“Tell me about your life there. In Maine.”
“Not much to tell.”
He panicked as he watched the walls going back up around her. “Sure there is. What’s your career?”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a career. I was seventeen when I moved there. No college degree, not even proof that I finished high school. I got lucky and found a friend. Valentina gave me a job in her little tourist shop and let me crash in a converted garage that’s attached to the shop. Over the years, she’s allowed me to sell jewelry I’ve made. And my dog food.”
Rocco’s head perked up at the mention of food. When nothing was given to him, he went back to sleep.
“Your dog food?”
“Yeah, I sell it.”
“Really?”
“Don’t act so surprised. A lot of people care what their animals are eating. I always sell out at the Farmer’s Market. The local grocery store carries it, too. I’ve been asked to expand my operation, but I don’t have the ability to do so. Yet.”
“Impressive.” He meant it. She had carved a life for herself completely independently. She found a gift and made it a business. “And what about your love life? Any guys I need to beat down?”
She laughed, but didn’t answer.
“My turn to ask questions.” Savannah put the brush down and picked up her bottle of water. After a sip, she leaned against a low bookshelf, careful not to knock over the artwork propped on top.
“What’s the deal with Joey’s mother?”
Damn, she didn’t hold back. Straight for the jugular.
“She’s not around.”
“Why not?”
“Turns out motherhood wasn’t for her.”
Savannah crinkled her face in confusion. “She didn’t know that before she had him?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t know each other all that well before it happened. Once he was here, she couldn’t take the stress. She disappeared here and there, which is why I hired Nana Robby and asked her to live with us. In my line of work, I needed to be able to pick up and go with little notice.”
“And this Robby lady still lives with you?”
“Jealous?”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her.
“She does live with us, but she had to go away for the week to take care of her grandchildren in Florida.”
“Do you ever hear from the mother?”
“Nope. She called once—about a month after she left. When she heard Joey screaming in the background, she hung up. Never heard another thing.”
“I guess he’s better off without her.” Savannah said the words, but she didn’t look like she believed them.
“We do alright. He’s my little buddy. Can’t imagine life without him. It’s a constant battle to remind him that his mother didn’t leave because of him, or because he’s unworthy in any way. He has a lot of people who love him. Your parents have been great with him.”
He wondered if she realized her fist was rubbing her chest, right over her heart.
“He really took to you. He’s always pretty friendly, but he has never invited anyone to ice cream night. That’s always daddy/son time.”
She turned away, but he didn’t miss the clouds streaming across her blue eyes. She resumed painting—back to the first door frame. Her strokes were bolder, rougher. Her posture stiff, she looked like more like she was exorcising demons from the wood rather than coating it with paint.
“Peaches, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s a compliment.”
She shook her head. “It’s this wood. No matter how much paint I put on these damned knots, they keep showing through.” She soaked the brush with more paint than would ever be necessary, dripping it onto the floor as she moved to apply it.
Clearly something more was bothering her. He approached her from behind—cautiously—like he would an injured person in shock. He placed his hand over hers, guiding the brush over the wood to smooth the lumps and bubbles of paint she had carelessly splashed on.
“The knots will always be there.” He whispered into her ear, feeling her tense just before she began to relax into his touch. Her warm back leaned against his chest. She allowed him to lead the painting. “That’s because the tree never gives up the fight. No matter how much we try to cover it up, pretend it’s something else, the tree will always show us a sign of what it’s made of, what it is deep down beneath the exterior.”
Her head rested against his shoulder. He inhaled her sweet shampoo, moved by the fact that she was letting down her guard. Finally.
“He’s better off not knowing me, Quentin.”
He felt the rumble of her soft, quiet words more than he heard them, and yet they punctured his heart just the same.
“I hurt people. I’m not fit to be around children.”
He kissed the top of her head before gently turning her in his arms. The paintbrush clattered to the floor, but he didn’t care. The floor could be cleaned, repaired, burned to ashes. His Savannah, the love of his life, his precious peach, was broken. Scarred. Deeper than he had even realized. And if he couldn’t fix her, he had no right to call himself a man.
“I used to think that of myself, too. I beat myself up over and over for what happened to Brandon. I swore it was my fault. I begged the powers-that-be to take me instead.”
Savannah tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t release her. She had to hear him. He had to get through to her.
“It wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t your fault. You can’t punish yourself forever.”
She clawed at his arms. He held on tight. Rocco stood up and growled, coming to her rescue. Quentin refused to let go. She pounded on his chest, demanding to be released.
He pulled her in tighter, blocking her arms from moving. He wouldn’t let her run away this time.
Rocco paced around them, seemingly unsure how to react.
“Your family needs you. I need you.”
Fire burned in her eyes. Her nostrils flared. He could feel the hatred she directed toward him as strongly as if she had plunged a knife into his gut.
What was he doing?
He let her go and watched as she stormed off in a huff. She slipped on a pair of pants and sneakers, tapped her leg with her hand to call Rocco to her, and disappeared into the woods in a sprint.
He stayed behind and cleaned up the mess.
Chapter Seven
Savannah ran. She ran and she ran until her feet burst with blisters and she couldn’t even sweat any longer. She ran until her dog with unlimited energy began to slow. She ran until Quentin’s gentle touch was a distant memory.
As she approached the center of town, her body refused to run any longer. Slowing to a walk, she led Rocco onto the town common, where she knew they could find public water fountains. She helped Rocco drink from the dog-friendly spigot at the bottom of the fountain, then splashed her face and neck with the refreshingly cool liquid. She took a drink, never so grateful for water.
Rocco cocked his head expectantly, patiently waiting for directions. She knew it was too soon to return to the studio. After running the ten miles from the studio to town, Rocco would need a break before running back. Since she left without grabbing any money, it looked like they’d be spending some quality time together on the town common.
Savannah liked blending in, being invisible. Her way-too-social dog tended to bring unwanted attention, but most people were in school or work this time of the day, so she should be safe. She hoped no one would complain about the lack of a leash—she had run out without grabbing it.
Not even fifteen minutes had passed and Savannah was already noticed by a pair of townies. Shouldn’t they have croaked by now? They had been ancient when she was in high school. She could only imagine how old they were now.
She ducked her head and pretended not to notice the staring and pointing. Rocco followed her to the pond area, where she hoped to find obscurity among the bushes and willows.
Lady Luck obvio
usly hated her.
“Look who we have here.” The unmistakable voice of Harvey, one of the ancients who probably lived here when the town was first established hundreds of years ago, greeted her. “I’ll be damned.”
Grimacing before smiling, Savannah lifted her head in greeting. “Hi, Harvey. Bruce.”
The old men, Bruce with his walker, Harvey with his beer can wrapped in an insulated cover, hustled toward her. Rocco moved forward, tail stump wagging, eager to make new friends, until Savannah gave him a quiet command to stay.
“Your mother made no mention that you’d be back,” Bruce spat the words through his toothless gums. “If we’da known, we coulda thrown together a welcome home party. You know how the committee loves an excuse for a party.”
“Oh, it’s temporary. No need for festivities.”
“What?” He cupped his hand behind his ear. “These damned hearing aids don’t work like they’re supposeta. Say that again, darling.”
Savannah took a deep breath, praying for some level of patience.
“I’m not here long. No parties.”
“Well you didn’t haveta shout!” Bruce elbowed Harvey, guffawing at his own non-funny old man humor.
She forced a smile.
“Good to see you gentlemen. I’ve got to keep moving before my muscles cramp up.” Savannah started to move away, but the old men were oblivious to her intentions.
“So where’d you run off to, Savvy girl?” Harvey leaned against a tree, waiting for her to deliver her life story. When she couldn’t manage any words, he filled in the silence. “Nothing much has changed around here. We keep battling to keep things the same, the younger folks keep fighting to change things. Like that there thing—” Harvey gestured to a giant structure on the other side of the pond. Huge sheets of canvas enclosed the monstrosity. She had noticed it when she drove by the common before, but with all the other anxiety, she had forgotten to wonder about it. “Then again, that’s for a good cause.”
Harvey downed his drink. He belched. She winced.
“That man of yours, he’s a good one.” Bruce piped in. “No one could believe when that wretched woman left him and his boy like that. Especially after you gone and done the same thing.”
She stared at Bruce, shocked at his lack of a filter.
“I didn’t mean any offense, close that moutha yours. The guy was heartbroken after everything.”
Whatever he said after that, Savannah didn’t hear. She mumbled for spite and ran with Rocco out of the common. So much for a respite from the all-consuming chaos surrounding Quentin.
What was with the people of this town? Ten years had passed. Ten years. Couldn’t they let go of a high school romance? Why did they even care so much? As she could recall, no one had cared too much about Quentin back then. They all thought he had no future. That his parents never should have had him. That he would turn out to be as much of a waste of space as they felt his parents had always been.
Why would they think she’d still be as in love with him now as she had been in high school?
Things changed.
People changed.
They’d just have to accept that.
Savannah roamed through the back streets of Healing Springs, clearly not able to find peace in town. When she felt her body had been punished enough and was finally deplete of emotion, she led Rocco back to her temporary home.
***
Savannah bolted out of bed, sweat dripping down her temples and between her breasts. She had been tossing and turning with a vivid nightmare. Her brother splashing in the water with his friend. Her brother’s friend running to her spot on the beach. Quentin dragging her brother’s still body out of the water. The roar of the sirens, the thrust of her fists on her own head, the screaming of her mother at the hospital. Her brother’s face smiling at her in a warped reflection.
She pressed her palm to her heart, desperate to calm the thudding. It took her a moment to realize the banging at the door was not part of her nightmare.
She wrapped the sheet around herself and peered out the window next to the door.
What the hell was he doing here? And with the child in his arms?
She shooed Rocco away as she swung the door open.
“I’m sorry to wake you.”
“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to be working, but there was a huge accident and they need all responders. Nana Robby won’t be back until tomorrow. There’s no one else I can ask.”
His eyes begged a question she didn’t compute.
Quentin brushed by her and carried his sleeping son to the futon on the other side of the room.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. He won’t be any trouble.”
Ice ran through her veins, freezing her to the spot. Rocco must have sensed her fear, as he glued himself to the side of her leg.
“No…” Fear clogged her throat, rendering her unable to defend herself against this imposition. This threat. This horror show.
“I know we didn’t leave things in a great place earlier. I’m sorry. But I don’t have time to find someone else to watch him.”
She grabbed his arm as he tried to leave.
“I can’t. You can’t leave him here.”
Quentin kissed the spot between her eyes. “He’ll be sleeping. I’ll be back before you know it. Go back to sleep.”
No.
How could she sleep? How could she take her attention away from the child? How would she ever live with herself if her negligence caused the death of another sweet soul?
She watched as Quentin ran to his truck. He didn’t even look back before zipping out of the driveway, his little red siren spinning on his dashboard.
She’d kill the man.
Joey moaned in his sleep. She jumped back, tightening the sheet over her chest. Please stay asleep.
Rocco ran to the child and licked his feet.
“Rocco, down.” Rocco stopped mid-lick. “Don’t you dare wake him up.” Her whisper sounded scratchy to her own ears.
Savannah held her breath as Rocco lifted himself onto the futon, snuggling in near the boy’s feet. She glared at the dog, hoping he could sense her irritation. He gave a defiant glare back, then tucked his head into the afghan the boy was wrapped in and closed his eyes.
Maybe he knew the kid needed protecting.
Savannah shuffled over to the electric tea kettle and prepared water. She’d need some caffeine to help her stay alert. Not that she was in any hurry to go back to Nightmareland, anyway.
Tea in hand, Savannah pulled a chair over near the futon. She’d watch the kid, alright. She wouldn’t take her eyes off him.
Joey’s lashes fanned across his cheeks. In the dim light, she could still make out the few freckles that had formed on his face. His hair was a disheveled mess—not that she could judge. His thumb rested near his mouth, grazing his bottom lip. Was he a thumb sucker? She remembered Brandon having the hardest time quitting his thumb when he was six. Her mother would punish him when she caught him in action, but Savannah made quitting a game. He had been so proud when he kicked the habit. As a reward, Savannah offered to supervise a sleepover for a bunch of his friends.
Joey mumbled something in his sleep, then flipped over on the futon. His blanket fluttered to the ground. Savannah picked the hand-knit afghan off the floor and gently tucked it around the small boy’s frame, shoving Rocco away. She lingered for a moment, her heart swelling as she studied him up close.
Everything about this boy reminded Savannah of her brother. His knobby little elbows. His dinosaur pajamas. The way he went from fetal position to taking up the entire space with his open legs. The way he breathed—the occasional snore mixed in with sleep-talking in what sounded like another language.
Maybe these were universal boy traits, but for the first time in ten years, Savannah had to blink away a tear. Ashamed, she backed away, ret
urned to her chair, and vowed she’d never let her guard down around a child again.
***
Savannah startled awake as her foot plummeted to the floor. Confused for a moment, she wiped drool from the side of her face and tried to remember where she was.
A tiny, muffled cry had her darting out of her chair. That’s right, she was in the studio. In Healing Springs. Babysitting. She was supposed to stay awake to be sure no harm came to Quentin’s son, yet she had failed, as she suspected she would.
She rushed to Joey’s side, checking him over for injuries. What could have happened? Rocco shared the same confusion, but his instincts drove him to comfort the boy while Savannah’s instincts warned her to run.
But she was the only human here who could help the child.
What was Quentin thinking, leaving Joey here with her?
Her hands shook as she placed them on his back. He was warm, but not hot. He didn’t feel feverish. He rolled over, huddling into a small, tight ball. The blanket fluttered to the floor in a heap of yarn and unraveling dreams.
His cries, muffled by his fists and the back of the futon, grew in intensity. His little body vibrated and shook.
“Joey, honey. Wake up.”
She didn’t want him to be awake, but she couldn’t stand this sadness he was immersed in. She knew too well the pain of a night terror.
When he didn’t respond to her gentle prodding, she scooped him up in her arms. He immediately wrapped his arms around her neck, settling his wet face into the curve of her neck.
Now what?
She stayed as still as the statue on the town common as Joey wrapped his fingers into her hair, twirling and tugging.
“Mama.”
She stiffened even more.
His tiny voice was more infant-like in his sleep.
His body continued to vibrate as his tears gushed onto her neck and shoulder. She wished she were the sort of person who could offer comfort rather than bring harm.
Not Over You (Healing Springs, Book 1) Page 7