Paper Castles (11 page)

She’d never been more proud of her father. The Judge was admired, almost revered in many circles. And Homer Godfrey was a good man in his own right. Perhaps he was already close to making today’s decision on his own. But in the telling and the re-telling of this story it would be Judge Jack Kendall who made Homer see past rules without reason. It was one small lunch counter, on one weekday in Savannah. But it was a start.

“Changing minds is a long, slow process,” Judge Kendall said. “It’s like turning a giant steamer ship around in the middle of the ocean. Most of the time it doesn’t feel like you’re turning at all. But it can be done.”

Savannah nudged Neenie with her elbow, “I think you just one-upped Claudia. What’s next? Marching in the streets?”

“Oh you, hush,” Neenie said. Then she picked up her menu. “What should I order?”

“Whatever you want, Neenie. Whatever you want.”

T
HE PALMERTON house was scheduled for the city garden tour this spring. Savannah and her gardener, Gio, were busy all morning laying out plans for new flower beds. Not only did Savannah trust Gio to bring her vision to life, but she loved to work beside him. Sun on the back of her neck, fingers in the dirt, and Gio’s mix of Italian and broken English weaving with her southern accent.

When she came inside to get a cold drink, Price was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. He looked up, his lips curled in disgust as she wiped the sweat off her brow with her dirty garden glove.

“At your insistence, we pay a small fortune for a gardener. Is it really necessary for you to be out there digging in the dirt like a five-year-old?”

“Yes, it is,” Savannah said, shouldering out the swinging door. “I’m practicing digging your grave.”

Neenie was arranging flowers for the dining room table and looked over at Savannah as she shook her head and smothered a grin. Savannah shrugged and marched upstairs to wash the dirt off.

Tonight was the Valentine’s Day dance at the country club. She really didn’t want to go, but Price had practically begged.

As January slid into February without so much as a whisper, Price’s late-night clients had disappeared and he was home every night. He still slept in the guest room and conversation between him and Savannah was mostly small talk. And the occasional snide remark. But they were trying.

She had no idea what tonight would bring, but it felt good to slide into a sexy dress, knowing that she would still turn a few heads. Folds of blue satin caressed her curves and the deep plunge of the back left her feeling risqué. Yet it was a sad reflection in her mirror sighing back at her, as she clipped on a pair of tiny gold heart earrings. The cloying sweetness from the bouquet of roses Price sent did nothing to lift her spirits. The accompanying card, tossed aside, along with its meaningless words,
For my Valentine.

As she made her way downstairs, everyone looked up. As if they’d been waiting for the queen’s entrance.

“Child, I could eat you up with a spoon.” Neenie crowed.

“Neenie, you beat me to it,” Price said. “What do you think, kids? Is your mother gorgeous or what?”

“You look beautiful, Mom,” Angela said. “Look how your dress matches Daddy’s tie.” It wasn’t like Angela to gush, and the unexpected enthusiasm had a ring of desperation to it.

“You look swell, Mom.” PJ’s eyes swept over his mother, then looked away. Unsure of what to do with the information that his mother was an attractive woman.

Both of her children had such palpable happiness on their faces because their parents were going out to dinner and a dance. She could feel them holding their collective breath, hoping that this trial balloon of perfection wouldn’t run out of air before the night was over. She wanted to whisper, “Don’t get your hopes up,” but she couldn’t take this moment from them. She and Price weren’t the only people living on this iceberg. There were other inhabitants praying for sunshine.

On the dance floor, Price and Savannah swayed to the music. Her right hand curled in his left. Her other hand up around his shoulder. His free hand rested on her bare back, rubbing slowly up and down.

A half dozen times, she started to lean in to him, put her forehead on his shoulder or her cheek on his chest, then stopped. Just like she did on their very first date, when she wasn’t sure how affectionate she was allowed to be. Back then it was the uncertainty of what he wanted. Now, it was weighted with the uncertainty of what she wanted.

“You look beautiful, Savvy,” Price said. The nickname dredged up a memory from their wedding night: Price never called her Savvy until he was her husband. As if he’d finally earned the right to use it. Their new intimacy now allowing shortcuts with one another.

After a beat he leaned closer and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

For the affairs? For late nights and harsh words? For all of it?

She’d taken him back before, when she still had a heart full of love to draw on. She wanted him back, wanted to make it work. But the tank was empty now. Without love, what was guiding her?

Her children, of course. Thoughts of them bouncing back and forth in the wreckage of a marriage kept her up at night. If she smashed her life like a mirror, Angela and PJ would have to walk across the broken glass. If she was a fool to take Price back, so be it. She’d be that fool. For her children.

She wove her fingers with Price’s. Her hand fit perfectly in his. It always had.

“Listen, Savvy,” Price said. “I know we’ve gotten off course, but you’re my Valentine. Always have been.”

Savannah leaned back and looked at him. Neenie always said he was too handsome for his own good. Price wore confidence like a perfectly tailored dress shirt. The same way she wore him. Her dress matching his tie, her hand fitting snugly in his.

But she wasn’t a prom queen anymore. Not some starry-eyed college girl. She was a woman who could make her own bed.

Price kissed her forehead. “I want our family back,” he said.

“Me, too.”

She leaned back again and let his lips take hers. They were warm. She remembered his kiss. It belonged to her.

Sometimes.

Shoving the thought aside, she slid her arms up around his neck and pressed closer.

“Yes?” Price said.

“Yes,” she said. Her tongue wet her lips and Price was reeled in. He kissed her as if they were alone in their room. She tightened her arms. It didn’t feel so bad.

They stayed on the dance floor through several songs. Foreheads pressed together, hands twined, swaying back and forth, and feet barely shuffling to the music. Both afraid to break the fragile spell. They were suspended in a bubble, hovering above the crowd.

Anyone looking on would never guess how many other bubbles Price had let drift away. It occurred to Savannah that she had no idea what any of the other couples in this room might be going through. Perhaps some of them were wearing plastic smiles as well.

“Get a room,” someone at the edge of the dance floor shouted to the Palmertons.

Price laughed, grabbed Savannah’s hand and led her to a table of friends.

“You two looked mighty cozy out there,” Millie Kimble said.

Savannah was ten years old when Millie rode into town on the tail end of a storm and landed the next block over. From that day on she was a whirlwind in Savannah’s life, full of crazy ideas and dreams enough for both of them. Alphabetical seating always had them bunched together in class and school activities. They were a package deal, known to all as Kendall and Kimble.

When Price had an affair with his secretary, nearly bringing down both his house and his office, Millie had been there for Savannah. A hand-holder. A shoulder. A defender. A plotter of revenge.

Savannah had confided in Millie, just the once. Never again for the affairs that came after. She was too embarrassed to reach out again, even to such a dear friend. Too humiliated to admit that she was a woman who couldn’t keep her husband at home. Too full of shame to see the questions in an old friend’s eyes.

Millie’s natural effervescence had once drawn Savannah in, made her open like a flower in the sunshine, but Savannah had let the relationship deliberately grow cold in recent years, afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep up the pretense of a happy marriage. Now, wrapped up in Millie’s scented hug, Savannah realized how much she missed her old friend.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” Millie said. “Of course, we missed the New Year’s party. We were out of town. I saw all the pictures of you and Kip in the paper. You looked gorgeous, as always. What else is going on?”

“Oh you know,” Savannah said. “Just busy. Kids.”

Millie stared at her, “Are you sure that’s all? Every time I’ve called, you’ve been busy.”

“I know. Things have been crazy.”

“Like what?” Millie leaned in, chin on her palm. Dark bangs framed a pair of green eyes that could see straight through bullshit. Millie was an expert interrogator. She could quickly assess a person’s defenses and once she found the wall’s weak spot, she would chip away until the frail veneer cracked.

Savannah, however, was an expert at changing the subject. She squeezed Millie’s hand. “Where does someone get a drink around here?’

Millie turned in her seat and signaled the waiter. “Two vodka tonics, my good man. And be quick about it.”

They chatted over drinks and a longing in Savannah began to curl around Millie’s laughter. She missed this girlfriend. Perhaps now that things had settled down with Price, she could pick up what had been set aside, including friendships hanging in limbo.

Out the corner of her eye, she watched the circle of men around Price grow larger. Heads fell back as laughter roared, backs were slapped in appreciation of a joke well told. They were like a bunch of boys playing football, with Price starring as the quarterback. Calling all the plays and taking all the glory. Price had the group eating out of his hand, leaning in to catch every word. Men loved him.

Problem was, women loved him too.

Now on her second drink, Savannah felt her joints loosen up. She’d taken Neenie’s advice and had steered clear of the nightly cocktails since Christmas. The vodka hit her bloodstream tonight like an old friend and the comforting warmth dissolved into her bones.

“I better get something to eat,” she said to Millie, standing up. “Come with me?”

“I have to stop by the powder room, first.”

Price waved to Savannah from a group of his law partners. It looked like a serious discussion, best avoided. She pointed to the buffet and he nodded in return.

As Savannah made her way to the end of the line, she caught a slice of conversation from the two women ahead of her.

“Well that’s not what I heard,” one of the them said, relish in her voice. “I heard Price has practically moved out and he’s busy burning the midnight oil, if you know what I mean.”

The other woman turned at that moment to see who was standing behind her and a look of guilty alarm crossed her face. “Savannah, how good to see you,” she cried.

It was Sarah Littleton, Savannah’s old tennis partner. She squeezed the elbow of her gossiping companion as she leaned to kiss Savannah’s cheek. Savannah kissed the air over Sarah’s shoulder, all her instincts rearing up.