“I’ll get it!” George heard Angie’s cheerful voice holler out, and then the door swung open, and there she was! George just stared at her, then he was enfolded in Angie’s arms and her perfume surrounded him. Angie whispered in his ear, “Don’t be nervous, I love you!”
Angelica led George into a beautiful room where a slender woman who looked a lot like her was sitting.
The woman got up and smiled stiffly.
“You must be George!” she cried. “I’m Meredith, Angie’s mother. My husband is a little late — he had to pick up my mother-in-law from the city…”
“That’s quite all right, Mrs.
Westerly,” George said politely and hunted for something to say. “Your home is lovely, did you decorate it yourself?” It was the right thing to say.
Meredith brightened up and started taking George on a tour of the room, droning on about different knick-knacks, all of which seemed to have some boring story from the Westerly’s travels around the globe.
And then George’s heart skipped a beat. In a heavy silver frame in the mantel was a photograph of the old woman he had thrown off the bus.
“Oh my God!” George gasped. “Who is that?”
Meredith waved a dismissive hand. “That’s my husband’s mother, Angie’s grandmother.
That woman is such a trial…Can you believe she actually lost her wallet today or had it stolen or something?”
“Really?” George asked as an icy frisson ran down his spine. Then a key turned in the front door lock, and a tall middle-aged man walked in, an arm wrapped protectively around the shoulders of the old lady from the bus.
“Meredith,” he cried. “Please ask for some hot tea for my mother.
The poor dear is freezing!”
Angie immediately ran to the old woman and wrapped her arms around her. “Oh, gran Millie,” she cried. “You have to be more careful…”
The old lady shook her head.
“I am careful. I think someone stole my wallet after I bought your gift. I had it at Bloomingdales, but on the bus, it was gone.”
Gran Millie shuddered.
“The bus driver was the most unkind man! He refused to listen, and he refused to help…” Then the inevitable happened. Her eyes fell on George and she recognized him immediately.
“You!” she cried.
“What are you doing here? If some kind lady hadn’t let me use her cellphone I’d still be standing in the snow!”
Angelica frowned. “What do you mean Gran?” she asked bewildered.
“This is George. Remember we are having dinner with him?”
“I’m not senile, Angie!” the woman cried. “This is the driver who kicked me off the bus and into the snowstorm and told me I was a con artist!”
Angelica turned to look at George and her face was deadly pale.
“You did this?” she asked.
“Look, Angie,” George said. “I was late and I didn’t know it was your grandmother…” The words choked in his dry mouth. Angelica was looking at him as if he was a stranger.
Then she pulled the ring off her finger.
“Here,” she said, handing him the ring. “Take it back. I don’t even know who you are.
I won’t marry you.”
George cried and knelt at her feet. He begged for her forgiveness, but nothing he could do or say made her change her mind. George was old news, and as he walked out of that house into the snow, he knew he had lost her because he just wasn’t good enough for her.
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