By one o’clock, I’d finished working out, cleaned up, packed most of my things, and called the restaurant to renew my reservation. I knew Savannah’s schedule by then and assumed that she would be rolling in any minute. With nothing else to do, I sat on the couch and turned on the television. Game shows, soap operas, infomercials, and talk shows were interspersed with commercials from ambulance-chasing lawyers. Time dragged as I waited. I kept wandering out on the patio to scan the parking lot for her car, and I checked my gear three or four times. Savannah, I thought, was surely on the way home, and I occupied myself with clearing out the dishwasher. A few minutes later, I brushed my teeth for the second time, then peeked out the window again. Still no Savannah. I turned on the radio, listened to a few songs, and changed the station six or seven times before turning it off. I walked to the patio again. Nothing. By then, it was coming up on two o’clock. I wondered where she was, felt the remnants of anger starting to rise again, but forced them away. I told myself that she probably had a legitimate explanation and repeated it again when it didn’t take hold. I opened my bag and pulled out the latest from Stephen King. I filled a glass with ice water, made myself comfortable on the couch, but when I realized I was reading the same sentence over and over, I put the book aside.
Another fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. By the time I heard Savannah’s car pulling into the lot, my jaw was tight and I was grinding my teeth. At a quarter past three, she pushed open the door. She was all smiles, as if nothing were wrong.
“Hey, John,” she called out. She went to the table and started unloading her backpack. “Sorry I was late, but after my class, a student came up to tell me that she loved my class, and because of me, she wanted to major in special education. Can you believe that? She wanted advice on what to do, what classes to take, what teachers were the best . . . and the way she listened to my answers . . .” Savannah shook her head. “It was . . . so rewarding. The way this girl was hanging on everything I was saying . . . well, it just makes me feel like I was really making a difference to someone. You hear professors talk about experiences like that, but I never imagined that it would happen to me.”
I forced a smile, and she took it as a cue to go on.
“Anyway, she asked if I had some time to really discuss it, and even though I told her I only had a few minutes, one thing led to another and we ended up going to lunch. She’s really something—only seventeen, but she graduated a year early from high school. She passed a bunch of AP exams, so she’s already a sophomore, and she’s going to summer school so she can get even further ahead. You have to admire her.”
She wanted an echo of her enthusiasm, but I couldn’t muster it.
“She sounds great,” I said instead.
At my answer, Savannah seemed to really look at me for the first time, and I made no effort to hide my feelings.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I lied.
She set her backpack aside with a disgusted sigh. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine. But you should know that it’s getting a little tiring.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She whirled toward me. “This! The way you’re acting,” she said. “You’re not that hard to read, John. You’re angry, but you don’t want to tell me why.”
I hesitated, feeling defensive. When I finally spoke, I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “Okay,” I said, “I thought you’d be home hours ago. . . .”
She threw up her hands. “That’s what this is about? I explained that. Believe it or not, I have responsibilities now. And if I’m not mistaken, I apologized for being late as soon as I walked in the door.”
“I know, but . . .”
“But what? My apology wasn’t good enough?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what is it?”
When I couldn’t find the words, she put her hands on her hips. “You want to know what I think? You’re still mad about last night. But let me guess—you don’t want to talk about that either, right?”