Let It Go (28 page)

Brody looks to Savannah, who looks to Vangie, who looks to Buffy wondering if her cheese has slipped off her cracker, the proper Southern belle having never consumed an alcoholic beverage at a sitting with her children.

“Down the hatch,” Buffy says with a confident smile. Her three table mates cautiously do as she instructs, Savannah and Vangie breaking out into a giggle, the smooth, warm liquid burning all the way down their throats. “Where were we?” Buffy leads.

“I believe Brody was about to inform me of option three,” Vangie says, her voice and body relaxing as the whiskey makes its way through her system.

“Do you love Payton?” Brody asks. Vangie looks at him as if that should be a given. “I mean, do you want him. Are you in love with the man?”

“Well yes. Payton was my first. My one and only.” Vangie’s eyes start to water with tears. Buffy quickly pours her another, topping off the rest of the tumblers.

“Does Payton love you?” Brody continues, his deep voice compassionate.

Vangie shrugs. “I thought he did. But now I’m not so sure. You don’t cheat on someone you love, right?”

“Maybe a better way to say it…” Brody clears his throat, choking down another shot of whiskey courage, the point he’s getting at quite candid. “Does he
want
you? You know, intimately.” His eyes glance away with the question.

“Well yeah,” Vangie exhausts. “It’s just that with his schedule and the girls’ schedules, we don’t exactly have a lot of
alone
time. I can’t even remember the last time we were intimate,” her voice trails off.

“That’s promising,” Brody encourages, “that he tries. Means he hasn’t lost his appetite for you. You have kids together, you have a history. This is repairable.”

“What if she doesn’t want to repair it?” Savannah pipes. “If he cheated on her, it’s understandable that she wouldn’t want to take him back.”

“Baby, I know,” Brody soothes. “I’m just saying that if the guy did cheat, it probably wasn’t anything more than the physical. If he and Vangie can get that worked out at home, then he doesn’t have any reason to go looking for it.”

“So she should just forgive and forget?” Savannah downs her tumbler of whiskey as if what he has to say cannot be digested otherwise.

“Maybe not right away, but eventually, she’ll have to
let it go
, if they ever want to get back to normal.” Brody frustratedly runs his fingers through his hair. “Look Vangie, what I’m saying is if you want to work this out for your kids. If Payton wants to work this out. You can do it. But,
you
are going to have to make the rules. Figure out what it is that you want…find yourself,” he uses her term. “Go back to work, if that makes you happy. Do whatever it is that makes you feel content on the inside.” He pats at his chest. “If you’re happy with your existence then you’re not so inclined to micro-manage others.”

“Your daddy used to tell me all the time, ‘Buffy, I sure wish you’d find something you enjoyed doing as much as you enjoy telling me what to do.’” Buffy reminisces of her micro-managerial skills as a wife. “And you girls. How many times have I interfered in your lives to hear, ‘Mama, I wish you’d get control of your life so you wouldn’t feel the need to control mine.’”

“I make the rules?” Vangie ponders Brody’s advice. “So that I know it’s my idea to stay married and work things out? Giving Payton another chance? So that he knows he’s not getting off scot-free. He knows I have options. And if he wants me to choose him, he plays by my rules.”

“Yep,” Brody chimes, “the ball’s in your court. Just like a kid, he has to know there are rules. And consequences if the rules are broken.” Brody takes another sip of whiskey, choking out more advice, “But you also have to play fair. Gotta give him
the ball
every now and then,” his verbiage completely figurative of an intimate exchange.

“How do I know I can ever trust him again?” Vangie asks.

“You don’t know that you can’t.” Brody shrugs his shoulders, the proof that Payton did in fact cheat still up in the air.

“But the idea that he was even thinking about it. Lying about this woman and his association with her. That’s not enough?” Savannah pipes.

“I’m not taking up for the guy,” Brody defends. “I’m just saying, thinking about something and doing it are two different things, especially when it comes to breaking up a home.”

“And if
things
aren’t jiving at home,” Vangie references their marital affection, “that might be a good place to start.”

“If you really want to do this, Vangie. We can help.” Savannah reluctantly gets on board, her hands motioning back and forth between herself and Buffy. “We can keep Luka and Zoey more often. Maybe every other weekend or something. Giving you and Payton some of that
alone
time.”

“There’s no shame in accepting a little help, honey,” Buffy affirms her participation. “It’s hard. Managing relationships between your family…being mama, wife, friend and lover. Lord knows, I never seemed to get the mixture right.” She chokes down another swig from her whiskey tumbler. “I bet those dirty dishes would have been there in the morning,” she reminisces several lost opportunities to accompany her husband to the bedroom, sacrificing their matrimonial extracurriculars for an efficiently run home.

“But Payton does the dishes, Mama. He helps out with chores all the time. I cook, he cleans up. I pack lunches, he bathes the girls,” Vangie expresses, her tears surfacing again with the thought of what a good father he is. “He makes the time, even with his hectic work schedule.” Her mind wanders to late game nights, where Payton has come in attempting to snuggle up to her in bed and she shoos him away, as sleep seems more important. “When did I stop making time for him?”

Buffy rises to a ringing phone. “It’s Payton, honey,” she identifies the Caller ID, awaiting Vangie’s instruction.

Vangie hesitantly stands, accepting the call, “Hello.”

“Vangie,” Payton’s voice sounds on the other end, “you okay? It’s eleven o’clock. I was starting to get worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” she says, choking back tears at the sound of his voice. “Just have some things I need to get worked out.”

“Vangie, baby, you been crying?” Payton’s tone softens with sincerity.

Vangie clears her throat, diverting his inquiry, “What are the girls doing?”

“They’re asleep now, baby. They waited up for you as long as they could. I made them some of my famous stove-top popcorn and homemade strawberry milkshakes. We watched
Brave
,” he speaks of the Disney animated film with the auburn-haired spunky heroine, “for the hundredth time.” Payton chuckles. Vangie’s tears press hard at her eyes, falling down her cheeks with the image. “We had a great night, baby,” he talks sweetly of the rare Saturday night in with his family during football season. “The only thing that would’ve made it better is if you were here. You coming home soon?”

“Probably be a good time,” she thinks of her sleeping, unknowing babies. “We need to talk, Payton.” Vangie wipes briskly at the moisture on her face. She looks to Brody’s glass of whiskey, still plenty remaining for a safe chauffeur. “I’ll have Brody and Savannah drop me off,” she says, feeling a little too relaxed to drive as she hangs up the phone.

Savannah stands. Brody does the same, taking her cue. “I’ll get the truck warmed up,” he says. “Miss Buffy, thanks for the conversation and the nightcap.”

Buffy stands to embrace him. “You’re safe to drive?” she asks.

“Yes Ma’am.”

Buffy smiles at his manners, her hand patting his solid chest. “Thanks for taking care of my girls.” The whiskey aptly warming her body and her heart, Buffy grows sentimental.

“You okay, Mama? By yourself tonight?” Vangie takes Brody’s place in her mother’s embrace as he slips out the door.

“Yes honey. You go talk to that husband of yours. Put that beautiful family back together.”

“You can come home with us, Mama.” Savannah smiles affectionately, the three women partaking of a group hug.

Buffy looks to the whiskey bottle, one more warm serving remaining. “I think I’ll have my last drink with your daddy,” she says, signifying the long overdue
let it go
ceremony.

Chapter Nineteen

After chauffeuring Vangie home safely, Brody and Savannah settle back into his place around midnight. A quiet Savannah contemplates returning home herself, if only she didn’t feel like the stretchy green humanoid piece of clay, Gumby, loose at every joint in her body graced with her mother’s whiskey.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Brody probes. “You haven’t said a word since we left your mama’s. That whole Payton and Vangie situation got you thinking?” he follows up, knowing her wheels are no stranger to turning and burning, the ultimate over-thinker.

“Sure, I’m concerned about them. I hope they can get everything worked out. But it wasn’t anything said at my mama’s that got me thinking.”

Brody’s eyebrows furrow with concern. “Did somebody say something at
my
mama’s?” He recalls her and Emma’s meeting in the kitchen. “Emma,” he exhausts, figuring his overprotective sister for the culprit.

“She was fine,” Savannah defends, chuckling at Emma’s sisterly concern for Brody. “She was looking out for you. I respect her for that. She loves you Brody,” Savannah contemplates the emotion, its unwelcome self, knocking at her door, the most likely cause of her silent turmoil.

“I know she does.” Brody nods. “Sometimes having a big family can be difficult. Everybody has their opinions, or their way of
helping out,”
he adds with a roll of his eyes, sitting down beside Savannah on the couch.

“I think you’re a lucky man, Brody McAlister. To have two big ol’ families who adore you.”

“Probably.” His elbows rest on his knees, his hands rubbing together. “Just wish everyone got along, my mom and my dad, you know.” Their unresolved feelings from a twenty-year-old divorce still hard for him to swallow. “Well, spit it out. Whatever’s got you so quiet.”

“It’s nothing, Brody, really,” Savannah sulks.

“Ha,” he whispers. “I might have believed you a few years ago. If I’ve learned anything it’s that when a woman says it’s nothing, it’s always something.”

“When I was talking with Emma,” Savannah approaches the heart of the matter, “she said your ex had money. Candida Wooten has money.” Her body language grows defensive.

“Savannah,” he scolds at her conclusion.

“Is that what you want? Is that your bag, Brody? Women with money?” she continues to poke, the alcohol in her system simply provoking her argumentative mood.

He shakes his head, biting on his bottom lip. “No. That’s not
my bag
,” he barks at her offensive terminology. “Yes. My ex…her family,” Brody corrects, “had money. But that’s not why I was attracted to her.”

“Well, that would explain why y’all argued about you getting a better job. Maybe you thought you were just going to coast right through your marriage, but she had other ideas,” Savannah challenges.

“Money had nothing to do with it, for me. But if you’ve convinced yourself otherwise, go right ahead. Hell, you already accused me of being some kind of male gigolo,” he huffs, disbelievingly at the ludicrous idea.

“In case you’re unaware, most writers’ salaries are on par with teachers. Just because I get my name in the paper every week doesn’t mean I’m raking in the dough,” her tone grows harsh as her insecurity surfaces. “If that’s what you’re all about, you may consider a different
fuck
buddy,” Savannah nearly chokes on the word, usually a whisper in the heat of their most intimate moments, now rings with a completely different sound, jagged and cold.

“Fuck buddy?” Brody stands, wringing his hands about the back of his neck, roughly kneading the tense musculature. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I like you? That I’m into you? That I want
you,
Savannah?”

“Well, do you?” she pipes. “Have I passed all of your little tests? Don’t think I don’t notice the way you’re always looking at me. I see your mind working, investigating that ‘
must-haves’
checklist of yours,” she bites on the adjective, accompanying it with dramatic air-quotes.

“Huh,” Brody emits through an agitated grin as he paces. “I’ve introduced you to my family, my friends, people who mean something to me. I don’t do that with just anyone. You heard them.” He throws his arm out in the air. “They haven’t seen me with a woman in three years. I’ve met your family, your friends. You think I’d do that if I didn’t have plans for you and me?”

“And I like them, your family. They’re truly wonderful. But it all works too well, you and me. This whole thing.” She motions her hands back and forth between them, even in their disagreeable state the chemistry, sexual tension in the air is palpable and unsettling. “It’s too right, too soon, Brody. There has to be something wrong. Something I’m not seeing because all I can see these days is you.” Savannah covers her mouth with her hand, having said too much.

Brody walks to her, only taking two strides with his sizable frame. Scooping her up, he settles her astraddle his waist as he takes her place on the couch. “Then see me, baby. My God, do you know how good it feels to hear you say that.” His handsome, rugged smile peeks out from his lips. “You don’t exactly give those things away. Sometimes I think I can feel it, see it.” He scans her face with his warm, intoxicating steel blues. “But I need to hear you say it.”

“It’s hard,” Savannah admits, refraining from touching him with her hands, even though she desperately wants to, the heat from his lap stimulating enough. “There’s so much more I want to say, but I can’t, Brody.” She runs her fingers through her hair, pulling at the ends, her chest rising and falling briskly. “I don’t know what’s real. I mean, I’ve been here before,” she admits, her divorce still gnawing at her. “I thought it was real. But apparently it wasn’t meant to last.”

“Some things don’t last,” Brody agrees, having walked in the same failed shoes. “But some things do, Sweet Savannah. Don’t you at least want to give in to it? Try?” He pulls her more firmly against him, signifying his will to take that chance.