The Reluctant Cinderella (16 page)

I
t shouldn't have been that bad, should it? Shouldn't have been so
hard.

But it was. The days went by: Saturday, Sunday, Monday. Megan went to work. She came home. She watched the kids. She went back to work in the evening. She and her team were making miracles with the Banning's account, getting raves from the Banning's executives. Gregory, Sr., liked where this was going and he made a point of telling Megan so.

Greg, however, was silent on the subject; he didn't call, e-mail or instant-message. Tuesday, one of the vice presidents on the project told her that Greg had turned the redesign over to him. Megan
forced a smile and said she was sure that they would work together beautifully.

Marti heard that Greg
had
moved into the house on Sycamore Street. Irene Dare told her when Marti dropped in at Rosewood Market for a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk.

“You can bet I gave that woman a good talking-to,” said Marti. “Megan, dear. Are you…all right?”

“Fine,” she lied.

So Greg was in Rosewood now. He lived five blocks away—and it might as well have been five thousand miles. Lord, how Megan missed him. He was the ache in her heart, the empty place inside her, the space full of nothing that such a short time ago had been filled with light and joy, with heat and passion.

With love.

Yes. She knew it now—now that she had lost him: she loved him.

But she was a coward and he wanted—
demanded
—someone brave. Every night, she'd go home to her apartment and sit at the table and stare at the flowers he had given her that last day. They were dying now, drooping on their stems, the petals curling, turning brown, looking so sad, so far past their prime. Still, somehow, she couldn't bring herself to throw them away.

Wednesday afternoon, while she was with the kids, the doorbell rang.

Her heart raced.
Greg?
Could it be? Was it possible?

But when she pulled back the door, she found Vanessa Banning standing there. She looked Greg's mother square in the eye. “Vanessa. I don't have a thing to say to you and I'm not going to ask what you're doing here, so just head on back to the Hamptons and leave me alone.” She started to shut the door in the woman's face.

But Vanessa said, “Please. I came to apologize for my behavior last week.”

“Apology accepted.” Again, she tried to shut the door.

“Please,” Vanessa said again.

Megan peered closer at Greg's mother. The woman really did look kind of…distressed. Odd. To imagine someone like Vanessa Banning having actual emotions.

Mentally calling herself a hundred kinds of hopeless wimp, Megan gave in and let her in. The kids were in the kitchen, so Megan led Greg's mother to the living room. She gestured at a chair and took the couch for herself. “Okay,” she said with mock cheer. “Go ahead. Get it over with.”

Vanessa sat ramrod straight. “My son has cut me out of his life. He has told me that if I ever wish him to speak to me again, I must properly make amends for the things I said to you last Thursday. I refused. Then, yesterday, my husband came to me. Evidently, my son had talked to Gregory. Now I find my husband is making ultimatums, as well. Gregory says I have behaved very badly. He
likes
you—
admires
you, he tells me. And he will not be
speaking to me, either, until I manage to make amends to you. So that's why I've come. To apologize.”

“Oh,” said Megan, for lack of anything more imaginative.

Vanessa tightly cleared her throat. “Tell me. What do you want me to do? How can I show my…regrets?”

Megan sighed. “Look. It doesn't matter. You've gotten your way. Greg and I broke up.”

Vanessa actually blinked. “You've laid down a condition, is that it? I must apologize, or you won't take him back?”

“No condition. He broke up with me, more or less. At least, he was the one to walk out the door.”

“But I don't understand. If you're no longer together, what does it matter to him if I apologize to you or not?”

Megan almost smiled. “Of course you don't understand.” Funny how, now she'd lost Greg for being a coward, she was finding it a lot easier to speak up to his terrible mother. To be, at least right now, a certain kind of brave. “Your son's a wonderful man. He knows that you hurt me. He wants to be sure
I
know you're sorry.”

“Well. All right, then. As I said at the door, I'm sorry.”

For the first time since Greg had left her, Megan laughed. “No, you're not. But it's okay. Tell Greg you've been here and I accepted your apology. He can call me to confirm it if he doesn't believe you.”

Could she bear it, if he did call? Could she keep from breaking down at the sound of his voice?

Vanessa pressed her sculpted lips together. “Well. If you're sure…”

“I am. That should solve your problem.” Megan rose. “And now, I really do have to get back to the kitchen. The kids are having macaroni and cheese and if I don't hurry, there'll be none left for me. We fat girls, we really need our mac and cheese.”

Vanessa flinched. “I'm sorry for that, too, for calling you fat.”

Megan nodded in acknowledgment. Vanessa stood and brushed out her skirt, as if it had wrinkled, which it had not. “All right then. Thank you.” She held out her hand.

Megan didn't take it. She only nodded again and gestured toward the door.

 

At six, with Angela home, Megan went back to Poughkeepsie.

When she returned for the night, she found her sister standing out on the front step, in the dark. Ange signaled her over. Megan nodded to let her know she'd be there.

When Megan came in from the breezeway, the kitchen smelled of something good. “Umm. Hot cocoa? In July?”

Angela chuckled. “You know you love my hot chocolate.” She poured them each a mugful and they sat at the island.

“The best,” Megan said, after that first delicious,
comforting sip. “And what did you need to talk about?”

Angela wrapped her hands around her mug and looked down into it, as if the answers to the basic universal questions were held in the chocolaty depths. “I'm not the one who needs to talk.”

Megan sipped again before admitting, “Greg, you mean?”

Angela nodded. “Marti tells me a certain amazingly chic older woman dropped by today.”

“Greg's mother.” Megan shrugged. She'd already told Angela all about the lunch from hell the previous Thursday. “Vanessa came to apologize for the things she said last week. Greg made her do it. Apparently, Gregory, Sr., backed him up.”

“So the woman really is sorry?”

“Doubtful. But I have to confess, sometimes it's nice to make a really awful person crawl.”

The sisters looked at each other. They both giggled at the same time.

Then Angela said softly, “You miss him really bad. Don't you?”

Megan's throat did that clutching thing again. She gulped—and nodded. “But he wants—and deserves—someone braver than me. Someone who can stand tall and proud when the rumors start flying. Someone who doesn't mind being the talk of the neighborhood….”

“So.” Ange sipped more cocoa. “Be that someone.”

Megan blew out a frustrated breath. “Oh, yeah. Great idea. Piece of cake….”

“I'm serious. I mean it. You're brave. You just need to…have a little faith in yourself. To give yourself a chance to be your
whole
self. To quit telling yourself that you can only be strong and forceful at work, that somehow, if you stand up for yourself at home, you won't
have
a home anymore.”

Out of nowhere, Megan felt the tears welling. They welled and they slid down her cheeks. “I
am
doing that, aren't I?” When her sister nodded, she said, “I didn't realize it, until just now, hearing you say it out loud….”

“And now that you realize it, I think you should stop.”

“How…did you know?”

Angela's smile was infinitely loving—and so very wise. “You told me. Don't you remember? About a year after Mom and Dad adopted you, before the divorce? You said that you'd learned to be quiet, not to argue, ever. To do whatever people wanted you to do—to
be
what they wanted you to be. Because then, maybe, the next family wouldn't send you away again….”

“Oh, God…” The tears kept on falling. They dripped down her cheeks and off her chin. Ange got her a tissue and waited until she blew her nose and wiped up the flood a little.

Then her sister said, “We didn't send you away.
I
would never send you away. You're my sis. You're my kids' precious aunt Megan. You're no lost little orphan. Not anymore. You
have
a family and you always will. Me and Anthony and Olivia and Mi
chael—we'll stick by you no matter what anyone says. Ever. Going along and fitting in might have worked for you once. But Meg—that was then. Now, you've got true love at stake. You've got to follow your heart where it leads you. You've got to stand up and be brave.”

“Oh, I don't know….”

“I know you can do it,” Angela said. “I know you
will.
”

A
fter her late-night talk with Angela, Megan began to see that it was time, at last, for her to be brave.

But she didn't feel all that brave. Not brave enough to call Greg and tell him how wrong she'd been. Not brave enough to pick up the damn phone.

Thursday went by and she took no action. Friday, too.

Saturday, for once, she didn't go to Poughkeepsie. She'd been working like a demon since Greg left her, trying not to think of him, trying not to
yearn
for him. As a result, she was about as caught up at Design Solutions as she'd ever been.

So she stayed home and cleaned her apartment. She even made herself throw out the dead bouquet
Greg had given her. She saw now that she couldn't go on clinging to a bunch of dead flowers as if they signified some kind of hope. If she wanted hope, she would have to get out there and make it happen.

The cupboards, as the old rhyme went, were bare. Though she took most of her meals with the family, she did like to keep the basics on hand at her place.

She sat down and made herself a list. Then she grabbed her purse and headed for Rosewood Market, where she strolled up and down the wide aisles, piling stuff she didn't really need into her cart, humming to herself, even grinning a little when the demonstration lady over in the produce section made a joke into her microphone that could be heard throughout the store.

Really, a Saturday off was a great thing. A day just for herself. A day to…

The random thought fled her mind half-finished. She stifled a gasp. There, right ahead of her, coming toward her in the cereal aisle, pushing a half-full cart of his own, was Greg.

Greg.

Oh, God. Her mouth went dry as a cotton swab. She licked her lips. Nodded.

He nodded back and walked on by.

Megan stared straight ahead. She forgot all about the Pop-Tarts and the Cheerios she was supposed to get in that aisle. She just put one foot
in front of the other, pushing her cart blindly ahead of her, until she'd turned the corner into spices and baking goods.

About then, she shook herself.

Oh, just look at her!

Still a coward, still the same. Still a gutless, spineless, mousy little wimp. She'd walked right by him without saying a word.

What was her problem? Would she ever learn?

With a sharp cry, she abandoned her cart and raced back to cereal.

He was gone. She looked down the aisle, all the way to the end. Other shoppers stared at her. She ignored them. She whispered, miserably, “Greg. Oh, Greg…”

She caught herself. Whispering his name when he was already gone wasn't going to do her a damn bit of good.

She took off, around to the bread aisle: not there. Back to cereal; still no sign of him. To spices and baking goods: no Greg. She ran from aisle to aisle—soup to pasta to canned vegetables to coffee and condiments…

But it was no good. She couldn't find him. She'd missed her chance. Her shoulders started to slump.

And she caught herself. No! No, she hadn't missed him. Not yet. He had to be here somewhere. He couldn't have gone through the checkout line that fast.

He
had
to be here in the market somewhere….

She raced to produce. Her hungry gaze scanned the big floor bins of potatoes and onions, garlic and acorn squash. The demonstration lady stood at her microphone, cracking cooking jokes and chopping up cabbage.

And wouldn't you know it? Near the far wall, by the display of romaine and arugula, Rhonda Johnson and Irene Dare stood huddled together, staring Megan's way.

Megan refused to let them intimidate her. She looked right at them, right into their narrowed, judgmental eyes—and realized that, for the first time in her life, she didn't give a damn what they thought. Or what they said.

Because Angela had got it right. Megan Schumacher was not the skulking, scared little orphan anymore. She had people who loved her, people who would stick by her no matter what the neighbors said. By God, she was ready, at last, to stand tall and proud, to declare her love for Greg Banning loud and clear, and to hell with anyone who didn't approve.

But…

How to tell Greg she loved him, when he was nowhere in sight?

Megan's searching gaze swung toward the demonstration lady again, with her neatly curled gray hair, her half-shredded cabbage and her big, sharp knife. The woman winked at her over the rims of her glasses. “Cut it good and fine, folks. That's the
secret to a great slaw.” The words echoed through the store.

And all at once, Megan knew what to do.

She moved fast, before she could lose her nerve. She marched right up to the demonstration table and reached for the microphone stand, twisting it so the mike was turned her way.

“Miss?” The demonstration lady frowned, puzzled, and stopped chopping.

Megan tried not to look at that big chopping knife. “Please. I need this microphone. Just for a minute.” The device picked up her voice. She heard her own words as they were broadcast through the whole market.

The demonstration lady tried to protest. “But this is not—”

“I promise,” Megan interrupted. “I'll make it quick.” She dragged in a big breath and spoke right into the mike. “Could I, um, have your attention please?” It came out crystal clear—and very loud.

All eyes in produce turned Megan's way. Irene and Rhonda both looked stunned. Struck speechless, for once in their mean little lives.

“Greg?” Megan said, good and strong. “Greg, if you're still in this store, it's me, Megan. Greg. And, er, everyone…” She stared straight at the two women standing slack-jawed over by the lettuce. “I have been a liar in the neighborhood. And no, it's not what you're all thinking. I was never seeing Greg Banning when he and Carly were still married. But I have been pretending to be someone I'm not
anymore. And by that I mean, a doormat, a get-along kind of girl. An orphan with no one to stand up for her. A lost child who begs for a little kindness and understanding. Uh-uh. I'm not begging anymore. I haven't done anything wrong. And, Greg, from now on, whether you come over here to produce and get me or not, I'm keeping my head up and my shoulders back and…and I will be loving you, Greg Banning. No matter what anyone thinks or what anyone says. Because I, um—”

“Megan.” His deep, beloved voice came from behind her.

She let out a sharp cry and whipped her head around. And there he was. Looking at her as if she was the only one in the produce section. The only one in the world. “Oh, Greg…”

“Give the woman back her microphone.”

“Um. Yeah. Sure…” Megan pushed the mike back around toward the demonstration lady. “Here you go.”

She chuckled, a wry sound heard throughout the store. “Well. After that, my coleslaw recipe might not seem too exciting. But we all need our fiber. So I'll just continue where I left off….”

Greg had Megan's hand. He gave a tug and she was plastered up against his broad chest. She clutched the collar of his polo shirt and looked up into those wonderful, velvet-brown eyes and suddenly, the world flew away. The demonstration lady droned on and Rhonda and Irene—and
probably everyone else in produce—stared. But Megan couldn't have cared less. She had eyes only for the wonderful man who held her in his arms.

“I'm so sorry,” she said. “That I wasn't…brave enough.”

He touched her cheek. “I'm sorry, too. I should have been more patient. I know that. I should have given you time to find your way….”

She was shaking her head at him. “Oh, but you couldn't. I see that now. You've been patient all your life, haven't you? With your parents. With Carly. You've been waiting, I know it. For the woman you wouldn't have to be patient with. That woman was me, wasn't it?” He nodded. She added, “But then, I let you down…”

He gave her that half-smile she'd missed so much. “Funny. I don't feel the least let down now.”

She said, “Greg Banning, I love you. I love you so much.”

And he said, “As I love you.” And then he scooped her high into his arms and carried her out of there, past the bins of fruit and the salad dressing display, through the bakery section, past the checkout stands and straight toward the automatic doors.

Megan wrapped her arms around his neck and beamed a proud smile at all the staring shoppers, as Greg carried her out the sliding glass doors into the blinding brightness of that sunny afternoon.

He paused at the edge of the parking lot. “Where to?” he asked.

And so she told him, firm and clear, loudly enough that anyone could hear, “It doesn't matter. Anywhere. Just as long as I'm with you.”