She took one of the few remaining pills, hoping the rest would last until Margit arrived. The pharmacy had rejected the emergency prescription, citing the rules and regulations regarding certain medications. No paper script, no fill. Simple and uncompassionate as that. She tried not to worry, tried to sleep. Adelmo would arrive Tuesday afternoon. Tomorrow. Everything would be fine.
It was the time of year, the shock of losing her foremen and friends, the farm’s constant busyness. Savannah’s thoughts churned, keeping her from sleep. She tried warm milk, then reading the dull book for the library book club that month. Not even that made her yawn. No matter how hard she tried to deny what she needed, Savannah knew. She didn’t want to, never wanted to, but she was desperate enough, at last, to do it.
Getting out of bed, she steeled her nerves. Her head pounded harder with each step. A buzzing between her ears whined but she continued to the cedar chest under the windows. And she took out a box.
The Box.
That’s all it was. A box with a few priceless things in it. Mementos that still smelled of them. Items they had touched. Loved. She was Pandora letting the forbidden fly out, including hope. Because there was no hope. Her girls were dead. And she was alive when she wasn’t supposed to be. Only these things remained. To make her cry. To soothe her. To rebuild the faltering will demanding she honor their lives with her own lived well. To let her, at last, sleep to the creaks and groans of the old house still settling into itself.
Chapter 4
in the twilight
Adelmo Gallegos shifted in the too small, economy seat. Going home to the farm in Ecuador had been a mistake. It took two days of flights, layovers, and interminable hours in a car, buses, and trains to get back to the States. Having money for a nonstop would have helped. Marginally. After his years in academia, he didn’t have much of that left, only enough to see him through his placement in Connecticut, maybe enough to buy a used car to get around. He would not be earning a regular salary until Taytay and Tío went home, and even then it would be next spring, after the planting began. At present, he would earn an hourly wage.
Hourly. After all his schooling. All his experience. All the sacrifices he made and the hard work he put in. He was to be an hourly worker. What had it all been for? How had it happened? Two months ago, he’d been in Boston, sad and excited during the commencement exercises. Life was finally going to begin. Rather, it was finally going to be the life he’d envisioned for himself. Instead, he ended up humiliated, disenfranchised, and on his way home to la jefa, who had held him close before smacking him in the head and telling him it was time he settled down and started providing grandchildren.
Were it not for Taytay, he might never have left Ecuador again. Things had a way of working out for him, and though the position in Bitterly, Connecticut wasn’t what he’d had in mind all these years of working his way to a goal, it was better than going home. It was a new start, if humble. At present, Ade wasn’t entirely opposed to humble.
Leaning back against the headrest, his empty belly lurching as the plane began its descent, Ade wished he was the weeping kind. It would have felt good to cry. But he was not. He was a man, and men did not cry where he came from.
The seatbelt sign dinged. The captain’s voice came out of the air.
“Ah, we’re beginning our descent into Bradley Airport. Clear sailing. Buckle up.”
Those awake obliged. Those not were awakened so they could. A layover in Miami, another in Washington, DC, the interminable and exhausting hours traveling made him long for the days he didn’t have to find the least expensive flight. Flying coach was bad enough, but layovers? Just punishment, he supposed, for being a fool.
* * * *
Savannah woke, curled up at the foot of her bed like a kitten. In each hand, a crocheted baby bootie. One yellow. One green. Savannah had made them herself after she discovered she was carrying twins, but didn’t wish to learn their sexes until Doc came home. His specials training was almost finished. He’d be assigned, and they would move. After that, if they decided to, they would ask at the next ultrasound if they were having boys, girls, or one of each.
Savannah kissed one bootie, then the other, and tucked them back into the Box alongside the other things. She didn’t give in to the impulse to take out something else—the ribbons, pink and green—search the contents for her lost babies—Sally’s hair had been dark and dense. Ginger’s, lighter and sleek. The things inside were just that—things.
But she did feel better. Despite the bugaboo of approaching the Box, it never failed to ease the prickling sensation under her skin and diminish the headache, once she held it in her hands. No matter how often her practical, clinical side told her it contained only links to memories, she felt them so keenly once she opened it. It was as if the contents were a conduit of some kind, able to channel only the good of what they had been, and nothing of the horror of their deaths.
Tucking it back into the trunk, Savannah let go a long exhale. What made her hide it away and resist its pull when it was the only thing that helped, she couldn’t say. Perhaps it made her feel weak, or imbalanced. She was a doctor, for goodness sake, not a bog witch. Whatever psychosomatic illusion—delusion—worked on simpler minds had no relevance in her own life. She closed the lid of the trunk, chastised her night of weakness, and left her bedroom as the headache began to bloom all over again.
Savannah looked out the kitchen window. The old tank of a pick-up Edgardo and Raul drove around the farm wasn’t parked outside. Had they left already? Savannah checked the clock. Eight-thirty, and far too early to head out to the airport for a five o’clock arrival. Turning from the window, she saw the truck kicking up plumes of dirt out of the corner of her eye. She grabbed her mug of coffee and stepped out onto the tiny back porch.
Gravel crunched. The trunk squeaked to a brake-weary stop. Three heads were visible in the windshield, not two. Savannah sipped her coffee. She had assumed Adelmo’s flight was arriving at five in the afternoon, not in the morning. She was glad she’d already hung the shades. Waiting, sipping the strong coffee, she watched the men descend from the truck. Edgardo from the passenger’s seat. Raul from the driver’s. And Adelmo.
Like his father and uncle, he was lean and not overly tall. From where she stood, Savannah could make out the same aquiline nose and deep-set eyes of his father, but where Edgardo’s features were broad and big and sturdy, the lines of Adelmo’s face were finer. Like both men, he had the jet-black hair of his people, but his skin was, while not light, more fair. Unlike both men, there was no question about his age. Adelmo was definitely not a college kid.
“Buenos días, Savvy.” Raul waved over his head as she came slowly down the steps. “Come. Meet Ade.”
Savannah’s stomach clenched. She tried to pretend she wasn’t caught completely off guard, and failed. Edgardo and Raul exchanged glances.
“Savannah Callowell,” Edgardo said. “My son. Adelmo. Ade, esto aquí tu jefa, Savvy.”
“I am very pleased to meet you, Ms. Callowell.”
The rich, accented voice matched his appearance perfectly. Confident. Old-world aristocratic. He was at least as old as she, herself. Looking at him now, close enough to see the creases in the corners of his eyes, and that they were not brown, but forest green, Savannah found him rather peculiar looking in a handsome sort of way. No wonder his father had been uncomfortable, having the man stay in her home.
“Savannah, please,” she managed to say. “Savvy, once you feel more comfortable.”
“Then you must call me Adelmo, Ade when you are more comfortable.”
His smile was ill-behaved, and the kind of perfect only lots of money or really good genetics could provide. Charisma oozed from him like sweat. A darted glance to Edgardo, still fidgeting uneasily beside his son, and Savannah came to the conclusion that this man had to look more like his mother. Either that or Edgardo’s life had been far harder than she ever imagined.
“Is something wrong?”
Savannah quelled the school-girl urge to laugh. “You aren’t who I expected.”
“No? Who did you expect?”
“A boy straight out of college.”
Adelmo turned to his father, spoke in rapid rural Spanish. The three men laughed. Edgardo, at least, had the decency to look abashed, but Raul thumped his nephew on the back, again speaking that rural tongue.
“What’s so funny?”
“My uncle made a joke about my advanced age and…stamina. I promise you, I am not that old, and I might not be able to keep up with my father, but I will perform as needed.”
“How old are you?” It came out so quickly. Savannah’s cheeks burned. “Sorry. It’s just your father and uncle look…it’s none of my business.”
“Of course it is. I am an employee. Forty, as of last winter. I have been living and working in the United States for many years. I understand you have some concern about the legality of my being here. Rest assured, there is no problem. I can provide you with the proper paperwork if—”
“No need,” she said. “I’m certain they’re all in order.”
“Still, it would make you feel better to have the papers. I will see to it.”
“All right, thanks.”
He bowed his head. When he looked up again, there were those good genetics curled into a grin that made Savannah fidget just a little bit.
“I imagine we have many things to talk about, Savannah.” Sah-vah-nah he'd said, the lilt and tone of his voice like a song she’d never heard before. “And this is not the best place.”
“We could go to my office.”
“I have been traveling for days,” he said. “I’m exhausted and not at my best. Dinner this evening would be preferable. Would you do me the honor? We can consider it my official interview, in light of the fact you took me on at my father’s word and he neglected to mention a few things.”
“That might not be appropriate. Dinner, I mean.”
“I am to live in your home until my father and uncle leave in the autumn, but having dinner together is inappropriate?”
Again, the burn in her cheeks. Backing out of the arrangement felt ludicrous. Just because he was a man and not a boy? It was the twenty-first century, and a male housemate was no longer scandalous. Well fiddle-dee-dee, what is wrong with you, sugarbeet? Savannah took in a slow, steadying breath. “True enough. All right, Adelmo. Dinner tonight. But it’s on me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then we go Dutch.”
“You have a Dutch restaurant in town? Intriguing.”
“No, I meant…you’re teasing me.”
“I am. Forgive me. I am, however, an old-fashioned gentleman. It must be my advanced age.”
“I’m older than you are.”
His smile momentarily faltered. “Lo siento. I meant no offense.”
“None taken.”
“Please, it would give me pleasure to buy you dinner, at least to make up for not being what you expected, and to thank you for the honor of living in your house, and working your farm.”
He was, indeed, nothing she’d been expecting. Working her farm was no honor to this man who was obviously not a farmhand. What the hell was he doing here? In Bitterly, Connecticut? Working her little farm when he looked like he would be more comfortable in a boardroom, or a classroom?
“All right then.” Savannah set her coffee cup onto the steps. “I wouldn’t want to dishonor such chivalry.”
“Excellent. As I do not know the area, perhaps you would choose the location.”
“Sure. Seven o’clock good?”
“Seven is perfect.” He turned to his father and uncle, dispelling their confused expressions with indecipherably rapid words. Raul grinned and thumped his nephew’s back again. Edgardo’s eyes darted from his son to Savannah, but he said nothing.
“I’ll show Adelmo to his room,” she told the other two men. “I made you fried chicken and potato salad for lunch. There’s plenty for everyone. See you at noon?”
The two older men ambled to their trailer. Edgardo turned back once, but continued on. If Savannah knew them, they’d be out in the fields within the hour. She turned to Adelmo.
“If you would be more comfortable staying with your father and uncle, I understand. I was expecting a kid young enough to be my son.”
“And you set up a room for me, like a good mother.”
Savannah pretended she didn’t notice the way his voice deepened. “You might find it a bit juvenile.”
“I am certain it is fine.” He followed her up the porch steps. “And if you are still willing to allow me in your house, given my advanced age, I would much prefer it to my father’s couch. Thank you.”
Savannah led Adelmo through the large farm kitchen and into the parlor. “You’re welcome to use any part of the house,” she said. “The fireplace is working, but the flue is a little tricky.” She moved to the steps bisecting the Cape Cod, pointed to the family room on the other side. “There’s a TV in your room, but if you want to hang out down here, feel free. And borrow whatever books you want from the shelves. I just ask that you don’t break the spines. I’m kind of persnickety about that.”
“Persnickety.” He laughed, a low sound like a drum. “I like that word.”
“You’ve never heard it before?”
“I have, but not the way you say it. My father tells me you are from Georgia.”
“I am. Sometimes I don’t realize how strong my accent still is.”
“It is a nice sound. It dances off the tongue, like Spanish.”
Savannah refused the fiddle-dee-dee trying to work its way into her head. She walked up the steps, feeling him too close behind her. If she stopped, he would bang into her.
“Bathroom’s right there. Sorry, we have to share, but there’s a half-bath downstairs next to the kitchen. I’m persnickety about my books, and I’m persnickety about my bathroom. Keep it clean or you can use your father’s.”
“You will find me a fastidious houseguest.”
Of course he was. Savannah couldn’t imagine him dirty, or even messy. What the hell was he doing here?
“Your room.” She opened the door and stepped aside for him to go in first.
He took in the futon, the mini-fridge, the TV on the dresser and the fan in the window. “Much better than my father’s couch. Thank you, Savannah.”
“You are very welcome, Adelmo.” She paused, a beat too long. Those eyes were just so…so riveting. “I’ll leave you to settle in, wander around, do whatever you like. Lunch is at noon, if you want anything. Today is yours. Tomorrow, we work.”
“And tonight, we dine.”
Savannah pursed her lips. “Yes. I’ll go down and make that reservation. How do you feel about Italian?”
“It is the food of the gods.” He laughed. “My favorite cuisine.”
“Good. Mine too. D’Angelo’s it is.”
In the kitchen, trying to find the phone number she knew by heart until she picked up the phone to dial it, Savannah heard him moving around upstairs. Her heart pittered. Why was she feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve? A kid who peeked in her parents’ closet and already knew she was getting the microscope she asked for? It was the confusion, she decided, that made her say yes to going out with him, even if it was a job interview and not a date. Certainly not a date. She’d not been out with more than a handful of men since Doc. He had been the love of her life, until he became someone she no longer knew. Someone who could hurt her. Someone who could do what he did.
Savannah took a deep breath, and let it go slowly. It always came back to that. To Doc. The girls. She wouldn’t wallow. She had sworn she would never, ever wallow. Adelmo being a peculiarly attractive man her own age had thrown her off. That was all.
Putting her sorrow back where it belonged, she opened the junk drawer for the tattered phone book residing there. The drawer jammed. The book ripp
ed even more than it already was. She tugged and tugged, tried prying it loose with a butter knife, but it wouldn’t budge. Completely frustrated, she leaned against the counter. Something in her back pocket clicked, hard surface to hard surface. Savannah laughed at herself, softly, so that Adelmo wouldn’t hear her, then took the smartphone from her pocket and looked up the number.
* * * *
Ade paced in his room. The floor creaked. He bounced on a board. Grimaced. Flying coach, a farmhouse in the back of beyond, and in of all places, rural Connecticut. But for the semester he guest-lectured at Yale and a long weekend spent in Mystic, he barely knew Connecticut existed. How was it possible? Savannah Callowell was obviously intelligent, articulate, but she hadn’t known who he was, or even his proper age. And while he suspected his father had purposely led her to believe his son was fresh out of college, Ade could not fathom a woman of business not taking the time, or making the effort, to research who she had hired. He had certainly researched the lovely Dr. Savannah Callowell.
She was smaller than he’d imagined. Fine-boned and slight-framed. In the pictures he’d found online, she seemed more…substantial. They were old pictures, of course, and she’d been younger. The short, spikey hair of her past had grown into long coils she kept tied back off her round, smooth face. Though slight, she was not all lean lines and hard ridges. Though curvy, she was not soft. And online photos did not do her eyes justice. Deep brown, heavily lashed, and not a stroke of makeup to enhance them. Adelmo Gallegos knew women, but this one? It was going to take a little more time to unwrap the truth of her.
Sitting on the edge of the futon, he concentrated on breathing until his thoughts stopped tumbling. Maybe she was faking it, waiting for him to expose his past to her. That was far more likely. Well, he wouldn’t indulge her.
He tested the mattress. It was a little on the hard side, but quality. The mini-fridge tucked into the corner would hold a six-pack well enough, but a bottle of wine would never fit. The windows were fitted with shades—no curtains—unmistakably mismatched. Water stains marred the second-hand dresser down one side. If she was faking it, she had gone to some expense to be convincing.
Waking Savannah Page 3