Paper Castles (9 page)

Savannah snatched at
we
. Grabbed on and pulled herself to safety. Her heart swelled in her chest as she looked at her closet ally.

“Neenie, I don’t deserve you.”

“Nonsense.” Neenie swatted the compliment away. “We’re gonna find a way outta this mess.”

The cloud of despair frowned at this display of optimism and wrapped its prickly arms tighter around Savannah’s shoulders. Determined to swallow up any small amount of hope.

“A divorce would be such a scandal. It would be the talk of the town.” Her thoughts were like fingers that only knew how to play the dark notes on a piano.

“A time comes when you have to stop worrying about what other folks say.” Neenie’s eyes took on a far-away look. “You know, when you was a little girl you used to march down the street, head held high. Yellow hair shining in the sun, never looking left or right. People would say ‘There goes that Savannah Kendall. Ain’t she something?’”

If only Savannah could find the moment when the little yellow-haired girl bought into the notion that everything in her world had to be perfect. She’d undo it in an instant. She’d tell that little girl, not to believe it. It would’ve surely changed her life.

“Well maybe I should’ve been looking left and right,” Savannah said. “Anyway, it was a long time ago.”

“I don’t care how long ago it was,” Neenie said. “Down inside, you’re still that little sassy pants.”

A slow grin spread across Savannah’s taut face. “Sassy pants. I haven’t heard that in a while.” She searched Neenie’s face, looking for the high-headed girl living behind her wise friend’s eyes.

“I wonder what happened to me?”

“Sometimes life has a way of just slapping the sass right out of a person,” Neenie said flatly. “Don’t you worry, though. Yours may be lying low right now, but it’s still in there. ”

“I hope you’re right.” Savannah took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Because if I’m going to follow through with this, I’m going to need all the sass I can find.”

“D
addy promised he’d be here.” Peeking through the backstage curtains, Angela kept one eye on the back door of the auditorium.

“Then I’m sure he will be,” Savannah said.
Dammit, Price.

Angela got caught on the edge in Savannah’s voice and said, “Momma, please don’t fight with Daddy tonight.”

Savannah stepped back, smiling brightly. “Of course not, honey. This is your big night.”

She pulled back the heavy theater curtains and searched the crowd for her missing husband. Families were streaming in, jockeying for the best seats. Anticipation hung in the air along with the cheap Christmas decorations hanging from the rafters.

Mrs. Tooley, clipboard in hand and pencil hanging precariously from behind one ear, arrived backstage to shoo all parents and bystanders from the wings.

Savannah hugged her daughter tight. “You don’t need it, but good luck.” She ran her hand over the top of Angela’s head. The eyes Angela lifted to her mother were a little wild, glazed with stage fright’s last-minute panic.

“Once the lights go up, you’ll be fine,” Savannah said. “Now, break a leg, Baby Girl.”

Savannah slipped through the theater’s side door and made her way to seats that PJ had been holding. She moved her coat to the side and sat down with an exasperated huff.

“Any sign of your father?” she asked, rummaging in her purse for her lipstick.

“Not yet,” PJ said. “He’ll be here. He knows how important this is to Ange.”

“Of course.”

Her hand trembled as she did her lips. She was still rattled from her morning. Unable to sleep, she’d been up with the first light. Stepping out the back door to retrieve the morning paper, she found her art class painting leaning against the brick steps. She picked it up with both hands and peered down the driveway, her heart flipping over in her chest. No sign of anything or anyone. No car driving away from the curb. Clutching her artwork in her arms, she stood and stared down the long drive, imagining she could feel the heat of his hands on the canvas. Adam had been here. She’d just missed him.

As the lights in the auditorium dimmed, signaling the start of the show, Price slid in beside her.

“Sorry,” he said.

She nodded, applauding cheerfully.

Price leaned across her and tapped PJ on the arm. “Hey, Buddy.”

PJ lit up.

Then again, everybody lit up around Price.

“How’s Ange doing?” Price whispered to Savannah. His breath on her ear felt invasive, as if a stranger had breathed on her.

“Nervous. And she was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

“No worries, I told her I’d be here. And here I am.”

“So you are.” Savannah could feel his shoulder pressing against her own, their elbows touching on the shared armrest. She hadn’t touched him casually in ages, shared space so intimately she could smell him. The scent of his cologne stirred something in her, both strange and familiar at the same time.

They sat through and applauded an hour of Christmas carols and skits. Finally, Angela came onstage for her solo. Both Price and Savannah sat up straight in their seats. Savannah heard Price take in a deep, steadying, breath. A big inhale, but no exhale.

The carol began with eight agonizing arpeggios, through which Angela had to stand with no distraction. All eyes on her. Savannah’s heart pounded. Angela lifted her eyes first, then her chin.

Oh God, Baby Girl. You look so small
…

When Angela sang the first line of,
O Holy Night
, the entire auditorium exhaled in wonder.

“Wow,” PJ whispered.

Tears filled Savannah’s eyes as the pure and true voice filled the theater. When Angela finished the last clear note, the auditorium erupted in genuine, enthusiastic applause. Angela’s shoulders dropped and her face unfolded in a smile as she saw her father giving her a standing ovation from the seventh row.

Price fell back in his seat and reached for Savannah’s hand, squeezing hard. Limp with relief, she squeezed back.

“That’s our girl,” Price said. “We made that.”

“Yes,” Savannah said, overcome with pride for her daughter and surprise from Price’s spontaneous touch. The house lights had come up and they looked from one another to the clenched tangle of their fingers and back again. For a brief moment Savannah remembered what it felt like to have a partner on this journey. To be united. Moments like these were bigger than the two of them. No matter what may come, they would always be connected through the two children that were born because she and Price had once loved one another.

People were standing up and moving toward the exit now, eager to claim their offspring and head out into the night. As the slow-moving river of people inched up the narrow aisle, hellos were exchanged. Shouts of “Merry Christmas” and “See you next year” rang out during the exodus. Several familiar faces stopped to congratulate the Palmertons on Angela’s performance. One father slapped Price on the back as if Price had sung the song himself.

It was several minutes before Angela came running down the aisle and threw herself into her father’s arms. Looking up at him with all adoration and waiting for her accolades.

Savannah’s heart hurt at the sight of them. The divorce she was contemplating would destroy her children’s lives and leave her with the blame. She would be the enemy.

Christmas morning arrived without fanfare. Although the kids were no longer babies, and Santa no longer made an appearance, presents were still presents.

Wrapping paper and bows were strewn in happy abandon and Daisy wriggled her way into the party on the living room floor. It was Savannah’s favorite kind of commotion.

Price strode back into the room carrying two cups of coffee and handed one to Savannah.

“Thank you.” She took the cup from his hand, trying to remember the last time he offered her a kind gesture.

“Merry Christmas.” Price looked down at her as if he had something else to say, but nothing was forthcoming.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

She sipped her coffee while eyeing him over the rim of her cup. On the floor, at the center of the chaos, Price looked like a big kid. Grinning as he watched the kids open their presents with shouts of excitement. Every once in a while he’d look back over his shoulder at Savannah, his expression unguarded, without artifice. She could almost hear him saying, “Are you watching, Mommy? Do you see this?”

She saw it. She was fully present, yet overcome with nostalgia. The past blurred as if all the dates on the backs of pictures in a mental photo album had been erased. It was just one big faded Christmas picture.

She saw toddlers in footed pajamas crawling over her and Price as chubby hands reached for the colorful packages that beckoned from under the tree. But there were many other Christmases like this one, where she didn’t know her lines because the two of them hadn’t been speaking for weeks.

Savannah curled up in her armchair and tucked her robe around her knees as if trying to ward off a chill. She watched her husband on the floor in the midst of her kids and a crazy golden retriever and ached for the life that they could have had.

Where did this happy, attentive, enthusiastic, sit-on-the-floor part of you go? What made it worth letting go?

“Wow, a telescope? That’s just the one I wanted.” PJ’s exclamation brought her back to the scene at hand. “Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.”

Savannah lifted her face and accepted PJ’s warm kiss on her cheek. She managed to ruffle his tousled hair before he slipped through her fingers and was down on the floor again. As he and Price studied the instructions for setting up the contraption, Angela was busy tuning in her new transistor radio. The happy confusion was all Savannah wanted on this morning.

Price extricated himself from the revelers and came to sit on the arm of her chair. She looked up at him, eyebrows at attention. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a little red velvet case.

“Merry Christmas, Savannah.”

Savannah set her cup down and took the case from Price, resting it on her open palm as if it were a trick.

“Open it.” Price nodded his chin at the box and his smile was the easy, ardent smile that used to warm her. As she lifted the lid, she felt the iceberg between them thaw ever so slightly.

Then, a sparkle of diamonds did what they always do to a woman. They took her breath away. Her hand flew to her mouth to contain the small gasp of pleasure. She flicked her eyes up at Price, then back down to the earrings in her palm. A single large pink pearl hung from a bow made entirely of tiny, perfect diamonds.

Her eyes returned to her husband, searching his face for a clue.

“Do you like them?” His tone said
Please like them
.

“They’re lovely.”

“I had them designed especially for you. I think they look like you.”

She stared at the case holding the tiny treasures. He designed them. He thought about her, went to the jeweler, showed them his design, talked about it, ordered it. This wasn’t some last-minute stop at the drugstore for a cheap bottle of perfume.

What was this?

A bribe? A peace offering? Confusion had her back on her heels. Was his latest affair over and he was saying he was ready to come home and play nice? Was he saying, “I’m done gallivanting around town and oh, by the way, here’s a trinket for being such a good sport?”

“Thank you,” she said making her words genuine, but noncommittal. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and she let him. It was Christmas, after all.

She turned the tiny velvet box over and over in her hands while she turned her thoughts over in her head.

Why were you so reckless with our love? Do you know we’re about to lose everything?

In the background was the joyful sound of two kids without a worry in the world.