“If you want more, I’ve got plenty,” she added. “Believe me, you’d be doing me a favor. Most of the time, the food just goes to waste. I know I should tell her to bring less, but she wouldn’t take that well.”
“It’s hard for her,” I said. “She knows you’re hurting.”
“I know.” She took another drink of wine.
“You are going to eat, aren’t you?” I gestured at her untouched plate.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “It’s always like this when Tim’s in the hospital… I heat something up, I look forward to eating, but as soon as it’s in front of me, my stomach shuts down.” She stared at her plate as if willing herself to try, then shook her head.
“Humor me,” I urged. “Take a bite. You’ve got to eat.”
“I’ll be okay.”
I paused, my fork halfway up. “Do it for me, then. I’m not used to people watching me eat. This feels weird.”
“Fine.” She picked up her fork, scooped a tiny wedge onto it, and took a bite. “Happy now?”
“Oh yeah,” I snorted. “That’s exactly what I meant. That makes me feel a whole lot more comfortable. For dessert, maybe we can split a couple of crumbs. Until then, though, just keep holding the fork and pretending.”
She laughed. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “These days, you’re the only one who would even think of talking to me like that.”
“Like what? Honestly?”
“Yes,” she said. “Believe it or not, that’s exactly what I meant.” She set down her fork and pushed her plate aside, ignoring my request. “You were always good like that.”
“I remember thinking the same thing about you.”
She tossed her napkin on the table. “Those were the days, huh?”
The way she was looking at me made the past come rushing back, and for a moment I relived every emotion, every hope and dream I’d ever had for us. She was once again the young woman I’d met on the beach with her life ahead of her, a life I wanted to make part of my own.
Then she ran a hand through her hair, causing the ring on her finger to catch the light. I lowered my eyes, focusing on my plate.
“Something like that.”
I shoveled in a bite, trying and failing to erase those images. As soon as I swallowed, I stabbed at the lasagna again.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you mad?”
“No,” I lied.
“You’re acting mad.”
She was the same woman I remembered—except that she was married. I took a gulp of wine—one gulp, I noticed, was equivalent to all the sips she’d taken. I leaned back in my chair. “Why am I here, Savannah?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“This,” I said, motioning around the kitchen. “Asking me in for dinner, even though you won’t eat. Bringing up the old days. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” she insisted.
“Then what is it? Why did you ask me in?”
Instead of answering the question, she rose and refilled her glass with wine. “Maybe I just needed someone to talk to,” she whispered. “Like I said, I can’t talk to my mom or dad; I can’t even talk to Tim like this.” She sounded almost defeated. “Everybody needs somebody to talk to.”
She was right, and I knew it. It was the reason I’d come to Lenoir.
“I understand that,” I said, closing my eyes. When I opened them again, I could feel Savannah evaluating me. “It’s just that I’m not sure what to do with all this. The past. Us. You being married. Even what’s happening to Tim. None of this makes much sense.”
Her smile was full of chagrin. “And you think it makes sense to me?”
When I said nothing, she set aside her glass. “You want to know the truth?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. “I’m just trying to make it through the day with enough energy to face tomorrow.” She closed her eyes as if the admission were painful, then opened them again. “I know how you still feel about me, and I’d love to tell you that I have some secret desire to know everything you’ve been through since I sent you that awful letter, but to be honest?” She hesitated. “I don’t know if I really want to know. All I know is that when you showed up yesterday, I felt… okay. Not great, not good, but not bad, either. And that’s the thing. For the last six months, all I’ve done is feel bad. I wake up every day nervous and tense and angry and frustrated and terrified that I’m going to lose the man I married. That’s all I feel until the sun goes down,” she went on. “Every single day, all day long, for the past six months. That’s my life right now, but the hard part is that from here on in, I know it’s only going to get worse. Now there’s the added responsibility of trying to find some way to help my husband. Of trying to find a treatment that might help. Of trying to save his life.”
She paused and looked closely at me, trying to gauge my reaction.
I knew there were words to comfort Savannah, but as usual, I didn’t know what to say. All I knew was that she was still the woman I’d once fallen in love with, the woman I still loved but could never have.
“I’m sorry,” she said eventually, sounding spent. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” She gave a fragile smile. “I just wanted you to know that I’m glad you’re here.”
I focused on the wood grain of the table, trying to keep my feelings on a tight leash. “Good,” I said.
She wandered toward the table. She added some wine to my glass, though I’d yet to drink more than that one gulp. “I pour out my heart and all you do is say, ‘Good’?”
“What do you want me to say?”
Savannah turned away and headed toward the door of the kitchen. “You could have said that you’re glad you came, too,” she said in a barely audible voice.
With that, she was gone. I didn’t hear the front door open, so I surmised that she had retreated to the living room.
Her comment bothered me, but I wasn’t about to follow her. Things had changed between us, and there was no way they could be what they once were. I forked lasagna into my mouth with stubborn defiance, wondering what she wanted from me. She was the one who’d sent the letter, she was the one who’d ended it. She was the one who got married. Were we supposed to pretend that none of those things had happened?
I finished eating and brought both plates to the sink and rinsed them. Through the rainsplattered window, I saw my car and knew I should simply leave without looking back. It would be easier that way for both of us. But when I reached into my pockets for the keys, I froze. Over the patter of the rain on the roof, I heard a sound from the living room, a sound that defused my anger and confusion. Savannah, I realized, was crying.
I tried to ignore the sound, but I couldn’t. Taking my wine, I crossed into the living room.
Savannah sat on the couch, cupping the glass of wine in her hands. She looked up as I entered.
Outside, the wind had begun to pick up, and the rain started coming down even harder. Beyond the living room glass, lightning flashed, followed by the steady rumble of thunder, long and low.
Taking a seat beside her, I put my glass on the end table and looked around the room. Atop the fireplace mantel stood photographs of Savannah and Tim on their wedding day: one where they were cutting the cake and another taken in the church. She was beaming, and I found myself wishing that I were the one beside her in the picture.
“Sorry,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t be crying, but I can’t help it.”
“It’s understandable,” I murmured. “You’ve got a lot going on.”
In the silence, I listened to the sheets of rain batter the windowpanes.
“It’s quite a storm,” I observed, grasping for words that would fill the taut silence.
“Yeah,” she said, barely listening.
“Do you think Alan’s going to be okay?”
She tapped her fingers against the glass. “He won’t leave until it stops raining. He doesn’t like lightning. But it shouldn’t last long. The wind will push the storm toward the coast. At least, that’s the way it’s been lately.” She hesitated. “Do you remember that storm we sat out? When I took you to the house we were building?”
“Of course.”
“I still think about that night. That was the first time I told you that I loved you. I was remembering that
