Heart of the Night (42 page)

“Angry,” Savannah said. “But you have no right to be angry, Susan. Maybe hurt, or disappointed—”

“Angry!”

But Savannah wasn't yielding. “No. I should have told you sooner, I was wrong about that, but I felt I had valid reasons for not doing it.”

“Valid reasons, my foot!”

“There
were.
”

Megan shouted, “Whoa!” Startled, Savannah and Susan swung their heads her way as she asked, “What's going on? Who is Savvy involved with?”

“Jared Snow!” Susan cried before Savannah could say the name herself. “She's having an affair with Jared Snow.”

Megan's eyes widened. “Jared Snow?”

“Your Jared Snow. My Jared Snow. All of Rhode Island's Jared Snow, only he isn't really ours.” She glared at her sister. “He's Savannah's.”

Megan was having no part of Susan's fury. Her eyes remained wide and, however briefly, she escaped the pall that had hung over her since the kidnapping. “Really, Savvy?”

The brief question, asked in a hushed, but excited tone was justification in itself for Savannah's having pushed for the weekend. Often before, Megan had been a buffer between Savannah and Susan, stepping in when their arguments approached the absurd. There had been times when Savannah had resented it. She could have kissed Megan now, though. “Really,” she acknowledged with a smile.

“What's he like?” Megan whispered. “Handsome?”

Still smiling, Savannah nodded.

“Tall? Well built?”

Savannah nodded at each.

“On the radio, he seems totally at peace with himself and the world. Is he in real life?”

That took more than a nod. “His life has had ups and downs, but right now he's pretty content with what he's doing.”

“What about his voice? Does he always talk that way? Lord, do I love the way he talks. I swear, I could listen to that lazy drawl all night—”

“For God's sake, Megan,” Susan cried. “Stop drooling. You're married.”

Megan replied with a strength that was reminiscent of her old self. “Of course I'm married, but that doesn't mean that I can't admire another man. I'm not saying that I want to have an affair with him, just that I'm intrigued. I love Will,” she told Savannah. “I'm no threat to you.”

“I know that,” Savannah said gently.

“So tell me more about him. What color are his eyes?”

“Blue.”

Megan sucked in a breath. “And hair?”

“Sandy. Blond, brown, maybe a little silver.”

“How old is he?”

“Old enough to know better,” Susan injected archly.

Savannah frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“He should know that you're married to your job.”

“I'm not—”

“How much time do you have to give a man? Seriously, Savannah, can you be both a lawyer and a wife?”

For the first time, Savannah grew defensive. “No one mentioned my being a wife.”

“Then, woman. Lover. What kind of man will stand for the kinds of hours you keep?”

“You're incredible!” Savannah cried. “The other night you were accusing Sam of being old-fashioned. Look who's talking. Nowadays women
do
do both, and their men respect them for it.” She prayed she'd said it with conviction, because she wasn't sure it was true.

“Which raises a whole lot of other questions,” Megan put in in a loud enough voice to capture both sisters' attention. “How did you meet? When do you see him? That has to be a real problem, since he works all night.”

“I'd like to hear the answer to that one, too,” Susan announced, tipping her head to a haughty angle. “Normal lovers spend their nights together. You two can't do that.”

Savannah took a deep, calming breath. This part of Susan's challenge she didn't mind, particularly since it channeled the discussion away from the issue of how she and Jared had met. She didn't want to go into that in front of Megan, particularly when Megan seemed to have forgotten the kidnapping for the moment.

“It takes a little imagination,” she said with a dry grin.

“Do you stay at his place?” Megan asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Where does he live?” Susan asked.

That one gave Savannah a twinge of discomfort. But she couldn't think of a way to duck the question without arousing even more curiosity. “He owns the big Victorian that houses the radio station. He lives on the second and third floors.”

Megan loved that. “So you sleep in his bed while he's on the air. Do you have
any idea
how many women in Rhode Island would go nuts if they knew that?”

Savannah shrugged. “They must guess that he has someone.”

“No, no,” Megan said, “that's not the fantasy. The fantasy is that he's talking to me,” she tapped her fingertips to her chest, “and only me. I don't think about his woman.”

Susan snorted. “I saw a cartoon once in
Cosmopolitan.
There was this lady DJ who was sitting nude at the mike while her lover pulled on his pants.” Savannah had put her coffee cup to her lips and was hiding behind it, but Susan's focus was on Megan. “She was telling her listening audience that she hoped they'd enjoyed the album she'd just played as much as she had.” She looked at Savannah. “Is that what you do?”

Savannah would have choked if she'd actually been drinking the coffee. Spared that, she took refuge in indignation, firmly setting down the cup and frowning at her sister. “That's a really personal question, Suse, and inappropriate.”

“It's not inappropriate at all. It's exactly what this discussion's about.”

“Do I ask you what you do in bed? Did I ever ask where or how often you and Dirk made love?”

Susan's head was tipped at that same slightly haughty angle. “No, but you could have. Dirk and I made love wherever the mood took us, usually four or five times a week. We tried positions you've probably never even heard of. There was one that we used in the car one night—”

Hands over her ears, Savannah interrupted her. “I don't want to hear this.”

But Susan was on a roll. Making Savannah squirm gave her perverse pleasure. “Maybe you'd rather hear about what I do with Sam. He's a beautiful animal, Savannah. Has the rhythm and the moves. I've never seen a man with such sweet glory between his legs—”

It was Megan who quietly interrupted her. “Don't, Susan.”

“Don't what?”

“Cheapen something that should be private and beautiful. If you enjoy Sam, that's great. But don't tell us the intimate details.”

Susan hadn't expected criticism from that quarter. “You wanted intimate details about Jared Snow.”

“Details, but not intimate. I don't want to know the really private things. It's embarrassing.”

Susan looked from one face to the other in disbelief. “What's the matter with you two? We used to sit around discussing things like this all the time. All of a sudden, you've both gone prudish on me.”

“Some things are sacred,” Megan said and focused unseeingly on the beach. She was thinking about Will, thinking about how beautiful loving used to be between them and how she couldn't even undress in front of him now. The bruises were fading, but their memory remained. When she thought of Will entering her body, she thought of those other, brutal invasions.

It didn't take a genius to interpret the stricken look on her face. Susan went very quiet, while Savannah put her hand on Megan's. “It'll get better,” she said softly. “It will, Meggie.”

Megan averted her eyes, then nodded, and Mrs. Stockley chose that moment to return with breakfast, giving them a diversion. Only when the older woman had returned to the kitchen with Susan's order did Savannah speak.

“I'm sorry if I've offended either of you for not having mentioned Jared sooner. Maybe I should have, but I thought I was doing the best thing.”

Having vented her anger, and having been sobered by Megan's look, Susan was calming down. It still irked her that Savannah hadn't seen fit to tell her about Jared. Mostly it irked her that Savannah, who had so much else, should have Jared at all. But the fact was that having seen the man in person, Susan wasn't interested in him. Sure, he was handsome and had stud proportions. But those proportions didn't set off any sparks inside her. Certainly not in the way Sam's did, damn his Neanderthal hide.

“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.”