Paper Castles (5 page)

T
HANKSGIVING DAY was marred by the endless coverage of the assassination and the televised funeral. Still, the entire family was expected at the Palmertons’ and a worthy meal would be served. Thanksgiving was serious business to Neenie Bailey.

She barked last-minute instructions to her kitchen troops, including Savannah and her mother, Beverly.

“The D-Day invasion took less planning than Neenie’s holiday dinners.” Beverly muttered, risking being overhead by their General.

Savannah was putting the finishing touches on a platter of deviled eggs, one of the few tasks Neenie trusted her with. Beverly chopped onions and stalks of celery, lending an air of expert style to the mundane task. Although Savannah had studied her mother for a lifetime, she’d never been able to mimic Beverly’s natural grace.

Beverly Wilkinson was the epitome of a Southern Belle. When she married Jack Kendall, later Judge Kendall, she became the perfect southern wife. Her parties were legendary: people still talked about a certain formal dinner when guests in black-tie, a Supreme Court justice among them, gathered around the barbecue in the back yard to make s’mores.

Savannah sighed. If people only knew about the dark secrets tucked behind the floral drapes in Beverly’s immaculate home.

“Are you all right, darling?” Beverly nudged Savannah with her elbow as she gathered up the pile of freshly chopped onions and celery into a large bowl. “You seem out of sorts.”

“Of course. Everything’s fine.”

Everything is always fine. Even when it isn’t.

What would her mother say if Savannah sat her down and told her the truth? She’d often dreamt of having the kind of relationship where Beverly would nudge her with her elbow, saying
Are you all right, darling? You seem out of sorts.
And Savannah would pull her aside and say,
No Momma, I’m not all right. Let me tell you what’s going on.

They’d never had that kind of relationship and it certainly wasn’t going to start now. It never got easier, this mother-daughter dance. The roles solidified since birth kept them locked in a performance that rarely veered from the original script. An off-Broadway production where they read their tired lines to an empty theatre.

I’m fine, Momma. Everything’s fine
.

“It’s just this whole last week. You know.” Savannah plucked a piece of celery from the bowl to nibble on.

“Yes, I know.” Beverly nodded. The assassination was the topic monopolizing all conversation for a week.

Today wasn’t a day to talk about Savannah’s life falling apart. Today was about family. And food. And impatience. Each time the oven door was opened, the aroma of roasting turkey and baking stuffing would escape the confines of the kitchen, luring the hungry kids like a siren’s song.

“When can we eat?” PJ draped himself over the large butcher block island and moaned like a refugee.

“When it’s done,” Neenie said.

“Well don’t you have a time?” PJ said.

“I might have a time, but Mr. Turkey has his own time. And he’s in charge. Now, get out of my kitchen before I put you to work.”

“Neenie?” The loud shout came from the other side of the kitchen door. Savannah and Beverly caught eyes and shook their heads. Kip Kendall had arrived.

The voice drew nearer, calling, “Where’s my woman?” Then Savannah’s brother burst through the swinging door and made a beeline for his childhood nanny. “Neenie, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Give me a kiss.”

Kip grabbed her in a bear hug, lifting her off the floor as she slapped at him with her ever-present dish towel.

“Washington hasn’t changed you one bit,” she said. Her tone was scolding but the delight in her grin was unmistakable. The whole world, Neenie included, adored Congressman Kipling Kendall.

Kip gave as good as he got. “You know you wouldn’t have it any other way, you ornery old cat.”

Cheryl Kendall straggled in behind her husband, carrying her famous coconut cake as if it were the Holy Grail. Her expression didn’t relax until she had scooted the plate to the back of the counter, safe and sound.

Savannah blew a kiss to her sister-in-law as she finished up with the deviled eggs and moved the platter to the refrigerator.

“Why, thank you, I will have one.” Kip grabbed two as Savannah passed.

Neenie picked up a wooden spoon. “I can still whoop your behind.”

Kip ducked and moved over to Beverly, planting a kiss on his mother’s perfect cheek. “Momma, tell her to give a guy a break, would you?”

“Can’t help you, son.” Beverly refused to interfere in this age-old battle.

“I see I’m outnumbered.” He grabbed a cold beer out of the fridge and tossed the bottle cap in the trash can as he eyed his sister. “I know someone who’ll be on my side. Come give me a hug, Sis. Tell me you missed me.”

Savannah sidled up to her big brother and hugged him hard, breathing him in. Clean. Soapy. Manly. His strong arms were full of childhood secrets and good-natured teasing. In the circle of his arms was Savannah’s unshakeable belief that her big brother could fix anything. Bike chains. A doll’s broken arm. Even hurt feelings when schoolyard teasing sent her home in tears. Kip fixed it all.

Too bad he was so far from home now. Maybe he could fix her.

She leaned back with her arms still encircling his waist and looked up into his handsome face.

“What’s this, old man?” She plucked at a few silver hairs mixed in with the gold.

“Merely a bit of stardust.”

Savannah groaned. “You’re a born politician. Full of baloney.”

“What?” Kip looked around the room with a wounded pout.

She leaned in again, hugging him harder, for no reason other than to feel him in her hands.

“What?” he said again, laughing.

“Nothing,” she said.

This,
she thought. These tiny, seemingly inconsequential moments. She wanted to bottle them, label them
LOVE,
and line them up neatly on the pantry shelf where she could take them down and hold them up to the light whenever she pleased. But moments couldn’t be caught. Wisps of laughter, precious seconds when the heart strained against the chest wall, overflowing with emotion—they were gone in an instant. Magic little puffs of breath, never to return. And if you weren’t’ looking, you could miss them all.

Throughout the preparations Savannah and Price managed to either carry on polite conversation or avoid one another. By the time the family gathered around the dining room table, the strain of keeping up this facade of a happy marriage had worn Savannah out.

She slumped in her chair and gritted her teeth as Price gave a rambling speech, half blessing, half toast.

Just breathe
, she told herself, keeping her eyes on the mashed potatoes.
Try not to listen to the sound of his phony voice.

“And of course our utmost gratitude goes to Neenie, through whom all good food comes.”

The children’s table erupted in applause and Savannah lifted her glass to toast the exhausted chef. By Savannah’s own decree, Neenie always ate holiday dinners with the family. As Neenie lifted her glass in return, her soulful brown eyes held Savannah’s in a private tribute.

“But...” Naturally, Price wasn’t finished. “As always, I am most grateful for my beautiful wife, who holds this family together. To Savannah.” Price leaned down and brushed her forehead with a kiss before whispering in her ear,
“
Smile darling.”

She was caught off guard, but managed to mumble, “Thank you.” Hoping to avoid any further scrutiny, she said. “Let’s eat.”

Damn him anyway
.

Though everything smelled divine, she could only pick at her food. She was hungry, starving in fact, but not for what was on her plate. She looked around the room. She was a stranger in her own life, nosed pressed up against the glass from the inside, wanting what was
out there
.

Kip and Cheryl were laughing, shoulders pressed close as they shared a private joke. Still openly flirting with one another after twenty years of marriage. The solidarity in their laughter touched a hollow place inside Savannah. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Price had shared a laugh.

At the far end of the table sat her baby sister, Rebecca, and her husband, Ben. Though they were more reserved than Kip and Cheryl, Savannah caught the sweet looks passed between them as Rebecca buttered a roll and handed it to Ben.

Even her own parents displayed their affection physically. Her father, Judge Jackson Kendall, often patted his wife’s hand while he spoke. Beverly was a fragile creature and Jackson’s mission was to protect her, both from the world, and herself. Savannah considered herself lucky to have such a devoted couple as parents. To witness a love continually polished over time to a smooth stone.

Her father made it look so easy, and Savannah had taken it for granted that her own marriage would ease into the same gentle groove of mutual love and respect.

Jackson Kendall grew up dirt poor on a small farm at the outskirts of Savannah. Now, a retired Georgia State Supreme Court Justice, he honored his hard-scrabble life by remaining a man of the people throughout his entire career. Savannah always stood an inch taller when she told anyone who her daddy was.

Jackson had been encouraged by parents who pushed him beyond the property line of their dusty acres. With their blessing, he tossed his dreams in a sack over his shoulder and let them carry him far from home. And yet, he made sure his own children never strayed too far from the land and their rural roots.

“People lose sight of who they’re supposed to be,” he said. “When they get away from the dirt and pile on top of one another in cities.”

The Kendall children were given the blessing of a simple childhood, encouraged to roll up their dungarees and play in the marshes around Tybee Island. Kip, Savannah and Rebecca hunted for turtles, climbed trees and rode bikes on daring adventures, returning home exhausted and covered in red Georgia clay.

Price Palmerton could trace his family roots to the Pilgrims. Because his blood ran so cobalt blue, he was expected to attend exclusive prep schools with a roster of influential students.

In the beginning Savannah was impressed by Price’s pedigree, thrilled to marry into it, happy to adopt the Palmerton lineage for her herself and her children and proud to be the wife of a lawyer. Yet while her own father and brother, fiercely loved the law, Savannah quickly learned Price only loved what the law could give him: money and power.

As the years went by, his career became one more thing to clash over.

Savannah’s head jerked up. She’d been lost in her thoughts while the conversation swirled around her. Kip had been talking about Kennedy’s funeral, but now everyone’s attention had shifted to Price.

“Actually, I
have
been giving it some thought.” Price put both elbows on the table and rested his chin on his laced fingers.

“Giving what some thought?” Savannah asked.

“Going into politics.”

“Good God, that’s the last thing we need.” Savannah looked around the table, the startled expressions telling her the remark was ill-timed. Price’s lips tightened into a fine line.

“I only meant... One congressman per family,” she said. “Let’s not be greedy.”

Nervous laughter rippled around the table, but the damage had been done. Her mask had slipped.

“Y
OU MADE an ass out of yourself tonight, Savannah.”

“What else is new?” She was too tired to lace up her gloves for the sparring contest. Here they were, starring in a rerun of the Thanksgiving Post Show. When all the good-byes had been said and the door closed on the rest of the world, this little drama could play on for hours.

“If you’re hell-bent on making a spectacle of yourself it would be so much more entertaining if you could put some thought into it. Your little one-act play is rather stale.”

“What on earth are you talking about? Does everything have to be a riddle with you?”

“I do not want my children to witness another outburst like the one this evening. I will not have my entire family embarrassed in their own home. Is that clear enough for you?”