Let It Go

  Chapter Eighteen

  After a short drive across town, Brody and Savannah pull up in front of her childhood home. Savannah notices an unfamiliar car pulling out from her mother’s drive. Buffy stands on the front porch waving her company goodbye, simultaneously greeting Savannah and Brody. Savannah cranes her neck after the car attempting to identify its driver.

  “Did we catch you coming back from a date?” Savannah asks playfully and hopefully so, considering it is Saturday evening.

  “No.” Buffy chuckles. “Just having some tea with a new friend. Oh, let me help y’all.” She hurries down from the porch as Brody positions a very heavy and elaborate granite-top butcher block to the end of the tailgate.

  “We got it Mama,” Savannah calls, assembling two-by-fours per Brody’s instruction, one on each side of the handmade rolling kitchen accessory.

  “Change places with me, baby,” Brody directs, hopping down from the tailgate to maneuver and take the brunt of the weight of the butcher block as Savannah steadies it for him. She smiles at his coo, baby, something about the way it rolls naturally off his delectable tongue pleases her, causing butterflies to flit about in her abdomen.

  “Oh my,” Buffy gasps, “that’s just beautiful. You made this?” She inspects the design beneath the pole lights lining the street.

  “Yes Ma’am,” Brody answers modestly upon their first official meeting.

  “Well Savannah, you sure didn’t exaggerate about the face on this one,” Buffy says in her sugary Southern drawl, scanning the handsome, ultra-built, six-foot-four Brody. The candid compliment throws Savannah for a loop, considering her mother’s usual reserved manner. “Come on inside. I’ll get my checkbook.”

  “No Ma’am. Please. It’s a gift.” Brody follows along behind her, man-handling the three-hundred-pound butcher block. “It’s the least I can do for letting me enjoy the company of your daughter,” he continues, diligently employing his buttering-up skills.

  “And a gentleman, too.” Buffy chuckles, further surprising Savannah with her uplifting mood and apparent acceptance of the new man in her life. “I was born and raised in the South and I tell you, it never gets old…hearing Ma’am come out of the mouth of a young beau.” Buffy holds the door open, pointing to the kitchen where Brody tends to setting up the butcher block.

  “Mama, you feeling alright?” Savannah asks, stalling at the door with Buffy out of earshot of Brody. “You sure that wasn’t a man leaving your house?” Savannah pries with a crooked smile.

  “You girls are always telling me to lighten up. I’m making a conscious effort here,” Buffy informs. “And no, that was not a man. It was Noah’s mother, Nadine Ainsworth.” Buffy picks up the welcome rug from the doorway. Taking it outside, she beats it against a pillar, shaking from it crumpled leaves from the butcher block wheels.

  “Noah’s mother? Daddy’s mistress?” Savannah continues, sure she must have misheard.

  “Jac told me it might give me some closure. Help me to start over.” Buffy acclimates the welcome rug back in its rightful place. Picking up a broom from the front porch, she proceeds to sweep it of any leftover excess. “And I’ll be jiggered if she wasn’t right.” Buffy stops sweeping, finally looking at Savannah, whose jaw gapes at her mother’s confession. “She’s a real nice lady, that Nadine. I think I’ll take her up on that bridge game.”

  “Mama, that must have been difficult. I wish you would’ve let me know. I would’ve come. For support.”

  “Thank you, honey. But I’d say Nadine and I did just fine on our own. It was long overdue.” Buffy continues tidying the porch, the cushions of her wicker rockers appreciating a nice fluff and stuff. “And that Noah, he’s the sweetest thing. Makes me feel guilty. All those years, and he never got to spend any time with your daddy.”

  “He looks a lot like Daddy, huh?” Savannah joins in absentmindedly, a bit of a surreal feeling having this conversation with her mother.

  “Yes, he does. He looks like his mama, too.” Buffy moves to Savannah, brushing her football-disheveled hair back off her shoulders, the way she used to when Savannah was a little girl. “I can’t imagine not knowing my own children. I love you, Savannah Georgia Bondurant. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I love you, too, Mama,” Savannah affirms, her eyes searching her mother’s face, absent of the usual uneasiness and replaced with a quiet and contented confidence. “Are you sure you’re okay, Mama? You look great,” Savannah adds. “It’s just…I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you quite like this before.”

  “Honey, I don’t know that I’ve ever felt quite like this before.” Buffy smiles, tapping Savannah’s cheeks tenderly.

  “What do you feel like?” Savannah requires more.

  “Happy. Light. Liberated, maybe,” Buffy rummages through words to describe the new wave of emotions, provoked by her heavy yet emancipating conversation with Nadine. “Like a new chapter is beginning. I think maybe I feel free, honey.”

  “Oh Mama, that’s great!” Savannah embraces her, a quiet laughter resonating between them.

  “It feels strange,” Buffy admits, “but in a good way.” She turns Savannah toward the house, looking through the front door at Brody in the kitchen as he sets up the butcher block. “You see now, there’s a part of me that wanted to point out how big that butcher block is. Too big for my kitchen, really.”

  “Mama,” Savannah scolds, the typical hard to please Buffy Bondurant surfacing.

  “But then the other part shrugs her shoulders and says, ‘What does it really matter?’” Buffy quickly affirms. “It is a little big, but it’s still beautiful. And he must have worked awful hard on it. That’s what you girls would say, ‘Don’t sweat the small stuff, Mama.’” Savannah giggles at the comical way Buffy mocks her, Vangie and Jac. “I never liked sweating anyway. It’s not very ladylike.” Buffy winks.

  “So, what do you think?” Savannah inquires of her mother’s opinion of the sweet, brutish man assembling her butcher block.

  “Well now, to be honest. Here goes that part of me.” Buffy shakes her head with a grin. “It’s going to take some time to get used to seeing you with someone other than Jack. He was part of this family for eight years, Savannah. I’m trying here, but I can’t change overnight.”

  “Okay,” Savannah respectfully accepts her mother’s feelings. “What does the other part say?”

  “If he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you. That’s all I want, is for my children to be happy. And it doesn’t hurt that he made that gorgeous butcher block for me.” Buffy chuckles, directing Savannah back inside.

  “That’s what he does, Mama. He makes stuff…art…with his hands.” Savannah turns her palms upright, exaggerating her declaration. “You should see some of his other pieces. I think it’s sooo sexy,” Savannah drawls out her delighted affection.

  “Easy now, honey. I’m making progress, but I think you should stick to saving the expletives for your sisters.” She pats Savannah’s hand gingerly as she holds it in hers.

  “You’re all set, Miss Buffy,” Brody boasts pridefully. “Lock your wheels when you want to use it. Or roll it away for storage.” Brody demonstrates. “This granite top,” he knocks his knuckles against the deep crimson stone, “is better than wood any day of the week. Doesn’t harbor as much bacteria. And it’s more durable. They say you can take frozen chicken straight out of the freezer and thaw it on granite in twenty minutes flat. The stone absorbs the cold, I guess.” Brody shrugs. “I wouldn’t know exactly, being a bachelor and all.” He chuckles at his less than stellar cooking habits.

  “How about I have you and Savannah over for dinner next week and we’ll test that theory?” Buffy offers.

  “You haven’t had fried chicken until you’ve tasted Buffy Bondurant’s secret recipe. She pan-fries it. That way it doesn’t sit in a vat of oil,” Savannah says, playing to Brody’s fitness and healthy lifestyle.

  “I’d like that. A home-cooked meal is one of my favorite things,” Brody sa
ys, winking at Savannah as if to say, hint hint.

  Buffy glides her hand across the smooth, crimson inspired granite top, admiring the rare, one-of-a-kind piece, plotting her next high tea with her nosy neighbor. “This will blow ol’ Widow McKettrick’s pool boy right out of the water.” She giggles satisfactorily. “Don’t be surprised if she hits you up for a replica.”

  “That piece there isn’t easily accessible. That’s red ravel from Namibia,” Brody informs.

  “Good!” Buffy says, content that her neighbor may be hard-pressed to find a copycat.

  “Mama!” a distressed Vangie exhausts, breaking through the front door.

  “What is it, honey?” Buffy rushes to her, her hands palpating Vangie’s face and forehead. “You look like you just seen a ghost. You’re burning up, child.” Buffy comments on the temperature and clammy feel of her skin.

  “I was right. That no-count husband of mine is a liar AND a cheat.” Vangie leans against the front door, her balance teetering with the revelation. “That ‘friendly’ little email he got from that woman. The one he said was the mother of a possible football player they were trying to recruit. Well, she texted him the other night. He was in bed. I texted her back as if I was Payton.”

  “Evangeline, you didn’t,” Buffy exhausts.

  “Oh yes I did. Told her to meet me…Payton…dirty dog…at this hotel downtown.” Vangie explains through rampant breaths. “I just came from there. Let’s just say she wasn’t any too pleased to open her nasty little door of ill-repute to find my investigating mug.”

  “You didn’t do anything to the woman, did you?” Buffy covers her hand with her mouth.

  “No, Mama. I didn’t do anything except inform her that her lover boy had a wife and two young girls at home. And that I would appreciate it if she kept her homewrecking paws off my husband.” Vangie’s eyes dart about wildly, filling up with tears, having just come face to face with a woman capable of turning her entire world upside down. “How could he do this? Not just to me, but our babies?”

  Buffy takes her by the arm, supporting her balance to a chair at the kitchen table. “Now, Vangie, I know it hurts, honey. But you must calm down. Just breathe,” Buffy coaxes.

  Savannah runs a dishtowel under cool water. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to Brody. “You can leave. I’ll have Mama take me home later.” Brody shakes his head, saying nothing, unsure of what to say in this moment. He simply props himself against the stove attempting to stay out of the way. Savannah delivers the wet dishtowel to Vangie, encouraging her to rest it over her forehead as she sits down beside her at the table. “Where are Luka and Zoey?”

  “At home with Payton,” Vangie replies. “He may be a con artist of a husband, but he’s a great daddy.” The admission causes her tears to downpour. “He doesn’t even know that I know. I came straight here,” she says, her words breaking up through sobs. “Mama, what do I do?” Vangie lays her head down on the table, defeated. Savannah runs her fingers through her sister’s long, dark hair and down over her tense back.

  “I think that’s a conversation you should have with Payton, honey,” Buffy answers.

  “Payton? I can’t go home to him, Mama.” Vangie looks up through bloodshot eyes. “Do you know what I want to do to him right now?” She winds the dishtowel up in her hands as if making a noose. “The selfish bastard.” She returns her head to the table, shame and anger at odds in her toiling heart.

  “I know, honey. But, sooner or later you’re going to have to talk to him about this. You don’t want to break up your family, do you?” Buffy’s eyes now filling with moisture as she relives her own experience with infidelity, somehow watching her daughter go through the motions proves more damaging.

  “She doesn’t have to accept this behavior, Mama, just because she has kids,” Savannah defends. “I can help with Zoey and Luka. Y’all can move in with me.”

  “Now, don’t go jumping to extremes, Savannah. First, just let her process everything,” Buffy argues. “You stay right here, honey. For as long as you need. To get it figured out.”

  Vangie throws the dishtowel down and pushes up from the table, pacing between the living room and the kitchen. “Fifteen years. Five...dating in college. Ten...married. And this is the thanks I get. I was a good architect. I quit my job at the firm for him, to stay home and raise his babies, so he could pursue his career. Then he trifles off with some ‘working girl’…a college football reporter, no less.” Vangie’s mouth takes a break, her feet still shuffling aimlessly.

  “How long has this been going on? Are we talking a one-time affair or what?” Buffy attempts to reason.

  “I don’t know, Mama. As soon as that…woman,” Vangie bites, curbing the urge to call her names, “opened the door and saw me, she slammed it in my face.”

  “Well then, you don’t even know if Payton actually cheated on you,” Buffy says hopeful.

  Vangie gives her a perturbed look. “It doesn’t really matter, now does it? He lied about who this woman is, his association with her, and she showed up at the hotel after receiving a text from who she thought was him,” Vangie points out. “It doesn’t matter if he did or he didn’t…he was obviously thinking about it. It was a matter of time. And that’s the bottom line, Mama.” Vangie clears her throat, attempting to get a grip on her rising voice, the hurt slowly disappearing as anger and resentment fill the gap.

  “But is it worth breaking up your beautiful family, Evangeline? Over something that might have been,” Buffy whispers softly.

  “And, to top it all off, it wasn’t like she was some PYT,” Vangie continues, her eighties youth showing itself, her mother’s words not even registering.

  “PYT?” Buffy looks to Savannah for clarification, used to doing such over the course of her daughters’ adolescence, oblivious to popular culture.

  “Pretty Young Thing,” Savannah whispers the Michael Jackson inspired catchphrase quickly for fear of interrupting a purging Vangie.

  “She was attractive, but older than me. I’m guessing mid-forties.” Vangie throws her hands in the air confused. “I mean, if your husband is going to cheat, shouldn’t it be with some young, happening thing? Isn’t that the way this crap goes? They chase younger women to recapture their youth?”

  “Not anymore,” Savannah pipes, unable to hold her tongue, “cougar fever, I believe they call it.” She rolls her eyes. “Her name wasn’t Candida Wooten, was it?” Savannah throws Brody a sarcastic glance, surprising herself at the unsettled, jealous apprehension.

  Vangie follows Savannah’s eyes, noticing for the first time that Brody is actually present. “You must be Brody.” Vangie smiles, patting at her wayward hair and mussed makeup. “You must think the absolute worst.” Vangie grows self-conscious. “So much for first impressions. My apologies. It’s usually not this dysfunctional around here,” she tells a little white lie considering the latest maladjusted revelations.

  “Please. Don’t apologize.” Brody holds his hands up at shoulder level. “If anyone’s sorry here, it’s me, for the intrusion. Maybe I should wait outside.” He pushes up off of the stove, looking toward the front door.

  “Don’t move,” Vangie says sternly, her head cocking to the side in thought. “You’re a man. If you were in Payton’s situation, how should I approach you?”

  Brody sucks in air through his teeth, growing uncomfortable about being dragged into the conversation.

  “Well…” Savannah prefaces, quite curious as to his answer, “go ahead.” Even Buffy turns to face him, her expression also begging of his reply.

  Brody clears his throat. “The way I see it, you have three choices. You can leave, breaking up your family. Maybe that’s what’s best for you. But I doubt it’s optimal for your girls. Quite frankly, it sucks,” he speaks from experience. “Pardon my French,” he says to Buffy. “You and your husband will spend the rest of your life trying to make up for that…with your kids.”

  “The other two options?” Vangie presses, option one at
odds with her maternal instinct.

  “You can stay and continue on, the way things have been, for your girls. But I doubt that will solve anything. You’ll resent your husband, and he’ll grow to resent you, and your kids will feel that energy.” Brody takes turns looking down at the floor and then up at Vangie, eye contact difficult to maintain what with three pairs of female eyes staring back at him.

  “The way things have been?” Savannah asks, slightly annoyed at his insinuation, as if Vangie has done or failed to do something in her marriage to deserve being cheated on.

  “I’m just saying, happy, satisfied and respectable men usually don’t make a habit of looking outside their marriage for physical affection.” Brody’s shoulder shrugs, a nervous twitch.

  “So it’s Vangie’s fault?” Savannah follows up sternly. “Maybe Payton’s not respectable,” she forces the thought, knowing him to be otherwise in his actions with Vangie and his daughters.

  “Now Savannah, don’t get upset with him. I asked his opinion,” Vangie comes to Brody’s defense. “And I’m sure some of this is my fault. I’m not exactly fulfilled these days. Payton knows that. I’ve become that mom who has absolutely nothing to talk about but my kids. That mom who has no existence other than my kids and my husband.”

  “That’s not true,” Savannah encourages.

  “Oh, but it is.” Vangie flops back down into the chair at the kitchen table. “I used to be fun and relatively exciting,” she laments, trying to remember that woman. “Now it seems the only thing I’m good at is scheduling, managing and micro-managing my kids and my husband. I cook, I clean, I get on Luka and Zoey about their homework and cleaning their rooms, then I nag around behind Payton, treating him as a third child. I go to bed, only to wake up and do it all over again.” Holding her head in her hands, she says, “It’s exhausting. Mama, I don’t know how you did it.”