Paper Castles (2 page)

There you are,
she said to her muse.
Not buried so deep after all.

“Why in the world did you stop painting?” he asked, without looking at her

“Oh you know... Life.” Savannah’s voice trailed off along with her composure as she busied herself with tightening the caps on paint tubes.

“That’s a shame.” He squinted as he bent closer studying a detail in her brushstroke. Looking back over his shoulder he asked, “Is this someplace special to you?”

“Yes.”

“I can tell. It’s good. Better than good, it’s excellent.”

Out of habit, Savannah shrugged off the compliment. “It’s not quite right, yet.”

But a small piece of her reached out for more.

What does he see?
Inside she was one of the giggling girls who’d just strolled out the door.

“I’d say, it’s just right.” He turned around to face her.

“Are we still talking about my painting—?”

“Come here.” He beckoned with his chin and he didn’t wait for her to comply. His arm reached and encircled her waist, drawing her to him. Brushing a strand of hair off her face, he leaned into her neck, the warmth of his breath at her ear.

“I’ve been waiting all morning for this,” he said. “Do you know how hard it is to walk by, smell your perfume and not be able to touch you?”

“No. How hard is it?”

“It’s torture.” He threw his head back in mock agony.

She traced her finger over the collar of his shirt, then tugged on the end, pulling him in. “Maybe I should leave. I’d hate to be accused of torturing the teacher.” This was her favorite part of the seduction. The coy tango.

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

He cupped her face in both of his hands, studying her like an artist memorizing his subject. And for a second she lost her equilibrium, the floor swaying as if it were dancing too. He kissed her, ending the dance. She leaned into him. Slow and unhurried and when his tongue found hers she let go and fell into the moment. Time and space contracted inward into a tiny universe of just her and him. Nowhere to go but here. Nothing to do but this. Only Adam’s body pressed close to hers and the shivers running up her spine affirming she was alive.

She didn’t have a name for this, nor a plan. It was simply an organic need and she reached for it like a thirsty traveler offered a cool glass of water.

From the beginning, at her first class with Adam Vincent she had felt the attraction. Glances that held too long. Complicit smiles. A warmth on her skin whenever he passed her easel. After the second session, he asked her to coffee. Their conversation flowed easily over the café table as they discussed art, compared artists, and argued schools of thought. He asked her out again after the third class. Then he stopped asking. Coffee after class became a given.

Only last week, at their same small table at the back of The Mud Lounge, chairs pulled tight together like always, over the usual coffee cups, sugar, and cream, some invisible line was erased. Their laughter hushed into something private. Their talk grew more flirtatious. Their fingers inched between napkins and silverware.

Taking Adam’s hand, Savannah examined each line and crease of his palm, looking for a clue to her future. Looking for an excuse to touch him. She glanced up to find him smiling at her. Brown eyes crinkled in amusement.

When those brown eyes swept over her, she felt beautiful and powerful. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her like that. It was intoxicating and she wanted to be drunk.

A delicious moment of anticipation hung in the air between them before he leaned in, his tentative lips barely bushing hers. Testing the moment. Tasting it.

Overcome with sudden shyness, Savannah sat back in her chair and looked around the café. A guilty pleasure swirled up from her toes as she and Adam grinned at each other—two kids who’d gotten away with a handful of stolen cookies.

Today’s kiss came from a different place. Nothing tentative about Adam’s mouth on hers and she reached to meet his lips with a level of confidence that surprised her.

I want this.

But eventually, reality knocked and Savannah had to let it in.

“This is wrong,” she said, pulling back. “On so many levels.”

“How many?”

“Don’t tease. You know you’d probably lose your position if the school found out.” She took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “And…other reasons, of course.”

“I know. Come here.” Taking her by the hand, Adam made his way to a long table at the back of the room, well away from the wall of windows. With one graceful move, he hopped up to sit on the splattered wooden surface and drew her between his knees.

“Let’s talk about those reasons,” he said.

“Let’s not,” she said. Her thoughts were moving too fast and his thighs pressing against her hips make it hard to keep up. “Let’s talk about my painting.”

“What about it?”

“How could you tell it was a special place?”

“The love in the brushstroke was obvious. You, on the other hand, remain a mystery.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s the way I like it.”

She took his wrist, checking his watch for the time. The innocent touch had their eyes connecting again.

“I should go,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because you have a meeting and I need to get home.”

“Must be exhausting.”

Savannah searched his face for sarcasm, but all she found was the gentle concern in his eyes that had drawn her to him from the start. The ease of his manner that invited her to talk and laugh over coffee as if she had a right to happiness.

“It is,” she sighed. “I’m so tired.”

The look in his eyes told he’d looked through a window in her heart and caught a glimpse of her vulnerability dressed up in flirty dialogue. She looked away and pulled the shade.

“Don’t go.” Adam reached for her hand. “I can’t wait another week to see you.”

“You’re going to have to.” She pulled him off the table with a playful tug. His feet trudged sulkily but he followed her across the room like an obedient puppy. She was in charge again. It was better this way.

“See you next week, Mr. Vincent —”

“Mr. Vincent is it? Oh and next week? You’re not getting off so easily.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.” Savannah picked up her purse and moved to the door. “Next week, then.”

Out in the parking lot, away from the distraction of Adam’s insistent hands, she toyed with the idea of not returning next week. It hadn’t gone so far that she couldn’t walk away and pretend she’d never met him. Better to leave while she still had her wits. She’d disappear back into her life and soon, Adam would forget about her and these afternoons over coffee. He certainly wouldn’t be lacking for company. He could have his choice of any female at any easel.

She opened the car door and slid onto the leather seat. As the engine purred to life, she looked at the art building facade in her rearview mirror, knowing damn well that she’d be back next Friday.

A
S SHE NOSED her powder-blue Thunderbird into the driveway, her morning fell away like the blurred edges of a misty dream. She closed the car door with a decisive thud.

Back to reality.

The soundtrack of her life tumbled down the back steps to greet her, firmly relegating Adam Vincent to another time and place. Raised voices warned of another argument between Neenie and the new housekeeper. Savannah sighed, her hand on the banister, foot on the bottom step.

When Posey, who’d been the Palmerton’s housekeeper for years, moved to Mississippi to help with her ailing sister, Savannah knew she had an impossible task ahead of her. Good housekeepers were hard enough to come by without adding Neenie’s unattainable standards into the mix. Neenie ran the house like a drill sergeant. Trouble was, Savannah was sure Claudia didn’t know she was signing up for the Marines when she took this job.

Savannah took a deep breath and entered the fray.

“Is the honeymoon over? Already?” The screen door thumped behind her as she sauntered over to Neenie and planted a kiss on a velvet cheek.

Claudia stood, arms across her chest, chin jutting out in a show of defiance. But she couldn’t hide the tremble in her bottom lip as she stated her case. “I don’t need to be told how to do my job. I know how to clean house. I don’t tell her how to cook. I’d appreciate the same.”

Savannah looked to Neenie, engrossed in stirring cake batter. It was obvious she’d said her piece and was now deliberating ignoring the newcomer.

“Ladies, you’re going to have to find a way to get along.”

“I’m trying, Ma’am.” Claudia wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m grateful for this job.”

“I know, Claudia. However, Neenie is in charge of the household. You do answer to her.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Neenie puff up. “But—” She turned to look Neenie in the face, sticking a pin in the balloon before Neenie’s big head could carry her away. “I’m sure Neenie can find a way to communicate that will feel a little less…offensive to you. Right, Neenie?”

Neenie was beating that cake batter like it was an obstinate child.

“Right, Neenie?” Savannah’s authority rose along with the tone of her voice.

“If you say so.” The words squeezed between a pair of tight lips.

“I do say so. Let’s just give one another some room to breathe.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Claudia bobbed her head and left the kitchen in search of something that needed cleaning, preferably at the far end of the house.

Neenie’s shoulders relaxed, but Savannah caught the smug smile she was wearing like a victory crown.

“Neenie,” Savannah said.

“What?” Now, the imposing black woman had become a contrite little girl.

“You know what. You’re awfully hard on her.”

“That’s because she lazy.”

“Hush.” Savannah looked over her shoulder, hoping Claudia was well out of earshot.

“Well, she is.”

“And you can be rather —intimidating.”

“Posey was never intimidated.”

“Claudia’s not Posey.”

“You got that right. Whipping that girl into shape is gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Maybe a little less whipping is what’s called for here.”

Neenie’s pursed lips were her only answer. Savannah perched on the kitchen stool as she watched Neenie pour the batter like chocolate lava into greased and floured cake pans. She smacked the tins on the counter to release any air bubbles before bearing them to the oven and gliding them inside, with a skilled cook’s economy of movement. Neenie in the kitchen, was as predictable as the sun rising in the east. That predictability was the island Savannah always circled.

This is my life.

The years rolled away and Savannah was a young girl again, tanned legs swinging from a tall kitchen stool. Watching as Neenie whipped up one tempting treat after another, bustling about the kitchen and barking orders. Her dishes always came out the same, delicious and reliable. Her troubles never seemed to end up in her cooking.

“Food is love, Baby Girl,” Neenie said as she spoon-fed Savannah with both. Savannah couldn’t remember a time when Neenie wasn’t at the center of it all.

The early part of her morning didn’t fit into the snug jigsaw puzzle of her life. Wrapped in her hand was a secret puzzle piece with Adam’s name on it. Could she make it fit? She wasn’t sure she even wanted to try yet. She liked the way it felt, tucked in her palm, alone. She wanted to put it in her mouth and taste it. Remembering Adam’s kiss. Craving. Longing. Instead she reached for the batter in the bowl.

Neenie eyed her with suspicion while wiping the crumbs from the counter. “What’s got you looking so full of yourself today, Missy?”

“What are you talking about?” Savannah ran her finger through the chocolate drippings at the bottom of the bowl and Neenie gave her a playful slap. It reminded her of the old days, except now she got to keep the bowl.

“I’m talking about you looking like the cat that ate the canary.”

“Really?”

“Don’t think I don’t see feathers through all that chocolate.”

Savannah laughed out loud. “You’re a hoot.”

“And you’re full of yourself. I think that art class just might be good for you after all.”

“I think you might be right.”

Savannah hopped off the stool and strolled out of the room with her mouth full of chocolate and feathers, before Neenie discovered the little puzzle piece in her hand.