Waking Savannah

by Terri-Lynne Defino

  Savannah leaned into him, kissed one of those draping arms. “I like when you sing,” she said, and the Spanish lullaby whispered through her thoughts. “It makes me feel wrapped up in cotton and tucked in a box, as Auntie Bea used to say.”

  “Now that is a visual.”

  “She was a premie back when there was nothing to do but let them die,” Savannah told him. “The story goes that the midwife tucked her into a shoebox stuffed with cotton and put her on an open oven door. Early incubator.”

  “That is astounding.”

  “So is Auntie Bea. I—” She held her breath. “I think I’m going to go see her. And I want you to come with me.”

  His arms tightened around her. “It would be my honor.”

  “I think I can do it, go back to Georgia. With you.”

  He rested his cheek to hers. Savannah closed her eyes and savored the scent of him, the scratch of his cheek, the heat of his body. Ade confessed his past and was cleansed. More than anything, she wanted the same.

  Tears stung. She did not let them fall. This was his absolution, not hers, even if the opportunity had presented itself like a gift. She’d let it slide. For him. And was content to carry her own burden a little while longer. Until Georgia, where it all happened. They’d both had enough truth for one night anyway.

  Chapter 13

  my life’s dark tapestry

  “You sure you don’t want to come over and play some games?” Johanna shifted her sleeping son on her shoulder. “It’s only ten.”

  “We’re farmers, Jo,” Savannah answered. “We’re up before dawn.”

  “I’m a mother and a baker. So am I.”

  Savannah laughed with her. “I suppose so. Can we get a rain check?”

  “How about Saturday night?”

  “Ade?” she asked. “You up for a stimulating evening of board games over at the McCallan’s on Saturday night?”

  “Sure. Sounds like fun. Just be aware, I’m ruthlessly competitive.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  They all said their good-nights. Savannah kept hold of Ade’s hand. She felt bad about refusing Johanna’s invitation, but playing board games didn’t seem the right fit to end their evening. Her head pulsed once, twice. She pressed fingers to her temple, closed her eyes. Behind her lids, a gun. Hands up. Fingers trembling. Bang. She shook it off. Not now. Not tonight. She handed the keys to Ade. “Do you mind driving?”

  “Of course not. Are you all right?”

  “Two glasses of wine is two more than I’m accustomed to.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Only a little one.

  The only sound in the car came from cricketsong and wind blowing through the window. Savannah put her head back, closed her eyes, and conjured before her conscience could do the conjuring for her. She was getting good at it, especially where Ade was concerned. Kiss after kiss, sex-scenario after sex-scenario. All of them ended in her bedroom. Her body ached. She almost groaned but the crunch of tires on gravel opened her eyes. Ade parked behind the house. Savannah tried vainly to calm her pounding heart. Fear welled alongside the desire and, despite Ade’s nearness, so did the headache. She waited for him to come around to her side of the car. Auntie Bea would approve of his chivalry, and her graciousness. Soon enough, she’d get to see it firsthand.

  Ade opened the door for her. No pang of perceived chauvinism. Not even when he offered his hand. Savannah headed for the back steps, but he tugged her gently back. “Let’s sit on the front porch a few minutes and listen to the crickets.”

  Had he glimpsed inside her head and found one of her scenarios? Or had he been doing some conjuring of his own? Savannah let him lead her. He sat first, opening his arm to her, and she settled in against him. There they sat for long, silent moments, just listening to summer sounds.

  “Will you see me differently now?” So soft, his voice.

  Savannah picked up her head. “Why would I?”

  He smiled sadly. “You will. Perhaps not this night, but in the days to come. I will do something foolish and you will think back to our conversation and…”

  She touched a finger to his lips. “This is something foolish,” she said. “Just be who you are. That’s all I ever want you to be.”

  “The man I was does not deserve this kindness.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t. But you do.” She settled into him again. “You can’t make up for your past in a few weeks, but you have a lot of years ahead of you to make good. You will. I’m sure of it.”

  Savannah gasped, covered it with a cough. Her own words echoed in her head. Eleven years. Had she made good? Had she lived her life to honor her lost children? To make up for not being smart enough, selfless enough to give up her family, her name, her career? Would it have made a difference? Or would Doc have found them anyway?

  Doc. Gun. Hands. Fingers. Bang. Could she ever make up for that?

  “You are far too good for me, Savannah Callowell.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  Ade ran the backs of his fingers along her jaw.

  Savannah leaned into his touch. She closed her eyes. I had two little girls, once. Simple words. Why could she not say them? A tear rolled down her cheek. Ade’s caressing fingers caught it, wiped it away. He pulled her back into his arms, pressed her head gently to his shoulder.

  I had two little girls, once. Sally and Ginger. They were twins. They were my whole world.

  The fingers that had caressed her face now rubbed circles on her shoulder. Savannah’s body eased. She kept her eyes closed. Imagined her girls going from six to seven, from seven to seventeen. Love bloomed up from her belly. Would they have been studious? Artsy? Rebellious? Would they have always been the best of friends? Or grown apart as life tugged them along different paths? All the possibilities they never got the chance to become whirled through her head.

  His fingers move down her side, make slow circles there, through the summer-thin cloth of her dress. A comforting gesture turned arousing.

  Savannah does not quell it. She shifts so she can look into his eyes, to there find what she hopes to. Desire. Caution, but desire. Savannah touches his cheek, smooths the hair from his face. She kisses him. Lightly, at first. Ade pulls her gently onto his lap, kisses the lingering sorrow from her lips. Savannah tastes it—slightly bitter, slightly sweet. He unbuttons her dress and eases it from her shoulder. The feel of his hands on her elicits a soft sigh. Kissing, caressing, his fingers pinch. Savannah gasps. The pain almost feels good. Almost. He pinches again, harder.

  “Ade, what—” She scrambles off his lap, but his grip is too strong. “Doc.”

  “Surprised, Savvy?”

  “Let go of me.”

  “Never, darlin’. You’re mine, and the more you try to be his, the harder I’m going to hang on. Make it easier on yourself, and get. Him. Out!”

  The last word reverberates between her ears and Savannah is running, somehow running even if her legs are like wet sandbags. The thickness travels up, spreads into her head and blooms like a dandelion ready to scatter into the wind.

  “He can’t catch you! He can’t if you don’t let him!”

  Voices in unison. Three, not two. Disembodied and sweet. Savannah runs harder, faster. From her shoulders, wings sprout. One black. One white. And carry her aloft.

  * * * *

  “Savannah. It’s okay. I’m here. No one is going to harm you.” Ade rocked her back and forth, rubbing her back and soothing while she thrashed.

  Savannah elbowed him in the jaw, bolted upright. If not for his quick reflexes, she’d have knocked him square in the nose. She blinked. Looked at him. Behind her. And deflated into sobs so heartbreaking, he felt his own heart fill with them.

  “Corazón. Mi corazón.” Ade smoothed his hand down her back. “Estoy aquí. Shh…estoy aquí.”

  After a few moments, her tears eased and she was silent. Still. Ade didn’t let her go.

  “I was dreaming,” she said, her voice muffl
ed by his embrace.

  “I suspected as much.” About your husband? Your murdered children? “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  She shuddered. “Not now. Okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay. Come.” He rose to his feet, offered her his hands. “Let us go inside. I will make you a cup of tea. We will watch something on the television. A comedy. Or a documentary. Get your mind in a better place.”

  Ade didn’t let go of her hand once Savannah was on her feet. He held it gently, led her inside and to the deep couch in her parlor where once they had fallen asleep together. “Wait here.”

  “Ade?”

  He turned back. Savannah opened her arms and he went to her.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she whispered into his collarbone. “So, so sorry.”

  “It is all right, corazón.”

  Savannah kissed him, and let him go.

  Ade hesitated but he left her. In the kitchen, he searched the cabinets for teabags and teacups while the water heated. You don’t have to tell me. I already know your past, corazón. When I was still that despicable man, I Googled you.

  Had the moment presented itself? Twice in one night?

  He dashed about haphazardly, trying to out-maneuver his thoughts. The teakettle squealed. Pouring water into the cups, he breathed the steam deeply into his lungs, held it. He’d missed his chance to confess his prying. To tell her now was about absolving himself of sins he hadn’t meant to perpetuate. She would tell him. In her time. Exhaling that cleansing breath, he headed back to the parlor.

  “I know you are there, Adelmo Gallegos.” Anita’s deep, smug voice came from the next room. The sound sent shivers up his back, froze him mid-stride. “Did you really think you could hide forever?” Tinny and slightly computerized. An answering machine, of all things. “Every ignored text and voicemail just made finding you more of a challenge. You know how a challenge turns me on, guapo. It wasn’t hard, really, but I’m getting bored of this game. Come back to Boston and let’s put all this nonsense behind us. Unless, of course, you are too cozy there on the farm in Bitterly with your daddy and uncle. Hmm? Cozy in the little house with Dr. Savannah Callowell, formerly of Backstorm, Georgia where her husband killed himself after murdering their little girls? You always did know how to find the most interesting woman in—”

  The machine snapped off. Ade stared at his own finger on the button. He hadn’t even felt himself move.

  Savannah didn’t look at him. “I saw the light blinking and…I…thought it was Auntie Bea.”

  Dull. Mechanical. So far away. If he touched her now, she would shatter like crystal on granite. He reached for her. “Savannah.”

  She stepped away, put her hand up between them. “I was going to tell you. In Georgia, but…and now…I can’t, Ade. I just…”

  She walked away, her gait clumsy, her fingers pressed to her brow.

  Ade’s belly flipped. His heart flipped with it. Wrong or right no longer existed. No calculated risk. No best-case scenario. There was only truth. “Savannah, wait.”

  She did not.

  He called after her. “Mi corazón, I knew. I already knew.”

  She paused. Turned.

  “Please, Savannah. I love you.”

  Her hand moved from her brow to her belly, clutching the material of her sundress into a bunch. Tears rolled. She didn’t brush them away.

  Ade’s skin itched and burned but he held her gaze. Then she was fleeing.

  He didn’t chase her up the stairs. Ade deflated. He flopped cross-legged to the ground, put his head in his hands and tugged at his hair.

  Anita Durst. Even at a distance, she could level his life. What a fool he had been. She’d known when he was in Ecuador. He let himself believe the lack of texts and calls meant he’d evaded her. Insidious. She’d succeeded in lowering his guard. Ade wracked his brain trying to remember if he’d said anything to anyone. He had cut off all contact with everyone but...

  Carl? It had to be. But he’d only received messages, not answered them. On his cell phone. The one Anita had given him. The one with her name as primary on the plan.

  He’d destroyed it too late. Whoever she had paid to track him through his cell beat him to the punch. How long before she showed up on his doorstep? On Savannah’s doorstep.

  Anger trembled his hands. She would not get the opportunity to hurt Savannah again. Rising to his feet, he dug his ancient cell phone from his pocket. He punched in her number, surprised he knew it, and headed outside.

  Chapter 14

  beckoning, soft and shadowy

  I was seventeen…seventeen and really dumb. I thought I was smart. A smart ass is more like it. I can curse, I decided, so don’t go getting your panties in a bunch.

  He said he loved me. He said we were going to blow this pop stand and go out to California where I’d be a star. He was going to be my manager. He said he had contacts, friends in the biz. I believed him because I wanted it to be true. I thought I my life was so bad, having to choose between Bitterly and college. College. More school. I couldn’t do it. But wasting my life in Bitterly wasn’t cutting the mustard either. I packed my bags, snuck out of the house, and met him at his place.

  He was so old. Thirty, I think. I never knew exactly. Sure, he was good looking, but what the heck? I know I decided I can curse, but I don’t want to say h-e-double-hockey-sticks in the state I’m in. You never know who’s listening, you know? And that’s just too close for comfort.

  Anyway, I was just a kid, but I should’ve known there was something wrong with an old guy who squats in a rundown house outside of town and makes promises to dopey young girls. Thing is, I got cold feet once I was there. He’d been trying to get me out to his place for weeks. I thought I was so cool. I knew what he wanted. I wasn’t that much of a dope. I thought I’d go through with it, but I couldn’t. He got mad, hit me over the head with a hammer, and got what he wanted anyway. I’m pretty sure he didn’t know if I was dead already, but I can tell you, I wasn’t. That’s why they call me the Drowned Girl, because after he bashed me and had his way, he rolled me up in a carpet and tossed me into the river.

  Drowning was the least bad part of that whole thing, I’ll tell you.

  I figured you should know all that, considering we’re in this together now. She heard us, I think. Don’t you? I never tried to do that before, in a dream. Not sure I could do it again. I bet you do, though. You’ve done it before, I can tell.

  Poor Savvy. Something happened with Ricky Ricardo that’s making her cry. I missed that part, somehow. He likes it when she cries, Anger-ball, I mean. I know who he is, and that you know too. It’s why you protect them both. I know you won’t talk to me. Maybe you can’t. But I’m pretty sure you know what I’m saying.

  We’re stuck in this Nowheresville because people did bad things to us. I don’t know about you, but I’m done with that. I’m getting out. Somehow.

  * * * *

  “…too far, this time, Anita. You already cost me my career. What else do you want?”

  Savannah hadn’t meant to listen, but her window was open, and she couldn’t help it. The porch where he stood, whisper-shouting into his phone, was directly under her window. Her open window. That she hadn’t closed.

  “You are full of shit.” Anger had thickened his accent. The expletive sounded more like sheet. That accent she found so sexy. So endearing. And then he was gone, the crunch of kicked-up gravel his only good-bye. Back to Boston. Yes, to confront the woman causing so much chaos in his life. Would he return? Did she even want him to?

  He’d known. All along. About Doc and Ginger and Sally. Or thought he did. His heartfelt confession, the nightmare, the message on the answering machine, it was all too much. It still was the next day, after a night-fearing slumber. Savannah lived in a perpetual state of queasiness. Work was her only solace, and she dove into it with a vengeance. That Edgardo and Raul asked nothing about Ade’s absence told her they alre
ady knew.

  My father never told you what I have been doing in the United States all these years? You did not Google me?

  Ade’s words echoed from their first meeting. Savannah vaguely remembered brushing it off, and now understood it had come too close to discomfort to consider. What a fool she had been. The Internet made all information available to anyone with a computer and enough curiosity to key in a few words.

  Several days of struggling against the urge later, Savannah slipped into her cool, dark office after the workday was done. Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard. She typed her own name into the search box, clicking quickly out of it the moment it loaded. Fingers shaking, she refreshed the page, scrolled through the hits. Aside from one article on the clinic in East Perry written four years ago, and Savvy Gardening, they all had to do with the murder/suicide that chased her from Georgia.

  Ade read these.

  And so did Benny, Savannah was suddenly certain. And probably Johanna. And many others curious about the woman—at the time, the only black woman in Bitterly—who bought the Larson farm. Tears welled. Savannah swiped them away. New locations were popping into her head. Maine? Florida? Idaho, maybe. She would change her name this time, choose a place where she wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. And that made her angry. What the hell kind of world was it when the color of her skin made her a curiosity? More tears rolled, because that could be true for anyone, no matter their skin color, depending upon where they went.

  Thoughts and thoughts led to more thoughts pelting her. Injustice and curiosity. Pity and strength, and mourning and murder. The dull ache ever in her head swelled, blurred her vision. She wanted it all to stop. She wanted to finally be free of the headaches and the past, free of the one memory hers and hers alone—Hands up. Fingers trembling. Bang—because she had told no one. Not even the authorities.