by Donna Fasano
His eyes closed. But she refused to let him shut her out.
"When we were in the park," she repeated louder, more firmly. "I told you I had written you a letter. And you said I hadn't."
He cocked his head to one side. "What you said was that you wanted to get in touch—"
"Daniel," she cut him off. "Let's not quibble over my exact words. The reason I brought up the subject earlier today was because I was trying to find some way to ask you why you never got in touch with me. Why you didn't answer my letter."
"I didn't answer your letter." His tone was as sharp as a well-honed blade "Because you never wrote one..."
She lifted her hand, and his voice trailed off, his eyes locking on the small, white envelope. His hands remained rooted deep in his pockets, but his gaze ricocheted from the letter, to her face and back to the letter.
"I went to see your mother this afternoon." Savanna's voice was barely a whisper. "She told me that my letter arrived the very day you went back to school."
She studied Daniel's face, hoping she'd sparked his memory. His eyes scanned the room, but she knew he wasn't seeing the deep-green upholstered couch, the cherry wood tables or the fox-hunting prints that hung on the wall. He was undoubtedly picturing in his mind events that took place years ago, events that had changed both their lives.
He lowered his eyelids. His chin tipped up and his shoulders relaxed. He gave a slow, tiny shake of his head. His exhalation was audible, and when he looked at her, his eyes were no longer hard and cold.
He nodded. "I remember."
Reaching out, he slipped the letter from her fingers. He sat down on the ottoman directly in front of her chair. His knee brushed against her thigh, but he didn't seem to notice. Savanna sat perfectly still, knowing from the look on his face that his mind was swimming with memories of that day.
"It all seems so long ago," he said, his eyes glued to the white envelope. "I was so confused. I felt... so angry with you. And I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest." He shook his head. "But the humiliation was the worst. To choose the one person in the world you want to spend the rest of your life with, and then have that person run from you the very day you'd planned to…" His voice broke and he stopped talking long enough to clear his throat.
Savanna let him take a moment to collect himself. He inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and then lifted his gaze to hers.
"I do remember getting the letter," he said. "I'd forgotten. I'm sorry I accused you of not sending it."
"I understand." Savanna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Your mother said when the letter arrived you were with several of your friends. That the whole house was in an uproar. You were packing your things. She said...you told her you didn't want to deal with hearing from me."
"Couldn't," he corrected. "I couldn't deal with hearing from you, Savanna. You were safe. You couldn't have mailed a letter if you hadn't been. I assumed you were happy. You had what you wanted. That was all I needed to know."
"But my letter explained why I left..." Her voice faded when she saw him slowly shake his head.
"The 'whys' didn't matter. I didn't need to know your reasons."
"Of course you needed to know," Savanna insisted softly.
"Savanna," he said, staring at her steadily, "knowing why you ran off on our wedding day wouldn't have made me feel any less hurt, any less angry. Knowing why wouldn't have lessened my humiliation one iota." He signed. "The woman I loved didn't love me."
She gasped. "But that's not true."
Looking into his stony brown eyes, she knew he didn't believe her. And she realized just how badly her running away had injured him. Her gaze slid to the floor and she inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.
Each time she had imagined explaining things to him, she'd always pictured him accepting her reasons. She had always been successful in conjuring a fantasy in which he would understand her motives. A fantasy in which he would, in the end, approve of her actions. But that's exactly what her imaginary conversations with Daniel had been... fantasies.
He was right in saying her explanation could never have eased his hurt and disgrace. The only thing she'd accomplished in sending the letter was instilling in herself a false sense of exoneration. All the guilt she'd ever felt about running away from him swirled around inside her chest, making her feel dizzy and sick.
She lifted her head and looked at him, a tear spilling over to trail down her cheek.
"I'm so sorry." Her voice was hoarse with emotion. She reached out and touched his knee. "Please, Daniel. I need you to forgive me."
He let the envelope flutter to the floor and he gently clasped her hand in both of his.
"Don't cry," he told her. "I never wanted you to cry." He gently squeezed her fingers. "It all happened a long time ago. It's over and done with."
"But it isn't over," she insisted. She sniffed. "Today when I tried to talk to you, I couldn't believe when you...I couldn't believe how you..." She couldn't even get the words out, and she had to press her lips together firmly to keep her chin from quivering at the memory.
"I know." His tone conveyed the depth of his regret for what he'd done to her. "I thought you were crazy when you accused me of being angry about something that happened six years ago. But…"
He rubbed his hands against hers and the friction of his skin on hers heated her chilled fingertips.
"My actions certainly spoke louder than my words, didn't they?" He grinned ruefully.
Savanna didn't say a word.
"I thought I had dealt with all those horrible emotions that were eating me up." He sighed. "I worked hard to crush them into what I thought was a neat little package that I stuffed into a box in the back of my brain."
Savanna slipped her fingers from the cradle of his hands and pressed her palm flat against his cheek.
"But, Daniel, don't you see?" she said. "Burying all those bad feelings didn't make them evaporate. They didn't go away. They only lay there festering, waiting to infect you again, waiting for something to trigger their poison."
"And you were the trigger."
She nodded. "I was the trigger." She let her hand drop to clasp his again. "And I don't think those emotions will ever go away until you deal with them, work through them." Her voice became small. "And I'm afraid the only way you can start is by forgiving me." She tilted her head. "Do you think you can?"
He looked away, rubbing his hand across his jaw. "I thought I had," he said. "I really thought I had." When his eyes returned to her face they were anguished. "But my behavior today really showed me differently. That kiss should never have happened and I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she said. "It's okay because I understand what was happening, what you were feeling."
Daniel sighed heavily. "Maybe you're right," he said, reaching down and scooping up the letter that had fallen at his feet. "Maybe I do need to understand why you left. Maybe if you explained your reasons for bolting I could let some of this anger go." His gaze was piercing as he stressed, "I do want to let it go."
Steeling herself, Savanna assembled the words that she hoped would clearly express her rationale behind abandoning him on what should have been the most important day of both their lives.
"There was much more to my leaving," she began slowly, "than just the wedding. Ever since I was a child, I was taught to be good, listen to my elders, do what I was told. And in exchange, my parents coddled their perfect child, protected her, provided her with anything and everything she ever wished for."
Savanna noticed how she'd jumped to explaining in the third person, as though her childhood had happened to someone else. Somehow it was easier that way.
"Don't get me wrong," she said. "I'm not complaining. My adolescence was wonderful. I have beautiful memories of my childhood. Dad and mom were older when they had me. My mother told me a thousand times how long they'd waited for a child, and how happy they were when I was born. They wanted to give me everything they possibly could. The best of everythi
ng." She paused a long moment before divulging her disparagement. "But because my parents were so thorough in their providing for me, so extreme in their protecting of me, I never learned how to make choices. I never learned how to do things for myself. I was never given the chance."
She unlaced her fingers from his and flattened her palms on her thighs. "Mom and Dad provided me with every perfect thing. A perfect home, a perfect childhood, perfect schooling, perfect clothes..." Her eyes begged for his understanding of her next statement. "The perfect husband."
He was silent as he took in the implications of all that she said. Shaking his head, he asked, "Do I have this right? Running away from our wedding...running away from me was your way of rebelling against your parents.''
"Well," she said, "I guess you could say I was rebelling against you too."
Daniel looked taken aback. "Rebelling against me for what? Loving you?"
"Of course not," she said. "Don't you see? It had nothing to do with how we felt about each other."
"I'm sorry," he said, pulling away from her. "But you've lost me."
"Ever since the first day we met, you took up where my parents left off." Savanna clasped her hands together. She was frightened that she would never make him understand. "You took up their cause. You told me what we were going to do and when we were going to do it. You wanted to know where I was and who I was with. Even when you were away at college, you called to make sure I was studying or if I needed help on an essay or working on this project or that one. You were as protective as my parents ever were."
"Because I loved you, for God's sake." He looked incredulous. "How was I supposed to treat you?"
"But, Daniel," she said, "I felt as though I was drowning in security, drowning in... love."
"Sounds like a fine way to go if you ask me," he said.
She reached up and massaged her temples and muttered, "I'm making an awful mess of this."
Lifting her gaze to his once more, she tried again to explain clearly. "It does terrible things to a person's self-esteem to think that everything must be decided for them. I started to think I didn't have the wits God gave a rock. I never had a chance to depend on myself. I never knew if I could.''
She watched his gaze rove from her hair to her nose, mouth and chin, and then rise again to her eyes. When he spoke, his tone was as still and smooth as a glassy lake. "I did that to you?" he asked.
"It wasn't only you," she gently reminded him. And having heard an edge of guilt in his question, she said, "Besides, everything turned out fine. I turned out fine. Because I..." Her voice faltered.
"Because you ran away from me," he finished for her. "You ran away from what I was doing to you."
"Now, Daniel." Savanna lightened her tone in order to lift the dark mood that had descended on them. "You only treated me the way you thought I wanted to be treated. I didn't come home to explain all this so that you'd feel guilty. I only wanted to make you understand."
"Oh, I understand all right," he said softly. "You saved yourself. Do you realize that?"
Savanna's smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Your decision to leave town was a good one." He cocked his head and his eyes lit with a teasing glint. "I always wondered, though, why you waited to make that decision ten minutes before the wedding ceremony."
Slowly her cheeks flamed, and she grinned to hide her embarrassment. "My timing was awful, wasn't it? I've always felt badly about that." She shook her head, looking at him seriously. "How terrible was it for you?"
He shrugged. "I survived."
Her heart swelled with tenderness for him. His anger was dissolving. She knew it as sure as she knew her own name. Otherwise he wouldn't protect her from his bad memories by brushing off all that he'd gone through six years ago.
Daniel sighed and looked down at the letter he held in his hands. "Well, I guess you were right about everything. You showed me that I've been harboring a lot of bitterness and anger. And you made me understand that you had good reasons for leaving."
His lips tilted in a beautiful smile and his whole face transformed. She had always remembered Daniel as "the catch of the county" as Miz Ida had called him, but looking at him now, Savanna was awed by just how handsome he'd become.
"Do you mind if I keep this?" He indicated the letter he held.
"Of course not," she said, lifting one shoulder a fraction. "It's yours."
"I'll read it later." He stood and placed the envelope on the desk. Swiveling to face her, he said, "Savanna, I..." but his voice faltered before he could finish.
He seemed to be mulling something over, coming to some sort of decision. Through his facial expressions, she could see his mind churning. Finally he nodded slowly and lifted his gaze to hers.
"I have something," he said haltingly. "Something I'd like to return to you."
"To return?" she asked.
He nodded. "Stay right here. I'll only be a moment."
She listened as his footsteps faded down the hall, and wondered what he could possibly have that he would need to give back to her.
She stood to stretch out her legs. Savanna had to admit that she was pleased with their conversation. Things had been shaky at first, but all indications pointed to a nice smoothing out of the situation; she'd explained her reasons for running away and he seemed to accept them. Yes, everything was going to be all right.
Meandering around the room, she found herself in front of one of the matted hunting prints that hung on the wall. The foxhounds were so life-like, they threatened to jump right out of the heavy ornate frame. She studied the man in the picture, clothed in a bright red jacket and mentally substituted Daniel astride the roan mare. Savanna could see the sun glistening off the sweat-streaked flanks of the horse as Daniel commanded the animal using only the well-defined muscles of his thighs. Then she imagined those very same thighs, bare and pressed tight against hers. Her eyes fluttered closed as the fantasy took her hostage, and she was soon swamped in images of she and Daniel, both naked, hands smoothing over hot skin, lips touching, teasing, tongues tasting. Her heart skipped a beat at the wild, spontaneous vision that had seemed to come from nowhere.
"Lord," she murmured breathlessly, opening her eyes wide. What had prompted such an unrestrained image? Before she could gather her wits to come up with an answer, Daniel came into the room.
"Here it is," he said.
The sound of his voice and the very way he carried himself gave Savanna the distinct impression that Daniel was relieved about something.
He gingerly placed a small box on the palm of her outstretched hand.
"But before you open it," he said, "I have something I need to say."
Savanna pulled her hand closer to her chest and waited for him to speak.
After he took a deep breath, he quietly said, "Six years ago when you left..."
He looked deeply into her eyes.
"My life turned into a living hell."
A chill shivered up her spine, a chill that tingled all the way up the back of her neck and into her scalp. Hearing him say the words aloud filled her with a palpable guilt. She'd imagined he had suffered. She'd known she had caused him great pain. Even so, she wasn't prepared for his clear confirmation, and it was like a physical blow.
He must have noticed her despair, for he grasped her forearms and steadied her.
"Savanna, I'm sorry. I didn't say that to upset you. I only wanted…"
"It's okay." She swallowed hard and stepped away from him. "Please," she urged. "I want to hear what you have to say."
Daniel sighed audibly. His brown eyes were soulful, and looking into them, Savanna felt her heart would break.
"I was only trying to tell you..." He faltered. "I felt...rejected. The humiliation..." He shook his head. "I had never experienced anything like it before. It was... difficult for me. So difficult, in fact, that I never stopped to think what you may have been going through."
He ran an agitated hand over his lower jaw before he conti
nued. "Anyway, I want you to know that I'm.. .letting all that go. I may not agree with the way you did things back then, but I do understand your reasons for leaving. And this—" he pointed toward the box she held to her chest "—is my way—" he gazed deeply into her eyes "—of forgiving you."
Savanna looked down at the small box in her hand.
"Go ahead," he said, "open it."
She lifted the lid and her throat immediately constricted with emotion, hot and thick. Unable to speak, she could only look with tear-blurred eyes at the tiny pearl buttons nestled inside. The tiny pearl buttons from her wedding dress.
Chapter Six
"Thanks for coming to pick me up." Miz Ida said, closing the car door behind her. "Of course I'm perfectly capable of walking to the hospital, but it's nice to give these weary bones a rest."
"Weary bones," Savanna commented wryly. "You have more energy than I do. Anyway, there was no reason for you to walk when I was driving right by your place on my way to the board meeting."
"I'm glad you decided to come," Ida told her. "We could use some fresh ideas."
Savanna smiled in the fading light of the summer evening. "Well, I'm sure full of ideas and I'm happy to help the hospital."
"I have the figures from the flea market," Ida said. "I'll be presenting them tonight. The Ladies didn't raise much money, but every little bit helps."
"The Ladies' Auxiliary organized a nice little gathering." Savanna glanced over and saw Miz Ida's humble shrug, but the woman was clearly proud of her efforts.
"I heard you had lunch with Daniel that day."
The statement came out of the blue, like a grenade lobbed into a crowd of innocent by-standers. Ida relished the surprise attack, that was certain. Savanna had to scramble to gather her wits.
"Um-hmm," she said.
"I also heard..."
Savanna's stomach tensed at Ida's probing tone.
"That things didn't end on a very good note between the two of you."
Feeling the need to stop the gossip about herself and Daniel from traveling any further along the grapevine, Savanna said, "Ida, Daniel and I did have words, I guess you could say. But I want to assure you, I've seen him since then and we've worked everything out. Things are fine between us. Just fine."
