“Will you be working?” she asked.
Megan nodded. “With Will. We’re in this together.” She paused. “I love him. I don’t care where we live or what we do.” A flicker of pain crossed her features. “Unfortunately, he cares. He has more pride than I do. Selling the business has been one of the hardest things he’s had to do.” She manufactured a small smile. “But he’s trying. He’s looking forward to doing something different, and if he can find something that makes him happy, I will be, too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she said in an even softer voice, but there was an intensity to the look she gave Savannah. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be a helpmate to Will.”
The words, the look, and the tone spoke simultaneously of justification and apology. Then Megan forced a small laugh. “Pretty old-fashioned, huh? I must be a gross disappointment to you two.”
“Disappointment?” Susan asked. “Because you care about pleasing the man you love?”
“Because that’s about all I care about. You both have other interests. You always have. You’ve always lived the kind of lives I wanted to live, only I never made it. I’ve been obsessed with the basics. When I was a kid, it was survival. As an adult, it still is, only survival now means salvaging my marriage. It’s taken a battering. There’s been so much pressure.…” Her words trailed off in a moment of pain.
“None of us escapes those basics,” Savannah mused, realizing it as she spoke. “It may seem like we do. It may seem like our lives are fuller or more exciting than yours, but the bottom line is always the same.”
“Men,” Susan said.
Savannah shot her a look. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. We thought we were hot shots, didn’t we? We thought we were the cat’s meow, modern women taking the world by storm. You were the lawyer. I was the femme fatale.” She forced a dry smile. “It’s pretty empty, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” Savannah said.
“But you have Jared,” Megan told her, then turned to Susan, “and you have Sam.”
“For now. Having Courtney has thrown in a new twist.”
“But you adore her.”
“So does Sam. She’s finally warmed up to him, which means that my role as a buffer is over. Now there are dozens of decisions to be made concerning her future. Some we agree on, some we don’t. But that’s not the twist. The twist is that Sam has to want me independently of Courtney.”
“He does,” Savannah said. She’d had enough frank discussions with Sam to know it was true. She also knew that though her sister still drank on occasion, she hadn’t been drunk in months, which wasn’t to say the problem was solved, simply that it was temporarily eased. Knowing that Sam cared, and how much he cared, was a comfort to Savannah. “Sam loves you.”
“He says it.”
“It’s true.”
“There are times when I wonder. But I’m trying to make a go of this. I’m working real hard at it. It’s not easy.”
“No relationship is,” Savannah said. “But do you want it to work?”
“Yes,” Susan answered, then went on with conviction, “Sam Craig may never earn a million, but he makes me feel like a somebody. I don’t remember any man ever making me feel that way before. Yes, I want him.” She paused. “Like you want Jared?”
Without answering the question, Savannah said, “I wish I could give him more.”
“He doesn’t want more. Hasn’t he told you that?”
“Many times. Still, I wish I could give him more.”
“Has he mentioned marriage?” Megan asked.
“Oh yes.”
Susan scowled. “And you’re putting him off because you don’t think you can give him enough? Savannah, are you nuts? The man loves what you are, not what you’re not. He isn’t asking for superwoman; she wasn’t the one he fell in love with. And if you’re going to say that you wished you looked like me, save your breath. First thing in the morning, I look just as lousy as either of you.”
Savannah grunted, but softly, and didn’t speak.
“Sad, isn’t it?” Megan said at last.
“What?”
“That we judge ourselves in relation to each other. Why do we do that? We always have, and it’s a little sick when you think about it. You two may be twins, but you’re still individuals, and I don’t even have the same blood as you. So why can’t we accept ourselves for what we are?”
“I don’t know,” Savannah said. She sensed that some of the competitiveness between Susan and her could be traced to their father’s constant comparisons, but not all. They were adults. They should have wised up.
Susan frowned. She’d just realized that what she’d told Savannah moments earlier about looks could easily be turned around to apply to brains. She supposed that just because Savannah had decided to become a lawyer didn’t mean that she was any smarter, particularly since she was being so dumb about Jared. The question remained as to whether Susan was being any smarter about Sam.
“I’ll miss you two,” Megan murmured. There was something furtive about the way she said it, almost as though she didn’t think she had the right to claim a shared past.
Savannah thought about that past. They’d been friends for half their lives, and the friendship had been good. Regardless of present truths or untruths, that friendship deserved more than a cursory dismissal. “We’ll keep in touch.”
But the look on Megan’s face said that might not happen.
“We will,” Susan vowed. “We’ll compare our gray hairs, our liver spots, our sagging bottoms.”
Megan’s eyes were moist, but she rolled them anyway and grinned feebly at Savannah. “She’s all yours.”
“I’m not sure I want her.”
“I do,” Sam said, coming up from behind. He seized Susan in a playful stranglehold that clamped her head to his side. “We’re hungry. I thought we were going out for something to eat.”
Susan made a grotesque choking sound. The instant his arm loosened, she called him a name.
“Come join us,” Savannah said to Megan. “Just for a little while?”
But Megan shook her head.
“For old times’ sake?” Susan asked.
Megan gave a visible swallow. “I’d better not,” she said brokenly. “This is hard enough—” Her throat jammed.
Throwing an arm around her, Savannah hugged her hard. “Take care, Meggie,” she whispered, then stepped back to give Susan a turn.
“Be happy,” Susan whispered, as choked up as Megan. Turning away, she let Sam take her hand and lead her to the door, where Courtney waited.
Jared approached then, and Megan eyed him nervously. Coming up close, he took her hand and said so that only she could hear, “Sometimes we do all the wrong things for all the right reasons. We can be our own worst enemies. It takes a while to get over that.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Try, Megan. You’ve been given another chance. Make it work. I know you can.” He took her in his arms and held her for a minute. “We’ll be rooting for you.” Then he set her back, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and joined Savannah.
* * *
Savannah spent hours thinking about her and Susan’s last visit with Megan, about what the three of them had said. So much of it made sense. She didn’t understand why she hadn’t seen it before.
She tried to imagine what her life would have been like if she’d never had Susan or Megan as points of reference. Certainly less rich. Flatter. More one-dimensional. Susan was her sister, Megan her friend. She’d taken their best points and tried to match them, making her a more complex person than she might have otherwise been. Through contrast and comparison, they’d pushed her toward realizing her potential.
At least, that was the optimist’s view. But it was the one Savannah clung to, and largely because of it, she agreed to stop at Megan and Will’s after work on Tuesday to pick up the keys for the realtor. The movers had left. Megan and Will were racing to catch their plane to Saint Croix. The keys were
tucked in the tray of the planter outside the front door.
Savannah found them without any problem. Instead of pocketing them and heading home, though, she turned toward the house, looked at the door for a minute, then slowly unlocked it and let herself in.
The front foyer was warm, fallen prey to the August heat that had poured over the toiling movers. While the large hall inside was cooler, it was a chamber of echoes for her slightest step.
For a long time, Savannah stood motionless in the hall, feeling the emptiness of the place, listening to its silence. Then, almost idly, she wandered into the living room. She thought of the generations of Vandermeers who had lived within its walls—Will’s grandparents and parents, Will, and Megan, who was never quite a Vandermeer, yet perhaps more dedicated to the Vandermeers than any of the others.
That was why she’d done it. If she’d done it. Had she done it?
The living room floor creaked as Savannah crossed it, drawn irresistibly toward the library. It was as empty as the rest of the house. Shadows fell over the shelves where books had once been, cast there by the evening sun that slanted in through the French doors. She had expected to have an eerie feeling about the room. Instead, she felt nostalgia.
The library, more so than any other room in the house, was a nerve center. Business had been transacted there, family matters discussed, social affairs planned. With the dismantling of this room, an era had passed.
An era had passed. It was time to move on.
Will and Megan had sold the business and were selling the house. An era had passed. They were moving on.
Susan had turned her back on the idle rich in favor of being a policeman’s wife and mother to a five-year-old daughter. An era had passed. She’d moved on.
And an era had passed for Savannah, too, she realized. The long nights of being alone, of working herself to the bone to mask the void that gnawed at her from within, were behind her. Ahead was a richer life.
A new lightness settled over her as she stood in the empty library. She thought of Jared, then of the baby she carried, and a private smile softened her lips. She wanted them, both of them, more than she had believed possible.
Maybe that was what being thirty-one was all about. Maybe it was about putting things in perspective, setting priorities, closing a chapter in one’s life, and opening a new one. She was ready. It was time.
And with that realization came one more. Looking at the French door that had been shattered one Monday night in March, she realized that she didn’t want to know whether Megan Vandermeer had planned her own kidnapping. Knowing wouldn’t change a thing. Megan wouldn’t be brought to trial; without the money, there was no case, and Megan clearly didn’t have the money. So maybe the Cat had double-crossed her, and if that was so, it was poetic justice. Besides, Megan had her own conscience to live with, which was a sentence far greater than one any judge might mete out.
As for Savannah’s conscience, the only thing weighing on it was that she hadn’t shared her new insights with Jared. Turning on her heel, she set off to remedy that situation.
* * *
“It’s twelve-oh-four,” came the deep, sandy voice that Rhode Island knew and loved, “that’s four minutes after twelve on a breezy September Monday. You’re tuned to 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence, where the country sounds are always cool. I hope your Labor Day weekend was as sweet as mine. This morning’s Journal was right; I got married. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be here as always, bringing you a little country in the city from twelve to six. I’ve got a super string of stars to kick off the month, including the likes of Ronnie Milsap, Reba McEntire, and Kenny Rogers. Right now I’m wantin’ to hear Randy Travis say, ‘Forever and Ever, Amen.’” His voice grew deeper. “This is Jared Snow in the heart of the night, and that’s a vow.…”
* * *
“That was Sawyer Brown, and this is Jared Snow comin’ to you through the driving snow on a stormy February Wednesday.” The voice was deep and familiar, but it had a special lilt that couldn’t quite be denied. “It’s twenty-seven degrees out there, but you don’t want to stray from the fire unless you’ve got good cause. I did. My son was born four hours ago. He and his mom are tucked safe and warm at the hospital, listenin’ in, like you, So don’t touch that dial. It’s set for cool country, 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence. On a special night, I’ll be bringin’ you special songs, kickin’ off with the Gatlin Brothers and ‘Love of a Lifetime.’” He paused for a split second, and when he went on, his voice was more hoarse. “Jared Snow, here, in the heart of the night, believe it.…”
* * *
“You’ve been tuned to 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence, and Jared Snow. It’s a promising Saturday in May, five fifty-six in the A.M. At the stroke of six, I’ll be on my way, but I’m leavin’ you in good hands. Noel Lappan is kickin’ on right after the news, and starting Monday night, Christopher Nix will be easin’ you through the heart of the night. I’ll miss you all. I’ve had a good three years here at CIC, but my baby’s gettin’ bigger and my wife’s indulged me far too long. I don’t mean to say we’ll always be sleepin’ through the heart of the night. Sometimes we’ll be listening like you, sometimes we’ll be remembering how we met, sometimes we’ll be lovin’ the night away, and if that ain’t inducement enough to start working days,” he drawled, “I don’t know what is.” He paused, then said more quietly, seriously, emotionally, “So I’m goin’ home, and all the way I’ll have ‘Georgia on My Mind.’ This is Jared Snow with the rising sun, Godspeed.…”
Also by Barbara Delinsky
Blueprints
Sweet Salt Air
Love Songs
Warm Hearts
PRAISE FOR BARBARA DELINSKY
AND HER EXCITING CONTEMPORARY NOVELS
“A rich and moving novel with characters that caught at my heart.”
—Sharon Curtis, coauthor of Sunshine and Shadow, on Commitments
“A glowing affirmation.… Women’s fiction at its very finest.”
—Rave Reviews on Commitments
“Delinsky skillfully turns a somber scenario into intriguing women’s fiction.”
—Publishers Weekly on More Than Friends
“A powerful, ultimately uplifting novel of love and redemption that will touch every reader’s heart and soul.”
—Romantic Times on More Than Friends
“A strong, compelling story … I recommend it.”
—Eileen Goudge, author of Blessing in Disguise, on A Woman Betrayed
“Entertaining, erotic, and emotional.”
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—Doris Mortman, author of The Wild Rose, on The Passions of Chelsea Kane
“An entertaining exploration of the sometimes painful complexities that are a part of family values and traditions.”
—Gothic Journal on The Passions of Chelsea Kane
About the Author
BARBARA DELINSKY is a New York Times bestselling author of novels such as Sweet Salt Air, Warm Hearts, and Love Songs, with more than thirty million copies of her books in print. She has been published in twenty-eight languages worldwide. A lifelong New Englander, Delinsky earned a B.A. in psychology at Tufts University and an M.A. in sociology at Boston College. Delinsky enjoys knitting, photography, and cats. She lives in Massachusetts. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
&n
bsp; Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Also by Barbara Delinsky
Praise for Barbara Delinsky
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
HEART OF THE NIGHT. Copyright © 2016 by Barbara Delinsky. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover photographs: woman on dock © Shutterstock; lighthouse © marion faria photography/Getty Images
e-ISBN 9781466853942
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First Edition: September 2016
eISBN 9781466853942
First eBook edition: August 2016
Heart of the Night: A Novel Page 43