Return of the Runaway Bride (12 page)

"Talk to him," came her simple answer.

"But he doesn't remember the letter," Savanna told her. "He doesn't know I tried to get in touch, tried to explain."

"Show him."

Savanna scanned Susan's face questioningly.

"I must have the letter someplace." Susan rose from the couch. "I can't imagine I'd have thrown it away. I'll be right back," she said, and then she left the room.

She was gone just a few minutes before she came back carrying a large, white family Bible. Susan sat down and placed the book in her lap.

"I tucked your letter in here." She gently
laid
her hand on the leather bound cover "This is where I put so many important things. I guess I thought Daniel might change his mind and want to read it. But days and then weeks passed, and it completely slipped my mind." She opened the pages.

Savanna watched her sort through the hand-clipped obituary notices, school certificates, birth announcements and other personal mementos.

"I meant to wait awhile and then talk to him about it." Susan exhaled. "But then my husband passed. And then Celia found out she had breast cancer. I came here right away. And when she had the mastectomy I decided to move in to help her with the children." She looked beyond Savanna, her eyes clouding and added, "And now poor Celia is having such a rough time with her marriage."

Susan blinked and turned her regretful gaze back to Savanna. "I have to admit, I forgot all about your letter."

It was Savanna's turn to smile encouragingly. "It's okay," she assured Susan. "You were busy dealing
with all the twists and turns in your own life. You couldn't be responsible for straightening out the ones in mine." Savanna's gaze dropped to the Bible in Susan's lap. "I do appreciate your keeping it, though."

Daniel's mother flipped a few of the pages and finally pulled out the white envelope, handing it to Savanna.

"Talk to him, Savanna," she said. "I know my son is as angry as a wounded bear. But if you can talk to him, I'm sure you can help him work it out." Susan closed the book's leather cover and looked down at her hands. "I just wish I could have spent more time helping him through his pain."

Realizing that the woman was regretting the fact that she couldn't be everything her children needed, Savanna reached out and hugged her.

"Talk to Daniel," Susan
said,
her gaze full of pleading. "I know you can help him."

Savanna tried to smile. "I will."

Chapter Five

"What do you want, Savanna?" Daniel filled the doorway of his home. His irritable countenance told Savanna in no uncertain terms that he was not happy to see her.

Tough, she thought. Meeting his gaze unflinchingly, she replied. "I want to talk."

"It's late," he said, the words short, terse. "I don't—"

She ducked under his arm and scooted into the house. She didn't wait to see if he turned to follow her; she was afraid if she didn't hurry through the foyer and into the living room he just might grab her by the scruff of the neck and haul her back outside.

"Savanna!"

She ignored him, planted herself on the first available chair and waited for his entrance. He didn't disappoint her.

He came into the room, a frown biting deep into his forehead. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Compressing her lips, she fought the confident smile threatening to curl them upward. If she hadn't been clutching the unopened letter Susan Walsh had given her, Savanna felt she'd probably melt like hot jelly under those glinting eyes of his. But the envelope bolstered her confidence. This was her secret weapon. In fact, she had to fight the urge to wave it under his nose, taunting, "
Neener-neener
." She wouldn't flaunt it, though. She had made his mother a promise. A promise she intended to keep.

A blanket of solemnity settled over her and she said, "I really want to talk, Daniel." She looked at him and hoped her eyes and her tone conveyed the utter sincerity she felt in her heart.

When her statement did nothing to soften the look he was leveling at her, she lifted her chin stubbornly and rephrased her intent. "I'm not leaving until we talk." She pressed her back against the soft cushion of the chair, folded her arms across her chest and waited for his response.

His eyes never left hers. His pupils were perfect black circles surrounded by irises that were brown, and dark, and hard. He stared at her for a long moment. Savanna refused to speak. She had all the time in the world.

Finally he relented. "So talk."

"This may take a while. You might want to sit down." She urged him with a coaxing smile.

"I'm fine right where I am." He planted his feet firmly on the carpet and tucked his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

She opened her mouth to insist, but decided against doing so. He wasn't going to budge, that much was apparent. She shouldn't argue. He'd met her halfway, he was willing to listen and for that she was grateful.

She unfolded her arms, her shoulders rounding softly. Leaning forward, she rested her hands lightly on her thighs. "I want to talk about what happened six years ago."

His eyes narrowed a fraction and his jaw clenched tight.

"Daniel, I mean it," she said firmly. "I'm not leaving until we talk this out."

He gazed up at the ceiling and massaged the back of his neck. He took a deep breath, and when next he looked at her, his gaze held a heavy mixture of resignation and dread. His mouth pulled into a dour line and he pushed his hands back into his pockets. "Okay, let's get this over with."

Looking up at him, Savanna suddenly felt at a loss. Where should she start? There was so much she wanted to say. Things she needed to say. She'd spent six years talking to an imaginary Daniel. During those lone conversations, she'd always been straightforward, very clear and concise with her explanations and her regret for having left him in the manner that she had.

Now that he stood in front of her, the only words that tumbled through her mind were gushing, apologetic phrases that would get them nowhere. Saying she was sorry might make her feel better, but she doubted that he was in any frame of mind to hear, let alone accept, a remorseful speech.

No, she had to take this slowly, methodically. She had to make him understand her state of mind when
she'd been nineteen. She had to make him realize how she had been feeling six years ago when she had run away from him, from their wedding, from their families and friends.

But before she did anything, she had to show him the letter. She had to make him see that she had tried to contact him, she had tried to explain. Doing so was the only way she would succeed in breaking down the wall of anger that he'd built. Only then could there be a hope of his actually absorbing what she had to say.

However, Savanna knew it was imperative that she prove her point gently. Her intention wasn't to make him feel badly or, heaven forbid, guilty. She didn't want to hurt him further. She only wanted to touch his emotions so that he'd listen.
Really
listen.

"Today," she began, "when we were in the park..."

His eyes closed. But she refused to let him shut her out.

"When we were in the park," she repeated louder, more firmly. "I told you I had written you a letter. And you said I hadn't."

He cocked his head to one side. "What you said was that you wanted to get in touch—"

"Daniel," she cut him off. "Let's not quibble over my exact words. The reason I brought up the subject earlier today was because I was trying to find some way to ask you why you never got in touch with me. Why you didn't answer my letter."

"I didn't answer your letter." His tone was as sharp as a well-honed blade "Because you never wrote one..."

She lifted her hand, and his voice trailed off, his eyes locking on the small, white envelope. His hands remained rooted deep in his pockets, but his
gaze ricocheted from the letter, to her face and back to the letter.

"I went to see your mother this afternoon." Savanna's voice was barely a whisper. "She told me that my letter arrived the very day you went back to school."

She studied Daniel's face, hoping she'd sparked his memory. His eyes scanned the room, but she knew he wasn't seeing the deep-green upholstered couch, the cherry wood tables or the fox-hunting prints that hung on the wall. He was undoubtedly picturing in his mind events that took place years ago, events that had changed both their lives.

He lowered his eyelids. His chin tipped up and his shoulders relaxed. He gave a slow, tiny shake of his head. His exhalation was audible, and when he looked at her, his eyes were no longer hard and cold.

He nodded. "I remember."

Reaching out, he slipped the letter from her fingers. He sat down on the ottoman directly in front of her chair. His knee brushed against her thigh, but he didn't seem to notice. Savanna sat perfectly still, knowing from the look on his face that his mind was swimming with memories of that day.

"It all seems so long ago," he said, his eyes glued to the white envelope. "I was so confused. I felt... so angry with you. And I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest." He shook his head. "But the humiliation was the worst. To choose the one person in the world you want to spend the rest of your life with, and then have that person run from you the very day you'd planned to…" His voice broke and he stopped talking long enough to clear his throat.

Savanna let him take a moment to collect himself. He inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and then lifted his gaze to hers.

"I do remember getting the letter," he said. "I'd forgotten. I'm sorry I accused you of not sending it."

"I understand." Savanna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Your mother said when the letter arrived you were with several of your friends.
That the whole house was in an uproar.
You were packing your things. She said...you told her you didn't want to deal with hearing from me."

"Couldn't," he corrected. "I
couldn't
deal with hearing from you, Savanna. You were safe. You couldn't have mailed a letter if you hadn't been. I assumed you were happy. You had what you wanted. That was all I needed to know."

"But my letter explained why I left..." Her voice faded when she saw him slowly shake his head.

"The 'whys' didn't
matter.
I didn't need to know your reasons."

"Of course you needed to know," Savanna insisted softly.

"Savanna," he said, staring at her steadily, "knowing why you ran off on our wedding day wouldn't have made me feel any less hurt, any less angry. Knowing why wouldn't have lessened my humiliation one iota." He signed. "The woman I loved didn't love me."

She gasped. "But that's not true."

Looking into his stony brown eyes, she knew he didn't believe her. And she realized just how badly her running away had injured him. Her gaze slid to the floor and she inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.

Each time she had imagined explaining things to him, she'd always pictured him accepting her reasons. She had always been successful in conjuring a fantasy in which he would understand her motives. A fantasy in which he would, in the end, approve of her actions. But that's exactly what her imaginary conversations with Daniel had been... fantasies.

He was right in saying her explanation could never have eased his hurt and disgrace. The only thing she'd accomplished in sending the letter was instilling in
herself
a false sense of exoneration. All the guilt she'd ever felt about running away from him swirled around inside her chest, making her feel dizzy and sick.