Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) (16 page)

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 you’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.

The dress she finally chose was a deceptively simple design with elegant lines. The wide white belt contained a rose pin. By the time she made her decision, Joy had given up caring. The sales clerk told her it was lovely. Joy was convinced the sales clerk was prompted by the thought of a big sale.

The hairdresser styled her short hair in bouncy curls that made her look like the comicstrip character Betty Boop. Joy washed it out when she got home.

Sloan was nowhere in sight, and Joy stayed in her room, preferring not to interfere with everything that was going on around the house.

The knock on her bedroom door surprised her. She stood, running a light hand over her black dress before answering.

Sloan, dressed in a dark suit and tie, stood supported by his walker outside her door. The sight of this virile, handsome man was enough to steal her breath. His smile was devilishly enticing and slashed deep grooves around his mouth. His dancing dark eyes were directed at her and slowly took in every inch of her appearance. Apparently, what he saw pleased him, as an immense look of satisfaction showed in his eyes.

“Will I do?” The words stuck in her throat and sounded almost scratchy.

His answering nod was absent. “I see you every day. But this is the first time I’ve ever seen you all dressed up.”

“I feel like a fish out of water.”

“And you look like a princess. My Joy, you are a beautiful woman.” He said it as if it surprised him.

She felt the color seep up her neck. “And you, Sloan Whittaker, bear a striking resemblance to Prince Charming.”

“So it’s been said,” he teased. “Shall we?” He proffered his elbow. Joy rested her hand lightly against the crook of his arm and inhaled a deep breath, readying herself for the ordeal.

“I’ll be the envy of every man here,” he whispered reassuringly, and paused in the hallway just out of view from the living room. “Relax. You’re as stiff as starched underwear.”

Under any other circumstances Joy would have laughed, but she felt like a coiled spring, her nerves in chaos.

“Joy.” Her name was issued on a soft, reassuring note. The gentle brush of his lips on her cheek sent a warm glow over her. “Now smile.”

She painted one on her lips and prayed it would effectively disguise her nervousness.

People had already begun to arrive. Joy didn’t know a soul, not even the help, who sauntered in and around the guests with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

Just before they entered the room, Sloan paused and inhaled a deep, calming breath. Filled with her own misgivings over this evening, Joy had forgotten what an ordeal this must be for Sloan. She glanced at him, a protective spark burning in her eyes.

Sloan’s mother was at their side the minute they entered the room. Dressed in a lovely silver creation, she looked years younger. Diamonds graced her neck and hung from her ears. The scent of gardenias followed her.