ORCHIDS FOR ROSES
Jacqueline Hopper
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright 2012 Jacqueline D. Hopper
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination.
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DEDICATION
To Mum. Without the imagination I'd inherited from you, I wouldn't be able to write.
Other Books By Jacqueline Hopper
Chapter One
The assembled throng hushed, when the high school valedictorian approached the waist-high podium and cleared his throat. Victor Stone was tall, handsome and gave the appearance of confidence.
Deborah Parker sat on the edge of her seat and chewed the corner of her pinky fingernail, as her best friend gripped the sides of the lectern. You can do this, Victor, she silently assured him.
As if sensing Deborah’s confidence, Victor began in a strong voice, "Dreams have a way of finding the youthful, and the fearless." He paused, sweeping the crowded, silent room with a punctilious glance.
When his gaze found her, sitting among the other graduates, he smiled and winked. It was more than relief that set off a series of flutters in her chest and made her toes curl in her satin shoes.
Beneath her breath, she parroted the words along with him; her lips moving in precise harmony with his, as he bid his classmates good-bye. Her eyelids drifted shut as she concentrated. In her inner ear, their voices mated and echoed across the cavernous room.
She knew the speech, because they’d worked on it together. She’d invested three weeks writing an oration meant to encourage the other students, and three days to memorize it. Deborah took cream-on-the-whiskers satisfaction in the fact that Victor had asked for her help. And not his catty girlfriend, Amy Brothers.
Her gaze snapped back to the podium, when Victor continued. "Being youthful has nothing to do with age. Fearlessness does not walk hand-in-hand with bravery. To be these things, you need a heart prepared to embrace the challenge none else would dare touch."
Gooseflesh bubbled up on her arms, when he raised an enthusiastic fist skyward; the way he’d rehearsed a hundred times before in preparation for this moment. The cuff of his burgundy and gold graduation robe rolled back revealing the black sleeve of his rented tuxedo. Her favorite part of the speech was coming up.
"You’ll need a conscience to light a torch along life’s fragile road where others are so easily wounded and hurt." He lowered his arm and gripped the front edges of the podium again. Her stomach flip-flopped when she noticed how his knuckles turned white beneath the ruddy red of his skin. The fraud!
A sympathetic smile kicked up the sides of her mouth. He’d almost fooled her with his pretense at nonchalance. How so like him.
She couldn’t remember a time when Victor didn’t hide his boyish vulnerability behind a cool mask, whether he was about to score for his basketball team or - as in this case - giving a speech. He expected nothing less than perfection from himself, but, oddly enough, never demanded the same from others.
Deborah felt her eyebrows twitch as a frown weighed down her facial muscles. She’d tried to help Victor see that he didn’t need to be perfect to deserve love. If only his mother hadn’t -
"And lastly," Victor’s voice rose suddenly, pulling her attention back to the present, "you’ll need a sound mind to distinguish between the foolish and the wise." His voice suddenly cracked as he reached the conclusion of the speech. As if to emphasis his final thought, he leaned forward. "When we let go of those things holding us back … we can achieve our dreams. Thank you."
The gymnasium exploded with spontaneous applause. Victor took a step back from the podium, gave a cocky salute to the room, before striding down the steps to take the empty seat next to Amy.
Deborah, ignoring formal protocol, jumped to her feet clapping wildly and whistling through her teeth. She was proud of Victor and didn’t care who knew it.
Her pleasure died abruptly when a strong hand snagged her wrist and tugged her off balance. She thumped back down onto the hard plastic chair and her breath hissed between her teeth. Deborah winced when her fellow graduate and escort for the evening, Kyle Mason, shook his head disapprovingly at her.
"Don’t make a fool of yourself," he snarled into her ear.
"But Victor was brilliant." She readjusted her robe to hide her embarrassment when several eyes turned her way. "Didn’t you notice how he seemed to shine up there while he gave his speech?"
Kyle’s black eyebrows lowered severely. "Those were your words he recited."
"We worked on it together," she protested, thankful when her breathing evened out.
The way he compressed his lips together said her argument hadn't convinced him "I’ve seen you help Vic with his homework and never get so much as a ‘thanks, Debs, I never would have passed this year if you didn’t study with me for hours’."
"I didn’t do it for appreciation." It was true. The only reason Deborah helped Victor was that she wanted to.
Because she loved him.
"At least you’ll settle for that little bit," Kyle continued, his words clipped, "because you’re not going to get any credit for that much-too-brilliant-to-be-Stone’s speech." He punctuated the statement with a sharp nod. "He didn’t get to be Valedictorian for his brains. Having you hold his writing hand while he dated the very influential Amy Brothers was a well-thought maneuver."
"The best," she muttered, low enough that he couldn’t hear. Deborah shrugged in a last ditch effort to conceal the effect his words had on her. He knew Amy wasn’t her favorite person in school.
"Not that dating Amy would be considered a chore," Kyle said, his gaze cutting to the young blonde woman sitting at Victor’s side.
Deborah’s voice dripped biting sarcasm when she replied, "That’s a shockingly male point of view."
"Vic’s one of my closest friends. I admire him for his proficiency on the basketball court, and his nice guy image off of it."
"But?" Deborah prompted, following his gaze to where Victor and Amy sat. Victor’s dark head tilted towards the blonde, as he listened to something she said. Deborah clenched her teeth.
"But he lacks the kind of class one needs to hold center stage on prestigious evenings like this one. Or have girlfriends that look like Amy."
Deborah locked her jaw against Kyle’s caviling, but he was right. Victor was a down-to-earth person who didn’t care about fashion, art, or anything else remotely upper class.
Victor was the guy you'd see helping grandmothers cross streets.
Kyle moved much easier in the company of the politically and socially refined; his family rubbed elbows, so to speak, with the socially elite. No wonder it bugged him that a country-hick like Victor received the graduation honor and not him.
Then, of course, Amy went on a month-long campaign promoting Victor among the students and teachers. Without Amy’s popularity, Victor wouldn’t be class Valedictorian.
In Amy's realm, Deborah knew she didn't stand a chance with Victor. She didn't have poise, money or the right helpless feminine look. She'd learned self-reliance from a young age.
That's what happened when you were raised by good, hardworking people who made ends meet with not much left over for frivolities. That's what happened when you were taught work ethic. Deborah learned a lot from her parents, as well as her grandmother, and it was why she planned to open her own boutique before she hit twenty.
However, she couldn't imagine what Amy saw for her future, outside attending a snooty university, driving flashy cars and wearing expensive clothes all paid for by her rich daddy.
For those reasons alone, Victor’s attraction to Amy mystified Deborah. From what she’d seen of the other woman, Amy was demanding, selfish, and spoilt. It had been three months since Victor and Amy started dating, but Deborah had yet to acquire a taste for the green-eyed Amy’s presence.
She doubted she ever would.
Kyle patted her hand, drawing her gaze to his commiserating smile. "Don’t worry," he said, mistaking the reason for her strained expression. "One day, people will pay attention to you."
Deborah snorted, aware of the ache near her back teeth. "I'm not interested in the lime light."
"How long have we known each other, Deborah?" Kyle asked. He rested his arm along the back of her chair.
"Since you moved here from Montreal. Three years." She sighed irritably, and her breath stirred the loose hair around her face. The heat from his arm, added to the growing humidity in the room, broiled her shoulders beneath the heavy material of the graduation robe and her floor-length gown.
The air in the gymnasium was stifling, and she didn’t appreciate his adding to her discomfort.
"Do you know what I’ll miss most about school?" he asked.
"Not a clue," she said, fanning her damp face with the evening’s program.
"The way you cheer when Vic and I are playing basketball."
"Really?" She lowered the program. His comment made her forget temporarily about her discomfort.
"Well," he grinned, "that, and the way you make me feel like I’m part of something."
"You’re part of our group," Deborah quickly assured him. "That will never change."
"I really hope so." Kyle removed his arm and folded his hands in his lap. "It seems to me, most friends lose touch after graduation."
"Well, not us." Determination brought her chin up. "We are friends until death do us part."
"I don’t remember taking that vow," he said teasingly.
Once more, her gaze narrowed on Victor and Amy. "If only Amy hadn’t pushed her way in." She moaned. "She’s the reason Victor’s leaving tomorrow."
"Stop blaming Amy," Kyle said, sounding nonchalant now. "Otherwise, you won’t get past your problem."
"My problem?" she said, wondering if she should be offended.
"You have no ambition." He touched her chin and pulled her gaze back to his face.
"I have lots of ambition," she muttered defensively as she crossed her arms.
"Liar. Amy goes after what she wants." He sat back and gave her what looked like a triumphant smile. "And what she wants is Vic."
"I’m not afraid of my feelings for him," she said, frowning. "But I’m too much a lady to chase after him. It just so happens that my way to get Victor to notice me is more subtle than the way Amy does it. I’ve made myself indispensable to him."
"You’re confusing a life line with a ladder."
"What’s that supposed to mean?" She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Kyle was about to say, but knew he wouldn’t be happy until he’d given her his own special kind of ‘I told you so’ explanation.
"A life line is a temporary life saving device." His smile vanished. "Whereas a ladder gives one three choices. Climb, descend, or stay where you are." Kyle touched her shoulder. The look of pity in his eyes brought her to tears. "To Vic, you’re temporary. Amy is his stepping stone to his future."
"No." Her moan was barely audible.
"Be realistic," he said as he thumbed away the moisture on her cheek. "Wouldn’t you rather I tell you the truth then let you go on believing a distortion of the facts?"
He was right. She preferred the way honesty cut cleanly through deception. If only it didn’t hurt so much.
"Besides," Kyle’s shrug was a perfect example of Old World elegance, "I think we both know that the way you try to make up for every hurt he’s ever had can be smothering at times. You’ve tried to parent him."
That last point was devastating.
"I never." She shook her head with denial.
"Come on, Deborah," he took her hand and squeezed it gently, "don’t back away from the truth now."
Had she been smothering Victor? The question stabbed through her heart, as she reached for the purse on the floor near her feet. In a way, it would explain why Victor saw her only as a buddy instead of girlfriend material. Girlfriends never tried to be a mother figure. Wordlessly, she searched through her tiny pearl-encrusted handbag for a tissue to catch her tears.
The roar of raised voices announced the ceremony had concluded. When Kyle’s parents approached their row of chairs, Deborah saw her moment to escape the stifling heat of the gymnasium, as well as the oppressive sense of loss weighing her down.
After she returned her graduation robe, she slipped like a midnight shadow through the heavy entrance doors. She had one destination in mind: the school’s outdoor basketball court.
A sad smile tugged at her mouth. How many times had she, Victor and Kyle hung out on the court together to talk and contemplate life’s mysteries? Mysteries like why the strict anti-gum chewing policy didn’t apply to their math instructor. Mr. Traverse liked to smack what had to have been a whole package of the sugar-free stuff while he marked papers during class.
The basketball court now offered Deborah needed the solitude she’d find there to sort out her mixed emotions. She knew Victor was leaving tomorrow, she just never realized that when he left there was a huge possibility he might cut her out of his life.
A lump lodged in her throat, suffocating her. She pressed her shaking palm to her eyes and hurried on.
Suddenly, the unexpected sound of a basketball pounding against cement brought her up short. Someone was going to deny her the privilege of crying her heart out in private.
Deborah gasped when she stuck her head around the corner.
In the fading light, she watched Victor wheel and circle, as if dodging imaginary rivals. With a deft gracefulness borne of hours of practice, he angled his muscular body to the hoop. The ball left his fingers and sank into the net with a whoosh: barely disturbing it.
She slowly released her breath. He looked amazing standing beneath the hoop. Tall and muscular. He’d draped his robe and tuxedo jacket on the nearest bench. The top two buttons on his white shirt were unbuttoned, and he’d rolled his sleeves up to the elbow.
The setting sun blazed reddish trails through his ravaged, short brown hair, and carved out hollows beneath his prominent cheekbones. The vivid flash of his cyanic eyes against berry-brown skin glowed with health and vitality.
"Victor?" Her voice sounded shaky to her own ears.
He looked up while dribbling the ball. "Hey," he greeted her without smiling.
"I didn’t know you’d be here." She moved towards the bench.
"This is my - our- sanctuary, remember?" He waved his hand to indicate the court. "Why wouldn’t I be here?"
She frowned. It wasn’t like Victor to act sullen, but she guessed what was bothering him.
"I’m sorry your dad didn’t come see you tonight," she said. "You were fantastic."
"When has Dad ever cared what goes on in my life?" His snarl showed a row of white, nearly perfect teeth. "The day Mom ... died, it was like he blinked and I’d never existed." He picked up the ball and fired it at the hoop. It hit the backboard.
Bang!
Deborah jumped. His display of temper didn't scare her, but she remained silent as she sat down next to his graduation robe. He’d never hurt her, she knew, but over the years, she’d learned that sometimes he needed to work off his anger. That usually meant abusing a basketball.
The clean scent of his aftershave drifted to her nostrils, and she fought the urge to press his discarded jacket to her nose. These next few minutes would be the last they’d have together and she wanted to memorize as many details about him as she could.
"Maybe he was busy," she suggested diplomatically, watching as he raced after the ball. He bent from the hips and retrieved it effortlessly. Then he took aim at the hoop again.
"Yeah, busy." He snorted. "I’m part of a past he wants to forget." He sent the ball into the air. "Wish I could forget as easily." The last was a mumble, but Deborah heard him clearly, as if he’d shouted the bitter statement.
The ball rolled back towards him, but this time he didn’t bother to retrieve it. Turning to Deborah, he shrugged. "I suppose you’re going to tell me to look at the bright side, right?"
"Am I really that patronizing?" she asked and gritted her teeth, afraid of his answer. Kyle’s earlier comments suddenly made her super-sensitive to every aspect of her relationship with Victor.
"Debs." He laughed unexpectedly. The angry stiffness in his shoulders relaxed. "No one else knows how to get me to unwind like you do."
"Really?" She brightened at that. So much for Kyle’s theory about her acting all parental with Victor.
"You’re as fussy as a wet hen when you get on a soap box," he said, "but you’ve got a good heart and you don't mind me rambling."
"I hope I've been a good friend." She sent her gaze to the darkening sky. "I just don't have as much to offer as others -"
"Now you’re being too hard on yourself." His grin vanished. "You’ve helped me get a clear perspective on my life every time things got cloudy."
"Oh, well ..." Her face heated up. Suddenly, she felt shy with him.
"Like now." His turned his face towards the sunset. "I was having a major pity party, because Dad didn’t even acknowledge my letter. Then you came along and reminded me that I’ve been raised by the best two people on this earth."
Deborah smiled as she thought of Ramona and Ira, his aunt and uncle. They'd practically adopted him, when his world had fallen apart when he'd been a kid.
"Did you see their faces when you gave your speech?" she asked, but didn’t wait for his answer. "They were glowing with pride and love for you. It was enough to make a person cry."
"I’m a lucky guy," he acknowledged softly before setting his sights on the neglected basketball. He grabbed it up and, for a long moment, traced the black grooves with his fingertip. She wondered what was going through his mind.
The mystery vanished when he asked, "How are your plans coming along for your orchid boutique?"
"Still in the designing stage," Deborah said, relieved that the tense moment passed. "Gram has offered me the use of her sun porch as a starting point for my shop. But I don’t know …" Her voice faded.
"Why the hesitation?" Victor’s eyebrows arched. "You still intend to follow through with it, don’t you? I mean, we all know Deborah Parker is an orchid addict."
"The worse kind." She laughed.
He looked down at the ball in his grasp and his grin faded. "Will you visit me when I move away?"
"You bet." She watched as melancholy shaded his voice and expression. He hadn't left the Valley yet, but already she missed him. It tightened her vocal cords, and reduced her voice to a whisper. "Will … will you come back?"
"Nothing is going to be the same," he said, shaking his head. "Sometimes I’ve got this feeling that if I leave - " his knuckles turned white, " - if I leave, I’ll be forgotten."
"Oh, Victor." She got up and went to him. "No one is going to forget you. No one important, that is. Ramona will be lost without her boy and his appetite." She sensed that this was the time for light conversation, nothing heavy.
Victor chuckled briefly and agreed with a nod. "Yeah."
"And Ira." She raised her eyebrows and slowly shook her head in mock pity. "What’s he going to do when the car is at his disposal whenever he wants it?"
"And he won't be able to blame me when the keys go missing either." They both laughed.
Deborah laid her hand on his arm and sent him an earnest look, as the humor faded from her face. "Believe me, when I tell you, you won’t be forgotten by those you leave behind."
She was astounded when his eyes seemed unusually damp.
"Hey." She reached out to him, but he pulled away and dribbled the ball down the court again. Deborah’s hand fell back to her side and she returned to the bench.
Some time later, he came back and sat next to her. His muted aftershave mingled with the sharp scent of perspiration. After a brief hesitation, he said offhandedly, "Amy’s dad is thinking about offering me a place on his political campaign. I’ll be the guy who hands out candidate pins at malls and tucks fliers on windshields. The pay isn’t great, but it’ll help give me an idea what I want to do."
"You’ll be the best, no matter what you do," she assured him, swallowing hard.
"I’ll give it my all, anyway." He leaned back and spread his arms across the back of the bench.
She felt his touch on the back of her bare shoulders, but, if he realized it, he didn’t acknowledge it.
However, Deborah was blazingly aware of his touch in every cell of her body. The acceleration of her pulse did incredible things to her hearing, like make her imagine he said how pretty she looked.
"I’m sorry, what did you say?" she asked, blinking rapidly.
"You’re gorgeous."
Was she losing her mind, she wondered as she gaped up at his face. Victor never complimented her before.
"Look at all this glorious hair." His fingers threaded through her naturally curly tresses left down for the evening. "It’s mocha and cream."
Her mouth moved, but no sound issued past her lips.
"And a guy could get lost in your large, come-here eyes." His face moved closer to hers. Their thighs pressed together.
"Brown," she managed to say.
"What’s that?" His gaze fluttered across her warm face.
She swallowed before she explained. "My hair and eyes. They’re basic brown."
"Basic brown to you," he whispered, "but really pretty."
"Really?" Deborah pressed her shaky hand to the back of her head and experimentally ran her fingers down over her curls. She'd never thought they were spectacular before.
"Amy doesn’t know what she’s talking about when she says your hair is an unruly mess," he said. Although his voice remained low and soothing, the mention of his girlfriend was like a dousing of ice water.
"Amy doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Period." Deborah heard the bitterness in her voice, but didn’t care if Victor took note of it. "So her dad has money. Big deal." She shrugged in a show of disdain. "It doesn’t make her special."
"Oh, I don’t know," Victor said, teasing her, as he tugged on Deborah’s pearl-studded earlobe. "I kind of like her."
"Whatever." She refused to let him cajole her again. Already, humiliation swept over her, telling herself what a fool she'd been to hope he'd kiss her.
"I wish my two favorite girls would get along," he said, releasing her lobe to settle back against the bench. "Sometimes you two make me feel like I’m caught in a game of tug-o-war."
"You might as well ask for the moon to drop at your feet." She sniffed, turning her head away from him. "There’s no way your Nordic Queen and I will ever get along."
"That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing."
This time his compliment didn’t soften her. "Kyle picked it out," she said with a minimum of explanation. She was contemplating leaving him there on the court, finding her parents and going home.
"I like your corsage," he whispered. His warm palm cupped her shoulder as if he sensed her intention. "Lindsay’s?"
"Yes." She gazed down at the delicate orchids pinned to her gown, her mouth softened with a smile. Her grandmother had made this specific orchid hybrid to honor the occasion of her granddaughter’s graduation.
"It smells nice." He took an audible sniff of the delicate citrus-scented, lavender-veined Cattleyas.
"She called it ‘Debutante’s Dream’." Her smile deepened as she forgot their earlier quarrel. "One day, I’ll make these same corsages in my boutique."
"Debs?"
The hitch in his voice brought her gaze back to his face. A muscle contorted his eyebrow, twitching as if in reaction to his unspoken thoughts.
"What is it?" she asked, keeping her voice soft so she wouldn’t startle him out of what he was about to say.
He opened his mouth but he didn’t have the opportunity to finish. Faint laughter - a sound much like tingling bells caught in a windstorm - announced that their private moment was over.
Stepping out of the shadows, Amy Brothers looked as regal as a fairytale princess in her green satin gown. The shade matched her slanted emerald cat eyes flawlessly. The blonde, salon manufactured curls danced against a tanned portion of her long neck.
Deborah had called her a Nordic Queen, and there was no other title worthy of Amy: whose presence demanded and received admiring glances from everyone. As much as it irked Deborah that she’d never attain Amy’s height of social graces or beauty, she truthfully admitted to herself that those things weren’t important to her.
Her one wish, if wishes could come true, would be that Victor could see her value as a woman even as she stood eclipsed in Amy’s statuesque shadow.
"Daddy is waiting, Victor." Amy made the announcement sound like a royal edict. "He has something very important he wishes to discuss with you."
"Guess I’m wanted on stage," Victor said, chuckling softly as he withdrew from Deborah. "We’ll talk later, Debs."
"Okay." She tried to smile, missing the warmth of his touch and his closeness. Her gaze stayed on him as he strode towards the smugly smiling Amy. Why couldn’t he see that his girlfriend, for all her glitter and poise, didn't deserve him?
Because Victor Stone never expected much from others, was the immediate answer.
"You go ahead, Victor," Amy said without taking her gaze from Deborah. "I’m going to give a word of encouragement to Debs. After all, this is probably the last time we’ll have a chance to talk."
Deborah slowly stood. The last thing she’d ever expect from Amy was encouragement.
"I just remembered," she said, covering the tension with the snap of her fingers, "Kyle wanted me to meet him for pictures."
"This will only take a moment," Amy replied. Victor seemed to hesitate, as his gaze shuttled back and forth between the women. "Go on." She urged him with what could have passed for a genuine smile.
Victor nodded and left. The moment he turned the corner, Amy took an intimidating step forward. "I’m so glad you mentioned Kyle," she said. "Funny, isn't it, the symbolism behind our corsages?" She stroked the expensive floral decoration on her wrist. Red and cream rosebuds embraced by dainty baby’s breath emphasized her fragile bone structure.
"Roses have thorns," Deborah said, raising her chin. "Long, ugly, blood-thirsty thorns."
"I’ll give you that." Amy laughed, as if truly amused. "But I know enough about orchids to say they can be transferred from one host to another."
"Host?" Deborah repeated, arching an eyebrow.
"All parasites need a host to survive," Amy clarified. "You’re losing Victor, but you shouldn’t be too upset. We both know Kyle can take over. We both know he’s done everything but breathe for you these past weeks."
That was an unfair statement. Sure, Kyle helped her with fashion because she didn’t possess an ounce of style sense; but he'd told her, not long ago, how much he appreciated her friendship. Give and take.
"You obviously don’t know as much about orchids as you think," Deborah said. "Otherwise, you’d know that they aren’t parasites. They merely take shade and moisture from their media."
"Sounds like a parasite to me." Arrogance tilted Amy’s head back slightly. "And that’s exactly what you are. A user."
"No." Deborah denied the accusation as her hand rose automatically in a protective gesture to the Debutante’s Dream pinned to her dress. "Orchids are strong. Independent."
"Tell yourself that often enough," Amy said, suddenly towering over Deborah, "and you’ll believe it. Until then, I just want you to know that Victor will no longer be available to you. Between school and working for my father, he’ll be a very busy man."
"We’re friends. He’d make time for me," Deborah said.
"Parasite." Amy spat the word as she tore the corsage from beneath Deborah’s frozen fingers. She held it above her face for a closer inspection. "Feeble orchids always cling to something. They lurk in the shadows because direct sunshine would kill them."
"Give it back!" Deborah made a valiant effort to take back her corsage but Amy proved to be the faster of the two.
"Victor is on his way to a brilliant political career," Amy said, suddenly closing her fingers over the corsage.
It was the first time Deborah wished orchids had thorns.
Watching, as her orchid - the one her grandmother carefully designed especially for her - was crushed she made another frantic rescue attempt.
Again, she failed.
"I won’t let you drain his energy," Amy said, raising her arm. She hurled the orchid to the cement and ground it beneath her heel.
No!" Deborah gasped with horror. She dropped to her knees and reached for the ruined orchid. "How could you?" Sobs choked off her words as she cradled her grandmother’s precious gift to her chest.
"That’s how all parasites should be treated."
Anger suddenly surged through Deborah. She fastened a furious glare on Amy, ignoring the other woman’s triumphant smile. "You’ll never mold Victor into anything he doesn’t want to be," she said. Her voice grew stronger with each forceful syllable. "He survived his mother’s death, and he’ll get over you when he sees you’ve got nothing more than a scheming mind and false smiles."
She stood up and advanced on Amy. "And someday, when he is standing on the pinnacle of his accomplishments, it'll be because of his hard work, not yours!"
Green eyes flickered, before Amy leaned closer to Deborah. "A word of advice, Debs," she hissed. "Stay out of the sunlight. You won’t survive."
Victor was waiting just inside the gymnasium for Amy. "You shouldn't tease Deborah like that," he said in a slightly reprimanding tone.
"Don't be cross with me," she replied contritely, wrapping her arms around one of his and squeezed. "The past few weeks have been stressful, but that's all about to change."
"Oh?" Victor raised an eyebrow at her upraised face.
"Dad has found someone to sponsor his campaign."
"That's good news."
"He won't say too much about this person," Amy continued, a shadow of a frown marring her nearly perfect brow. "However, I have all confidence it's going to mean the difference when the voters go to the polls. We Brothers are very circumspect about the company we keep, and Dad would only have chosen the most influential people to surround himself with."
"You've never met them?"
"Dad promised I would tonight, during dinner."
Victor grinned. "Sounds intriguing." He paused. "How's Debs?"
"Why are you worrying about her now?" Amy asked, frowning. "I'm sure she can take a little constructive criticism."
"She's very sensitive."
"What's your point?"
He brushed off her hand. "I'll be back in a minute."
It wasn't until he hurried onto the basketball court that Victor realized he was too late. From where he stood in the shadows, he clearly saw Deborah weeping in Kyle Mason's arms. Victor clenched his jaw.
"Come on, Deborah." Kyle took something from her fingers and let it fall to the ground. "You're bigger than this."
"How could she be so cruel?" Deborah asked; her voice muffled against his jacket front. Victor knew instinctively that she meant Amy.
"She's obsessed with Vic. You should forget about him, or she might really hurt you."
Deborah sniffed, pulling away from his embrace. "I can't forget," she said. She mumbled something else, but Victor couldn't hear.
"Here, my boutonniere will do almost as well as your Debutante's Dream." Kyle reached for the single carnation in his lapel.
She grabbed his wrist with both hands. "Am I weak, Kyle?" she asked her gaze on his blank face. "Do I need someone to lean on?"
"Deborah." His voice was soothing as he stroked her back. "You've got me. I'm not leaving."
Just as Victor was about to reassure her that she could depend on him too, Kyle led her away to the parking lot. His fingers flexed when he noticed Kyle's possessive touch on her waist. The unexpected displeasure he felt at their closeness didn't make sense, but he couldn't deny something had happened earlier on the court.
She'd glowed like melted gold in the sunset.
He moved out of the shadows, after they pulled out of the parking lot. He reached down and carefully picked up what Kyle had tossed aside a moment earlier.
Deborah's corsage.
Something inside his heart shattered, as he studied the crushed petals on his palm. He closed his eyes.
Maybe it was just as well, Victor thought. He'd be in Halifax tomorrow, and he couldn't do anything about what he'd just discovered about himself.
And Debs.
Chapter Two
Eight years later
"You can’t be serious, Victor," Amy said, her green eyes wide with alarm. "Leaving the Independent Reform Party now would hurt Dad’s campaign."
"I’ve got no choice," he replied. "There’s a time in everyone’s life when they’ve got too much on their dinner tray. Eliminating the deadwood right now isn’t an option, it’s a necessity." Victor stifled a yawn, wishing his craving need for sleep didn’t muddy his thoughts.
She wrinkled her pert nose. "That’s hardly a charming analogy."
Victor sneezed into the crook of his elbow. He’d been fighting the same cold for over a month, and couldn’t seem to shake it.
"Sorry, but that’s how I feel right now," he said, wiping his nose with the tissue he pulled out of his pocket. "Your father is concentrating too much on panhandling foreign companies when youth shelters like Angel House are struggling to keep a roof over their’ heads."
"Angel House can tighten the belt a little more," Amy said, folding her arms, and tapping one foot.
"We sold the belt to pay the overdue hydro bill."
"If you talk to Dad, I’m sure you can both come to a satisfactory agreement," she said. "We need you, Victor. You’ve got a winning way with the local constituents."
"I can’t talk to your dad right now," he said without apology. "I’m on my way to Angel House to work the night shift." He stuffed the soiled tissue into his back pocket and moved toward the door.
He was sorry. Sorry he’d dropped by the Brothers’ immaculate home to announce his intention of leaving the party. It had been a hard decision to make, but the seams of his sanity strained against his current obligations. He couldn’t continue paying his personal debts with time meant for sleep.
"Dad’s been looking at ways to punch up his platform." Amy hurried to explain in a hurried, panicky voice. "He’s mentioned social programs that could help single-parent homes with things like after school curriculum, and sport activities."
"That’s not enough," Victor replied, shaking his head. "There’s got to be something done for parents with drug and violence issues. With those two problems solved, there wouldn’t be much need for youth shelters."
"What about employment?" she continued, without taking a breath. When he didn’t respond, she grabbed his arm and squeezed, nearly cutting off his circulation. "If Dad successfully draws business to the Halifax area, it’ll lower the unemployment and poverty rates."
"I hope Wayne manages to do all that," Victor said with a forced calm, and flexed his hand to keep the blood flow going. "And I wish him all the best on his campaign."
If she didn’t remove her grip soon, he’d force her off.
"So that’s it?" Amy screeched, her green eyes bulging. "You’ll shake our hands and say no hard feelings? Oh, the press will love to get a hold of this story: Political pillar gone, platform crumbles."
"You’re giving me way too much credit," he told her through gritted teeth, putting his hand on her smaller one, ready to pry off her fingers.
"No, Victor. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’ve been Angel House’s backbone since they’d hired you. Plus, you’ve kept the Independent Reform party focused on people, not paychecks."
"Angel House is and always will be my first responsibility," Victor stated, provoked to anger now. He broke her hold before anchoring her shoulders with his hands.
"The IRP will just have to maintain its status quo," he stared into her face sternly for effect, "without me."
The tension in her shoulders relaxed beneath his hold. He watched her as she took a deep breath and slowly released it; before she replied in a much calmer, even tone.
"Dad has a radio interview coming up. Would you please help him with the speech? You could keep him focused on what needs to be addressed."
Victor’s exasperation crumbled when he gazed into her rapidly blinking eyes. Releasing her, he knew he owed Wayne Brothers that much.
"Okay."
At his acquiesce, Amy’s frown evaporated. "Thank you."
He took a moment to admire her clean pearl skin, high cheekbones and proud chin. Brows, slightly darker than her sunshine hair, twitched when he didn’t speak again for a long moment. She was an attractive woman, but it’d been years since she’d stirred his emotions. The most he could offer her these days was friendship, and sometimes even that seemed too much for him to give.
"What happened, Victor?" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, as if picking up his line of thought. "Between us, I mean."
"We’re all wrong for each other," he murmured, looking down at the tips of his scuffed sneakers.
"But how?" She sounded confused by his admission.
"It’s not a crime when every guy doesn’t drop at your feet and worship you, you know." He winced inwardly at the sharpness of his tone. He meant what he said, but he wished he’d been gentler in the telling.
From beneath his lashes, he watched her move closer. Felt her touch the collar of his shirt. Shifting his weight to keep a fraction of distance between them, he decided it was time to leave.
"I don’t want to be worshiped," she said. "I want the man I fell in love with eight years ago."
"That boy is long gone," he said, clarifying the facts without regret. That boy had done a lot of growing up, growing up that needed to be done.
"So what you’re saying is I’m still the poor little rich girl you used to feel sorry." Her hands dropped to her sides and her expression grew thunderous.
"I never felt sorry for you." He almost laughed at her pout. "If anyone needed pity, it was all the infatuated boys."
Obviously, she was past listening to him. "I suppose you think I’ve got only hostess and window dressing skills. That I have nothing to offer in a relationship."
"I never said that," he denied. "You have many wonderful qualities that some lucky guy is going to enjoy some day."
She leaned her head to one side. "Oh?" The syllable was rife with sarcasm.
"Well," he cleared his scratchy throat; "you’re going to get married some day. But until then, you can be proud of your psychology practice."
Amy pressed her lips together before she relented with an almost reluctant nod. "But I’m more proud of the work I do at Angel House."
"You’re a hit with the kids." He grinned; glad to be back on familiar ground again. "Angel House couldn’t have afforded a resident head shrink. I know it's a sacrifice for you to give two days a week out of your busy schedule to talk with the boys, but I’m sure you sleep much easier knowing you’re contributing to a great cause."
"I still think you should explain your decision to Dad," she said, leaning against the wall. "He’s always gone out of his way to accommodate you."
"I can’t." He took a step back.
"But - "
"Do you have paper? I’ll leave him a note."
"That won’t do," she snapped, hands going to her waist. "Dad deserves an in-person announcement."
"Another time." His hand curled around the doorknob. "I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for work."
"You need a break, Victor," she said, pressing her fingertips to her temples. "Especially after working the graveyard shift for ages."
"I hope you aren’t threatening to tell Jane to give me time off." He didn’t want to think what he’d do if he lost his job at the shelter.
"It was merely an observation."
"But you won’t enforce it?"
"How could I?" She laughed mockingly. "I’m just a weak, helpless female."
Victor didn’t like the way she made the gibe sound like a warning but he didn’t have time to analyze it. He opened the door, and without looking back, he said, "Tell your dad I’ll be around with my resignation sometime soon."
"Fine!" Before she slammed the door, she yelled, "And take some vitamin C for that cold."
It was eight o’clock in the morning, when Victor finished his night shift. The spring air was chilly; he exhaled small puffy clouds. He hated the cold. Good thing he’d brought his lined leather jacket to work, he thought, tugging the collar up to his chin.
On his way to the car, he noticed a white delivery van blocking the driveway of the shelter. Grumbling, he wove a trail around discarded bicycle parts and sports equipment strewn about the yard. He hoped the van’s driver returned soon. He was too tired to go looking for him.
He eased into his car. Thankfully, the engine turned over with little trouble and Victor reached for his seatbelt. He nearly shouted, when an open palm slapped the driver’s side window.
After swallowing the potentially embarrassing sound, Victor turned to see who’d accosted his car.
"I’d hoped I’d find you here."
"Debs?" Pleasure coursed through him, as he gazed up at her smiling, familiar face. The makings of a genuine smile stretched the brittle line of his mouth. When he rolled down the window, she leaned through it. Their faces were inches apart, close enough for kissing. Victor thrust that reckless notion away impatiently.
"I had a delivery to make in the city and while I was here, I decided I just had to drop in and see you." Her grin overflowed with her usual mischief and something else he couldn’t identify.
At the mention of her work, Victor lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror. He narrowed his gaze on the parked van and read the sign painted on its side. It didn’t matter that the words were backwards; he’d recognize the Orchids for Roses insignia anywhere.
"When did you get that monster?" he asked, nodding deliberately at the vehicle. "Last time I was home, you were stalled at buying a car."
"What can I say?" She raised her hands, palms up, and shrugged. "Orchids are big business this time of year. I needed wheels."
"Well, I don’t know about you," he said, making a motion for the door handle, "but I could sure use a hug." Deborah backed away to accommodate him and then they were in each other’s arms. Her chin didn’t quite make it to his shoulder, surprising Victor. He’d forgotten how tiny she was.
The smell of citron surrounded them. The scent flirted with him, making him entertain crazy thoughts of passionate kisses and picnics in the park. He frowned. He really was ill, if he was entertaining these kinds of thoughts about his best friend.
Victor ended the embrace to regain control of his senses and moved slightly away under the guise of inspecting her. What he wanted to know was what had trigged his unexpected response to her. It couldn’t be what she was wearing. Good grief, she was clad in stained coveralls.
Suddenly he remembered the way she’d looked the night they’d graduated from high school. Deborah Parker had nearly popped his eyes out of his head that night. If Amy hadn’t interrupted -
Victor shook off the memory, even as heat burned his face.
"You’re looking … healthy," he said.
"Thanks. I think." She laughed. "Want to go for breakfast?" she asked, happily oblivious to his thoughts as she gazed up at him with large doe eyes. "Its not often I’m in this part of the province, so why not make the most of it?"
She made it sound as if her orchid boutique was on the other side of the country, when it was only a forty-five minute jaunt into the Annapolis Valley.
"That sounds great. Where would you like to go?" He would have agreed right then to swimming with sharks in the icy Atlantic waters to cool his embarrassment.
"I have no idea," she admitted, her eyes going wider. "I’m the out-of-towner. You pick a spot and I’ll pick up the tab."
"Nuh-uh." Victor relaxed as he and Deborah slipped back into their familiar banter. "Anytime I go out with a woman, I pay for the food."
"That’s very old fashioned." She braced her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow at him. "This was my idea, after all."
"I’m getting us to the restaurant," he continued, copying her hands-on-the-hips stance, "and the only thing you’re allowed to do is decide what you want."
"Is that so?" Twin flames of frolicsome battle sparked in her eyes. She stood on tiptoe but didn’t come close to spanning the distance between their noses until Victor lowered his head.
"Yeah!"
"Well, then, who am I to argue with that?" She kissed his cheek before shifting her weight back to her heels. "I’m going to park the van. Wouldn't want to cause an accident. Be right back."
He touched the place where she’d kissed him and watched her walk away, nearly shocked that he noticed the way her hips swayed. The cool spring wind whipped her long mocha braid around her shoulders, and pressed the coveralls against her curves.
What would Debs say if she knew what you were thinking?
Victor clamped his mouth shut and opened his car door. Sinking back down into the seat, he forced himself to remember her as the fresh-faced tomboy he’d known as a kid. However, as much as he tried, he wasn’t quite successful.
Dropping in on Victor, at Angel House, had been a spur of the moment idea; one Deborah wished she’d prepared for. She glanced down at her clothes, painfully aware that she looked like an escapee from a carnival. At least she wore regular shoes. Her big ugly rubber boots, the ones she tramped around in at the boutique, would have raised more than a few eyebrows in any restaurant: fast food or fancy.
She backhanded her braid then started the van. It wasn’t her job to make deliveries; she’d hired an employee for that, but she’d had an almost desperate need to see Victor when she’d woke up that morning.
The van wasn’t a new model, but it was an automatic. No doubt, she’d have blown the engine multiple times, if it were a standard. With extreme caution, she drove past the driveway after spying a designated parking area with coin-operated meters.
Pushing quarters into the metal slot, Deborah wondered what might happen if she told Victor the real reason for coming to the city. Eye rolls accompanied her quick snort. He would fall down flat laughing if she told him she missed and loved him.
Before that thought had time to depress her, Victor drove up beside the van and whistled. Deborah flew to the passenger door and tumbled inside. When she fastened her seatbelt, Victor eased into the heavy morning traffic and asked if she wouldn’t mind coffee and muffins rather than a hearty meal.
"I worked all night," he explained, glancing into the side mirror before switching lanes. "Sorry for the lame excuse, but I think my system is threatening a major meltdown if I don’t catch up on some sleep soon."
"I’m sorry, Vic," Deborah said, her mouth turned down with disgust at her callousness. She should have guessed he was exhausted by the dark smudges beneath his eyes, and the nasal quality of his voice; a sign he was fighting a bug. "I shouldn’t have assumed you had time to waste - "
"Hey," he interrupted, laying a hand lightly on her arm. "I’d never turn down a pretty girl in glamorous coveralls. This is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done; dropping by to see how I was."
"Oh." Deborah hid her face in her cupped fingers. "Don’t remind me." She groaned. "My biggest problem is sometimes I act before I think it through first."
"That’s your most charming quality." His gentle touch moved down to her wrist and squeezed. "I’m really glad you’re here. I’ve missed you."
Slowly, her hands came down. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well, then," she put every ounce of mischief left in reserve into her smile, "that changes everything. Maybe I’ll make more trips into the city … just to see you."
She waited for his usual mock-cutting comment.
His quiet, yet earnest, reply that came startled her enough to drop her jaw. "I’d like that."
His smile had disappeared and the sunshine filtering through the windshield highlighted the reddened rims around his cyanic eyes and exaggerated the pallor of his tanned skin.
Was he trying to kill himself with work?
"Is everything okay?" she asked, stamping down the urge to smooth away the frown lines in his forehead.
He sent her a quick glance, one he didn’t give her time to decipher. "Yeah, everything is great."
"It’s the shelter, isn’t it?" She nudged the subject cautiously. Victor didn’t usually discuss his work with her. Anytime she broached the subject, he immediately found a new topic of conversation.
His fingers wiggled on the steering wheel before he readjusted his grip. "Things … could be better," he finally admitted.
She didn’t know she’d been holding her breath until a band of pain spanned her rib cage. "Can I do anything to help?"
A long pause ensued and she didn’t know if he’d heard her or if he'd decided to ignore the question.
"Thanks, but the only cure for what ails me is some good old fashioned Z’s." He grinned, but she sensed staying upbeat took more effort than he cared to admit.
"Look, why don’t we veto breakfast so you can take care of yourself?" She’d never let him know what it cost her to make the suggestion. "It’s completely natural to need sleep after working all night."
"No." He shook his head and groaned. "It’s more than just my needing rest. The shelter is running short of money. Finances aren’t there to sufficiently meet the needs."
"That’s awful." Deborah sat straighter in her seat. True, the circumstances of Angel House didn’t sound good, but at least he was sharing the situation with her.
"Yeah." He slanted a telling look at her. "But the worse part is I’m starting to wish I could go home: Annapolis-Valley home."
"Is that so bad?"
Victor nodded. "It just proves to me that I’m exactly like my dad. When things get bad I want out."
"That’s not true," she said, horrified at the way he was beating himself up. "No one expects you to be a super hero."
"Good thing," he muttered.
"You deserve a vacation." It was her turn to lay her hand on his arm to comfort him.
"The kids don't get to take a vacation from their problems."
"You’re torturing yourself, Vic." She rubbed his shoulder. "The only way you’re going to help them is by keeping up your strength." One glance at his white lined lips told her he wasn’t convinced. So, she lightened her tone and said, "You need Ramona's mothering to bring you back up to par. I’m thinking pumpkin pie and homemade bread."
"Are you getting a kick out of tormenting me?" He glared at her.
"Hmmm, this isn’t working." She tilted her head and scrutinized the defeated slump of his shoulders. "Okay, let me put it to you like this: no adult ever worked as hard as you did, from the time you were twelve years old, and you haven't stopped. Your mother was selfish to let you shoulder her responsibilities."
Deborah waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, she continued. "She could have worked, instead of feeling sorry for herself." Her hands curled into fists in her lap. Whenever she thought of everything his mother had put him through, she got mad.
"I know," he said.
"You’re aunt and uncle miss you so much, Vic," she said, deciding to use the last ace up her sleeve. "And they’re very concerned."
"Is that why you’re here?" he asked, his expression darkening. "To relate a message for them?"
"Hold on." She held up her hands. "I’m here because I miss you too."
"Can’t you all understand?" He struck the dashboard with his hand. "I’d sell this old car if it’d buy me just one week of undisturbed sleep. But that’s not going to happen. There’s too much and too many depending on me."
"Oh, Vic." Deborah barely managed to hold back her tears. The secondhand sports car had been his aunt and uncle’s graduation present to him. Considering how long he’d kept the vehicle, it was one of his few, most treasured possessions.
Manipulating the seatbelt, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and stroked his stubble-roughed cheek. "Everything’s going to be fine." Hoping to soothe the tortured expression from his eyes with her touch.
"That’s not everything," he said. "I’ve also quit the IRP." He hit the signal light as he prepared to turn into a local donut shop’s drive-through area.
"You have?" She lifted her head and gazed up at him. Maybe it was wrong to be happy with that news, but she was. Ecstatically so. However, she made sure he didn't hear that in her voice.
"Yeah. I’ve got to concentrate on the kids at Angel House." He let the engine idle, giving them time to read the menu. "What appeals to you?"
Deborah ignored his question. "You mean Amy let you walk away?"
"She didn’t like it," he said, but underscored his words with a blasé shrug. "But like you said, I’m not a super hero."
She nearly fell off the seat. How many times had she wondered if he ever really listened to any thing that she said. To hear him agree with her now, especially taking her side against Amy, filled her with warm fuzzy feelings. The kind that tempted her to throw her arms around his neck and cover his face with kisses.
Instead of giving into that impulse, she leaned her head back against the seat, closed her eyes, and said simply, "Chocolate."
"Wh - what?" The stuttered confusion in his voice made her smile.
She waved a lazy hand in the direction of the drive-through window. "Get me anything chocolate."
Over mugs of hot chocolate and somewhat healthy muffins, Victor and Deborah chatted about their school days. Given her feelings for him, it was the safest topic. She didn’t want to think about Amy. Talking about Angel House would only discourage him, so she’d brought up comical memories.
"This is really nice," Victor said, smiling at her above the rim of his mug. "I’d forgotten how great it was just to hang out with you."
"Take a few days off and we can do this again." She winked to mask the fact she was serious.
He took a bite of his muffin, chewed slowly, before nodding. "You know, I think I will."
"Will what?" she asked absently, wiping the crumbs from her mouth with a napkin.
"Ask for vacation time. Talking about the Valley has made me homesick."
"Really?" She turned to him and let him see the joy she felt at his decision. "That’d be wonderful."
"You … wouldn’t mind?"
For a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard the hesitation in his voice. When she glanced up at him, she saw it in his gaze.
"Why would I mind?"
"Well," he rubbed the back of his neck, as if nervous, "I’d monopolize all your time."
"And …?"
Victor sighed. "Wouldn’t Kyle mind? You two have been seeing each other for years."
"So?" She shrugged, stuffing the napkin into her coat pocket. Suddenly the hidden meaning behind the question penetrated her brain. She laughed. "Oh, you mean going out together."
"Yeah." The frown he sent her was encouraging.
"Me and Kyle?" She blew out a breath. "I wish people would stop thinking that. We’re just friends."
"Friends?" Victor seemed to struggle with the concept.
"He’s pedigree," she pointed out. "All artsy; with the most horrible taste in music. Whereas, I’m a mongrel who loves blue jeans and country jingles. Can you really see us as a couple?"
"Not really." A grin relaxed his face.
"Besides, he’s engaged."
"I never knew that."