was at the table, talking with her mom while her dad read the paper, and I felt the weight of their presence when I entered. I took a place at the table, and Savannah’s mom poured me a cup of coffee before setting a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me. Savannah, who was sitting across from me already showered and dressed, was chipper and impossibly fresh-looking in the soft morning light.
“Did you sleep okay?” she asked, her eyes shining with mischief.
I nodded. “Actually, I had the most wonderful dream,” I said.
“Oh?” her mom asked. “What was it about?”
I felt Savannah kick me under the table. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. I have to admit that I enjoyed the sight of Savannah squirming, but enough was enough. I feigned concentration. “I can’t remember now,” I said.
“I hate when that happens,” her mother said. “Is breakfast okay?”
“It smells great,” I said. “Thank you.” I glanced at Savannah. “What’s on the agenda today?”
She leaned across the table. “I was thinking we might go horseback riding. Do you think you’d be up for that?”
When I hesitated, she laughed. “You’ll be fine,” she added. “I promise.”
“Easy for you to say.”
She rode Midas; for me, she suggested a quarter horse named Pepper, which her dad usually rode. We spent most of the day walking up trails, galloping through open fields, and exploring this part of her world. She’d prepared a picnic lunch, and we ate at a spot that overlooked Lenoir. She pointed out the schools she’d attended and homes of the people she knew. It dawned on me then that not only did she love it here, she never wanted to live anywhere else.
We spent six or seven hours in the saddle, and I did my best to keep up with Savannah, though that was close to impossible. I didn’t end up with my face planted in the dirt, but there were a few dicey moments here and there when Pepper acted up and it took everything I could do to hold on. It wasn’t until Savannah and I were getting ready for dinner that I realized what I’d gotten myself into, however. Little by little, I began to realize that my walking resembled waddling. The inside muscles of my legs felt as if Tony had pounded them for hours.
On Saturday night, Savannah and I went to dinner at a cozy little Italian place. Afterward, she suggested we go dancing, but by then I could barely move. As I limped toward the car, she adopted a concerned expression and reached out to stop me.
Leaning over, she grasped my leg. “Does it hurt when I squeeze right here?”
I jumped and screamed. For some reason, she found this amusing.
“Why’d you do that? That hurt!”
She smiled. “Just checking.”
“Checking what? I already told you—I’m sore.”
“I just wanted to see if little old me could make a big, tough army guy like you scream.”
I rubbed my leg. “Yeah, well, let’s not test that anymore, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“Well, I am,” she said. “But it is kind of funny, don’t you think? I mean, I rode just as long as you, and I’m fine.”
“You ride all the time.”
“I haven’t ridden in over a month.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Come on. Admit it. It was kind of funny, wasn’t it?”
“Not at all.”
On Sunday, we attended church with her family. I was too sore to do much else the rest of the day, so I plopped myself on the couch and watched a baseball game with her dad. Savannah’s mom brought in sandwiches, and I spent the afternoon wincing every time I tried to get comfortable while the game went into extra innings. Her dad was easy to talk to, and the conversation drifted from army life to teaching to some of the kids he coached and his hopes for their future. I liked him. From my seat, I could hear Savannah and her mom chatting in the kitchen, and every now and then, Savannah would come into the living room with a basket of laundry to fold while her mother started another load in the washing machine. Though technically a college graduate and an adult, she still brought her dirty clothes home to Mom.
That night, we drove back to Chapel Hill, and Savannah showed me her apartment. It was sparse in the furniture department, but it was relatively new, and it had both a gas fireplace and small balcony that offered a view of the campus. Despite the warm weather, she got the fire going, and we snacked on cheese and crackers, which, aside from cereal, was about all she had to offer. It felt indescribably romantic to me, though I’d come to realize that being alone with Savannah always struck me as romantic. We talked until nearly midnight, but Savannah was quieter than usual. In time, she wandered to the bedroom. When she didn’t return, I went to find her. She was sitting on the bed, and I stopped in the doorway.
She squeezed her hands together and drew a long breath. “So…,” she began.
“So…,” I responded when she remained silent.
She drew another long breath. “It’s getting late. And I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”
I nodded. “You should probably get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” she said. She nodded as if she hadn’t considered it and turned toward the window. Through the blinds, I could see shafts of light streaming in from the parking lot. She was cute when she was nervous.
“So…,” she said again, as if speaking to the wall.
I held up my hands. “Why don’t I sleep on the couch, okay?”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all,” I said. Actually, it wasn’t what I preferred, but I understood.
Still staring toward the window, she made no move to get up. “I’m just not ready,” she said, her voice soft. “I mean, I thought I was, and part of me really wants to. I’ve been thinking about it for the last few weeks, and I made up my mind and it just seemed right, you know? I love you and you love me, and this is what people do when they’re in love. It was easy to tell myself when you weren’t here, but now…” She trailed off.
“It’s okay,” I said.
At last she turned toward me. “Were you scared? Your first time?”
I wondered how best to answer that. “I think it’s different for men and women,” I said.
“Yeah. I suppose so.” She pretended to adjust the blankets. “Are you mad?”
“Not at all.”
“But you’re disappointed.”
“Well…,” I admitted, and she laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“There’s no reason to apologize.”
She thought about it. “Then why does it feel like I have to apologize?”
“Well, I am a lonely soldier,” I pointed out, and she laughed again. I could still hear the nervousness in it.
“The couch isn’t very comfortable,” she fretted. “And it’s small. You won’t be able to stretch out. And I don’t have any extra blankets. I should have grabbed a couple from home, but I forgot.”
“That is a problem.”
“Yeah,” she said. I waited.
“I suppose you could sleep with me,” she ventured.
I waited while she continued her own internal debate. Finally she shrugged. “You want to give it a try? Just sleeping, I mean?”
“Whatever you say.”
For the first time, her shoulders relaxed. “Okay, then. We’ve got that settled. Just give me a minute to change.”
She rose from the bed, crossed the room, and opened a drawer. The pajamas she chose were similar to the ones she’d worn at her parents’, and I left her to go back to the living room, where I slipped on some of my workout shorts and a T-shirt. By the time I returned, she was already under the covers. I went to the other side and crawled
