Dear John(25)

“Let’s get some more music going,” she said, interrupting my thoughts.

I rose from my seat, rummaged through my pockets for a couple of quarters, and dropped them in. Savannah put both hands on the glass and leaned forward as she read the titles, then picked a few songs. By the time we got back to the table, the first was already going.

“You know, I just realized that I’ve done all the talking tonight,” I said.

“You are a chatty thing,” she observed.

I freed my utensils from the rolled-up paper napkin. “How about you? You know all about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“Sure you do,” she said. “You know how old I am, where I go to school, my major, and the fact that I don’t drink. You know I’m from Lenoir, live on a ranch, love horses, and spend my summers building homes for Habitat for Humanity. You know a lot.”

Yeah, I suddenly realized, I did. Including things she hadn’t mentioned. “It’s not enough,” I said. “Your turn.”

She leaned forward. “Ask what you will.”

“Tell me about your parents,” I said.

“All right,” she said, reaching for a napkin. She wiped the condensation from her glass. “My mom and dad have been married for twenty-five years, and they’re still happy as clams and madly in love. They met in college at Appalachian State, and Mom worked at a bank for a couple of years until she had me. Since then, she’s been a stay-at-home mom, and she was the kind of mom who was there for everyone else, too. Classroom helper, volunteer driver, coach of our soccer team, head of the PTA, all that kind of stuff. Now that I’m gone, she spends every day volunteering for other things—the library, schools, the church, whatever. Dad is a history teacher at the school, and he’s coached the girls volleyball team since I was little. Last year they made it to the state finals, but they lost. He’s also a deacon in our church, and he runs the youth group and the choir. Do you want to see a picture?”

“Sure,” I said.

She opened her purse and removed her wallet. She flipped it open and pushed it across the table, our fingers brushing.

“They’re a little ragged at the edges from being in the ocean,” she said, “but you get the idea.”

I turned the photo around. Savannah took more after her father than her mother, or had at least inherited the darker features from him.

“Nice-looking couple.”

“I love ’em,” she said, taking the wallet back. “They’re the best.”

“Why do you live on a ranch if your dad is a teacher?”

“Oh, it’s not a working ranch. It used to be when my grandfather owned it, but he had to sell bits and pieces to pay the taxes on it. By the time my dad inherited it, it was down to ten acres with a house, stables, and a corral. It’s more like a great big yard than a ranch. It’s the way we always refer to it, but I guess that conjures up the wrong image, huh?”

“I know you said you did gymnastics, but did you play volleyball for your dad?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, he’s a great coach, but he always encouraged me to do what was right for me. And volleyball wasn’t it. I tried and I was okay, but it wasn’t what I loved.”

“You loved horses.”

“Since I was a little girl. My mom gave me this statue of a horse when I was really little, and that’s what started the whole thing. I got my first horse for Christmas when I was eight, and it’s still the best Christmas gift I’ve ever received. Slocum. She was this really gentle old mare, and she was perfect for me. The deal was that I had to take care of her—feed her and brush her and keep her stall clean. Between her, school, gymnastics, and taking care of the rest of the animals, that was pretty much all I had time for.”

“The rest of the animals?”

“When I was growing up, our house was kind of like a farm. Dogs, cats, even a llama for a while. I was a sucker when it came to strays. My parents got to the point where they wouldn’t even argue with me about it. There were usually four or five at any one time. Sometimes an owner would come, hoping to find a lost pet, and he’d leave with one of our recent additions if he couldn’t find it. We were like the pound.”

“Your parents were patient.”

“Yes,” she said, “they were. But they were suckers for strays, too. Even though she’d deny it, my mom was worse than me.”

I studied her. “I’ll bet you were a good student.”

“Straight A’s. I was valedictorian of my class.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”