Talk of the Town (32 page)
His abrupt change of subject threw her even further off balance.
She looked around to see if anyone was observing them standing too close, David’s hand possessively on her arm. It gave her a few precious seconds to compose herself. “It’s none of your business why I turned down Charlie.” She tried to pull free, but he wouldn’t let her.
Worse, he grabbed her other hand so he was holding both and staring intently down into her face.
She turned her head away, hoping it looked as if they were merely having a friendly conversation. “David, you’re making a scene.”
“I don’t give a damn! And I don’t give a damn about why you turned down Charlie. I was a fool to ever have doubted you.” His wide, vulnerable sapphire gaze held her.
She refused to be taken in again. “Yes, you are a fool, David.”
“I wanted to call you a hundred times, but my pride and fear wouldn’t let me. You have to forgive me,” he demanded.
“No, I don’t! Now everything is fine because
Charlie told you so?
Why couldn’t you believe me? Trust me? How could you have hurt me so much?” She looked away from the intensity of his eyes and straight at Charlie, who was staring curiously at them from the doorway. Beside him, Martha’s rosebud mouth curved in an encouraging smile.
I must end this.
“It’s too late, David,” she whispered.
“No. It’s never too late for this.” He swooped down and covered her mouth with his lips. Traitorous desire curved her body into his for what felt like minutes but was mere seconds.
She pulled away, taking one step back. She looked around at the people staring at them, including a shocked Charlie and a misty-eyed Martha. Rebecca shrugged, trying to give the best performance of her life. “Mistletoe! Everyone be careful where they stand!”
David didn’t seem to notice the laughter surrounding them, or Martha and Charlie, watchful from across the room. His eyes kept searching her face. “You have to give me another chance to show you how I feel.”
I can’t. I can’t take that leap again.
She shut her eyes tight to hold back the tears. She shut her eyes like she had as a child when her parents deserted her. As she’d done when Peter had betrayed her. When Tim fired her. Each time she hoped that when she opened her eyes the pain would be gone. As always, it was still with her.
The Ask Becky part of her wanted to believe anything was possible, but the Rebecca Covington sense of selfpreservation was too strong.
“Why give you another chance, David? My granny always told me actions speak louder than words. If you
really
cared about me, you couldn’t have said or even thought those horrible things. You couldn’t have been so cold. So unfeeling. You couldn’t have let me go.”
He looked grim and determined, and his grip on her hands was numbing her fingers. “I’m not proud of my actions that night in my office. I was afraid to believe in you. In us. You need to understand how finding you has changed my life.”
She was too terrified to believe him. It wasn’t that she didn’t still love him, but she had to protect herself.
“I meant it when I said it was too late. I’m forty-five years old, David. I finally know I can have it all.
I want it all.
I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I can have it with you. It’s better this way for both of us.”
This time she was the one to walk away.
T
he next morning, head aching and dry-mouthed from crying all night, Rebecca staggered to the door when someone seemed to be leaning on the buzzer. She squinted through the peephole and saw Malcolm’s craggy face.
When she opened the door, he sighed. “There you are, miss. Phone must be out. Mr. Sumner is downstairs. Says he’s been trying to reach you all night.”
The heavy throb of despair in her chest rose to fill her throat. “I unhooked the phone,” she whispered. “I need to rest. Thank you, Malcolm.” She closed the door before he saw the tears soaking her hot cheeks.
She hadn’t yet mastered her confident face for the world. She’d never felt so fragile, so torn between what she knew was the only path for survival and the ache at her core for David and everything she once believed they could share.
Two hours later, she wasn’t any closer to putting on her fake face when there was a timid knock on the door.
Malcolm again. This time carrying a rosebush. “Mr. Sumner brought it for you.”
David delivered the second one at two p.m. Malcolm brought up the third, a larger yellow rosebush, at five o’clock. Each rosebush had a small card with David’s handwriting.
This rosebush is called Amore.
She turned her phone back on, sobbing each time it rang and the caller ID told her it was David.
On Monday, she wasn’t surprised to find Harry on her doorstep, holding two rosebushes in his arms. “David is downstairs, leaving these for you.”
“So far that makes eight! Since flowers helped win Jasmine over, obviously David thinks it will work with me. The masseur will probably be next.”
“Do you need a massage?” Harry sounded amused.
Rebecca rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve some of the stress. She desperately wanted to talk to David, but the fear she might start believing him again kept her strong. “Yes! I’m getting a pain in my neck.”
“Probably from dragging all those rosebushes around the house. Where’s the rest of them?”
“I had them picked up and delivered to the nursing home at Irving Park and Lake Shore Drive.”
“Lovely idea, sweet pea. But why don’t you see David and tell him yourself to stop sending you rosebushes?”
She stuck up her chin. “Absolutely not!”
Harry sighed. “If you won’t talk to him, then what do you suggest I tell him? He’s asked me to intervene on his behalf.”
She flicked a tear out of the corner of her eye. “Whose side are you on, Harry?”
“Yours, sweet pea. Always yours.”
At nine a.m. Tuesday morning, Malcolm called from the lobby. “Mr. Sumner delivered another rosebush and brought Olga from Healing Fingers Spa to give you a massage.”
She laughed despite her determination not to be swayed. “Please thank Olga and tell her I won’t be needing any massages.”
By Wednesday evening she had sent fifteen rosebushes to the nursing home but kept the fifteen cards in David’s neat handwriting. She spread them across her kitchen counter and read them over and over.
Amore.
Funny how when something is repeated often enough, somehow it becomes tangible, almost rock solid. But if she’d learned nothing else in her life, she knew actions spoke louder than words. David had rejected her, and that was one action she could never forgive.
Thursday, Kate arrived with the morning’s rosebush delivery. She thrust the small bush into Rebecca’s hands.
“Why don’t you talk to David and tell him to send these directly to the nursing home?”
Surprised, Rebecca blinked at her. “Not you, too?”
“Yes. You are contagious. I’ve come to mother you.” Kate took off her heavy wool winter coat and hung it up in the foyer closet. “We need to talk.”
Dreading listening to more attacks on her crumbling defenses against David, Rebecca tried to think of a new tack to take with her friends. “Would you like some tea? Coffee? Diet Coke? Champagne, maybe?” she asked hopefully.
“Sit down, Rebecca,” Kate said sternly.
Resigned, Rebecca placed the small rosebush on the coffee table. The phone rang and, seeing it was Pauline, she picked it up. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Is Kate there yet?” Pauline asked.
“Yes, she’s here.” Rebecca glanced at Kate, who didn’t look surprised. “Do you want to talk to her?”
“No. I want you to listen to her. Poor Mr. Sumner. Oh, he looks so . . . haggard. Really he does. He’s getting white hair at his temples,” she said, lowering her voice dramatically.
More amused than angry, Rebecca smiled. “No problem. He’ll look even more dashing.”
“Oh, Rebecca, it’s Christmas! You always have such generosity of spirit. You should be . . . kind to Mr. Sumner. Promise me . . . you’ll listen to Kate.”
She could hear the worry in Pauline’s voice, and old habits kicked in. “Of course I’ll listen to Kate. I’ll see you tomorrow at Harry’s for Christmas Eve dinner.”
Rebecca met Kate’s determined gaze. “This is a conspiracy, right?”
“Yes. You’ve taught us well. The people who love you have joined together to help you. The way you have always done for us. However, we need more information, which I have come to retrieve. Now, I don’t want you to try to charm me, or try to make me stop worrying like you did Pauline. I want you to tell me honestly why you won’t give David another chance.”
Rebecca dropped down on the coach. “I’m afraid,” she said simply.
Kate nodded. “I see. Now let me give you some advice a very brave, wise woman once gave me. You have this second chance. There are new, exciting opportunities right around the corner for you.”
Hearing her own words come back, Rebecca knew they weren’t true for her. “A few months ago I wrote about the ‘social brain.’ How scientists are able to map the invisible connection when two people are attracted. The brain releases dopamine, which delivers a dollop of real pleasure. I felt it the first time I saw David. Science has proven the opposite happens with rejection. His rejection that day I left the paper hurt the same as a blow. Not just emotionally.” She placed her hands across her heart. “I felt honest-to-goodness physical pain. I felt the same pain with my parents. With Peter. But
never
with the same intensity as I felt with David.”
“I understand pain, Rebecca. I experienced social and professional rejection after my breakdown. Because of you I’ve been able to face my fears of feeling that pain again. I’ve contacted my old publisher. I’m writing my book on women and finance,” Kate stated abruptly. “I’m trying to seize back my power. So can you.”
“I’m happy for you, Kate. And I understand what you’re trying to tell me.” A huge lump of regret filled her throat. “I just can’t do it.”
Kate stood up and pulled down on her dark green fitted jacket. She’d accessorized perfectly with a topaz brooch and earrings she’d bought at LuLu’s. “I understand, Rebecca. Let me ask you one last question. After that, I promise I will never say another word about your choice. Do you love David?”
She’d known what was coming and had steeled herself. “Heaven help me. I do,” she confessed. As much as she wanted to deny it, it was one lie she couldn’t bring herself to tell.
Kate nodded. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
After Kate left, Rebecca shuffled through the sixteen cards from David.
Amore.
She so wanted to give him another chance. But wanting to and actually
seizing
the courage to jump again were not the same thing.
Christmas Eve morning dawned with another rosebush. The delivery was followed by a call from the nursing home.
“David had every patient’s room filled with flowers. Plus the lobby. And the lounges. The director called to tell me they can’t accept any more rosebushes. There’s no space,” Rebecca complained to Harry on the phone, charmed despite her best intentions.
“You could call David and stop all this. If not, I plan to call my broker and tell him to buy rosebush futures.”
“Very funny!” she laughed, feeling almost happy for some reason. “Wait! Let me get the door. It’s my afternoon delivery.”
Malcolm smiled at her over the top of a long, lush arrangement of dusty antique pink roses with holly branches.
“Mr. Sumner just delivered it. Different today, huh, Miss Covington.”
“Yes.” She pulled out the tiny white card on the top.
These roses are called Kisses.
Memories flooded over her in a tidal wave of warmth. She leaned against the door. “Malcolm, would you mind carrying the arrangement back downstairs for me? I’ll be taking it with me this evening.”
“Sure thing.”
“Wait!” From the pile of gifts lined up along her foyer wall, she lifted off a long, narrow box wrapped in green paper with a white card taped beneath the red ribbon. “Here’s your Christmas present. Can you carry it now?”
“Sure thing.” He tucked it under his arm. “What time should I have the cab for you?”
“Five o’clock. Thanks!” Remembering Harry was waiting, she hurried back to the phone. “Have you got your centerpiece for the table yet?”
“I’m putting something together this afternoon.”
“Forget it. I’m bringing an arrangement of dusty pink roses David just delivered. Forget about rosebush futures. Obviously, he’s run out of them.”
It took her two trips down in the elevator to carry out all her packages for Pauline and the girls. Next came Kate’s and Harry’s.
Malcolm helped her take everything to the cab. Around his neck, he’d wrapped the gray and black plaid cashmere scarf from Burberry. She’d bought it thinking it would keep him warm on jaunts out into the cold to help the residents of the condo building.
“This scarf is sure warm,” he said, holding the cab door open for her. “Thanks, Miss Covington. And that nice check sure will help with our expenses.”
“Happy holidays, Malcolm.” She smiled and stepped into the waiting cab. It had Shannon’s picture advertising “Shannon Shares with Her Friends” in the
Chicago Daily Mail
plastered across the back of the front seat. It was a terrible picture. Shannon really should have it redone.
“Didn’t you used to be Rebecca Covington?” shouted the cabbie.
She met his dark eyes in the rearview mirror. “I still am Rebecca Covington. Next week you can read me in the
Chicago Journal and Courier.
”
When she got out in front of Harry’s brownstone, she gave the cabbie such a huge tip, he helped her carry the flowers and all the presents up onto the porch.
Harry opened the door dressed in a white chef’s hat and apron. “You look wonderful, sweet pea. Look, it’s beginning to snow. A perfect Christmas Eve.”
She turned her head and saw snowflakes swirling through the air. She smiled. “Love it. Here, see if this arrangement will work on your table.”
They moved the gifts into the foyer before they walked into the dining room. The flowers fit perfectly between the Waterford crystal goblets and the gold-rimmed Tiffany china.
