“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“This,” I said, motioning around the kitchen. “Asking me in for dinner, even though you won’t eat. Bringing up the old days. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” she insisted.
“Then what is it? Why did you ask me in?”
Instead of answering the question, she rose and refilled her glass with wine. “Maybe I just needed someone to talk to,” she whispered. “Like I said, I can’t talk to my mom or dad; I can’t even talk to Tim like this.” She sounded almost defeated. “Everybody needs somebody to talk to.”
She was right, and I knew it. It was the reason I’d come to Lenoir.
“I understand that,” I said, closing my eyes. When I opened them again, I could feel Savannah evaluating me. “It’s just that I’m not sure what to do with all this. The past. Us. You being married. Even what’s happening to Tim. None of this makes much sense.”
Her smile was full of chagrin. “And you think it makes sense to me?”
When I said nothing, she set aside her glass. “You want to know the truth?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. “I’m just trying to make it through the day with enough energy to face tomorrow.” She closed her eyes as if the admission were painful, then opened them again. “I know how you still feel about me, and I’d love to tell you that I have some secret desire to know everything you’ve been through since I sent you that awful letter, but to be honest?” She hesitated. “I don’t know if I really want to know. All I know is that when you showed up yesterday, I felt . . . okay. Not great, not good, but not bad, either. And that’s the thing. For the last six months, all I’ve done is feel bad. I wake up every day nervous and tense and angry and frustrated and terrified that I’m going to lose the man I married. That’s all I feel until the sun goes down,” she went on. “Every single day, all day long, for the past six months. That’s my life right now, but the hard part is that from here on in, I know it’s only going to get worse. Now there’s the added responsibility of trying to find some way to help my husband. Of trying to find a treatment that might help. Of trying to save his life.”
She paused and looked closely at me, trying to gauge my reaction.
I knew there were words to comfort Savannah, but as usual, I didn’t know what to say. All I knew was that she was still the woman I’d once fallen in love with, the woman I still loved but could never have.
“I’m sorry,” she said eventually, sounding spent. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” She gave a fragile smile. “I just wanted you to know that I’m glad you’re here.”
I focused on the wood grain of the table, trying to 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.