Heart of the Night (43 page)

Even in the dim light, Megan's look was eloquent. Will wasn't in the position to spend money on computers, any more than he was in the position to hire a financial adviser.

“At least,” Savannah said, “that explains the mess on the desk in your upstairs office. There were papers all over.” Her voice was soft, teasing. “Remember when we tripled senior year? Your things were totally scattered. You knew just where everything was and could always find whatever you wanted, but don't ask me how. Neat you weren't.”

“I'm not much better now,” Megan confessed dryly. “I try. I do try. The cleaning men only come once a week, and things get messy in between. But I hate cleaning. Hate cleaning.” She gave the words individual emphasis. “I'm sure it's because my mother was a fanatic about it. She always said that just because we didn't have the money that some people had, that didn't mean we couldn't live in as clean a house. So she made me clean everything in sight. As soon as I left the house, I rebelled.”

She grew suddenly quiet and looked down at her hands. “During the time she lived with Will and me, we had a maid. I'm glad she isn't around to see the mess I've made.”

Savannah was thinking of how immaculate the bedroom had been that night, and she would have pointed it out had she not known Megan was talking about a deeper mess. “You had nothing to do with Will's financial problems, Meggie.”

Megan said nothing.

“Savvy's right,” Susan said. “You can't blame yourself for that.”

“Will would have been better off if he'd married someone like either of you. I've brought nothing to this marriage.”

“Will
adores
you,” Savannah argued. “He was a bachelor for years, a lonely man. You've brought him happiness.”

“I've brought him grief.”

“No,
happiness.
” Taking a breath, she broached what she knew was on Megan's mind. “What happened the other week wasn't your fault any more than it was Will's. It just happened. It was an ugly, hurtful thing, but you can put it behind you, Meggie. You can.”

Megan was very quiet for a minute before murmuring, “I don't think so.”

“Sure, you can. Once we catch the men who did it, they'll be put away for life. Any little thing you can remember would help us find them.”

Megan didn't answer, but seemed to withdraw into a world of her own. She took a sip of the liqueur in her glass, sat back in her chair, and stared off toward the horizon. Clearly, she didn't want to think about the men who'd kidnapped and raped her, and Savannah could understand that. Savannah could also see that pushing her just then would do no good.

So she tamped down the sense of urgency she felt when she thought of all the leads she didn't have, and scowled. “How did we get off on this, anyway?”

“We were talking about cleaning house, which I hate, too,” Susan said, “and before that about working, and I don't care what either of you say, I don't want the pressure of a job. Studies have found that women are having more and more heart and high blood pressure problems, and it's because there are more of us—more of
you
—in the work force than there were ten or twenty years ago. Woman wasn't meant to scurry around from seven in the morning until ten at night wearing a sedate little business suit.”

Savannah had never pictured her sister wearing sedate little business suits. “Seven in the morning until ten at night? What kind of job are you thinking of?”

“The kind that will deliver prestige, power, and respect,” Susan said without pause.

Savannah nodded. “I see.” She took a breath and echoed, “The job has to deliver prestige, power, and respect.”

“If it's going to be worth the effort.”

“No halfway possibilities?”

“What'd be the point of that?”

“The point is doing something that's interesting and, therefore, rewarding.”

“That's an idealistic viewpoint if ever there was one. Realistically, that's not why people work. People work for the money, which I don't need, and the power, which I do.”

“Why do you need power?”

“Because that's the basis for respect. I want people to look at me and know that I'm a somebody.”

“You
are
a somebody. You don't need power.”

“So why should I work?”

Savannah pressed the glass she held to her forehead. “I think we're back at square one.”

“You're right. The whole issue of work drives me nuts, but it always comes up. Times have changed. Things were much simpler when we were younger.” Her voice softened. “Don't you ever think back, Savvy? Your life is hectic. Don't you ever pine for simpler times, when you had less responsibility?”

Savannah thought about it for a minute. “Not really. There's a plus side to having responsibility.”

“I might have figured she'd say that,” Susan told Megan, who was sitting quietly, not revealing the direction of her thoughts.

“But I'm serious,” Savannah insisted. “Along with responsibility comes control. I like having that control.”

“Ah-ha! So you want power, too.”

“Not power. Control.”

That brought Megan from her silence. “What's the difference?”

Savannah took a minute to pick the right words. “This is my own distinction, mind you, but as I see it, power has a negative connotation. It has to do with manipulating either people or events. Control, on the other hand, implies a greater say in what you do with your life. I can't always determine the outcome of things at work; I don't have that power. But I can determine the route I take to get to an outcome. I like being able to do that.”

“You're very lucky,” Megan murmured.

Savannah turned to her. “Hmm?”

“To be in control that way. To be in command of yourself and your life. To be so
together.
”

Savannah thought of the times she'd sat in her wing-backed chair and shook from the inside out. “I'm not as together as you think. I have my moments.”

“Like when?” Susan asked, mildly challenging.

Savannah was more than willing to meet that challenge. She had nothing to hide. “When I'm very tense about something. When I'm terrified that what I'm doing is wrong or not enough.”

“You don't do things wrong,” Megan said.

“Sure, I do. I make mistakes.”

“Like when?” Susan repeated, a little crossly this time.

“There have been times when I've undertried or overtried cases. There have been times when I've miscalculated the reaction of the judge or the jury to a particular tactic. I could cite you specific cases, but you'd be bored and I'd be embarrassed.”

Susan would have pushed for those cases if it hadn't seemed childish. “The press is totally in the dark. They love you.”

Savannah shrugged. “We have people in the office who work at fostering that love.”

Susan had assumed that was the case, still the outcome was envious. “Do you think Paul will run for governor?”

“Eventually.”

“Will you run to fill his place?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't want
that
much responsibility.”

“I was under the impression,” Susan said, “that Paul puts in less hours than you and the others.”

“He does. But he's the one who takes the flak when something goes wrong. The buck stops with him. I'm not sure I want that. And I
know
I don't want to have to campaign every two years. Even now, it's tough. My job is dependent on Paul being reelected, so every two years I sweat a little.”

“The only other alternative is private practice.”

“That's right,” Savannah said.

Megan perked up. “You're thinking of making the move? But you love what you're doing.”

“I'm not saying that I'm making the move. But it is an alternative if I ever reach the point of needing greater stability. I'd also have greater control over my time if I were in private practice. The sheer volume of cases that crosses my desk can be overwhelming. In private practice, I could control that.”

“Control,” Susan mused and said to Megan, “We should each have a little of that control.” To Savannah she said, “This is the first I've heard you talk about private practice. If I didn't know better, I'd say that Jared Snow had something to do with it.”

Savannah was quick to deny it. “Jared? He hasn't mentioned a thing—”

“That's not what I meant. I meant that if you're thinking about having more control over your time, it might be because you're thinking about marriage—”

“I'm not—”

“And if you're thinking of marriage at this point in your life, the likely candidate would be Jared Snow.”

“No. I'm not getting married so fast. I'd have a baby before I'd get married.”

“A baby?” Susan breathed. “Are you serious?”

Savannah was a minute in answering. “Would that be so terrible?”

“You don't have time for a baby, any more than you have time for a man.”

“I can make time for what I want. Any of us can do that. It's called taking your life in your own hands.”

“But a baby,” Susan went on, still slightly stunned by the suggestion. “Do you have any idea how much time and effort that takes?”

“People have been doing it for years,” Savannah said lightly.

“But why marriage over a baby?” Megan joined the conversation to ask, sounding vulnerable enough to remind the others how much she had wanted a baby herself.

Savannah was momentarily chastised for her lightness. She took another moment to think about the question. “I'm not sure,” she finally said. She looked at her hands. “I just think I could handle a baby better than a husband. A husband is a human being with fully developed needs and wants. A baby's needs and wants can be shaped to fit its mother's lifestyle.”

“Are you kidding?” Susan asked. “A baby is totally dependent. If you want to talk responsibility, a baby is about the biggest one you could get.”

“You don't want one?”

“No.”

“Never?” Megan asked quietly.

For the first time, Susan wavered. “How can I say never? I have no idea what the future holds. But right now the last thing I can think about is having a kid.”

“Are you thinking about Sam?” Savannah asked.

Susan sent her a sharp look. “I'm trying not to. He's an imbecile. I don't care if he is the best lover in the world, he's still an imbecile.”

“Will you see him when you get back?” Megan asked.

“No.”

Savannah couldn't believe that. “You had an argument. Every couple has arguments.”

“Sam and I have some very basic differences.”

“I should hope so.”

“Come on, Savvy, you know what I mean.”

Savannah did. She was also convinced that Susan felt more for Sam Craig than she'd felt for a man in a long time. Yes, the argument had hurt her pride, but the hurt went deeper. “You can work out your differences.”

“I don't know. We're really a poor match.”

“How so?”

“His job, his house, his bankroll—need I go on?”

“Those are all secondary to the way you two work as people. Personally,” Savannah told her, “I think you'd be good for each other. Sammy is a wonderfully warm and compassionate person.”

Susan snorted. “You didn't see him the other day.”

“He was very good to me,” Megan said, drawing both Susan's and Savannah's eyes her way. “He made me feel safe. I believed everything he said.”

“Oh, he's honest,” Susan conceded, but more gently. “He means what he says. Not that I always
like
what he says.”

“Would you rather he tell you only what you want to hear?” Savannah asked. “You've known too many men like that. I'd think you'd welcome the honesty.”

“Maybe I would if I had something more to offer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hell, Savvy, Sam can't respect me. He can respect you. You're smart and accomplished. But what do I represent to him? A spoiled brat.”

“He's fascinated by you, Suse. He sees great potential.”

“What about me as I am?”

“That's what fascinates him. I think he likes the fact that you haven't ‘arrived.' He'd be intimidated if you had a career.”

“He should be intimidated because I have money, but he isn't. He couldn't care less about that.”

“Sam is Sam.”

“Uh-huh, and where does that leave me?”

“Where do you want to be left?”

“I don't know!” Susan cried, then went silent.

For a time, none of them spoke. Then Savannah said in a pensive voice, “I do think life is about potentials. You say my expectations are too high, Suse, and maybe they are. But I want to be everything I can be. So I push myself. Sometimes I make it, sometimes I don't. But if I don't push, I'll never know. I don't want to be an old lady thinking of what might have been.”

Her words lingered in the night air for a long, long time. When the silence was broken again, it was on a lighter note, which was what they all needed just then.

*   *   *

By Sunday morning, the pace of the island had fully infiltrated Savannah's system. She didn't even try to read, but lay quietly on the beach listening to the rhythmic rush of the waves. When she moved, it was at half-speed and, even then, she moved reluctantly.

Megan and Susan seemed lost in a similar state. It was just like it used to be.

“This is heaven,” Susan murmured, barely moving her mouth as she lay utterly still on a lounge chair in the sun.

Feeling warm and relaxed, Megan hummed her agreement.

Savannah was feeling decidedly irresponsible. “Why is it that the more we rest, the more we want to?”