“Are you shaking?”
“I’m too tired for that. I’m just lying down.”
That didn’t sound like the Savannah he’d come to know. If she wasn’t asleep, she was awake and doing something. He felt a glimmer of concern. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Sure.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Can I come over?”
“Uh-uh. I’d be lousy company.”
“I’m not asking for a barrel of laughs. I’ll read while you rest.”
“No. I think I’d rather be alone. Just to come down a little. Okay?”
“Sure,” he said, but the minute he hung up the phone, he knew that it wasn’t. Savannah didn’t sound right to him. If something was bothering her, he wanted to know what it was. He wanted to know what “coming down a little” meant.
She was used to being alone. He wanted her to get unused to it.
Without risking another refusal, he drove to her townhouse, then had to wait too long for comfort after he’d rung the bell. Finally, she answered the door.
Her face was bare of makeup, her hair tumbling past her shoulders. Her long robe was wrapped tightly around her and sashed at the waist, and her bare feet looked fragile. In fact, she looked fragile all over, he realized. Yes, she looked tired. More, she looked washed out.
“I was worried,” he said to explain his presence, and stepped inside before she could protest.
Not that she would have done that. Deep down inside, she was glad he’d come. She’d told him not to, still he was there, which pointed to things like concern and affection. It also pointed to strength. He had countermanded her request. Few men she had known recently would have done that.
More than anything, though, she was glad not to be alone.
Quietly, she returned to the living room sofa and lay down, curling her legs beneath the robe. He hunkered down before her.
“Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I’m okay.”
He touched her cheek. It was cool, as was her hand, which he enveloped in his. “Congratulations on the case. You should be proud of yourself. I’m proud of you.”
She gave a weak smile and whispered, “Thanks.”
“You came across beautifully on the news. Beautiful, and beautifully.”
Again she gave him a weak smile, but it didn’t last long. In the instant before she closed her eyes, he could have sworn he saw a well of sadness in them. Lightly, he stroked her hair.
“Is there a letdown at the end of a trial?”
“Sometimes,” she said without opening her eyes. “You’ve been living and breathing the trial for days, suddenly it’s gone.”
“Is that what you’re feeling now?”
It was a minute before she answered. “No. I’m relieved it’s over. It’s been a tough one. I’ve had a lot else on my mind.”
“Like Megan?”
“And you.”
