With This Ring (28 page)

After parking her car in the garage, she walked out and looked around. She wondered where he was.

A moment later, the back door of her parents' house opened, and Sam, followed by her father, walked out.

Her heart picked up speed as she looked him over hungrily. He looked ten times better than he'd looked the other day. Rested, well fed, well groomed, and oh, so handsome. His eyes, which she'd always loved so much, were clear as they met hers. A few weeks at home, and he'd probably gain back all the weight he'd lost, too.

She smiled, her stomach fluttering with nerves. "Hi."

"Hi," he said.

"Hi, sunshine," her father said. "Sam's been keeping me company while he waited for you to get home."

They chatted about nothing for a few minutes—Amy feeling oddly shy—and then her father said, "Well, you two kids go on. I'm going in and take a shower. Your mother wants me to take her out to eat tonight. 'Bye, Sam. Good to see you. And remember what I said."

"Thank you, sir. I will."

"What was that all about?" Amy asked as they climbed the stairs to her apartment.

"Your father said he's on my side."

"Meaning?"

"Come on, Amy. You know what he meant."

Yes, she did know what he meant. Her father had always liked Sam. It didn't surprise her that he wanted the two of them to get back together. She didn't answer, and he didn't say anything else, for which she was grateful.

She unlocked the apartment door, acutely conscious of him behind her. They walked inside, and no sooner was the door shut behind him, than he reached for her, drawing her into his arms.

Amy's heart raced. She knew she should pull away, but she couldn't make herself.

"Amy . . . "

She swallowed.

"God, Amy, I've missed you the past couple of days."

He lowered his head, and she raised her face to meet him. When his mouth slanted over hers, she sighed deeply, melting into him. The world around them faded away as the need and love between them became the only reality.

Afterwards, Amy wondered how long they would have stood there and where the kisses might have led if the telephone hadn't rung, forcing her to pull away from Sam to answer it.

"H-hello," she said, trying to control her breathing. She avoided Sam's eyes.

"Hi."

It was Justin. Amy's heart knocked against her rib cage, and a guilty flush stained her cheeks. "Hi," she managed to say without stammering.

"Just get home?"

"Yes. About five minutes ago." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam walk over to the window sill to pet Delilah, who sat sunning herself. Sheba, who had also been sitting on the sill, hopped off lightly and walked away, tail in the air and a haughty expression on her face.

"I think it's time to talk, don't you?" Justin said.

Amy wet her lips. She had been putting off talking to Justin, just as she had Sam. She glanced at Sam, who was watching her steadily. Remembering the way she'd kissed him only moments ago, her face heated. "Yes," she said quickly, trying to rid her mind of the images it had conjured. "I think so, too."

"Good. You want to go out to dinner?" He sounded happy.

Oh, Justin,
she thought.
I'm sorry.
"Why don't you come here instead?" Why was she so weak? Why was it that all Sam had to do was touch her, and she forgot everything else?

"All right. What time?"

"How about six-thirty?" That would give her some time to talk to Sam first.

"Okay, great. I'll see you about six-thirty, then. And Amy?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I-I know." Try as she might, she simply couldn't say the words she knew he wanted to hear in response. Not with Sam standing there, looking at her. An aching sadness crept through her as she replaced the receiver in its cradle.

"That was Justin," she said.

"I figured."

"He's coming over at six-thirty."

He nodded. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No. I want to talk to you, and then I-I hoped the three of us could sit down and talk. Calmly. Like adults."

"He doesn't know I'm here, right?"

"No. He doesn't."

Sam's smile was cynical. "If he did, he'd probably race over here right now."

The bitterness in his face wounded her. "Please, Sam. Won't you at least
try?
I so want you and Justin to be friends again."

He snorted. "Dream on. That's never going to happen, because we both want you. And only one of us is going to get you. He knows that as well as I do."

"I hate it when you talk that way. Don't you see what that does to me?"

Suddenly, Sam was ashamed of himself. He knew what kind of person Amy was. Her sweetness and the way she never wanted to hurt anyone was one of her most endearing qualities. And yet, somehow he had to make her face facts. "I'm sorry. I don't want to argue about Justin or anything else. That's not why I came here."

Her eyes met his. "Why did you come?"

"I told you. I missed you. And I . . . I wanted to talk about the baby."

She swallowed and looked away. Her face in profile looked unbearably sad.

He walked closer and touched her shoulder.

She looked up. Tears glistened on her eyelashes. "When they told me you were dead, I thought the pain was the worst I could ever feel . . . but I was wrong. Losing the baby . . . that was agony. I-I wanted to die, too."

His throat constricted, and he felt the loss as keenly as he imagined she had felt it. She should never have had to go through something so terrible alone.
Alone? She wasn't alone. Justin was with her.
Suddenly, sickeningly, he realized the enormity of his mistakes and exactly what it was he was up against. And with this realization came another. It wasn't Justin's fault he was here when Amy needed him and Sam wasn't. It was Sam's.

But in spite of everything, he knew Amy still loved him. And somehow, he would make things up to her.

Slowly, he drew her into his arms. "I should have been here," he said. She trembled, the tears sliding down her face. Sam held her and stroked her hair, fighting his own demons as he waited for the storm to pass.

* * *

For the first time in the past four days, Justin felt hopeful. He hurriedly finished his work for the day and left the office at six. On the way over to Amy's, he stopped at a roadside flower stand and bought her a big bouquet of daisies and carnations. He was whistling as he entered the already-opened gates. The whistle died on his lips when he saw Sam's Corvette.

He hit the steering wheel. What was
he
doing here? Had he been here when Justin had talked to Amy? Justin parked alongside Sam's car and started up the stairs. It took all his willpower to keep his steps even and not race to the top.

He tried not to peer into the windows as he knocked on the door. He'd never give Sam the satisfaction of thinking he was worried. The door opened almost immediately. Amy, looking pale and subdued in a long red skirt, oversized white sweater, and black boots, smiled up at him. It was a valiant effort, but lacked her usual sparkle.

"Oh, how sweet," she said when he handed her the flowers. She reached up to kiss his cheek, effectively circumventing any attempt he might have made to give her another kind of kiss. As she moved aside so he could enter, his eyes met Sam's, who was sitting on a bar stool facing the living room. He had a can of Budweiser in his hand.

"Hello, Justin," he said.

"Hello, Sam."

Neither of them smiled.

"Well," Amy said with false cheerfulness, "I think I'll find a vase and put these in water. Would you like a beer, Justin?"

"Sure." Justin eyed Sam in his chinos and black turtleneck shirt and wished he'd had time to go home and change out of his suit and tie. He'd always envied Sam his natural ease in clothes, the way anything he put on immediately became just the right thing to be wearing, whether it was faded jeans, designer slacks, or black tie and tails, which Justin had actually seen Sam wear once to an awards banquet. The memory of that night caused a lonely stab of regret for happier, less complicated, times.

After Amy brought him his beer, she sat in her bentwood rocker. She'd poured herself a glass of wine and drank some. "Please sit down, Justin," she said, eyes begging him to cooperate.

Justin walked around and sat on the couch. He took a slug of his beer. No one said anything.

Elvis, Amy's big male cat, padded up to him and rubbed against his leg. Justin inwardly winced, knowing he'd have a pant leg full of cat hairs, but he gave the cat a head rub, grateful for something to do to fill the uneasy silence.

Amy cleared her throat. "I thought the three of us needed to talk." She looked at Sam, then at Justin.

Fine,
Justin thought.
Let Sam talk.

Sam stared down at his beer and said nothing.

The silence lengthened.

Amy sighed. "Neither one of you is going to make it easy, are you?"

Justin's gaze flicked to Sam. As their eyes met, he almost felt a return of their old camaraderie, because he knew that he and Sam both understood the reality of the situation, whereas Amy wanted a happy ending for everyone.

"Look," she said softly, "we can't go on like this. I-I love both of you, and I want you to be friends again."

Sam gave a strangled laugh.

Justin shook his head.

"Sam . . . " Amy said, a plea in her voice. "Justin. Please . . . talk to each other."

"I have nothing to say to him," Justin said.

"You heard the man," Sam said.

Now Amy's sigh was exasperated. "If this is the way you two are going to act, then I have nothing to say, either, so you both might as well leave."

No one moved.

"I mean it," Amy said.

Justin looked at her. Her chin was set at a stubborn angle. "Amy, what you're asking for is impossible. We can't go back."

"I told you before he came that this wouldn't work," Sam said. His earlier fear had disappeared. Because in spite of everything that had happened, he knew she still had the same feelings for him she'd always had. Her reaction when he'd kissed her, the way she'd talked to Justin on the phone, even the way she'd greeted him a few minutes ago, told Sam everything he needed to know. She just needed time to work it all out in her mind.

And when she did, she would come back to him . . . where she belonged.

"What were you and Sam talking about when I came home today?" Alan asked.

Faith took her time chewing the forkful of soft-shell crab before answering. "Oh, this and that."

"Faith . . . " Alan's voice carried a slightly reproachful note. "It's not like you to be evasive. Not with me."

Sighing, she laid her fork down and picked up her water glass. The two of them were having dinner at Don's, a favorite seafood restaurant. "All right. We were talking about Amy."

Alan nodded and ate some of his cole slaw.

Deciding she might as well put her cards on the table, she said, "I was telling him that I felt Amy and Justin were much better suited to one another than he and Amy."

Alan shook his head, his expression saying more than words ever could.

"I know you don't approve, darling, but that's the way I feel." She refused to allow him to make her feel guilty. She had done nothing except state the truth.

"You know I love you," Alan said, his eyes meeting hers, "but sometimes you really do make me angry."

Faith could feel herself flushing.

He reached across the table to touch her hand. She would have liked to snatch it away, but she didn't, although she was very hurt by his criticism. "How would you have liked it if someone had said something like that to you when you and I wanted to be married?" he asked gently.

"The two situations are entirely different," she said stiffly.

"How are they different?"

"Oh, Alan, you
know
how!" Now she did pull her hand away under the guise of lifting her wine glass and taking a sip. "You and I were from the same background, had the same kinds of interests—"

"I don't want to hear all that crap again," Alan said, eyes narrowing. "The only question here is, which one of these young men is Amy in love with? And I think we both know the answer to that."

Faith pressed her lips together angrily.

"I want you to promise me you'll stay out of this," Alan forged on. "I don't want you pressuring Amy and making it even harder for her to make a decision."

"I'm her mother, Alan. I have a right, a
duty
even, to steer her in the proper direction. I'm sorry you don't approve, but I can't make that kind of promise."

They stared at each other, at an impasse for one of the few times in their married life.

"Then," Alan said, "I guess I'll have to do everything in
my
power to make sure she knows I'll support her no matter what she decides."

They ate the rest of their meal in a strained silence, and that night, in bed, for the first time Faith could ever remember, Alan went to sleep without kissing her good-night.

* * *

Amy lay awake long into the night, thinking, thinking. What was she going to do? How could she choose between Sam and Justin?

She alternated between despair and fury. The despair was caused by the terrible rift between them, for the death of a wonderful friendship, and for the knowledge that she was the cause of it. She finally admitted to herself that Justin was right. They couldn't go back to what they had been. The fury was caused by their stubborn refusal to even try to come to some kind of compromise or understanding. Didn't they understand what they were
doing
to her?

She thought about the way she'd felt when Sam had come this afternoon. The way she'd felt when he'd kissed her. The way she'd felt when she looked into his eyes. And especially the way she'd felt when they talked about the baby. She loved him so much. How could she say good-bye to him?

She thought about all the days and nights Justin had spent with her. The way he'd taken care of her. The way he'd been there whenever she'd needed him. She thought about how happy he'd made her. He was such a good man. She loved him, too. How could she push him away?