“Is it a big thing—your relationship with him?” she asked Savannah, cautious but curious.
“I’m not sure,” Savannah answered, then realized that if, as it seemed, Susan was setting enmity aside, she owed her more than equivocation. “Yes,” she corrected, “it’s a big thing. But I don’t know where it will lead. You’re right. I have a career. If he wants a woman to be waiting at home with a gourmet dinner each night, he’s got the wrong one.”
“He wouldn’t want that,” Megan said. “Not Jared Snow.”
“How would you know?” Susan asked, but teasingly.
“I just know.” Megan looked at Savannah. “Then again, better not listen to me. I seem to be striking out a lot lately.”
“Oh, hush,” Savannah scolded. “Eat your breakfast.” She was greatly relieved when Megan did just that, because she didn’t want anything to reverse the ease in tension that had miraculously emerged in the wake of Susan’s attack. There would be time to talk more later. For now, it was enough that the ice had been broken.
* * *
They spent what was left of the morning and most of the afternoon lounging by the pool, alternately bathing in the sun and reading in the shade. Though they didn’t talk much, there was a sense of quiet camaraderie sweetened by memories of such times past when they had been vacationing from school or simply escaping for several days of enjoying idleness and each other. Now, as then, they didn’t stray from the house, not even to eat out. Mrs. Stockley was as good a cook as any chef and far more willing.
After dinner that night, they settled into Adirondack chairs on the back veranda. The night air was warm, redolent with the scent of lush greenery and the sea. Moon shadows played over the pool, but the real romance lay in the play of light on the waves.
They sat in varied poses—Savannah with one knee crossed over the other, Megan with her legs bent and her heels tucked against her bottom, Susan with her feet propped up on the wood railing before her. Each sipped from a slender glass of Amaretto.
For a time, they were lost in silent musings. Then Susan, who hadn’t had more to drink than a glass of wine with dinner and now the liqueur, sighed and said, “How complicated life becomes as we get older. I think back to the times we used to come here. Our greatest worry was who to date. Things were so simple. We were so young.”
Savannah turned her head against the wide wooden slats of the chair and said, “You make us sound ancient.”
“Sometimes I feel it. Sometimes I think that the best years of my life are behind me. Look at my hands.” She held them up, graceful in the dim light from the house. “I see lines that weren’t there a year ago, and I know that they won’t go away. The body doesn’t lie.”
Savannah gave a soft laugh. “You’re gorgeous, Susan. I can’t believe you’re worried about a few lines on your hands. You’re not getting older; you’re getting better.”
“No, no. I’m getting older. I’m getting older, Retin-A and all.”
“You got lots of sun today,” Megan reminded her.
“But I like looking tanned.”
“Then you’ll have to live with the wrinkles,” Savannah said.
Susan shot her a look. “You got color today, too. Aren’t you worried about your skin?”
“No. There are too many other things to worry about.”
“You don’t think about aging?”
“Oh, I think about it. When I’m forty, I’ll think about it more, and when I’m fifty, I’ll think about it even more. Right now, I’m more concerned with maturing than aging.”
Megan had always been intrigued by Savannah’s semantic distinctions. “What’s the difference?” she asked.
“Maturing implies positive growth. It represents all the good parts of aging.”
But Susan couldn’t see any. “Aging, maturing, getting older—one’s as bad as the next. I’m getting older. That’s all. I’m getting older, and what do I have to show for it?”
Savannah had to bite her tongue. She’d given Susan the solution to that problem time and time again, and wasn’t sure she wanted to argue about it now.
Megan wasn’t as hesitant. “You have things to show for it.”
“Like what?”
“Financial security.”
“I had that the day I was born.”
Which was one of the things Megan had always envied. But there were others. “You have lots of friends. You have positions on the boards of three different organizations—or is it four?”
“Five, but what is that worth? Really. I go to meetings several times a year. That’s it.”
“You could do more, if you wanted,” Savannah said before she could stop herself.
“Ah, yes. I could work. Well, that’s just fine for you to suggest. Your life is geared toward slavery. Mine isn’t.” In search of an ally, she turned to Megan. “Do you want to work?”
“I do work,” she answered. “I do the bookkeeping for the business.” She looked from one surprised face to the next. “Math was always my strong point. I’m a natural for the job.”
“But to do the bookkeeping for all that?” Susan said.
“It’s not so much.”
Savannah joined in. “I knew you did personal bills, but I hadn’t realized you did the rest.”
“Someone had to. Will couldn’t. He draws a blank when it comes to ledgers.”
“Aren’t the accounts done by computer?” Savannah asked.
Megan shook her head. “Will doesn’t like computers.”
“It’s all done by hand?” Susan asked. “Mistake, Meggie. Make him get a computer.”
Even in the dim light, Megan’s look was eloquent. Will wasn’t in the position to spend money on computers, any more than he was in the position to hire a financial adviser.
“At least,” Savannah said, “that explains the mess on the desk in your upstairs office. There were papers all over.” Her voice was soft, teasing. “Remember when we tripled senior year? Your things were totally scattered. You knew just where everything was and could always find whatever you wanted, but don’t ask me how. Neat you weren’t.”
“I’m not much better now,” Megan confessed dryly. “I try. I do try. The cleaning men only come once a week, and things get messy in between. But I hate cleaning. Hate cleaning.” She gave the words individual emphasis. “I’m sure it’s because my mother was a fanatic about it. She always said that just because we didn’t have the money that some people had, that didn’t mean we couldn’t live in as clean a house. So she made me clean everything in sight. As soon as I left the house, I rebelled.”
She grew suddenly quiet and looked down at her hands. “During the time she lived with Will and me, we had a maid. I’m glad she isn’t around to see the mess I’ve made.”
Savannah was thinking of how immaculate the bedroom had been that night, and she would have pointed it out had she not known Megan was talking about a deeper mess. “You had nothing to do with Will’s financial problems, Meggie.”
Megan said nothing.
“Savvy’s right,” Susan said. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“Will would have been better off if he’d married someone like either of you. I’ve brought nothing to this marriage.”
“Will adores you,” Savannah argued. “He was a bachelor for years, a lonely man. You’ve brought him happiness.”
“I’ve brought him grief.”
“No, happiness.” Taking a breath, she broached what she knew was on Megan’s mind. “What happened the other week wasn’t your fault any more than it was Will’s. It just happened. It was an ugly, hurtful thing, but you can put it behind you, Meggie. You can.”
Megan was very quiet for a minute before murmuring, “I don’t think so.”
“Sure, you can. Once we catch the men who did it, they’ll be put away for life. Any little thing you can remember would help us find them.”
Megan didn’t answer, but seemed to withdraw into a world of her own. She took a sip of the liqu
eur in her glass, sat back in her chair, and stared off toward the horizon. Clearly, she didn’t want to think about the men who’d kidnapped and raped her, and Savannah could understand that. Savannah could also see that pushing her just then would do no good.
So she tamped down the sense of urgency she felt when she thought of all the leads she didn’t have, and scowled. “How did we get off on this, anyway?”
“We were talking about cleaning house, which I hate, too,” Susan said, “and before that about working, and I don’t care what either of you say, I don’t want the pressure of a job. Studies have found that women are having more and more heart and high blood pressure problems, and it’s because there are more of us—more of you—in the work force than there were ten or twenty years ago. Woman wasn’t meant to scurry around from seven in the morning until ten at night wearing a sedate little business suit.”
Savannah had never pictured her sister wearing sedate little business suits. “Seven in the morning until ten at night? What kind of job are you thinking of?”
“The kind that will deliver prestige, power, and respect,” Susan said without pause.
Savannah nodded. “I see.” She took a breath and echoed, “The job has to deliver prestige, power, and respect.”
“If it’s going to be worth the effort.”
“No halfway possibilities?”
“What’d be the point of that?”
“The point is doing something that’s interesting and, therefore, rewarding.”
“That’s an idealistic viewpoint if ever there was one. Realistically, that’s not why people work. People work for the money, which I don’t need, and the power, which I do.”
“Why do you need power?”
“Because that’s the basis for respect. I want people to look at me and know that I’m a somebody.”
“You are a somebody. You don’t need power.”
“So why should I work?”
Savannah pressed the glass she held to her forehead. “I think we’re back at square one.”
“You’re right. The whole issue of work drives me nuts, but it always comes up. Times have changed. Things were much simpler when we were younger.” Her voice softened. “Don’t you ever think back, Savvy? Your life is hectic. Don’t you ever pine for simpler times, when you had less responsibility?”
Savannah thought about it for a minute. “Not really. There’s a plus side to having responsibility.”
“I might have figured she’d say that,” Susan told Megan, who was sitting quietly, not revealing the direction of her thoughts.
“But I’m serious,” Savannah insisted. “Along with responsibility comes control. I like having that control.”
“Ah-ha! So you want power, too.”
“Not power. Control.”
That brought Megan from her silence. “What’s the difference?”
Savannah took a minute to pick the right words. “This is my own distinction, mind you, but as I see it, power has a negative connotation. It has to do with manipulating either people or events. Control, on the other hand, implies a greater say in what you do with your life. I can’t always determine the outcome of things at work; I don’t have that power. But I can determine the route I take to get to an outcome. I like being able to do that.”
“You’re very lucky,” Megan murmured.
Savannah turned to her. “Hmm?”
“To be in control that way. To be in command of yourself and your life. To be so together.”
Savannah thought of the times she’d sat in her wing-backed chair and shook from the inside out. “I’m not as together as you think. I have my moments.”
“Like when?” Susan asked, mildly challenging.
Savannah was more than willing to meet that challenge. She had nothing to hide. “When I’m very tense about something. When I’m terrified that what I’m doing is wrong or not enough.”
“You don’t do things wrong,” Megan said.
“Sure, I do. I make mistakes.”
“Like when?” Susan repeated, a little crossly this time.
“There have been times when I’ve undertried or overtried cases. There have been times when I’ve miscalculated the reaction of the judge or the jury to a particular tactic. I could cite you specific cases, but you’d be bored and I’d be embarrassed.”
Susan would have pushed for those cases if it hadn’t seemed childish. “The press is totally in the dark. They love you.”
Savannah shrugged. “We have people in the office who work at fostering that love.”
Susan had assumed that was the case, still the outcome was envious. “Do you think Paul will run for governor?”
“Eventually.”
“Will you run to fill his place?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want that much responsibility.”
“I was under the impression,” Susan said, “that Paul puts in less hours than you and the others.”
“He does. But he’s the one who takes the flak when something goes wrong. The buck stops with him. I’m not sure I want that. And I know I don’t want to have to campaign every two years. Even now, it’s tough. My job is dependent on Paul being reelected, so every two years I sweat a little.”
“The only other alternative is private practice.”
“That’s right,” Savannah said.
Megan perked up. “You’re thinking of making the move? But you love what you’re doing.”
“I’m not saying that I’m making the move. But it is an alternative if I ever reach the point of needing greater stability. I’d also have greater control over my time if I were in private practice. The sheer volume of cases that crosses my desk can be overwhelming. In private practice, I could control that.”
“Control,” Susan mused and said to Megan, “We should each have a little of that control.” To Savannah she said, “This is the first I’ve heard you talk about private practice. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Jared Snow had something to do with it.”
Savannah was quick to deny it. “Jared? He hasn’t mentioned a thing—”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant that if you’re thinking about having more control over your time, it might be because you’re thinking about marriage—”
“I’m not—”
“And if you’re thinking of marriage at this point in your life, the likely candidate would be Jared Snow.”
“No. I’m not getting married so fast. I’d have a baby before I’d get married.”
“A baby?” Susan breathed. “Are you serious?”
Savannah was a minute in answering. “Would that be so terrible?”
“You don’t have time for a baby, any more than you have time for a man.”
“I can make time for what I want. Any of us can do that. It’s called taking your life in your own hands.”
“But a baby,” Susan went on, still slightly stunned by the suggestion. “Do you have any idea how much time and effort that takes?”
“People have been doing it for years,” Savannah said lightly.
“But why marriage over a baby?” Megan joined the conversation to ask, sounding vulnerable enough to remind the others how much she had wanted a baby herself.
Savannah was momentarily chastised for her lightness. She took another moment to think about the question. “I’m not sure,” she finally said. She looked at her hands. “I just think I could handle a baby better than a husband. A husband is a human being with fully developed needs and wants. A baby’s needs and wants can be shaped to fit its mother’s lifestyle.”
“Are you kidding?” Susan asked. “A baby is totally dependent. If you want to talk responsibility, a baby is about the biggest one you could get.”
“You don’t want one?”
“No.”
“Never?” Megan asked quietly.
For the first time, Susan wavered. “How can I say never? I have no idea what the future holds. But right now the
last thing I can think about is having a kid.”
“Are you thinking about Sam?” Savannah asked.
Susan sent her a sharp look. “I’m trying not to. He’s an imbecile. I don’t care if he is the best lover in the world, he’s still an imbecile.”
“Will you see him when you get back?” Megan asked.
“No.”
Savannah couldn’t believe that. “You had an argument. Every couple has arguments.”
“Sam and I have some very basic differences.”
“I should hope so.”
“Come on, Savvy, you know what I mean.”
Savannah did. She was also convinced that Susan felt more for Sam Craig than she’d felt for a man in a long time. Yes, the argument had hurt her pride, but the hurt went deeper. “You can work out your differences.”
“I don’t know. We’re really a poor match.”
“How so?”
“His job, his house, his bankroll—need I go on?”
“Those are all secondary to the way you two work as people. Personally,” Savannah told her, “I think you’d be good for each other. Sammy is a wonderfully warm and compassionate person.”
Susan snorted. “You didn’t see him the other day.”
“He was very good to me,” Megan said, drawing both Susan’s and Savannah’s eyes her way. “He made me feel safe. I believed everything he said.”
“Oh, he’s honest,” Susan conceded, but more gently. “He means what he says. Not that I always like what he says.”
“Would you rather he tell you only what you want to hear?” Savannah asked. “You’ve known too many men like that. I’d think you’d welcome the honesty.”
“Maybe I would if I had something more to offer.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hell, Savvy, Sam can’t respect me. He can respect you. You’re smart and accomplished. But what do I represent to him? A spoiled brat.”
“He’s fascinated by you, Suse. He sees great potential.”
“What about me as I am?”
“That’s what fascinates him. I think he likes the fact that you haven’t ‘arrived.’ He’d be intimidated if you had a career.”
Heart of the Night Page 33
