Paper Castles (8 page)

You’re such a fool. For all your grand thoughts about running off into something wild and dangerous—you’re incapable. You’re even a failure at having an affair.

She was startled by a knock on the window. It was Adam. Barefoot, with his unbuttoned shirt open to the night air. She fumbled with the handle before rolling down the window.

“Do you want to come inside and talk?” His angry, bitter expression was gone. Here was the sweet man she’d met her first day in art class, a lock of dark hair falling in his eyes.

“I can’t trust myself,” she said. “I don’t think I’d have the strength if you tried to change my mind.”

He crouched down by the window, elbows on the frame so he could see her eye-to-eye. “I won’t try to talk you into anything. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

She pressed her fingertips to her eyes, quelling the tears, feeling his kindness would unravel her. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will.”

“You’ve been so good to me. So good for me. I really don’t think you have any idea and... I’m going to miss you.” Fridays would never be the same. This good-bye wasn’t just for tonight. It was for always. How could she possibly go back to his class? She hadn’t thought that part through. Didn’t realize how much there was to lose. She’d lost Fridays.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Adam said. “Do me a favor, will you?”

“What?”

“Don’t stop painting. You’ve got talent, and I say that as your teacher, not as a seducer. Don’t lose your dreams.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “And not just for that.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I’m not the woman in the painting.” Savannah laid her hand on his cheek.

“You are that woman. Just not for me.” He kissed the inside of her palm before leaning through the window to kiss her. A tender farewell kiss. He stood up and patted the roof of her car, sending her on her way.

Tears were still rolling down her cheeks as she pulled onto the street. In her rearview mirror she saw his dark figure standing beneath the streetlight, holding a little piece of her soul.

S
AVANNAH SHUFFLED into the kitchen the next morning, pleaded for coffee, then collapsed at the kitchen counter, her robe trailing behind like a tattered superhero’s cape.

Neenie set a mug of the dark tonic and a spoon in front of her and returned to her large wooden bowl of bread dough.

“Thank you,” Savannah said. “And good morning.” Her throat was dry and the few words squeaked out only half-said.

“Morning’?” Neenie looked askance at her. “The morning’ s long gone. It’s pretty near noon.”

Savannah winced at the reprimanding tone in Neenie’s voice and watched as the brown hands sunk into the billowing yeast mixture. Turning, and punching until the floury balloon was half its size. She sprinkled more flour on top and spread a clean dish towel over the bowl, setting it aside for the dough to rise again.

Savannah rested her head on her palm, her elbow on the counter.

“Where are the kids?” The words stretched out with a yawn.

“They’re long gone, too. Up with the birds and out they went, barely time to get a piece of toast in them before they flew outta here.” Her head shook, but Savannah saw her lips turn upward. “Kids. Always running.”

“I know. I wish I had the energy.” She stirred her coffee and watched the little ripples follow her spoon. Leaning over her cup she breathed deeply as last night’s events untangled themselves, only to collide and snarl again. Disjointed images surfaced and teased, then faded before her eyes. How many sleeping pills had she taken? She couldn’t recall.

You’re such a fool.

She shuddered at her recklessness, unable to recognize the woman who had tossed aside the good sense she was born with to go chasing her libido. She’d managed to escape last night, but what about next time?

There won’t be a next time.

Or won’t there?

She couldn’t be sure of anything anymore, because she didn’t know the eyes reflected in her coffee cup. This common, shameless adulterer.

Almost-adulterer
. As if that were any consolation.

After a long silence, Savannah whispered, “Neenie, what am I going to do?” The words hung in the air, refugees looking for a safe haven.

Neenie turned from the sink as if she’d been expecting them. She poured herself a slow cup of coffee and positioned herself on one of the stools next to Savannah. Her lap spread out under a flowered apron, ready for whatever Savannah needed to put there.

“The question is, child, what do you want to do?”

“I want to be happy.”

“That’s too big.” Neenie shook her head. “What does happy look like, anyway?”

“I can’t remember.”

Happy
was a wayward balloon with a string she couldn’t quite grasp no matter how high she jumped.
Happy
belonged to the barefoot summer girl of her youth. It didn’t live here.

“You have to start smaller.” Neenie was saying. “Baby steps towards glad. Then you keep on moving until you can find
happy
again.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I didn’t say it was easy.”

“What if you only get one shot at it?”

“I don’t believe that. Lots of ways to be happy. You’ll find yours again.”

“Maybe.” It would be so much easier if she were a child again, able to crawl into Neenie’s lap, where everything was all right. “I need someone to point me in the right direction,” she said, wallowing in the sulk, lacking the strength to even lift her head to the possibility of happiness.

“Well, I know one place you won’t find it.”

Savannah looked up, eyebrows knitted together.

“In the bottom of a glass of vodka.”

Neenie sat back then and squared her shoulders, hands folded neatly in her lap, inviting a sharp rebuttal. Instead, Savannah’s shoulders collapsed and all the air went out of her lungs.

It was one thing to have Price taunting her, but to hear Neenie say it—was a cold water splash in the face. She wanted to turn away, hiding the shame dripping down her cheeks. She fumbled for an excuse, but something gave way. She was tired, and the shadows were such a lonely place to live. Some part of the girl she once was reached for the remembered sanctuary of Neenie’s arms. Neenie, who has always known the truth.
Step forward
, the small voice whispered.

“I know.” The tiny admission was all she was capable of. But it was enough for Neenie. It was a baby step in the right direction.

“Child, you’ve been trying to drown your sorrows for some time now. And the problem with that plan is, you can’t drown sorrows. They’re good swimmers. They’re gonna float back up to the top and be bobbing right where you left them last night.”

“So it seems.” Savannah had to smile at the imagery. “I think you’re the only one who knows me. The only one who knows the truth.”
Or all that I can bear to let you know.

“That’s because you’re my Baby Girl.”

“Everything’s out of control, Neenie. I don’t know where to start.”

How had she let it get this far? She looked up at Neenie with a sigh. She seemed to do a lot of sighing lately. As if trying to expel the decay with a deep cleansing breath.

The older woman reached over and squeezed Savannah’s slender hand.

“Let’s start with the things you can fix. You may not have any control over Price, but you can find your own way back. And you’re gonna need a clear head to do it.”

“You’re right.”

Savannah closed her eyes and let Neenie’s voice wash over her. Rich and mellow, it flowed liked an unhurried river. Savannah longed to fall into its cool depths. Let the words and the current carry her downstream, dropping her at the ocean’s door. From there, the tide would bear her off until she washed ashore in some far-flung place where no one knew her name.

No matter how many different ways she dreamed of escape, running away wasn’t an option for her. It was the coward’s way out, anyway. She might be a prick-teasing fool, but she wasn’t a coward. She turned away from Adam last night for her children. She behaved badly but she ran for her home before any further damage could be done. Ran before she could change her mind.

“Have you talked to Kip?”

“No.” Savannah shook her head, twisting the tie of her robe. “Kip is knee-deep in his campaign. I don’t want to burden him with my nonsense. He doesn’t have the time to run home and save me from myself. Or talk to Price. Again.”

“You know he’d do it.”

“I know he would, but I don’t want him to.”

“Well then, have you thought about talking to your momma?” Neenie asked.

Savannah blew out her breath. “No. Where in the world would I even start?”

“Just start talking, the words will come.”

“You don’t just start a conversation like this after thirty-nine years of cocktail hour chit-chat.”

“She’s still your momma. Do you think she doesn’t see your unhappiness?”

“I’m not sure what she sees.”

“That’s because you’re always pushing her away. When you say everything’s fine—that closes the door. Miss Beverly’s not one to barge in.”

Neenie was right. Beverly never intruded. Although sometimes Savannah wished she would. Drop the genteel pretense and bash the door down and say,
I see what you’re doing
. Of course the door could always be opened from Savannah’s side.

“I don’t know, Neenie.” Regret nudged between the words. Regret for what might have been if she and Beverly had been dealt a different set of cards. She was sure her mother lived with her own remorse, but the two of them played their parts on opposite sides of the stage.

“Then maybe it’s time to talk to your daddy,” Neenie said, exhausting the list of referees.

“About a divorce?” Savannah could barely form her lips around the word, its sour taste on the back of her tongue.

Neenie’s shrug was subtle, but her mouth was set into a fine line.

“Don’t think I haven’t looked at that from every angle,” Savannah said.

No one in the Kendall family had ever been divorced. It was unheard of. If there were unhappy marriages, and surely there were, people just bucked up and carried on. Duty to your family was paramount and one didn’t run off searching for happiness when things went south. The same could be said about Price’s family. It simply wasn’t done.

Savannah got up to pour another cup of coffee. “If you think things are ugly now, you have no idea how bad divorce would make them. I can only imagine what hell would be unleashed if I actually took that first step.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” Neenie said. “That’s why I’m saying you should talk to your daddy first. Be prepared. Besides, maybe the threat would be enough to snap Price outta this craziness and back into being a real husband.” Neenie folded her big arms across her chest. “What he needs is someone to take him out behind the woodshed. Seeing how you can’t do that to a grown man, I’m guessing a good talk from your daddy is your best bet.”

The two women shared a laugh over the image of Price getting his ass whupped. If only things were that simple.

“I don’t even think I love him anymore.” The words snuck out before she could think twice. Today seemed to be a day to pull everything out of the shadows. Savannah looked at the words lying on the kitchen counter, not knowing what to do with them. Could she shuffle them like playing cards and deal a new hand?

“Marriage is a difficult road under the best of circumstances. Without love—”

“Why bother,” Savannah finished the sentence for her.

“That’s not what I was gonna say.”

“Maybe not, but it’s how I feel.”

Dear God, how did I get here?

It had been a gradual slide. With Price’s first affair, the perfect snow globe of her life had been shattered. Sparkles and idyllic little people tumbled out. Somehow she found the forgiveness to take her unfaithful husband back into her heart and the will to try again.

Her love hadn’t died with the first affair. Maybe not even the second. It was a long, slow death. Lie by lie. But Price killed it, just as surely as if he’d taken a gun and put a bullet through the heart of the marriage. Only he kept pulling the trigger over and over again, until one day, Savannah stopped counting or caring.

“What are you so afraid of?” Neenie said. “Your parents are gonna be on your side no matter what.”

“I’m afraid of sides. A war that will spill over and drag in all the innocent bystanders. Especially my babies.”

“Open the door, Baby Girl,” Neenie said. “Open it and let help in. ‘Ask and ye shall receive,’ the good Lord says.”

“Maybe I will,” Savannah said, unsure if the good Lord was interested in speaking to her. “After the holidays.”

Neenie placed her hand on Savannah’s wrist, pulling back on the reins as Savannah started to bolt.

“It don’t have to be divorce,” Neenie said. “But something has to be done. This life is eating you up and spitting you out. And it kills me to watch you disappearing.”

The word slid into Savannah’s heart like a sliver and lodged there. “That’s exactly how I feel. As if I’m disappearing.”

“We’re not gonna let that happen.”