Chapter 3

Tony woke up in Angela's empty bed. He remembered climbing in with her, at her invitation because she was so cold and needed warming up. Seemed like she needed a friend too, especially after he'd brought up the name "Lyle" to her, concerned as he was about her frightening feverish outbursts. But she hadn't told him anything and they'd both fallen asleep, his arms wrapped around her burning body. Now, he abruptly sat up, wondering where she was.

"Angela?" he called out softly. The bathroom door was closed so she must be in there. Her alarm clock showed that it was barely past seven in the morning. The kids! He had to get the kids' breakfasts and lunches for school. He stumbled out of her bed, feeling deeply exhausted from his long night's vigil over the fever.

Angela exited the bathroom, pale and feverish. She still felt terrible but her 5 am dose of ibuprofen was holding her fever steady. She looked at Tony somewhat bashfully and began apologizing to him profusely.

"Tony, I'm so sorry. I ruined your night and I shouldn't have asked you to warm me up, but I was so cold and couldn't stop shivering. I didn't mean to inconvenience you so", she babbled, the fever making her speak too quickly and loudly. She walked shakily towards him, dragging her limbs like heavy lead weights.

"Here Angela, get back into bed. And don't apologize to me! You were really sick last night", he locked eyes with her and smiled at her tenderly before adding, "You're my friend, Angela. And that's what friends do. I'm sorry I fell asleep in your bed, er, I only meant to warm you up and was gonna leave." He looked at her sheepishly. "Hey, at least Bobbi Barnes wasn't here with her camera crew this time." He let out a sigh of relief, watching her lips curl into a slight smile at the memory.

"Tony, how about we stop apologizing to each other. Instead, I'll thank you", she smiled at him gratefully before snuggling back under her covers.

"Angela, I'm gonna get the kids ready for school but then I'll be back with hot tea. Do you think you can eat a little something?" he asked her hopefully.

"I'm not hungry but I'll definitely drink some hot tea. Please don't put garlic in it. I just want plain, boring, orange pekoe tea with honey and lemon."

"You got it . . . Boss".

XXXX

"Check Mate!" Geoffrey announced loudly, pleased with himself for winning another round of chess. He was sitting on the edge of Angela's bed with a plethora of board games. He was keeping her company and making sure she drank her fluids, while maintaining a safe distance from her flu germs. Here, on the edge of her bed, sitting next to her feet was close enough for him.

Angela felt listless. Geoffrey's forced cheer was hurting her head and she was feeling cold again—a sure sign that her fever was beginning to spike. She wanted Tony. He knew what to do and he wouldn't torment her with endless games of chess when her sinuses were stuffed up and her brain was on temporary hiatus.

"Geoffrey, I'm getting tired", she told him. Angela wanted him to take a hint and leave. Unfortunately, the declaration of fatigue had an opposite effect on her boyfriend.

"Oh, my poor Angel", he cooed. "Of course you're tired. How about I read to you? I have the Financial Post and Trader's Weekly. Some very good stock tips for you", he told her enthusiastically.

"Stock tips? Oh." Angela didn't want to be rude so she lay her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes while Geoffrey droned on and on about the stock market, reading from his magazine. She really had other things to worry about. Jim Peterson for one. She wanted her cereal account back. It was rightly hers. Jim was using her campaign ideas and it disgusted her. The client had loved her campaign and told Jim what parts he wanted to use from it. She'd already called Jim's office numerous times from her sick bed but he wouldn't take her calls. She needed to get well, drag herself to work and schedule a face-to-face meeting with her nemesis. Or better yet, use the element of surprise on him. Ream him in.

She was sick of being sick, of being cooped up. Tony's rule of thumb was that she needed to be fever-free for at least 24 hours before he'd even consider letting her out of the house. And so far, her fever hadn't broken. Three days and the damned thing continued to spike, though not as high as before. Just high enough to make her uncomfortable, exhausted and cold. And high enough that Tony wouldn't let the children near her. Dr. Ferguson had kindly checked her out and diagnosed her with influenza. There was nothing she could do but rest, drink plenty of fluids and keep her fever down. And stay away from the kids, he'd told her, confirming that Tony was already doing everything right.

She was ever so grateful for Tony's bedside manner and great care for her. He made her chicken noodle soup from scratch and lots of hot tea. He instinctively knew when she needed company and when she needed to be alone. She looked forward to his visits because he didn't read to her from the Financial Post or give her stock tips. He saved the funnies section for her and bought her cheesy romance novels-it was all her feverish brain could handle at the moment. He tempted her appetite with light-as-air chocolate cookies and Jell-O. And when she'd complained about having cabin fever, he had rearranged the furniture in her bedroom, moving her bed off to the side so that she could look out the window. "There you go, Angela. Now you can see the birds and pretend you're in a different room", he'd told her with a wide grin.

So, now Angela sat in her rearranged bedroom, listening to Geoffrey read. She tried to fall asleep, using his droning voice as a sleep aid but every once in a while, he'd ask her a question about her investment portfolio and startle her out of a dreamy dozing twilight. It was time for him to go. He was sweet and well-meaning but he was tiring her out. His mere presence was exhausting, from his silly knock at her door to his loud fretting over her health and his not so subtle fear of catching her germs.

"I need to sleep now, Geoffrey. Thank you for coming—it was very kind of you", she told him, hoping he'd finally go.

"Oh my Angel. You poor baby; awww. Do you know that you're beautiful when you're sick?" he gushed.

"Geoffrey, please!" Angela's nerves were frayed and she was losing patience.

"I'm going my love. But I'll be back, same time tomorrow", he told her as he danced backwards out of her bedroom, blowing her kisses. "These are to hold you until I can kiss your sweet lips again", he promised her. Angela forced a smile, then let out a deep sigh when he finally left her room. She waited to hear the front door closing before popping two more ibuprofen and calling for Tony.

Tony let Geoffrey out and heard Angela calling him. He took the stairs two at a time, unsure why he was in such a hurry to see her. Geoffrey had been with her for a couple of hours and he hadn't wanted to intrude during their couple time but now, he wanted to make sure she was alright with his own eyes.

"Hi, how are you feelin'?" he asked as he entered her room. The bed was now to the right of the door so Angela could look out of the window. He'd gone and hung a bird feeder from the tree nearest her window to give her a good view of the cardinals. He knew how much she loved them and they happened to be his favourite bird too.

"I think I might be a bit hungry. Do we have any more soup?"

"Hungry? Oh good, you're hungry? Angela, I'm so happy to hear you say that!" he told her with a gleeful smile. "I made more chicken noodle soup for you, with extra garlic. And I added some ginger too. It should be ready in about half an hour. Is that okay? 'Cause if you can't wait, I can bring you some …"

"Tony, half an hour is fine. Thank you. I really appreciate it—your soup is the best I've ever had", she smiled at him.

"So…" Tony sat on the edge of Angela's bed. He sat a bit closer than Geoffrey had, up near her waist, not down by her feet. At this point, he figured that if he hadn't caught her flu, he was probably immune.

"So…" she repeated, looking at him. "What is it, Tony?"

"Did, uh, did you have a nice visit with Geoffrey?"

"Yes, it was very kind of him to visit me. We played chess and he gave me tax advice", she tried to say it without sounding ironic but the effort made her smile.

"Chess and tax advice? So, are you ready for a nap now?" Tony couldn't help but tease. Of all the things to do with a sick person running a fever, chess and tax advice would be at the very bottom of his list.

"Tony", she said in mock reproach, "Geoffrey was very sweet. I just wasn't in the mood to talk about my tax portfolio, that's all."

"So, what do you want to talk about? Anything new Angela? You like your new furniture set up? Did you notice the bird feeder there?" Tony pointed at the tree just outside her window.

"Yes, thank you Tony. I did notice and I've been enjoying the birds."

"Good. Good." They stared at each other for a moment until she finally looked away, a bit self-conscious from the intensity of his gaze.

"Angela, um, there's something I've been thinking about. Well, worrying about", he paused and waited for her to speak but she didn't say anything. She looked at him then back down at her hands. He was doing it again; staring at her too intently. His scrutiny ever so penetrating that she wondered if he could read her thoughts.

Angela swallowed hard. "What are you worried about, Tony?" Oh dear, that come out an octave too high, she belatedly realized.

"Angela, I don't know if I should bring it up. You said you didn't want to talk about it but you were so upset. Um . . . with that person you were screaming about during your delirium." Tony couldn't back out now. He'd brought it up. If only he could keep his broken Roman nose out of her business. But he couldn't. He was opinionated and he was worried, which made him even bolder in his desire to approach her about this topic. Over the past few days, he'd been ruminating about this "Lyle" business and Angela's recalcitrance to discuss him. And now, she was acting strangely again . . . staring at him, eyes wide and troubled.

"Tony . . .", Angela didn't know what else to say. She looked away, visibly shrinking before him as she sank down into her covers.

"Angela. Who is "Lyle"?" Tony asked her determinedly. Now he needed to know.

Angela blinked hard to keep from crying. Her worlds weren't supposed to collide like this. Tony was her "now" and he represented everything about her adulthood that was going well; her agency and the inadvertent family they'd formed together. Lyle was the past-everything bad that she'd repressed and tried to forget about for two decades. She'd firmly lodged Lyle in the past, stuffed down the horrific memories and sublimated them since the tender age of fourteen.

She'd turned to food, which had both numbed the pain and created a protective, insulating layer of fat around her. Fifty pounds of security that had become her shield and armor. She'd gone and hidden herself away at Montague Academy, in a safe, all-female environment because of Lyle. And then, when she was finished stuffing her face full of greasy, fried stuff, fudge and ice-cream to forget her hurt, she'd graduated with top honors, a strong young woman. A survivor with a steel exterior hiding a wounded core.

Therefore, she couldn't talk to Tony about Lyle. He'd view her differently, as a victim. After all the effort she'd made to overcome the dreadful events following her father's death, the last thing she needed was Tony getting into her business. Especially this. This was too shocking and he might not understand.

So she forced herself to look at him now, steadily, calmly and told him, "Lyle was my father's best friend. I don't want to talk about him. There's nothing to tell."

Tony didn't believe her for an instant. If Lyle was her father's best friend, then why had Mona never heard of him? And if there was 'nothing to tell', then why the bizarre reaction? He'd just hit her with a live wire and Angela was trying to pretend that she wasn't being electrocuted at this very moment. He looked at her incredulously, thrown by her bald-faced lie. Angela, who was always so honest. He stammered for a moment, unsure if he should pursue it. Because now it nagged at his spirit; it wasn't mere curiosity—he was downright disturbed. The 'Lyle mystery' made no sense to him.

"I ain't buyin' it, Angela." Tony put it as bluntly as possible. "There's something going on and seems to me that it's a big thing. I never saw you so upset and Mona lied to me. Now you're lying to me."

Angela didn't know how to react to that one. Her eyes widened in surprise at being called out so easily. "You talked to Mother about Lyle?!" she asked in horror. "Oh my god, Tony. What did you say?" Angela was beginning to panic now.

"Calm down, Angela! I didn't say anything. I just asked her who Lyle was-back when you were delirious and screaming for him to stop. Stop what? What did your father's friend do that was so bad?" Tony's heart was pounding. He needed to get at the truth but he was scared too. Because once that line was crossed with her, he wouldn't be able to go back.

"Why? Why do you need to know? You don't need to know this, Tony. Nobody knows."

"Nobody knows what?" he challenged. He was close. Perhaps he ought to have stopped right then and there but the look on her face told him differently. She was outraged yet vulnerable. And worst of all, whatever this secret was, it looked like it weighed at least a thousand pounds. He wanted to help her and he craved her trust.

More softly now, he took one of her hands in his, "Ay-Oh, Angela", he said gently. "Do you need to talk? What is this thing that nobody knows about? I can handle it. Anything."

"Tony, I don't want you to see me differently. I've put it behind me. Lyle's been dead for years now and there's no point in resurrecting the past."

"Yeah but, it's still sitting here like a tonne of bricks. When you were delirious, your fear came out. You're carrying this thing, alone. Why?" He gently stroked the back of her hand, then placed it back on her lap and met her eyes solemnly. "I promise, Angela—I promise that whatever you tell me will be held in strictest confidence. Just know that you can trust me. I'm your friend. And nothin' you say could ever change how I think of you. To me, you're you—strong, capable, brave and sweet. It's okay, Angela."

Angela was surprised. She hadn't expected this show of support and powerful declaration of friendship. Truth be told, she'd never had a friend like him. He was becoming her best friend—the best that she'd ever had.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Angela?"

"You think of me as a good friend?" she asked shyly, wondering if he actually did.

"The best, Angela. And not just in Connecticut either—I'd say, well, I'd say that you are my best friend. Why, is that weird?"

"No, not weird. I guess I'm a bit surprised because I think I just realized the same thing about you. Tony, I've never had a friend like you; one that I trust completely. I really do trust you, Tony", she smiled at him shyly and grasped his hand.

"Good, so does that make us 'best friends', Angela?" Tony's heart skipped a beat from joy. She considered him her best friend?

"I guess it does, Tony." She paused and studied him for a moment. He was absolutely trustworthy. She'd never told a single soul about Lyle. Instead, she'd begged her mother to send her to Montague Academy for all sorts of reasons that had nothing to do with the truth. She wondered if it would help to tell him—if it would unburden her. Give him a greater understanding of where she'd come from.

"Alright Tony", she began. "I'm going to tell you this because you're my 'best friend' and because you're the father of a daughter who is the exact same age I was when this happened to me. You need to keep a close eye on Samantha—to protect her and keep her safe, Tony. Don't ever let what happened to me happen to her."

"What …", he looked at her and saw the raw pain and new resolve in her eyes. This was brutal for her but she was determined. Secrets lost their power once you revealed them. That she knew. And this was a biggie—she hadn't even told Mother or Michael or any of her friends. None of them could have handled it, she knew.

She took a deep breath, grasped his fingers and spoke, "It all began in the weeks following my father's death. I was only fourteen and Lyle …"

To Be Continued