Dear John (23 page)

“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 rain-splattered 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 night just the other day. I was sitting here just like I am now. Tim was in the hospital, Alan was with him, and while I watched the rain, it all came back. The memory was so vivid, it felt like it had just happened. And then the rain stopped and I knew it was time to feed the horses. I was back in my regular life again, and all at once, it felt like I had just imagined the whole thing. Like it happened to someone else, someone I don’t even know anymore.”

She leaned toward me. “What do you remember the most?” she asked.

“All of it,” I said.

She looked at me beneath her lashes. “Nothing stands out?”

The storm outside made the room feel dark and intimate, and I felt a shiver of guilty anticipation about where all this might be leading. I wanted her as much as I’d ever wanted anyone, but in the back of my mind, I knew Savannah wasn’t mine anymore. I could feel Tim’s presence all around me, and I knew she wasn’t really herself.

I took a sip of wine, then set the glass back on the table.

“No.” I kept my voice steady. “Nothing stands out. But that’s why you always wanted me to look at the moon, right? So that I could remember all of it?”

What I didn’t say was that I still went out to stare at the moon, and despite the guilt I was feeling about being here, I wondered whether she did, too.

“You want to know what I remember most?” she asked.

“When I broke Tim’s nose?”

“No.” She laughed, then turned serious. “I remember the times we went to church. Do you realize that they’re still the only times I ever saw you in a tie? You should get dressed up more often. You looked good.” She seemed to reflect on that before turning her eyes to me again.

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked.

“No.”

She nodded. “I didn’t think so. I figured you would have mentioned it.”

She turned toward the window. In the distance, I could see one of the horses galloping in the rain.

“I’m going to have to feed them in a little while. I’m sure they’re wondering where I am already.”

“They’ll be okay,” I assured her.

“Easy for you to say. Trust me—they can get as cranky as people when they’re hungry.”

“It must be hard handling all this on your own.”

“It is. But what choice do I have? At least our employer’s been understanding. Tim’s on a leave of absence, and whenever he’s in the hospital, they let me take however much time I need.” Then, in a teasing tone, she added, “Just like the army, right?”

“Oh yeah. It’s exactly the same.”

She giggled, then became sober again. “How was it in Iraq?”

I was about to make my usual crack about the sand, but instead I said, “It’s hard to describe.”

Savannah waited, and I reached for my glass of wine, stalling. Even with her, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go into it. But something was happening between us, something I wanted and yet didn’t want. I forced myself to look at Savannah’s ring and imagine the betrayal she would no doubt feel later. I closed my eyes and started with the night of the invasion.

I don’t know how long I talked, but it was long enough for the rain to have ended. With the sun still drifting in its slow descent, the horizon glowed the colors of a rainbow. Savannah refilled her glass. By the time I finished, I was entirely spent and knew I’d never speak of it again.

Savannah had remained quiet as I spoke, asking only the occasional question to let me know she was listening to everything I said.

“It’s different from what I imagined,” she remarked.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“When you scan the headlines or read the stories, most of the time, names of soldiers and cities in Iraq are just words. But to you, it’s personal . . . it’s real. Maybe too real.”

I had nothing left to add, and I felt her hand reach for mine. Her touch made something leap inside me. “I wish you’d never had to go through all that.”

I squeezed her hand and felt her respond in kind. When she finally let go, the sensation of her touch lingered, and like an old habit rediscovered, I watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The sight made me ache.

“It’s strange how fate works,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Did you ever imagine that your life would turn out like it did?”

“No,” I said.

“I didn’t either,” she said. “When you first went back to Germany, I just knew that you and I would be married one day. I was more sure of that than anything in my life.”

I stared into my glass as she went on.

“And then, on your second leave, I was even more sure. Especially after we made love.”

“Don’t . . .” I shook my head. “Let’s not go there.”

“Why?” she asked. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” I couldn’t bear to look at her. “Of course not. But you’re married now.”

“But it happened,” she said. “Do you want me to just forget it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”

“I can’t,” she said, sounding surprised and hurt. “That was my first time. I’ll never forget it, and in its own way, it will always be special to me. What happened between us was beautiful.”

I didn’t trust myself to respond, and after a moment, she seemed to collect herself. Leaning forward, she asked, “When you found out that I had married Tim, what did you think?”

I waited to answer, wanting to choose my words with care. “My first thought was that in a way, it made sense. He’s been in love with you for years. I knew that from the moment I met him.” I ran a hand over my face. “After that, I felt . . . conflicted. I was glad that you picked someone like him, because he’s a nice guy and you two have a lot in common, but then I was just . . . sad. We didn’t have that long to go. I would have been out of the army for almost two years now.”

She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“I am, too.” I tried to smile. “If you want my honest opinion, I think you should have waited for me.”

She laughed uncertainly, and I was surprised by the look of longing on her face. She reached for her glass of wine.

“I’ve been thinking about that, too. Where we would have been, where we’d be living, what we’d be doing in our lives. Especially lately. Last night after you left, that’s all I could think about. I know how terrible that makes me sound, but these past couple of years, I’ve been trying to convince myself that even if our love was real, it never would have lasted.” Her expression was forlorn. “You really would have married me, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat. And I still would if I could.”

The past suddenly seemed to loom over us, overwhelming in its intensity.

“It was real, wasn’t it?” Her voice had a tremor. “You and me?”

The gray light of dusk was reflected in her eyes as she waited for my answer. In the moments that elapsed, I felt the weight of Tim’s prognosis hanging over both of us. My racing thoughts were morbid and wrong, but they were there nonetheless. I hated myself for even thinking about life after Tim, willing the thought away.