminded him more of the mother he knew, and he calmed fractionally. “I’ve seen you admire your father, with his determination, his drive, and his ability to plan or charm his way into just about anything. Goodness knows, I found him hard to resist.”

  “Mom, what are you saying?”

  She looked at the attic stairs almost furtively. “I love your father. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. But sometimes, I’ve resented the hell out of him.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t hate him,” she said quickly, frowning at him. “I’m not saying that. But he did what you’re doing. He loved me because I stood up to him—he’ll tell you stories, I know. But slowly, he wore me down.” She took a deep breath. “Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a writer?”

  Josh sat down on the daybed, feeling stunned. “I remember you majored in English lit.”

  “Your father needed help with his store. Then, as he got bigger, more successful, he needed my support. I loved him so much, it never occurred to me not to give him all my attention, all the time I could spare. Then you kids came along.”

  “Mom,” Josh said, wounded.

  She shook her head. “You were a joy to me. Don’t ever think you weren’t. But it was more time, and more attention. The writing just never seemed as important. So I let it go.”

  She leaned back in her chair, her eyes going a misty, dreamy blue-green-gray. “I remember once, I was taking you and your sister shopping. I guess my car was broken down—we had to take the bus. We hadn’t moved to Manzanita yet. We were still in—I think we were in San Francisco.” She smiled at the memory. “So there I was, trying to ride herd on you while I was lugging your sister and a bag full of who knows what. And I remember looking up, and seeing a billboard of Sandra Rossi.”

  Josh frowned. The name sounded familiar.

  “She’s a feminist author,” his mother explained. “I went to school with her. We used to sit around, drinking really cheap wine and talking about our careers. And there she was, doing what we’d dreamed about. And there I was.”

  “With nothing.” Josh’s voice was flat.

  “Not with nothing!” she countered. “I’m not trying to tell you I made the wrong choice. I didn’t. I made the best choice I knew, at the time.” She got up, walked over to the bed, sat next to him. “But I will say this—if I had to do it all over again, I would have saved a little more for myself, Josh. Not that I love you or your father or your sisters any less. But somewhere along the way, I lost a part of myself. A part I am just now, after all of these years, starting to get back. And that, I have regretted.”

  “And you think I was trying to make Angela make that choice?” he asked, turning the scene over in his mind.

  “No,” she said. “I think you were trying to give her no choice at all.”

  ANGELA SAT IN THE airport terminal in San Francisco. In a few short minutes, she was going to get onto a plane that would take her over the North Pole, drop her off for a stopover in London, then take her to Milan. From there, she’d take a train to Florence.

  From Florence, she’d go anywhere and everywhere.

  She looked down at her carry-on.

  Of course, she’d be going alone.

  She tried to call Josh, leaving messages at Solar Bars and at home.

  Josh, please pick up. We can’t just leave it like this.

  But that, apparently, was precisely what he wanted.

  Tanya nudged her. “Hey. You okay?”

  Angela nodded, then shrugged. “As okay as I’m going to be.”

  “You’ll be fine, believe me,” Ginny said staunchly. “He was being an asshole.”

  “He was being scared,” Angela corrected, gently. “I can understand that. I’ve been there.”

  Tanya smiled from the other side of her, giving her a little shoulder-hug. “We’ve all been there.”

  Ginny stared at her, eyes narrowing. “You’re not thinking of giving in, are you?”

  Angela shook her head, feeling guilty. She’d considered it. As she packed her suitcases, she’d thought about it. Every time she left a message for Josh that never got returned, it nagged at her. And especially as she cried herself to sleep in her too-large and empty bed, she’d considered it.

  What would I be giving up, really? Just a trip to Europe.

  Just a trip. Right. And the Superbowl is just a friendly football game.

  She couldn’t. For her own sake, and ultimately for Josh’s sake, she couldn’t. She’d resent him if she gave up her plans to see Europe for the first time, just because he couldn’t see how much she loved him—and how much she needed this. What’s more, she’d learn to hate herself.

  “Maybe he’ll change his mind,” Tanya said, her voice sounding dubious but obviously trying to be encouraging.

&nb
sp; Ginny snorted. “Oh, sure.”

  “Ginny, you’re not helping.”

  “Like you are, with comments like that?”

  “You’re both helping,” Angela said, stopping their mini-squabble before it could get heated. “I really appreciate it. If I’d had to wait around here by myself, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  They both hugged her this time, and Angela let them, relishing the warmth.

  “Now boarding, British Airways Flight 1506, San Francisco to London, out of Gate 9.”

  Angela couldn’t help it. She made one last sweeping glance over the airport lobby. She didn’t know what she was expecting. Josh, standing there with an armful of flowers, saying he was sorry? Telling her to have a good trip?

  She didn’t see him. Didn’t see anyone but travelers like herself.

  She got up, got her bags with trembling hands. “Guess this is it.”

  They hugged her again, maternally. “You have a good flight,” Tanya said. “And enjoy your trip.”

  “Italian men, baby. They’re like Esquire models with dark coloring. And if you don’t go for that—the food, oh my word, the food.” Ginny sighed dramatically. “If that doesn’t cheer you up, nothing will.”

  “I love you guys,” Angela said quietly. “Thank you, so much.”

  With a little wave, she made her way to the gate, watched as the man tore off her boarding pass and returned the rest of her ticket. She made her way down the tunnel-like walkway that led to the plane. It felt like going through a pipeline.

  This is it.

  She was finally getting on with her life. She wasn’t just reading about something—she was doing it. In a strange way, being with Josh had helped her gain that courage. If nothing else, she had him to thank for that.

  No. You have yourself to thank for that.

  But she did have him to thank for so many other wonderful things in her life. She had a wealth of opportunity in front of her. This year, Italy—next year, who knew what? The options were unlimited.

  She thought, briefly and painfully, of her last meeting with Josh.

  Well, there’s one limit.

  She didn’t want to take off crying. She quickly shifted thoughts to stuffing her rolling bag in the overhead, tucking her smaller carry-on in the space in front of her. She had a window seat. She wanted to see the view.

  Why can’t I get more excited by this?

  She buckled her seat belt. She couldn’t get more excited because a part of her still expected Josh to somehow fix this. He was a planner, someone who fixed things. He’d always been so understanding. She couldn’t believe that he wasn’t doing something elaborate to try and get her back, to show her he loved her. To somehow make this work.

  She still felt that as she stared, sightless, at the paperback novel in front of her. It was a horror novel, by one of Josh’s favorite authors. She closed the book as they prepared the cabin, and kept her eyes shut as they started down the runway.

  He didn’t do anything.

  The realization hit, and hit hard. She stared out the window, looking at nothing, feeling the pressure of the plane as it blasted down the runway and turned into the dreamy floating of takeoff. She didn’t cry, and as long as she stared and fought it, she wouldn’t.

  It’s all over.

  She didn’t know how long she sat like that, frozen, staring.

  “Angela? Angela Snowe?”

  She glanced over, glad her eyes were dry. Maybe she’d get some sleep. It was the stewardess.

  “Yes?” Her drink order. She considered getting the strongest drink they offered. Maybe it would help her sleep through the flight, take the edge off for a while. She just needed to hold on until she could reach Bethany in Florence. Then she could completely fall apart.

  The flight attendant handed her an envelope. “This is for you.”

  Angela stared at it blankly. “What is it?”

  The woman simply smiled. “It’s for you,” she repeated.

  She looked at it for a moment. Angela Snowe, sure enough, printed on the front of the cream-colored envelope.

  Her heart started to pound.

  Don’t hope, you idiot.

  She opened it, slowly. She glanced over the words, recognized Josh’s bold, clear handwriting.

  Angela,

  I asked the stewardess to give you this once you were in the air, because I knew if you changed your mind on the ground, it wouldn’t be right. I also knew that if you wavered, even a little bit, I would probably crack and change my mind. So this is for both of us.

  I’m sorry for what I did.

  I didn’t realize what I was asking—I could only think about how much I loved you, and that, if you loved me, you’d naturally want what I want, when I wanted it. I didn’t take into account how different you are. Pretty dumb, considering you were right—it’s those very differences that make me love you as much as I do.

  Angela swallowed hard at that. She could picture him, writing it slowly and thoughtfully. And he was right—if she’d read this anywhere but on the plane, she’d be canceling her ticket and going to him, with all the possibilities of resentment that it would have created.

  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I didn’t want to get hurt in this relationship, and I thought, if I just kept it under control, I wouldn’t be. I was wrong. Looks like the only way I can be with you isn’t by planning it out, or putting in more effort. It’s by letting go and trusting things to work out.

  Now she was more than swallowing hard. She felt her eyes rim with tears, brushed them away impatiently with the back of her hand.

  I love you. That’s true no matter how you feel, or where you are. Take all the time you want in Italy—don’t worry about calling or writing. Do what you need to do to decide. I’ll be waiting when you get back.

  By the time she got to his signature— “All my love, Josh”—she was crying steadily.

  I could hijack the plane. Make it turn around.

  She laughed at herself, hiccupping slightly through her tears. No. That wasn’t the point of this, was it?

  He loved her.

  He was willing to wait for her.

  She sat back, finally feeling the first twinges of excitement coursing through her. He loved her. He’d wait.

  She could do anything.

  TWO WEEKS. It had been two weeks since he’d given that stewardess the envelope for Angela. He had no idea how it had panned out. Or if she’d even gotten it at all.

  He was doing pretty well, for an insane person. He’d managed to get a lot of business traveling done. At least it was slightly easier to sleep in a bed that was strange to him, rather than in his now eerily quiet house. He wasn’t comfortable there. If he wasn’t working late, then he was out with Adam, or out by himself.

  He left his Palm Pilot at home for these outings, like tonight at the Cable Car. He hadn’t scheduled anything, and women who approached him for whatever reason got the most polite brush-off he could manage.

  You’re not her.

  What was she thinking? Was she thinking of him? Had she forgiven him?

  He ran his fingers through his hair, and glanced at the bartender. Without a word, the bartender studied him, shook his head, and popped open another beer for him.

  “Man, you’re one sorry guy,” Adam said, walking up next to him. “Everybody in town’s noticed it. Josh Montgomery, finally falling in love. And finally getting dumped.”

  “I haven’t officially been dumped,” Josh said, hoping he was joking. He took a long draw off the beer bottle. “She just needed some space.”

  Adam patted his shoulder in male sympathy. “Needing some space. If you say so, Josh… No. I’m really sorry, man. That’s right up there with washing her hair when it comes to brush-offs. It’s not great, but it’s a definite breakup.”

  “I don’t believe that. I can’t believe that,” Josh said. “This is what she needs, and dammit, I’m going to trust her on this.”

  Adam sat on the bar stoo
l next to him, and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve been where you are, and I know what it’s like. But if you suddenly feel the need to start beating on some random stranger who wanders in here, for no good reason, give me a holler. I’ll back you up.”

  Josh smirked at him. “That’s why you’re my partner, Adam.”

  “And here I thought it was my God-given biochemical acumen—hello, what’s this?”

  A pretty young woman with black hair and a short skirt sauntered by, giving them both a quick study. She smiled, indicating interest.

  Adam raised his eyebrows, then he glanced guiltily at Josh. “Never mind. There are plenty of fish in the sea, right? I’ll just hang out with you. You’ve been alone too often lately.”

  “Are you crazy? Did you see the way she smiled at you?” Josh shook his head. “Get over there.”

  Adam glanced over to where the girl was now sitting, and openly eyeing him. “You sure?”

  “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”

  “Thanks.” Adam stood up, got ready for his come-on saunter, then stopped. “Call me later. If you need to talk.”

  “I’m fine.” Josh lifted his beer in salute, then smirked as Adam walked over and struck up a conversation with the woman.

  At least one of us’ll be happy.

  He wasn’t going to think about it. Angela had not left him. She really had loved him—she still did. At least, that’s what he was betting on.

  The jukebox was going full blast now. The music was loud, heavy on guitar, with a pulsing beat. There was no mistaking the Cable Car for some country honky-tonk bar these days. It was too bad—he could have used the quiet. And while he wasn’t a country fan, songs about it being a fine time to be left would probably suit his mood perfectly.

  He didn’t want to go back to his empty house, but he didn’t think he could stay here.