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?”