Yesterday's Love (17 page)

“Aren't you?” Tate was saying skeptically. “It seems to me you aren't about to be satisfied with some ordinary man who happens to love you. He doesn't wield a lot of flowery phrases or go out slaying dragons on his lunch hour.”

“Is that what you think I want?”

“Of course it is. You've made that plain. No matter how hard I tried, I always disappointed you.”

“That's not true. I loved you for trying.”

“But it was never enough, was it?” he said sadly. “If it had been, some stupid fortune-teller couldn't have thrown you like this. She gave you an excuse to bow out, because my loving you and wanting to protect you and take care of you was never enough. You wanted the moon, and I could only give you the stars.”

His words, a paraphrase of those from her favorite movie which they'd watched together a few nights ago, shook Victoria to her very core. What had she done? Did she expect more than any woman had a right to ask of a man? Had she wanted him to do all of the changing, while she sat back and waited until he turned into an appropriate hero who plucked not only stars, but the moon, from the sky for her?

He was staring at her and to her amazement, his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “Well, I'm tired of trying,” he said softly. “Maybe that fortune-teller did us a favor, after all. I finally see that I've been wasting my time.”

“Oh, Tate,” Victoria whispered, stunned now that it really was all crashing down around them. Somehow she'd expected Tate to argue with her, to fight for the relationship. At the carnival, he'd seemed so angry, so incredulous that she would throw it all away. But in the end apparently he'd also seen the truth of what she'd said. On the long drive home, all of the fight had drained out of him.

“I didn't mean for it to end this way,” she said miserably. “I thought for a while we could make it work. I really did.”

“So did I,” he replied quietly, his gaze locking with hers, holding it, until Victoria felt her breath catch in her throat. “Good night, Victoria.”

She hesitated for just a moment, not wanting to open the door of the car, not wanting to take that final step that would finish things between them. She started to say something, but Tate silenced her with a trembling finger held against her quivering lips.

“We've said enough,” he said softly.

Victoria sighed and nodded. She got out of the car and closed the door quietly. The sound was more devastatingly final than if she'd slammed it. As Tate backed out of the driveway, she watched him go, hot, sorrowful tears at long last streaming down her cheeks.

“Goodbye,” she murmured. When Lancelot wound between her legs, meowing softly, she picked him up and held him so tightly that he howled in protest. “Sorry, old guy,” she apologized. “You're all I've got now.”

* * *

No matter how many times in the next few weeks Victoria told herself that what had happened had been for the best, she was miserable. It might have been the right thing to do in the long run, but in the short run it was absolute hell. She thought continually about Tate's charge that her expectations had been unrealistic. Perhaps she had idealized romance in such a way that no mere human being could ever fulfill her dreams. Ironically, the more she mulled this over, the more she realized that Tate had fulfilled more of her dreams than she'd ever had any right to hope for. He'd been tender and caring and more than willing to tolerate—even indulge—her craziness. To her surprise, he'd even seemed to love her all the more because of it. So what if he'd been allergic to bees. He'd been willing to risk being stung to be with her. The same was true of all the rest of those crazy things they'd done together.

The problem, she finally admitted, hadn't been his acceptance of her at all. It had been her stupid inability to accept him. She had interpreted his dependability as stuffiness, his protectiveness as an attempt to dominate, his down-to-earth realism as an attempt to stifle her creativity. Even though she could see now that she had been the one lacking in imagination in terms of their relationship, she still felt that Tate was better off without her. Their differences ultimately would create strain, not excitement, and nothing anyone could say was likely to change her mind.

Goodness knows everyone had tried hard enough. Her parents were tired of watching her mope around. When her father's subtle, kindly questions drew no response, her mother had sat her down in the kitchen, poured her a cup of tea and demanded answers. When that didn't work, they had sent Jeannie over with strawberry shortcake, whipped cream, advice and sympathy so thick you could practically slice it with a knife. Victoria had eaten the shortcake, ignored the advice, choked on the sympathy and kept her innermost thoughts to herself.

After all of that, however, she did make an attempt to rally. She actually went to a farm sale, but instead of the excitement she usually felt, she became more depressed than ever. Images of Tate bidding wildly on the Fiestaware dishes just to please her teased her mind, taunted her with the realization that she'd had her storybook hero at her side and hadn't even known it.

On the day the envelope from the IRS arrived, Victoria broke down and cried for the first time since the night she and Tate had broken up. She couldn't even bear to open it. She was sitting behind the counter in the front of the shop, sniffling and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand when a woman in her mid-fifties breezed in. She was wearing a bright green jump suit and a colorful flowing scarf around her neck. At the sight of Victoria sobbing all by herself, a frown creased her brow, and the twinkle in her dark brown eyes died.

“Oh, dear,” she said, clucking sympathetically. “Have you had bad news? Should I come back another time?”

Victoria waved the letter and shook her head, but she couldn't seem to stop the flow of tears. The woman reached into the huge bag she was carrying and dug around for several minutes. She pulled out a crumbling pack of peanut butter crackers, the nozzle for a garden hose, two paperbacks—one on astrology and another on the history of civilization—and a pair of bifocals before finally extracting a tissue and handing it to Victoria.

“Never can find things when you need them,” she muttered under her breath, as Victoria realized with widening eyes that the woman's purse wasn't a handbag at all, but a plastic tote bag from Harrod's in a shade of olive-green that clashed horribly with her outfit. She put her glasses on and took the letter that Victoria had dropped on the counter.

“Do you mind?” she asked, peering over the top of the bifocals.

Victoria shook her head. What did it matter who read it? Either she was going to jail or she wasn't. What the letter really meant was that Tate hated her so much, he hadn't wanted to tell her in person. The woman was staring intently from the envelope to Victoria and back again as though she understood that. Suddenly Victoria forgot about her own pain and began to wonder who on earth this sympathetic, perceptive woman was.

“Who are you?” she asked at last.

“Lisa McAndrews,” the woman replied matter-of-factly, as Victoria's pulse began to race.

“McAndrews? Tate's…”

“That's right, dear,” she said with a bright smile that made her look like an impish girl. “I'm Tate's mother.”

Victoria tried to snatch the letter back. She couldn't have Tate's mother finding out about this whole IRS mess. What on earth would the woman think of her?

“Don't be silly,” Mrs. McAndrews said, holding the letter out of her reach. “There's no use your getting all upset over this, when you don't even know what it says.”

She gave Victoria a sharp, considering glance. “But that's not what you're upset about anyway, is it?”

Startled, Victoria simply stared at her. “How did you know?”

“I'm a woman. I also know what a bullheaded fool my son can be.”

Victoria shook her head miserably. “I'm the one who's been the fool.”

“Scattering the blame around isn't going to help a thing, my dear, but if you miss him….” She peered at Victoria over the top of her glasses. “You do miss him, don't you?”

“Terribly.”

“Then why don't you do something about it?”

“It's not as simple as that. I really don't think there's any point. We're wrong for each other.”

“Do you love him?” Tate's mother asked bluntly.

Victoria hesitated, but saw no reason not to be honest. “Yes.”

“And he loves you.”

“Did he say that?” Victoria asked hopefully.

“Well,” Mrs. McAndrews admitted reluctantly. “Not in so many words.”

Victoria sighed in disappointment. “No. He wouldn't.”

“But he does. All the signs are there. Those ridiculously healthy plants of his are all dying, for heaven's sakes.”

“His plants are dying?” Victoria's eyes lit up with a tiny glimmer of renewed hope. She couldn't have been happier if he'd sent her roses.

“And he came over after work the other day, and I noticed that his socks didn't match.”

“His socks didn't match?” Her spirits began to skyrocket.

Lisa McAndrews chuckled. “I think you're beginning to catch on. The man's a basket case. If you don't do something about it soon, my sensible son is likely to quit his job and go hang out on a beach with a surfboard.”

The very idea boggled Victoria's mind. “You're not serious?”

“Well,” she said with a grin, “Perhaps that is a bit of an exaggeration, but he is at the end of his rope. Pete Harrison called me the other day and asked me if I thought Tate was under too much stress.”

“Why on earth would his boss ask that?”

“He'd just turned down a complicated case that a few months ago he would have killed to get. He told Pete he was bored with the corporate cases. Needless to say, Pete was in a state of shock. Fortunately, he didn't guess that Tate's state of mind had anything to do with you, or your audit would have been held up for months while he went over it with a fine-tooth comb.”

“How do you know that's not what he did anyway?”

“Come to think of it, you're right.” She ripped open the envelope before Victoria could stop her. “Nope. You're in the clear. The government even apologizes for putting you to so much trouble.” She clucked and her brows lifted. “And well they should. Anyone with half a brain can see that you're no criminal. That son of mine must have had a screw loose when he came down here and accused you of who-knows-what.”

“He was just doing his job,” Victoria defended.

“Frankly, I've always thought it was a lousy job. He'd be much better off if he found something with a little life to it. All those deadly little numbers, lined up in neat little rows….” Her voice trailed off, and she shuddered dramatically. “It gives me the chills.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Then save him from it,” Mrs. McAndrews urged.

Victoria sighed. “I'm not sure we can make it work.”

“You love each other,” she reminded her simply. “After that, very little else matters.”

“But we're so unsuitable.”

“By whose standards? Certainly not mine. I led my husband on a merry chase, let me tell you. I think that's why Tate started out being so cautious with you. He was always convinced that his father and I were totally unsuited.”

“I'm sure he didn't really believe that,” Victoria said.

“Oh, yes, he did. I heard him say it to his father often enough, when he thought I wasn't listening.”

“That's awful.”

“No, it wasn't. Not really. He was just being protective. He was worried that my antics were going to drive his father over the edge.” She grinned impishly. “Actually, we were a perfect match. I brought a lot of fun and craziness into his life, and he kept me out of jail. We were very much in love. I think you and Tate are, too. You can work it out.

“And just think,” she added with a conspiratorial smile, “You'll never have to worry about balancing your checkbook again.”

“Since you know about the audit, then you know I've never worried about that anyway,” Victoria replied wryly. “Much to your son's dismay.”

Lisa McAndrews threw her arms around Victoria and hugged her impulsively. “Go to him, my dear. I've always wanted a daughter-in-law just like you. We will have the most wonderful time.”

They would, too, Victoria thought. She knew instinctively that she and Tate's mother were two of a kind, just as he was the son-in-law her parents had always dreamed of. That ought to count for something. Maybe this whole thing wasn't quite so crazy after all.

She gave Lisa McAndrews a dazzling smile.

“You're going to do it, aren't you?” the older woman said, her brown eyes twinkling just as Victoria had seen Tate's do on those occasions when she did something to delight him.

“I'm going to think about it.”

“Don't think, dear. That's what got you in trouble in the first place. Listen to your heart,” she advised, as she gathered her things and breezed out.

When she had gone, Victoria listened as hard as she could. Her heart was soaring.

T
ate stood in front of the steamed up bathroom mirror and took a good hard look at himself. Even through the foggy distortion, the image was enough to make him shudder. Today was his thirtieth birthday, and he looked like a man who'd been on a nonstop, three-week bender, and he hadn't even taken a drink. Not that he hadn't wanted to. Every time an image of Victoria had popped into his mind, he'd wanted to dull it with alcohol, but he'd forced himself to live with the vivid, beguiling impressions. They had dominated his days and taunted him in his dreams.

When Pete had told him to send the letter telling Victoria that the audit was complete and that there'd been no evidence of fraud or tax evasion, he'd thought that would be the end of it. He'd replace her case with another, her image with that of a new woman. Instead, the cases had bored him, and every woman he'd called had sounded so ridiculously sophisticated, so disgustingly normal and uninteresting, he'd hung up without ever asking for a date. He'd spent his evenings alone with his memories. Crazy, wacky, wonderful memories of the unexpected that always seemed to happen whenever Victoria was involved.