CHAPTER17
Susan had chartered a small plane to fly them to Marco Island. It was wonderfully convenient, though there were moments when Savannah wished they’d been on a crowded commercial flight. With only three of them in the cabin, well behind the pilot and copilot, the silence was awkward. It didn’t bode well for a relaxing weekend.
Susan was angry. She felt betrayed, hurt, jealous—so much so that she couldn’t begin to analyze all that churned inside her. She had considered canceling the weekend, but spending Saturday and Sunday with Savannah and Megan, as depressing as it promised to be, was less odious than spending a lonely weekend partying in Newport. Still, she barely looked at Savannah, and when she did, her eyes were sharp. She talked some with Megan, and gave brief answers to anything Savannah asked, but for the most part, she kept to herself. More out of defiance than thirst, she held a drink in her hand the entire time.
Megan was nearly as quiet as Susan. Sitting by the window, she spent most of the trip staring out at the clouds, wishing she were back in the cocoon of her house in Providence. She didn’t want to see people, or have people see her. She was convinced that the entire world knew about the kidnapping and would be staring. Yet she had agreed to come of her own accord. For one thing, Will needed a break. He’d been frantic with worry; she wanted to show him that she was on the mend. For another, she had fond memories of times in Florida with Savannah and Susan; she’d been helplessly lured by that spirit. And finally, she knew that she couldn’t hide forever. She had something important to do when she got back. She had to be strong.
It was hard, though. She could talk with Susan or Savannah, but only briefly and on the most mundane of topics. Inevitably a phrase or word or expression would trigger something inside her, and she’d remember what she’d done and then she would be swamped with guilt. She prayed things would improve as the weekend passed.
Savannah, too, kept her hopes high. The house on Marco Island was large and open. The pool was lovely, the private beach warm, clean, and quiet. And then there was the Florida sun. Savannah was convinced that given several hours of that, their moods would mellow and their tongues would loosen. They badly needed to talk as they used to, heart to heart, all three of them.
Of course, when they arrived at the villa it was nearly ten at night, which ruled out the therapeutic effects of pool, beach, or sun. They were enthusiastically greeted by the Stockleys, the English couple who tended the house. Husband and wife kept up a running conversation through a light snack, after which both Megan and Susan pleaded exhaustion. Savannah sat for a while on the back veranda overlooking the ocean, wishing she were back with Jared, then feeling guilty for wishing it. She could hardly believe that he loved her, and she didn’t quite know what to do about it. When she thought of him, she felt alternately exhilarated and terrified. Neither emotion was appropriate for the weekend. She had her work cut out for her.
Megan was the first to awaken the next morning, but she lay in bed for an hour, half hoping that the others would be basking in the sun by the time she went down. They weren’t. Savannah was on the patio, reading the morning paper, savoring the fresh strawberries and cream that Mrs. Stockley had set out. She looked up and smiled broadly when Megan joined her.
“Just in time. If you’d been much later, I might well have eaten them all.” She pushed the silver serving bowl toward Megan and dipped her head toward a chair. “Sit. Eat. They’re delicious.”
Megan sat and helped herself to a few strawberries. “Is Susan up?”
“No.” With studied ease, Savannah looked at the paper while Megan began to eat. After several minutes, she glanced up. “How was your sleep?”
“Not bad.” Megan gave a small, self-conscious grin. “I missed listening to the radio. At least he’s not on tonight, so there won’t be anything to miss.”
Jared.Savannah’s heart knocked against her ribs for a minute before stilling. Megan was going to have to know about Jared, too, but this wasn’t the time. “Would you like to see the paper?”
Megan shook her head. “The paper can be just as depressing as real life.”
“Real life doesn’t have to be depressing.” When Megan rolled her eyes, Savannah asked, “How’s everything with Will?”
“Just fine.”
Savannah nearly left it at that. But something goaded her on. After another minute or two of silence, she said gently, “He told me things were tight financially. I suggested he hire a financial adviser. The right person could help.”
Megan didn’t answer at first, and when she did, her eyes were averted. “I’ve told him that, too, but he’s resisted the idea. He’s a proud man.”
“Which can be a strength or a weakness.”
“Mmm.” She lowered her eyes then and concentrated on her strawberries. At the same time, Mrs. Stockley emerged to pour hot coffee and take orders for eggs. When Megan declined the offer, the portly woman wasn’t pleased.
“You’ve lost weight, Megan. Beautiful as ever, but skinny. Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she said with a raised finger. “You’re thinking that I’m jealous because I wish I was thin, and you may be right. But still, I’ve only got you for two days and in that time I see it as my responsibility to feed you right. Therefore, what will you have? One, two, or three eggs? Soft-boiled, poached, scrambled, or fried?”
Megan couldn’t help but smile. “Some things never change,” she told Savannah, then said to Mrs. Stockley, “One egg, easy over.”
“Two eggs, easy over, with a croissant,” Mrs. Stockley said as though repeating the order, and then turned to Savannah. “Your regular?”
Savannah grimaced. Her regular was two eggs scrambled with cheese, and a pecan roll. “I haven’t had that since the last time I was here.” She sucked in her stomach and looked from Mrs. Stockley to Megan. “Do I dare?”
“You dare,” Mrs. Stockley said and vanished before Savannah could argue.
Moments later, Susan swept onto the patio. While Savannah was wrapped in a muted sarong and Megan wore a long toweling robe, Susan was more dramatic in a flowing white caftan. It was a perfect foil for her toenails, which were painted scarlet, and her red hair, which was a wild tumble of curls made even wilder by the warmth of the southern air.
Apprehensive, but determined not to show it, Savannah offered a casual, “Hi, Suse.”
Susan looked annoyed. “So bright and chipper.” Softening, she asked Megan, “How’re you doing, hon?”
“Not bad.” Megan gazed out toward the gulf. “It’s a gorgeous day.”
Ignoring Susan’s snub, Savannah followed Megan’s gaze. She’d always loved the view from the patio, particularly when the sun was high in a clear blue sky, as it was now. Its rays danced between the fronds of tall palm trees to sprinkle the surface of the kidney-shaped pool with fairy dust. Beyond the pool was a sandy beach, and beyond that, the waves. She remembered likening Jared’s coloring to blue sky over a sandy beach. The thought warmed her.
