Let's Make It Legal (19 page)

She stared at him.

“And I’ll thank you to respect mine.” He pushed back the covers and swung his legs out of bed. “End of discussion.”

“John...” She reached for him.

He brushed her hands away. “It’s late, Sydney. I’ve got to get going.”

“John, please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean...I only thought...”

He turned to look at her. “I’m not mad.”

“You
are
mad, and I only wanted—”

“I know exactly what you wanted. And I repeat, I’m not mad. I’m disappointed, though. I thought you understood where I’m coming from, but I can see I was mistaken.” He left unsaid the thought that if he was mistaken about this, maybe he was mistaken about other things, too, but he knew she understood the implication. The understanding was there in the way she drew into herself, in the way her face was strained, in the way she tugged at her bottom lip— something he’d noticed her doing whenever she was nervous or uncertain.

He also saw the hurt in her eyes. But right now he didn’t care. She had to learn that he wasn’t one of her employees and she couldn’t tell him what to do.

He stood and reached for his clothes. After he was dressed, he walked around to her side of the bed, leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “Good night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“John...” She held out her hand.

After hesitating a second, he took it. It felt warm and smooth and strong as she wrapped her fingers around his.

“I love you,” she said.

He nodded. “I know.”

Thirty minutes later, as he pulled into his garage, he was still upset by their discussion. Was Sydney ashamed of him? Did she think what he did for a living was beneath her, or something?

And that damned father of hers! John had nothing against Sid Wells personally, but from everything Sydney had said over the weeks they’d been together, John had gotten a pretty good idea of the amount of influence Sid had had over his daughter’s life. And now it looked as if her father thought he would be able to manipulate John the same way he’d manipulated Sydney.

It wasn’t going to work.

John wasn’t Sydney. He didn’t care if the old man approved of him or not. John had good reasons for the choices he’d made, and those reasons hadn’t changed. Wouldn’t change. Because John had no intention of making the same mistakes he’d made before. Mistakes that had cost both him and his children.

For the first time in a long time, memories of the past crowded in on him. He remembered the intensity and excitement of his life with Andrea. The way they’d pushed each other, challenged each other. The way they’d packed each day to the fullest. Sometimes they’d only sleep three or four hours. Andrea used to say that sleep was such a waste of time.

“If I didn’t have to sleep, I’d have so much more time to do everything I want to do,” she’d exclaim.

John had only laughed. He’d enjoyed her drive and enthusiasm. He’d been the same way himself.

Yeah, and look where all of that intensity had gotten them. Andrea was dead. And his children were motherless.

No.

No way.

Never again.

He had learned his lesson.

He was perfectly happy with his life just the way it was. Going back to his old way of life would be the worst kind of betrayal.

His children needed him. He had built a safe haven for them, and he had no intention of abandoning it.

Not for Sydney.

Not for anyone.

But Sydney’s questions had disturbed him, raising all his buried doubts about their impending marriage. Was he kidding himself that he and Sydney—two such different people with two such different paths in life— could possibly make a go of it?

The question refused to go away, and John had a hard time falling asleep once he finally got into his own bed.

Had he made a terrible mistake?

Again?

* * *

It took Sydney a week to get over feeling hurt by John’s adamant refusal to even discuss his job situation. She told herself it was perfectly natural that he should be defensive. Perfectly understandable that he should lash out at her. Perfectly normal that he should view her concern as interference.

After all, a man’s work was a touchy subject.

She hoped she hadn’t jeopardized their relationship permanently by bringing up the subject of his job. Surely not. Surely John would get over his anger—for no matter what he’d said about not being angry with her, Sydney knew he was.

He hadn’t even said he loved her when he left. She’d said,
I love you,
and all he’d said in return was,
I know.

Oh, why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? Why hadn’t she waited? It was probably too soon for her to have introduced the subject. What was her rush, anyway? Wouldn’t she be in a better position to talk to him after they were married?

Once she had resolved this in her mind, she made a special effort to please John and not to overstep the boundaries he had erected. And gradually, as the weeks of January and February slid by, her efforts were rewarded, and Sydney felt their closeness returning. She breathed a sigh of relief. The crisis was past.

They began to talk about their wedding. Sydney thought April would be a good month, and John agreed.

Sydney’s mother thought otherwise.

“I can’t possibly make all the arrangements in two months, Sydney. The soonest we can get a wedding together is June.”

“But, Mother, we don’t want to wait that long,” Sydney protested. “We just want a small wedding, anyway.”

“Even so,” her mother replied, “you have to find a dress, we have to hire a florist, book the church, find a place for the reception, order invitations, book a photographer. There are a hundred things to be done, and with your job, I doubt if you’re going to have time to do any of them. That means I’ll have to do them, and I need more than two months.”

Sydney reluctantly agreed to a June wedding.

When she told John about her mother’s proclamation, she expected him to object but all he said was, “Whatever makes you happy.”

He tore a check out of his checkbook and inserted it in a waiting envelope. They were sitting in his office, talking while he paid bills.

Sydney took a sip of her coffee. “It’s not what I want, but after she explained everything that’s involved, I realized Mother was probably right. Plus, I hadn’t even thought about this, but I’ve got to put my condo on the market, and we’ve got to find a place to live. That’s all going to take time.”

He looked up sharply. “Find a place to live?” He laid down his pen. “We have a place to live.”

Sydney stared at him. She set her cup on the desk. “You mean here?”

“Yes. Where else?”

“You expect me to live here?”

“Of course, I expect you to live here. Why
wouldn’t
we live here?” He frowned.

Sydney chose her words carefully. “John,” she said gently, “try to understand. This is the house you and Andrea picked out. This is where the two of you lived together. I would never feel comfortable here. I’d always feel as if I were walking in her shoes.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “I can see how you might feel that way, but Sydney, I can’t uproot the kids. This is their home. This is where all their memories are. I thought you understood that.”

“Well, I do, but I guess I thought...” Her heart sank. Of course, John was right. Of course he was. It was foolish of her to feel so let down.

Later that night, as she brushed her teeth and prepared for bed, she kept telling herself that it would be okay. But she didn’t believe it.

Would she be able to stand living in another woman’s house? Wouldn’t it be inevitable that John would make constant comparisons between Sydney and his dead wife?

Maybe the reason he didn’t want to leave the house had nothing to do with his children. Maybe he wasn’t ready or able to give up his own memories of the past. Maybe he would never be able to forget.

Maybe Sydney was kidding herself that she’d ever be able to make him happy.

Maybe their engagement was a mistake.

* * *

Two weeks later, on a cold, bright February morning, Norma buzzed Sydney on the intercom. “Miss Wells, there’s a Mr. Creighton on line one.”

“Mr. Creighton? You mean, Neil Creighton?”

“Yes. With the Children’s Advocacy League.”

Intrigued, Sydney picked up the phone. “This is Sydney Wells.”

“Miss Wells, hello. Neil Creighton, with the Children’s Advocacy League.”

“Yes, Mr. Creighton, I know.”

“I’ve been hearing a lot about you lately,” he said.

Sydney smiled. “And I’ve heard a lot about you for a long time.” She waited, wondering if the league was going to refer a case. That would be nice.

“It’s my pleasure to tell you that the board of directors of the league has voted to give you a special commendation for the work you’ve done on behalf of children’s rights.”

A glow of pleasure warmed Sydney. “Why, thank you. I’m flattered.”

“It’s very well deserved. And it’s only the fourth time in the entire history of the league that we’ve done this.”

“I hardly know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. All you have to do is come to Washington on the 22nd of March to accept the award. There’ll be a special ceremony at the White House, and an invitation to stay for dinner with the president and his family.”

Sydney was thrilled. Although she didn’t expect anything more in return for her efforts than the satisfaction of knowing she’d helped the children she represented, it was certainly exciting to receive an honor of this kind. And wouldn’t her father be ecstatic? “I’m almost speechless,” she finally said. “Of course, I’ll be honored to be there.”

“And your husband is invited, too, of course,” Mr. Creighton continued.

“I’m not married, but I am engaged. Can I bring my fiance?”

“Your fiancé is more than welcome.”

When Sydney hung up, she hugged the knowledge of the commendation and invitation to appear at the White House to herself for a moment. Then she picked up the phone and dialed her father’s number.

“I always knew you’d do something important, baby,” he said. “You’re on your way now!”

For a change, his exuberance and extravagant predictions didn’t annoy her or make her feel uncomfortable. Instead, she just smiled. He deserved this moment of victory. He’d been a loyal believer for a long time, and he loved her.

“I can’t wait,” he declared. “Think of it. The White House! I’ve never been to the White House.”

Suddenly, Sydney realized he expected to go to Washington with her. “Dad...”

“Wait’ll Francis Folger hears. You’ll probably get a huge raise. And just wait’ll
Craig
hears. He’s always been jealous—”

“Dad! Will you listen for a minute?”

He finally stopped talking. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Dad, I know how much you’d like to be there, but, well, John will be going to Washington with me.”

There was silence for a long moment. Then he said, “I guess I wasn’t thinking. Of course, you’d want John to go.”

After they hung up, Sydney sat there. Some of her happiness had been diluted by her father’s obvious disappointment over not being able to see her get her commendation. She sighed. Well, it couldn’t be helped. Although she’d love to make everyone happy, it wasn’t possible, and right now, John was more important than her father. Her future with John was more important. Her father realized that.

Smiling again, she picked up the phone.

* * *

When John’s intercom buzzed, he answered absently, “John Appleton.” He was in the middle of payroll, which required all of his concentration.

“Hi. You busy?” It was Sydney.

“Never too busy to talk to you.” Propping the phone on his shoulder, he made another entry, saved it, then turned away from the computer screen. “What’s up?”

He listened as she told him about her phone call from the Children’s Advocacy League. Myriad emotions played through his mind as she talked. Uppermost was pride in her. He knew this commendation was validation and recognition for her hard work and dedication.

“That’s wonderful,” he said when she’d finished. “You deserve it.”

“I want you to go with me,” she said.

“I’d love to go with you.”

“My father was so excited when I told him.”

Before he could stop himself, John said, “I should have known you’d call your father first.” He was immediately sorry. His reaction was petty.

“Oh, John, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Forget it. I’m the one who’s sorry. I know how much this must mean to your father.”

“I know it must seem as if I care more about him than I do about you, but it’s just that all these years he’s been so encouraging and supportive.”

“I know. It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.” They talked for a few more minutes, then hung up. Off and on for the rest of the afternoon, John thought about their conversation. He was happy for Sydney, but he couldn’t help wondering what ramifications this commendation would have on her life. On their future. He also couldn’t help feeling just a tiny seed of envy. He knew the emotion wasn’t worthy of him, and he tried to ignore it, but it sat there, at the back of his mind, like a splinter that is embedded deep in the skin and is impossible to dig out.

After dinner that night, he settled the kids in bed and made his nightly call to Sydney.

“Guess what?” she said excitedly. “Mr. Folger said the firm is going to have a big reception in my honor next Friday night.”

“I thought you didn’t like stuff like that,” John teased. He was determined not to let Sydney know that he had even one negative feeling about the day’s events.

“I usually don’t, but, I don’t know, this is really special to me, John. Do you think I’m being silly?”

“No. In your shoes, I’d feel the same way.”

“Would you?”

He heard the uncertainty in her voice and knew she needed his wholehearted support. “Yes. And if I haven’t told you before, I’m proud of you.”

There was silence for a moment, then she said, her voice husky, “I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

* * *

John stood beside Sydney the Friday of the reception and kept reminding himself of his good resolutions.