Let It Go

  Savannah ducks and dives down the street, her neck craning sporadically noticing he is closing the gap. The fervid audibility of her breathing drowns out his rebuttal. She holds her arm out to a few screeching cars in the main thruway as her legs catapult her, much like a gazelle fleeing for its life among predatory beasts of the jungle, across the other side and into the safety of a city transport bus.

  She watches in angst from the window, finally settling into her seat as the purr of the diesel engine kicks in, pulling her away from her betraying pursuer. Brody slows to a defeated walk, kicking at the empty bus bench as the long rectangle on wheels disappears from his reach, leaving a cloud of black smoke in its trail.

  Several excruciating blocks later, Savannah gets off the bus. She walks, aimless, the wind effectively stolen from her running sails. Paying no particular attention to her location, she works on seizing her emotions, her hands roughly swiping away at the moisture collecting on her cheeks. “You are a fool,” she whispers, scolding herself. Her mind, taunting, replays her initial hunch about Brody and his attraction to older women with money. “It was right there in front of your naive little face. You stupid, stupid girl.” Her teeth grind together with the lecture.

  The once sleepy city now brinks its morning rush-hour. Amongst the calamity of vehicles, horns, shopkeepers and passersby, Savannah remains introverted, carrying on a solitary conversation. “You told him you loved him,” she baffles. Her hands fully engaged, flit about. “Took the big plunge, against your better judgment. Just couldn’t wait to hop in bed with the guy. Why? Because he’s big and built and cute,” she refuses to acknowledge any of his commendable traits other than the superficial. It hurts less to do so.

  A fellow street-going man eyes her peculiarly, convinced she is among Savannah’s mentally unstable, walking down the street in broad daylight talking to herself. The man warily walks an exaggerated semicircle in passing her by.

  Savannah, engulfed in her own world and acute trauma, doesn’t even notice. “You should have stuck with casual sex. You know better. What the hell were you thinking? Getting to know him. His family.” More tears downpour with the thought. Quickly redirecting her emotions, she gets in touch with her anger, revisiting Brody’s empty propositions. “‘Stay forever,’” she scoffs. “‘The safest place you’ll ever be is with me, Savannah. That’s my job as a man,’” she chokes, nearly spitting as she mocks his sentiments. “And you actually bought it!” The palm of her hand thuds against her forehead.

  “Savannah,” a male voice calls from behind her.

  The sound of her name rolling off a familiar tongue pulls her from her mental detention. She spins around in the direction of the voice with the rattling realization that she has just walked by city fire station #10, home to one firefighter and ex-husband, Jack Brigant. “Oh great,” she laments, her hands nimbly wiping at her face, efficiently eradicating any leftover moisture.

  “What are you doing on this side of town?” Jack asks, walking to meet her.

  From his seemingly friendly disposition, Savannah figures a little conversation can’t hurt. “Morning run. Guess I got off course,” she keeps it short, forcing a smile, still leery of his intentions. “You coming on or going off?” Savannah quickly changes the subject, inquiring of his duty status.

  “I’m all done. Pulled a forty-eight,” Jack affirms a happily awaited morning shift change after overtime. “You been crying?” he asks, now close enough to her to notice her puffy, bloodshot eyes.

  “No,” she dissuades adamantly. “Had a long night. Just tired,” she lies. The vulnerability to willfully cry in front of him left her some time ago between the heartache and bitterness of falling out of love.

  “Did he hurt you?” Jack grows defensive.

  “No.” Savannah shakes her head, projecting a calm and content sense of self. “We’re doing great,” she lies again. No sense in derailing another relationship, she conceives, unwilling to give Jack any reason to think she is unhappy with her choices, hopeful that he will remain equally thrilled with his own.

  “Alright then.” Jack shrugs his shoulders, a sign that he is learning to respect formal boundaries. “Glad to hear things are going well for you. Really, I am.” He squints his eyes at her, truly sincere. “And I’m sorry about everything. The messages from Daisy. The way I’ve acted. All of it.”

  “It’s okay. No worries,” Savannah jumps on the end of his response, her preoccupied mind reeling, grateful that Jack has opted to bury the hatchet, although his timing a bit off.

  “No, it’s not okay.” He looks down at his duty boots, grinding the sole restlessly into the concrete. “You were hard to get over, Savannah. But that’s no excuse for the way I’ve been carrying on. I’m surprised you even give me the time of day.”

  “Jack, I get it.” Savannah nods sympathetically. “It’s not easy for anyone. Splitting up and starting over. We all process things differently.”

  “I just…” he interrupts. “I just thought I could make you see things my way, if I kept trying.” He pauses, looking away from her before continuing, “I know now. You can’t make anybody want you the way you want them, if it’s not there.” Looking back at her with somber eyes, a hint of optimism in them, he extends one more peace offering, “I just want you to know I never meant to hurt you.”

  Savannah releases an elated sigh, throwing her arms around his neck for a very brief hug. “Thank you.” Pulling away from him, she elaborates, “I’m really happy to hear you say that. I never wanted it to get ugly. And I never meant to hurt you either, Jack.” The compassion in her eyes genuinely mimicking the message of her words. “I wish nothing but the best for you, really I do.”

  “About that,” he says, “is it too late to retract my ‘I hope you fall head over heels in love with this guy, and he doesn’t love you back’ remark?” Jack shakes his head in contempt. “I think about that. And I’m still embarrassed I said it.”

  “Water under the bridge,” Savannah says, her smile slowly fading with the realization that the hex may have actually worked, considering Brody’s panhandling at Candida Wooten’s residence. Recovering her jumbled thoughts to the present, Savannah continues with a jovial spar, “Maybe that Daisy’s no idgit after all. Her little debacle let us all off the hook.” Savannah chuckles, far enough removed from the incident that she can, the irony in the idea that beautiful things can actually result from the most ugly of occurrences.

  Jack raises his eyebrows speculatively, a dapper and agreeable grin forming. “Guess maybe we’re all going to be alright.” An awkward silence following, he fills it, “Well, I should get a move on. Daisy probably has breakfast waiting for me.”

  “That’s nice,” Savannah says, thinking how much Jack must like that, having a happily domesticated woman waiting for him at home. “Sounds like we’re all right where we need to be,” she fibs slightly, unsure of where her future lies.

  “I hope we can remain friendly,” Jack uses her term, an endearing and peaceful tone resonating from his upturned lips.

  “I’d like that.” Savannah’s eyes meet his, grateful for the relieving exchange. She throws her hand up in the air, a wave, as she turns to walk away. “Take care, Jack Brigant.” Her mood now elevated and light, a nice about-face from this morning’s downer of a scene, she returns to her jogging pace.

  “You too, Savannah Bondurant,” Jack calls after her, quite proud of himself for stepping up, letting go of the past and embracing a promising future. He breaks out into a whistle heading toward his trusty chariot, the souped-up red Challenger.

  An hour later, a physically and emotionally drained Savannah pulls up to Vangie’s house. An unusual stomping ground for a sounding board, the youngest sister has made a lifetime habit of consulting Jac for advice. In this instance, Vangie seems like the most logical choice given her and Payton’s latest infidelity challenge.

  Vangie meets her at the front door. “Are you sick? Is it a holiday or something?” she fires questions playfu
lly. “You never come to see me on weekday mornings.” Holding the door open, she pecks Savannah on the cheek pulling her inside.

  “You ever have one of those stranger than fiction mornings?” Savannah inquires, still processing the uphill spiral of events. “Where your day takes a turn for the worst, jackknifing off onto a rather pleasant detour?”

  “Can’t say as I have,” Vangie mutters. “In my experience things get worse and take a looong while before they get better.”

  The admission jarring Savannah’s empathy. “How are things, with you and Payton?”

  “We’ll get to that. I want to hear about your detour. I could use a bit of good news. You hungry?” Vangie’s motherly instinct kicks in, noticing Savannah wears her running gear.

  “Not really.” Her appetite indubitably ruined at sunrise witnessing a shirtless Brody atop Candida Wooten’s veranda. The conjured image causing her stomach to grow nauseous even now.

  “Here.” Vangie hands her a glass full of orange pulpy liquid. “At least have some juice. So…” She waits impatiently.

  “I just ran into Jack. At the fire station. On my run.” Savannah partakes of the juice, surprisingly refreshing to her squeamish gut.

  “Ooh,” Vangie bites. “Your turn for the worst?”

  “The pleasant detour,” Savannah reflects, her eyebrows elevating. “It was the first conversation we’ve had in about three years that didn’t end up in an argument. He genuinely apologized. It was quite peaceful. I think we’re good.”

  “That has to be a huge relief. Unless you’ve had a change of heart?” Vangie pries, a bit of hope in her tone.

  Savannah shakes her head, her eyes pressing at her meddling sister. “Just feels good to be amicable.”

  “Well then, what happened before that?” Vangie reverts to the turn for the worst.

  “Nothing, really,” Savannah plays it off, adverse to tarnishing Brody’s image. “Things aren’t always what they seem,” she tells the truth, simply avoiding the specifics. “Just work stuff,” she ultimately resorts to a lie.

  “That boss of yours still giving you the runaround about your book proposal?”

  “Yep,” Savannah dives on the accurate lead, knowing if Vangie were to hunt into the relationship department she would not be able to continue to fib to her sister. “I’m thinking about shopping it around to other publishers if she doesn’t give me a fair chance pretty soon.”

  “I think you should be doing that already. You don’t owe her or the paper your allegiance.” Having served Luka and Zoey breakfast before school, Vangie busies herself cleaning up the kitchen. “Don’t be like me, Savannah. Don’t wait around for life to happen. You have to make it what you want it to be. Accept nothing less.”

  “Have you decided? What you’re going to make of your life, considering recent events?” Savannah looks up from her orange juice glass.

  “I’m getting there. Payton swears nothing happened with that woman, other than a few flirtatious emails and personal exchanges on the sidelines…at football games.” Vangie puts her dishrag down. “You think I can believe him?”

  Savannah shrugs. “I’d like to think you can. But honestly, I don’t know,” her words heavy with the thought of Brody’s convincing discourse completely opposite of his sneaking around.

  “I want to give him a chance. For our family. I still love him. The feelings are there. I’m just not sure I can ever trust him again.” Vangie sits down at the table with Savannah. “Part of me feels like a betrayal is a betrayal, end of story. Regardless of whether he carried through with the physical act of cheating, he thought about it. He was tempted, completely inappropriate, flirting with that woman.”

  “Have you ever done that?” Savannah interrupts, genuinely interested in the answer. “Flirted with other men while you were married?”

  “Innocently,” Vangie huffs. “You know, going out with the girls. A guy buys you a drink, tells you you’re pretty. That’s nice to hear. But I never exchanged numbers or emails. I never brought it into my marriage.”

  “How did it happen with Payton?” Savannah presses, hopeful that Vangie can find healing in talking about it, by proxy offering a smidge of understanding for her current situation with the deceitful gym boy.

  “An interview.” Vangie releases a pent-up breath. “She’s a sports reporter.” She continues with a roll of her eyes, “And of course she got the assignment to interview the head coach…Payton. He said it started off completely professional. But then her texts and emails grew in number and promiscuity.”

  “Why did he respond to those? Did he say?” Savannah attempts to understand the allure.

  “The same reason any man responds,” Vangie’s tone grows sarcastic. “Because it made him feel good. Wanted. Sexy. Whatever.”

  “But you tell him those things, right? Stuff that strokes his ego.”

  “Probably not as much as I should,” Vangie admits. “We’ve been together for fifteen years. Things get comfortable. I guess I just assume he knows I’m attracted to him.” Vangie’s eyes flood with moisture. “Do you know the man cried, Savannah…big ol’ crocodile tears…the other night when we were talking about all of this. He said he just wants me to want him. Every time I turn him away…sex…he said it feels like he’s failing me. Like he’s not giving me what I want, and that’s why I don’t want him, intimately.”

  “I know you want him, Vangie. Why can’t he see that?” Savannah strokes her hand along her sister’s arm.

  “Sex never used to be a problem for us. It was how we loved. How we solved arguments. Whatever the issues, it was nothing a roll in the sheets couldn’t quench.” Vangie’s tears roll down her cheeks accompanied with a smile at the sweet memories. “Just being with him. Skin to skin, in his arms.”

  “The whole world seemed right,” Savannah speaks amorously, finishing Vangie’s thought, having experienced the same euphoria in Brody’s embrace.

  Vangie nods her head. “How is it I’m too tired or too distracted to enjoy that these days? To make time for that?” She swipes at the apples of her cheeks, her tears now retreating and controlled as reasoning takes over emotion.

  “Looking after two kids, a husband and a home might be a good explanation,” Savannah offers support.

  “But without the foundation, none of that survives. Payton and I. We’re the foundation, Savannah. Surely I can sacrifice fifteen minutes of sleep to rekindle that foundation,” Vangie scolds.

  “Well then, do that. Are you going to try that? You and Payton?” Savannah, always a cheerleader of their relationship, cannot help but aspire that the two will make it work.

  “Yes. We are. I scheduled it in. Three nights a week,” she says very matter-of-factly, the efficient domestic goddess runs a tight ship with the help of her trusty daily planner. Vangie smiles coyly. “As soon as his STD test comes back.”

  Savannah squirts orange juice out of her nose with a chuckle. “Do you know what they do to men in those exams?” She asks, her eyes wincing uncomfortably.

  “Yes, baby sister, I do.” Vangie grins proudly. “A cotton swab right up the ol’ eye of the snake,” she throws around her slang for the penile meatus.

  “Ouch!” Savannah grimaces.

  “That’s the least he could do after what he’s put us through,” Vangie refuses to feel sorry for him. Moving to her cutting board atop the counter, she diligently slices an apple, a late morning snack for Zoey who’s due home in an hour, attending only half-days at preschool. “He wasn’t too keen on the idea. But I told him I’m not too keen on taking his word right now. If he did sleep with that woman, no telling what she might have if she treats all of her interviews as such.” Her knife cuts harshly against the pecan wood.

  “You ever thought about becoming a negotiator?” Savannah giggles.

  “Oh, that reminds me. Tell Brody thanks for the architecture hook-up. I called that lady he told me about, and I’m meeting with her this afternoon for some part-time work.”

  “Yeah
. He seems to know a lot of ladies,” Savannah scoffs, the sentiment releasing from her mouth before she can retract it.

  “What? What does that mean?” Vangie eyes her suspiciously. “Is he running around on you? I swear, if I hear about one more deceptive man, I might have to take a page out of Lorena Bobbitt’s book.” She holds the large, serrated knife in her hand threateningly.

  “No. We’re fine,” Savannah quickly dismisses, figuring Vangie has enough on her plate without the added stress of fretting over her and Brody’s quandary. “All this talk of electronic media and cheating. He has a lot of female clients. Guess it’s pricking my jealous bone.”

  “You keep your eye on those wily little she-devil clients,” Vangie warns.

  “If he wants them, he can have them,” Savannah scoffs. “I got no use for a man I can’t trust,” again, the words spiraling off her tongue before fully thinking them through. She appeases a defensive looking Vangie, “At least one I’m not married to. You know what I meant. Payton was trustworthy while you were dating or else you wouldn’t have married him. I’m just saying if I can’t trust Brody now, what makes me think I can trust him later. I don’t mean you can’t trust Payton now that he’s broken that faith,” she sputters. “I’m sure he’s trustworthy…Payton,” she adds, catching her contradictory breath.

  “Would you like to borrow my sandal? So you can stick it in your mouth,” Vangie pokes playfully.

  “Would you mind terribly?” Savannah smiles apologetically, opening her mouth.

  Vangie meets the orifice with an apple slice. “Look here, little sister. I know you usually go to Jac for advice. But listen to me when I say, don’t let what Payton and I are going through derail you from what you have with Brody. Every couple is different. Each coming across their own speed bumps. And it’s up to those two people…nobody else…how they choose to handle it.” She hands Savannah another apple slice. “If I asked her, which I did not,” Vangie makes a point of clarifying, “Jac would tell me to leave Payton because that’s what she thinks I should do. What she’s convinced she would do if in my position. Never truly knowing exactly what she would do until faced with the same situation.”