Return of the Runaway Bride

by Donna Fasano

  Daniel didn't know exactly what Savanna's plans were, didn't know if she was going or staying. But it wouldn't hurt for him to keep all of his options open. It wouldn't hurt a bit for him to prepare for the worst.

  Without giving the matter another thought, he picked up his voice recorder and began dictating a letter of inquiry.

  ~ ~ ~

  Savanna turned onto a winding street of a suburb of Richmond. She glanced down at the directions that Daniel's mother had given her over the phone, then she looked up and began counting the houses on the left side of the street.

  Susan Walsh had been the epitome of the genteel Southern lady when Savanna had telephoned the woman barely an hour ago asking if they could get together. Savanna had tried to keep the distress out of her voice, but wasn't certain if she'd succeeded. When Daniel had denied any knowledge of having received her letter of explanation, Savanna had been confused at first. Then she began thinking that maybe his parents had kept the letter from him in an effort to protect him. Or maybe the letter had been lost in the mail.

  Enough speculation, she had thought. If she wanted answers to her questions, the best place to go was directly to a knowledgeable source: Daniel's mother. With the help of the internet phone book, Savanna had easily obtained the Richmond telephone number of Daniel's sister, where his mother now lived. Susan Walsh hadn't sounded in the least surprised to hear from her. She'd only sounded pleased. Savanna wondered if Daniel had talked to his mother about her arrival in Fulton.

  Savanna pulled into the long asphalt driveway of a large, white Georgian-style home. A huge magnolia tree partially blocked her view of the house. She stopped the car and cut the engine.

  She hadn't planned on meeting Daniel in the park earlier today. And she hadn't expected this drive to Richmond to see Susan Walsh, either. Nothing about her visit south had turned out the way she'd planned. But then didn't some smart person once say that the best laid plans often went awry? If she wasn't feeling such turmoil, she'd probably laugh at the irony.

  The soles of her shoes scuffed on the brick-paved walkway, and once she reached the front step she pressed the doorbell.

  The door swung open almost immediately, and Savanna found herself in the warm embrace of Daniel's mother.

  "Savanna," the woman said, pulling back at arm's length, "you look so lovely. So all grown up."

  "Hello, Mrs. Walsh."

  "Susan, dear. Being called Mrs. Walsh makes me feel my age." The woman chuckled and then took Savanna's hand and tucked it in the crook of her arm, leading her inside.

  "I'm sorry about your husband," Savanna said. "I just learned the news. I'm awfully sorry I didn't attend the funeral...send a card, flowers, something."

  Susan waved away her concern. "Honey, you couldn't do any of those things if you didn't know, now could you?" She patted Savanna's hand. "Now, let's go into the living room and have a nice chat."

  Once they were settled on the couch in a large, bright sitting room, Savanna turned slightly sideways so she would face Susan.

  "First off," Savanna began, "I want to apologize and explain what happened when..."

  Daniel's mother stopped her with one upraised index finger. "Now listen to me," she said gently. "I expect no explanation. And there's no apology needed. It all happened a long time ago."

  "But..." Savanna stopped when Susan closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Susan's dark eyes, so much like her son's, conveyed kindness and understanding when she said, "Savanna, we can't plan life's twists and turns."

  Savanna's heart went out to her. What with Daniel's near miss of a wedding, her husband's death and her daughter's illness, Susan's life had certainly consisted of many unexpected twists and turns.

  "All we can do," the woman went on, "is deal with them the best way we can. I've always been confident that you were only dealing with your life the best way that you knew how." Her voice lowered as she added, "My husband felt the same. He told me so many times."

  Tears of gratitude burned Savanna's eyes and she whispered, "Thank you."

  The two tiny words couldn't possibly express the relief that Susan's understanding gave her, but it was the only phrase she could come up with that might begin to express how she felt.

  "Now," Susan said, smiling. "You seemed a little distraught on the telephone. It's important that we talk, isn't it?"

  "Well...yes."

  "And it's about Daniel, isn't it?"

  Savanna exhaled plaintively. "As a matter of fact..."

  "I knew as soon as I heard your voice on the phone." With that, Susan settled back against the couch and waited for Savanna's explanation to unfold.

  Rubbing her palms on the thighs of her trousers, Savanna gazed around the beautifully decorated room, trying to shuffle her words into the right order before she spoke them. She looked at Daniel's mother and saw not a trace of impatience, and she was grateful.

  "Well, I saw Daniel today," Savanna began. "I had lunch with him, in fact."

  Susan's eyes lit with surprise, but she remained silent.

  Finally Savanna scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned closer. "Daniel is very upset. In fact, he's angry. He is so furious with me. I can feel it. I can see it." She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and thought she'd better back up and start the story of her visit to Fulton from the beginning. "You see, I came home because I felt I needed to explain things to him." She splayed her hand on her chest. "For my own sake. I've felt for a very long time that I had some unfinished business that I needed to deal with. Sort of like a dangling rope that needed to be secured."

  Savanna sat back, inhaled deeply and exhaled before she continued. "I thought I'd come home and see Daniel, talk to him. But when I did, I saw that he is so...so..." She looked at Susan in frustration. "Angry," she finished.

  "And hurt," Susan added quietly.

  "Yes." Savanna was once again on the edge of the couch cushion. "I knew when I ran away that Daniel would be hurt. I never should have left him to face everyone alone. But I was frantic. I was scared and…"

  "You were so very young, Savanna," Susan said. "Stop being so hard on yourself."

  Savanna felt regret and sadness well up inside of her until the emotions threatened to overflow. Tears blurred her vision and she realized that she'd somehow gotten off the beaten track. She hadn't meant to come here and bare her soul. She wanted—no, she needed answers to some very sticky questions.

  But how could she ask this proper Southern lady if she'd waylaid the letter that Savanna had written to Daniel? How could she accuse Daniel's mother of keeping from him the one thing that would have explained her actions? If Susan Walsh had kept the letter from her son in an effort to spare him any more hurt, she may have only succeeded in prolonging Daniel's angry feelings. Prolonging them for six years.

  Savanna didn't know how she could bring herself to ask, she only knew she had to know.

  "Susan, while Daniel and I had lunch today," she said, "we talked a little." She smiled when she remembered the fond memory of their first date that they had shared. "The conversation eventually led to the subject of my fleeing town six years ago." She sighed. "It was inevitable, I guess, since I had planned to talk to him sometime during my visit, anyway." She folded her hands in her lap. "Anyway, I talked to him. I tried to explain that it was all my fault. But he only seemed to grow even more angry."

  Savanna coughed nervously. Anxiety knotted in her throat and she found it hard to form the words she wanted to say.

  "I told him that I had written to him," she said slowly.

  She waited to see what response Susan would have to her statement. Savanna expected to see the woman lower her eyes guiltily or dip her head when she realized she'd been found out. But when Susan did neither of those things, Savanna's brows knit with confusion.

  "I don't understand," she murmured to herself. "What happened to it?"

  Now Daniel's mother frowned her own bewilderment. "What happened to what, dear?" she asked.
/>   Savanna realized how wrong she'd been to think Susan would keep her letter of explanation from Daniel.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that I sent the letter to your Fulton address. The house where you and your husband were living with Daniel. I hadn't been gone but a day or so before I sent it. And I thought that maybe...maybe you wanted to protect Danny. And that maybe you..."

  Her voice was hollow and lacked resonance as she let the words trail off.

  Susan quietly supplied the end of her thought. "That I hid your letter from him."

  The woman's lips drew into the barest of smiles. It was a smile of reassurance meant to let Savanna know that there was nothing held against her.

  "I don't remember any…" She went quiet, then she went pale and pressed her hand against her mouth. "Oh, my," she said. "I do remember the letter." She reached over and took hold of Savanna's hand. "It arrived at such a terrible time. Daniel was so upset by your... leaving the way you did. He couldn't bear to be in the house. He couldn't bear to be outside. He didn't want to see anyone." She shook her head. "It was an awful time for him."

  Savanna nodded her understanding. It had been an awful time for her too.

  "Daniel decided to return to school early," Susan continued. "Several of his friends agreed to go along with him. To keep him company. They were all at the house, tossing duffel bags, gathering books, food and a million other things, trying hard to keep Daniel's mind off you and what happened. Those boys worked so hard to keep..." She smiled sadly.

  Images ran through Savanna's head as she tried to imagine Daniel and his friends talking loudly, forcing their laughter in an effort to pretend that everything was normal.

  "Anyway," Susan said, "when the mail was delivered, I handed your letter to Daniel. Everything stopped. The boys were totally silent as they waited for Daniel's reaction. He didn't hesitate a second before he gave me the letter, unopened, unread. He said he couldn't deal with it."

  Her eyes became misty, her voice choked as she remembered her son's exact words and relayed them to Savanna. "He said, 'Mom, all I ever wanted was to see Savanna smile. If she's happy, then I can learn to live with this.'"

  Susan Walsh sniffed and reached toward the end table to pluck a tissue from the box. She gently dabbed her watery eyes.

  "I hurt him so much." It was painful for Savanna to get the words around the lump in her throat.

  "If your letter had arrived a day earlier," Susan said, "things may have turned out differently. But as it was, Daniel just couldn't bring himself to face whatever was inside that envelope."

  Savanna lowered her head as a heavy mantle of guilt descended upon her shoulders. Daniel's mother squeezed her hand comfortingly.

  "Just call it one of those twists I told you about," Susan said. "A sharp turn in the road of life that none of us can predict."

  "I feel as though I swerved off the road and down the side of a steep cliff." Savanna accepted the proffered tissue from Susan.

  "Now it's not as bad as all that."

  Savanna looked pleadingly at the mother of the man she'd wounded so long ago. "Tell me how I can make him understand. Tell me how I can get Daniel to forgive me.”

  "Talk to him," came her simple answer.

  "But he doesn't remember the letter," Savanna told her. "He doesn't know I tried to get in touch, tried to explain."

  "Show him."

  Savanna scanned Susan's face questioningly.

  "I must have the letter someplace." Susan rose from the couch. "I can't imagine I'd have thrown it away. I'll be right back," she said, and then she left the room.

  She was gone just a few minutes before she came back carrying a large, white family Bible. Susan sat down and placed the book in her lap.

  "I tucked your letter in here." She gently laid her hand on the leather bound cover "This is where I put so many important things. I guess I thought Daniel might change his mind and want to read it. But days and then weeks passed, and it completely slipped my mind." She opened the pages.

  Savanna watched her sort through the hand-clipped obituary notices, school certificates, birth announcements and other personal mementos.

  "I meant to wait awhile and then talk to him about it." Susan exhaled. "But then my husband passed. And then Celia found out she had breast cancer. I came here right away. And when she had the mastectomy I decided to move in to help her with the children." She looked beyond Savanna, her eyes clouding and added, "And now poor Celia is having such a rough time with her marriage."

  Susan blinked and turned her regretful gaze back to Savanna. "I have to admit, I forgot all about your letter."

  It was Savanna's turn to smile encouragingly. "It's okay," she assured Susan. "You were busy dealing with all the twists and turns in your own life. You couldn't be responsible for straightening out the ones in mine." Savanna's gaze dropped to the Bible in Susan's lap. "I do appreciate your keeping it, though."

  Daniel's mother flipped a few of the pages and finally pulled out the white envelope, handing it to Savanna.

  "Talk to him, Savanna," she said. "I know my son is as angry as a wounded bear. But if you can talk to him, I'm sure you can help him work it out." Susan closed the book's leather cover and looked down at her hands. "I just wish I could have spent more time helping him through his pain."

  Realizing that the woman was regretting the fact that she couldn't be everything her children needed, Savanna reached out and hugged her.

  "Talk to Daniel," Susan said, her gaze full of pleading. "I know you can help him."

  Savanna tried to smile. "I will."

  Chapter Five

  "What do you want, Savanna?" Daniel filled the doorway of his home. His irritable countenance told Savanna in no uncertain terms that he was not happy to see her.

  Tough, she thought. Meeting his gaze unflinchingly, she replied. "I want to talk."

  "It's late," he said, the words short, terse. "I don't—"

  She ducked under his arm and scooted into the house. She didn't wait to see if he turned to follow her; she was afraid if she didn't hurry through the foyer and into the living room he just might grab her by the scruff of the neck and haul her back outside.

  "Savanna!"

  She ignored him, planted herself on the first available chair and waited for his entrance. He didn't disappoint her.

  He came into the room, a frown biting deep into his forehead. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  Compressing her lips, she fought the confident smile threatening to curl them upward. If she hadn't been clutching the unopened letter Susan Walsh had given her, Savanna felt she'd probably melt like hot jelly under those glinting eyes of his. But the envelope bolstered her confidence. This was her secret weapon. In fact, she had to fight the urge to wave it under his nose, taunting, "Neener-neener." She wouldn't flaunt it, though. She had made his mother a promise. A promise she intended to keep.

  A blanket of solemnity settled over her and she said, "I really want to talk, Daniel." She looked at him and hoped her eyes and her tone conveyed the utter sincerity she felt in her heart.

  When her statement did nothing to soften the look he was leveling at her, she lifted her chin stubbornly and rephrased her intent. "I'm not leaving until we talk." She pressed her back against the soft cushion of the chair, folded her arms across her chest and waited for his response.

  His eyes never left hers. His pupils were perfect black circles surrounded by irises that were brown, and dark, and hard. He stared at her for a long moment. Savanna refused to speak. She had all the time in the world.

  Finally he relented. "So talk."

  "This may take a while. You might want to sit down." She urged him with a coaxing smile.

  "I'm fine right where I am." He planted his feet firmly on the carpet and tucked his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

  She opened her mouth to insist, but decided against doing so. He wasn't going to budge, that much was apparent. She shouldn't argue. He'd met her halfway, he was w
illing to listen and for that she was grateful.

  She unfolded her arms, her shoulders rounding softly. Leaning forward, she rested her hands lightly on her thighs. "I want to talk about what happened six years ago."

  His eyes narrowed a fraction and his jaw clenched tight.

  "Daniel, I mean it," she said firmly. "I'm not leaving until we talk this out."

  He gazed up at the ceiling and massaged the back of his neck. He took a deep breath, and when next he looked at her, his gaze held a heavy mixture of resignation and dread. His mouth pulled into a dour line and he pushed his hands back into his pockets. "Okay, let's get this over with."

  Looking up at him, Savanna suddenly felt at a loss. Where should she start? There was so much she wanted to say. Things she needed to say. She'd spent six years talking to an imaginary Daniel. During those lone conversations, she'd always been straightforward, very clear and concise with her explanations and her regret for having left him in the manner that she had.

  Now that he stood in front of her, the only words that tumbled through her mind were gushing, apologetic phrases that would get them nowhere. Saying she was sorry might make her feel better, but she doubted that he was in any frame of mind to hear, let alone accept, a remorseful speech.

  No, she had to take this slowly, methodically. She had to make him understand her state of mind when she'd been nineteen. She had to make him realize how she had been feeling six years ago when she had run away from him, from their wedding, from their families and friends.

  But before she did anything, she had to show him the letter. She had to make him see that she had tried to contact him, she had tried to explain. Doing so was the only way she would succeed in breaking down the wall of anger that he'd built. Only then could there be a hope of his actually absorbing what she had to say.

  However, Savanna knew it was imperative that she prove her point gently. Her intention wasn't to make him feel badly or, heaven forbid, guilty. She didn't want to hurt him further. She only wanted to touch his emotions so that he'd listen. Really listen.

  "Today," she began, "when we were in the park..."