That Special Smile/Whittenburg (18 page)

The letter of interest from Kelco Toy Company arrived in the middle of a gray January afternoon. Sylvie read it with mingled relief and anticipation. The message was concise, restrained, but eager. She read through it twice, receiving the same impression both times: beneath the politely vague response there was definitely a hint of eagerness. The excitement of possibility carried her all the way to Max’s door. He welcomed her with a kiss and a smile and accepted the letter she held out for his perusal. But his smile faded as he read, and when his eyes met hers, doubt squeezed tightly around her heart.

“What is this?” he asked.

Instinctively, she knew it was the most serious moment she had faced with Max so far, and confidence became a cottony taste in her mouth. “It’s a letter from Kelco Toys. They’ve expressed an interest in marketing your dolls, maybe some of the other toys too.”

“Why would they think I would be interested in their type of mass market distribution?”

“Aren’t you?”

His lips tightened in a grim line. “That’s not an answer, Sylvie.”

“I think it is,” she said, lifting her chin in defense. “If you’re not interested in taking this opportunity, then there really is no point in discussing it.”

“Opportunity? You see this…” He slapped the air with the letter. “…as opportunity?”

She didn’t know why he was angry, but she wasn’t going to back down. “Yes, I do. You make beautiful dolls, wonderfully imaginative toys. Why shouldn’t they be on the shelves of toy stores all over the world?”

“Spare me the bit about sharing my talent with the world. The bottom line, Sylvie, is success, spelled out in capital letters according to your own personal alphabet. Financial success with a touch of public recognition thrown in for my ego. Or, more accurately, your ego.”

“You’re overreacting,” she stated as calmly as her pounding heart would allow. “I wrote to Kelco and two other toy manufacturers because I wanted you to have a chance to test your talent and skill in a more challenging market. My God, Max, there’s nothing wrong with making money or with being recognized by the public, especially when it’s derived from work you enjoy doing. What’s the point of creating something beautiful if no one else ever sees it?”

The letter crumpled in his fist. “I really thought you were beginning to understand, Sylvie. I thought you….” He turned away from her, his anger apparent in every move he made. “How could you have done this without asking me? And why? Did you think I was so backward, so ignorant of business matters, that I didn’t know about distributors and marketing channels? Or did you just conclude that I needed someone to take care of the business details for me?”

“You’re blowing this all out of proportion.”

“Am I? I don’t think so. This isn’t a simple misunderstanding, Sylvie. It goes a hell of a lot deeper than that. If you had had the slightest understanding of my feelings and of the things that are important to me, you wouldn’t have done this. You would have known how furious I would be at your interference.

My business is none of yours. Remember, Sylvie? You told me that the first night you came to Eureka Springs. It’s too bad I didn’t think to reciprocate the warning. I should have known you wouldn’t be able to resist trying to change me and make me
better
. After all, now that Juliette has someone in a pinstriped suit to take care of life’s little details for her, it was only logical you’d start looking for someone else who needed your expertise!”

She hadn’t dreamed Max could get so angry. He’d always been casual and easygoing. Obviously, he’d been saving it up. With a cool exchange of heated stares she waited for him to back off. When he didn’t, she decided to take the offensive. “Go to hell, Max.”

“Do you really think I can find the way without you?”

“Actually, no. But you can forget about asking for my assistance. If I’d had any idea you – ”

“Which is the whole point, isn’t it, Sylvie? If you’d had any idea, if you’d only asked, if you’d given me the benefit of the doubt and not tried to correct what you consider a flaw in my character.”

“I wanted to help, damn you!” Suddenly, she was as angry as he, and she pushed her glasses into place to prove it. “I thought you were too involved with your work to risk putting it on the market. I thought if I made the contact and received a positive response, then it would give you the incentive to carry something through to the logical conclusion.”

“I don’t need incentive.” Max crushed the already crumpled letter in his fist and let it drop to the floor. How could she stand there defending this? Didn’t she realize she’d as good as slapped him in the face? He’d thought she cared for him, but obviously she only cared about her own criterion for success. So much for believing love meant acceptance, he thought dismally.

Sylvie had never accepted him for the man he was, a man who was happy with himself and who could have made her happy if only she’d looked past the end of her nose.

“And I don’t need you, either, Sylvie Anne. Take your business know-how home to Boston. We have a different way of looking at success here and, frankly, you just don’t fit in.”

Her heart pulsed painfully in her throat, but she’d die before she let him know. “I’ve decided to stay in Eureka Springs and open the dress shop. How do you feel about that?” It was the most important question she’d ever asked, but she hadn’t intended to toss it at him in challenge.

“What difference does it make, Sylvie? You’re going to do as you please, regardless of how anyone feels. But if you want my advice, forget the dress shop. You’ll never find fame and fortune here. Does that clarify my opinion for you?”

“Perfectly. There’s just one more thing.” She straightened her shoulders to ward off the desolation of walking away from him. “I want you to come and get ... that horse.”

“McKeever?” Max’s mouth formed a rueful frown. “Oh, no. You’re going to need him now more than ever. The winter isn’t over yet. There are still some cold and lonely days ahead, even for a woman who can take care of all of life’s little details. Besides, a gift is a gift. I have no intention of returning the book you gave me, and I certainly would never part with the shirt and tie. You never know, I might need to dress for success someday.”

“Good-bye, Max.” Chin high, posture regal, she turned to leave. “Oh.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Shall I write to Kelco informing them of your supreme disinterest in making money? We certainly wouldn’t want them to continue to believe you’re worthy of their interest, would we?”

It was a hateful thing to say and she hated the pride that made her say it, but at the moment pride was the only thing that stood between her and total humiliation.

“I think you’ve pretty well established your opinion of me, Sylvie.”

Sylvie experienced simultaneous impulses to deny it and to sob out a broken apology.

She did neither, and she didn’t allow herself the luxury of having the last word.

It would have been a meaningless gesture, anyway, considering it was a little late in the game to say, “I love you.”

* * * *

“Juliette, please stop badgering me with questions.” Sylvie folded a nightgown and laid it on top of the others in her suitcase. “Nothing happened. I’ve just decided to go home. The restoration work is done, Hannah Lee House is listed with a realtor, this house is rented from March until October, and the wedding plans are made. You don’t need my help any longer, and I have other things I could be doing.”

“Like what?”

Leave it to Juliette to ask for an impossible explanation. “I don’t know. Things. What does it matter? It’s time to leave, and I’m leaving.”

“It isn’t like you to run from a problem, Sylvie Anne. That never solves anything, you know.” Julie took the nightgown from the suitcase and shook it out. “This is mine. You must have borrowed it and forgotten to return it.”

Sylvie grabbed the rose silk gown from her sister’s hands. “You have one like it. Aunt Evelyn gave them to us two years ago at Christmas.”

“Oh, is that when it happened?”

“I just told you, Juliette.  Aunt Evelyn – ”

“No, is that when it happened with Max?”

Sylvie sighed and walked to the dresser. “Nothing happened. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“If nothing happened, why are you leaving? You and Max have had an argument. Admit it, Syl. I’m your sister. I understand how impossible you can be at times.”

“Jules, I’m not up for this today,” Sylvie warned.

Pushing the suitcase aside, Juliette made room for herself on the bed. “Did you fight about McKeever?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would we fight over a piece of wood?”

“It’s a mystery to me, but ever since Christmas you’ve been moping around in a daze.”

“I do not mope.”

“But you’ve been crying.”

“It’s my contact lenses. You know how they bother my eyes.”

Juliette shook her head. “I also know you left them in Boston. Come on, Sylvie. It will do you good to talk. You can’t just pack up and leave.”

Pausing between the lingerie and the sweater drawers, Sylvie let her hands grip the polished mahogany wood. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but there’s nothing else to say. I had thought I might sell my half of the insurance-investigation firm to my partner and buy your investment in Hannah Lee House as soon as the lien is cleared.”

“Oh, Sylvie, please do.” The bed bounced a little beneath Juliette’s delight at the idea. “Benton received the legal papers releasing the lien yesterday. That has to be a good omen.”

“No, Juliette. It’s not a good fit for me. You know it’s not.” Her voice trailed into abject silence. It had taken weeks of vacillating before she’d reached the conclusion it was, after all, a practical idea, and she wouldn’t say it wasn’t.

“Max would approve. He’s in love with you. He’d probably
buy
the house for you if he thought you’d stay.”

“He wouldn’t, even if he could afford it.”

“Are you kidding? Max can afford to buy Hannah Lee House a dozen times over. Why, some of his Figures in History dolls have sold for thousands of dollars. And that sculpture he gave you, is probably worth a small fortune by itself. Max McConnell is one of the leading artists in this country, Sylvie. People come from all over the world to buy his work. He usually travels during the winter months, giving seminars and talks and stuff. Didn’t he tell you that?”

No, he hadn’t. But then, Sylvie thought, she hadn’t asked. A lump the size of her pride lodged in her throat and she had to swallow twice before she could answer. “Why didn’t you tell me before, Juliette?”

“Before what? I thought you knew. You spent so much time with him, how could you not know?”

Sylvie raked a shaky hand through her hair. No wonder he’d had been so angry. She had given his pride a terrific punch. In all the time she’d known him, it hadn’t once crossed her mind to ask about his craft except in the most technical ways. And then only when she wanted information to send to the marketing firm.

An artist? She’d recognized that on her own, she just hadn’t thought anyone else had. How could she have been so stupidly blind? The first man to pursue her, to offer her friendship and love and she’d insulted his intelligence, his talent, and his self-confidence.

“Sylvie?” Juliette said tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” It was an automatic response, empty of conscious thought. “But I’d better get this … ” She waved her hand in meaningless gesture. “… finished. If I don’t pack now, I’ll be late getting to Fayetteville and I’ll miss the flight to Little Rock. I’ll have to spend the night, there, I suppose, but....” The sentence faded into silence.

How could she bear to leave? But now there was no question of staying. Max would never forgive her. If she sent him roses and a written apology every day for the rest of the year, he wouldn’t forget the awful things she’d said today. If she were in his place, Sylvie knew she wouldn’t forget. Or forgive.

Sometimes an apology wasn’t worth the breath required to say it.

Still, she owed him one. She owed him at least that.

“Juliette?” Sylvie straightened and pushed away from the mahogany dresser. “Would you mind packing the rest of these sweaters? I have something I have to do.”

“Max?” Julie smiled encouragement and moved promptly to do as Sylvie had asked. “Good idea. Then I’ll help you unpack.”

A nice thought, but hardly in the realm of probability, Sylvie decided as she made her way to the door.

But there her courage failed her and she grabbed her cellphone and punched in his number. She owed him an apology, but she couldn’t – could not – deliver it face to face.  She was not that brave.

When he answered, she sank onto the sofa in an agony of emotions.

“Hello?” His voice was clear and crisp, but Sylvie thought she detected a note of sadness in it.

“It’s Sylvie.”

“Yes.” Cool. Polite.

“I wanted you to know I’m ... leaving. This afternoon.”

“Good-bye.”

She drew a deep, steadying breath. “Max, I’m sorry. I was wrong. About you, about everything.”

“Yes, well, live and learn. I was wrong about you too.” His pause sounded ominous. “I wish you much success, Sylvie Anne. Good luck.”

She was trembling like a leaf in autumn. “Max ... I….”

“Goodbye, Sylvie.”

Goodbye.

Limp wristed, she let her phone slide out of her grasp. Ironic, she thought, that this was the first time she had allowed herself to expect more from a relationship than goodbye. But Max had left little doubt he meant this to be their one and only farewell.

Goodbye
. Such a plaintive word at times, and so final. So achingly, miserably final.

A tear slid from the corner of her eye. She lifted her glasses and brushed it away so Juliette wouldn’t see. With a sigh Sylvie let the tortoiseshell frames slip back into place and stared at the carousel horse that occupied one corner of the room. She rose and stepped forward to run her hand along McKeever’s polished surface. When another tear followed the path of the first, she rubbed his painted nose and wished she
had
brought those damned contact lenses.