Reflections of Yesterday Read Online Free Page A

don’t go using any credit cards.”
    Slowly shaking her head, Cindy tossed her husband a playful look. “Robert, Robert, Robert. I’ve always said if the shoe fits, charge it.”
    Angie woke with the first light of dawn. Sunlight splashed through the open draperies and spilled over the bed and walls. Sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her face and stood. Her watch announced that it was barely six, hardly a decent hour to be up and about on a Saturday. Cindy wasn’t expecting her until ten. With four hours to kill, Angie dressed in old jeans and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt.
    A truck stop on the outskirts of town was the only place open where she could get a cup of coffee. She’d hoped to avoid that area of town because the Canfields’ twenty-acre propertywas in that direction.
    As Angie climbed inside her small car, she realized coffee was only an excuse. Yes, she’d pull over at the truck stop, but her destination was the small clearing on the Canfield property. Something inside her needed to return there. The thought was a sad reflection of her emotional state. Twelve years had passed, and she hadn’t been able to forget the love she’d shared with Simon in that small clearing in the woods. The physical aspect of their relationship still had the power to inflict a rush of regret and sorrow. They’d been wrong to sneak into the church that night. Wrong to have gone against convention and the wishes of his parents. A few words whispered over her mother’s Bible had never been legally binding. But Angie had felt married even if Simon hadn’t.
    The years had changed the land, and Angie nearly missed the turnoff from the highway. A long, sprawling house had been built, and the paved road led to the back and a three-car garage.
    Hesitating, Angie decided to ignore the house and go on. The morning was young, and it wasn’t likely that she’d wake anyone. The road went deep into the property, and she could steal in and out without anyone knowing she’d ever come.
    Leaving the car, Angie took care to close the door silently, not wanting the slightest sound to betray her presence. With her hands stuffed deep within her jeans pockets, she climbed over a fallen tree and ventured into the dense forest. A gentle breeze chased a chill up her arm, but the cold wasn’t from the wind. Her breathing had become shallow and uneven, and for a moment she wasn’t sure she could go on. Only once had she felt this unnerved, and that had been as a child, when she’d visited her mother’s grave.
    There were similarities. In this clearing she was returning to a time long past and a love long dead. But from the way her nerves were reacting, nothing about this time and place had been forgotten. Every tree, every limb, was lovingly familiar.
    To someone who didn’t know these woods, the clearing would come as a surprise. The climb up the hill was steep, and just when she felt the need to pause and rest, the quiet meadow came into view. Even now, the simple beauty of this small lea caused her to stop and breathe in the morning mist. The uncomplicated elegance had been untouched by time. As she walked down the hill to the center, Angie felt like a child coming home after a long absence. The urge to hold out her arms and envelop this feeling was overwhelming. She wanted to swing around andsing, and laugh … and cry.
    It had been here that Simon had held her in his arms and assured her that heaven and earth would pass away, but his love wouldn’t. It had been here that they’d talked of the children to come and the huge house he’d planned to build her.
    She’d laughed when he’d taken a stick and drawn out the plans in the fertile ground. They’d have lots of bedrooms and a large kitchen with plenty of cupboard space. He’d build it himself, he claimed. And remembering the skill he had with wood, Angie didn’t doubt him.
    Then that night in June, he had brought her to their imaginary home, lifted her in his arms, and carried