Paper Castles (25 page)

“I told you, you could tell me anything and I wouldn’t judge. I meant it.”

“Thanks, Father Hannigan.”

“Don’t start.” Phil hung his head with a laugh. “Seriously, I feel humbled you felt safe enough to share something like that with me.”

“I surprised myself. But I guess it was time.” Savannah liked the way the truth felt around her shoulders

“I was thinking... One thing that jumped out at me was how you used the word perfect. Over and over.
You were all perfect on the outside. Beverly tried hard to be the perfect wife and mother. She couldn’t hold onto perfect.”

She looked up at him, marveling how he’d taken copious notes without a pad or pencil.

“It’s impossible to hold onto perfect,” he said.

“Don’t I know it? Although it hasn’t stopped me from trying. It’s a lesson I’m still trying to unlearn. Perfect only exists in a moment. Like this sunrise. Then, it’s gone.”

They sat there for a bit listening to the ocean until the growling in their stomachs couldn’t be ignored.

Walking back up to the house, Savannah spotted something sticking up out of the sand.

“Oh my God,” she said, pulling out a spiral shell. “Look at this.”

She waded into the water and dunked the shell, giving it a good cleaning. Then stood in the midst of the waves, holding the treasure up to her ear.

“Listen,” she said. “The sea left its whisper in here.”

Looking down at her, Phil pressed the shell to his ear as if he were on a phone call.

“Phil speaking,” he said. “Mom, how are you? What? You’re kidding?”

“What did she say?” Savannah said, laughing.

Phil handed the shell back to her. “Can’t tell you. It’s a secret.”

She caught a glimpse of something in his eyes, before he blinked. Something more than a man laughing at a bit of silliness. A secret. For her.

That afternoon Phil made a grocery run while she took a nap. Now the ingredients for tonight’s dinner were spread out on the counter like a pirate’s booty.

“My goodness, Philadelphia, I’m impressed,” she said. “You’re going to save my life and cook me dinner, too?”

“It’ll be reflected in the billing.”

She laughed and Phil grinned in a way she hadn’t seen before. It was obvious Phil needed these couple of days to recharge batteries. He laughed often and out loud, and it tugged at something she’d packed away a long time ago. The sound had her digging through dusty trunks in the attic, looking for pieces of herself that had been missing.

Looking for her laughter.

She sat on a kitchen stool watching Phil’s hands run her butcher knife through a mound of garlic. He chopped onions, pushed them off to the side, then sliced fresh mushrooms. On the stove, a pan of boiling water waited for spinach fettuccine.

“You’re going to make someone a wonderful wife one of these days,” Savannah said.

“It always dazzles the ladies when a man cooks dinner.”

Onions and garlic hit the hot olive oil in the pan and sizzled their approval.

“I’m sure you’ve done your share of dazzling.” Savannah took a sip of her white wine and watched him turn from the chopping block to the stove in a series of smooth moves. A kitchen towel slung over his shoulder.

“Why aren’t you married, Phil?”

“Believe it or not, I was.”

“Really?” What kind of woman would Phil have married? Savannah tried to picture her. Obviously an accomplished woman. Probably a lawyer. They’d come home at night and kick their shoes off before heading to the kitchen. The two of them would chop and mince, sip wine and kiss, and glide across the kitchen floor in a sexy tango. They’d laugh over their plates, while they talked about their days in court. Saving lives and saving the world.

“It was a long time ago,” Phil said. “Right out of college. It was stupid.”

“I see.”

He looked over at her and then shook his head. “I mean she wasn’t stupid. She was lovely. We were both just too young. We had different goals. I thought lust would overcome all of that… I was wrong.”

“What was her name?”

“Laura.”

Laura.
A lovely name for a lovely woman. She was probably gorgeous.

“Any kids?”

“No. Luckily we got out before anyone was permanently damaged.” He winced as the words fell from his lips. “I’m sorry. That was tactless.”

“It’s all right,” Savannah said. “I knew what you meant. And I envy your amicable divorce.”

The banter flowed between the sauté pan and glasses of wine. Conversation with Phil was a foreign dish with spices and colors she’d never experienced before. Yet the taste was somehow familiar at the same time. As if she’d been exiled from her homeland and when they spoke it was comfort food stirring a memory from a past life.

“How long were you married?” she asked.

“Just a couple of years. Seems like a lifetime ago.”

“When I think back about the girl I was in college and who I thought I’d be at this stage of my life, I don’t even know what to think.”

“Life has a way of interrupting our plans.”

“That’s a gentler way of putting it. Neenie says,
Life has a way of slapping the sass out of you.”

“I think I like her line better.”

“Neenie has a way with words.”

She ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass thinking Phil looked so comfortable at work. Any work. He seemed equally at home behind a kitchen stove as he did behind a desk piled high with law books. He always knew his purpose. What was Savannah’s purpose? Where was her place in this world?

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

They weren’t the kind of words she would normally throw into a conversation. But they were always on the tip of her tongue. Instead of biting them into submission, she offered them up to her confessor.

Phil’s hands continue to move but she knew she had his full attention. “When we get this trial behind us,” he said. “You’ll have the opportunity to start over. A clean slate.”

“No,” she said, wanting to be hopeful but not willing for another lie to take root in her life.

“I’ve been accused of killing my husband. Even if I get off, I’ll still be the woman who got away with murder. I have no idea what my life will be like. No idea what my relationship with my children will be like.”

“One thing at a time,” Phil said. He added shrimp to the sizzling pan, along with fresh basil and oregano. He put the lid on and droplets of steam collected on the glass dome.

“Right,” Savannah said. “Baby steps.”

When the shrimp had plumped into pink pillows, he pulled the pan from the heat and tossed in freshly chopped tomatoes, giving them a quick spin around the skillet, topping it off with fresh grated cheese.

He grabbed the platter and headed towards the table. “Come and get it.”

Savannah was right on his heels. All conversation ceased as forks dug into the swirling piles of pasta. She pushed good manners aside as she gushed praise around a mouthful of exploding flavors.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven. Shrimp is my favorite thing on this earth.”

His mouth was just as full. “Glad you like it.”

“Where in the world did you learn to cook like this?”

“Necessity is the mother of invention. I love to eat, and it’s too expensive to eat out every night.”

“You’re a regular renaissance man, Philadelphia.”

She watched him twirl the pasta around his fork then stab a shrimp with gusto. The hint of red on his cheeks proved even a stuffy Yankee lawyer could be undone by a compliment.

She pointed to a thin line running just under his left eye. “How did you get that scar? From playing football?”

“I wish.” He sat back and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “I got scratched by the family cat when I was four. I don’t remember it, but he left his mark. When I have to tell the story, I usually make him out to be some sort of wild bobcat.”

“Of course,” she said. Her finger lifted, wanting to run along the bit of raised flesh. She quickly looked away and reached for her wine glass instead.

“
S
HOULD I start a fire?” Phil asked.

The wind had picked up over the last several hours and now the rain fell as if it had a grudge to settle. They’d spent the afternoon securing the outdoor furniture and shuttering the windows on the beach side of the house. Even though they weren’t expected to catch the brunt of the storm, the outlying winds and rain could still cause plenty of damage.

“Do you know how?”

“Do I know how? You’re talking to a former Eagle Scout.”

“Is there no end to your resume?”

Phil got busy with logs and rolled-up newspapers while Savannah cleared the dishes. She turned on the kitchen radio to catch the latest weather report. The tropical storm had wobbled on its path, and the islands along the Georgia coast would most likely be spared any real danger. High winds of up to fifty miles per hour with heavy rain and storm surge were still expected.

Savannah turned the dial to her favorite music station and hummed about the kitchen as she scraped dishes and dropped them into the sink full of hot suds. She turned to smile as Phil appeared in the doorway.

“How’s it going in there, Boy Scout?”

“Done and done.”

Phil picked up a dishtowel, but Savannah shooed him away.

“No. You cooked dinner. And I have to say again, it was fabulous. The least I can do is clean up.”

“It will go faster if I help.” He dropped some silverware in the sink and their hands met under the soapy water. The unexpected touch caused a stir in Savannah’s chest.

“I love this song.” Martha and the Vandellas were singing,
Dancing In The Streets
, and the rhythm had Savannah swaying, still buried up to her elbows in suds.

“Come dance.’’ Phil held out his hands.

“Really?”

She placed her soapy hands in his and they started swinging to the music. Twisting, turning, laughing along with the upbeat tempo. She ducked under his arm, and he spun her around in a circle until she was dizzy. She hadn’t laughed like this in a long time. Chest full and laughing for the sheer joy of the moment.

The song ended and they stood looking at one another, out of breath. Neither moved in the pregnant pause between songs. Savannah was caught between wanting to continue dancing or stand there suspended in the silence with Phil. The next song came on, slow, easy and sensuous. Phil held out his hand as the words,
You Really Got a Hold On Me
, dripped from Smoky Robinson’s lips. Phil’s strong fingers curled around hers, pulling her close to his chest.

Her head nestled on his shoulder. He rested his head on hers, a day’s growth of beard tickling her forehead. His arm slid around her back, and she felt the strength of his hand on the small of her back. She’d dreamed of these hands: now, she was under them.

I belong here.

The space between their bodies disappeared as hips and legs pulled up close. He moved his head down and she nuzzled his cheek with hers, sinking into the warm solidness pressed up against her.

Phil tilted his head back, looking into her eyes. Was he asking her a question?

She must have said yes, because he backed her up, her arms still around his neck. Her shoulder blades melted into the wall. The surface cool on her back as Phil’s heat pressed forward. His hands were in her hair and he looked down at her as if he was a soldier home from war.

When he kissed her, it was raw. A little rough. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have crumpled at the knees. He pinned her tight against the wall. Capturing her mouth in a kiss, full of hunger.

The wind howled, the rain pounded at the windows like fists, and Phil’s mouth was devouring hers. He pulled on her bottom lip, drawing her deeper into his mouth.

His hands slid down her back, smoothing over her rear. She wrapped her leg around him, pulling him in closer with her heel. A small hitch in her breath, as his fingers ran down the length of her thigh. They were grappling like a couple of teenagers in heat. Except no teenage boy had ever kissed Savannah like this. No thought as she was carried along on the storm surge. Phil’s wind and tides pulling, tossing her this way and that. Cutting them both loose from their moorings, casting away from the,
what if?
The storm swept away attorney and client, leaving only Savannah and Phil.