“It’s not inappropriate at all. It’s exactly what this discussion’s about.”
“Do I ask you what you do in bed? Did I ever ask where or how often you and Dirk made love?”
Susan’s head was tipped at that same slightly haughty angle. “No, but you could have. Dirk and I made love wherever the mood took us, usually four or five times a week. We tried positions you’ve probably never even heard of. There was one that we used in the car one night—”
Hands over her ears, Savannah interrupted her. “I don’t want to hear this.”
But Susan was on a roll. Making Savannah squirm gave her perverse pleasure. “Maybe you’d rather hear about what I do with Sam. He’s a beautiful animal, Savannah. Has the rhythm and the moves. I’ve never seen a man with such sweet glory between his legs—”
It was Megan who quietly interrupted her. “Don’t, Susan.”
“Don’t what?”
“Cheapen something that should be private and beautiful. If you enjoy Sam, that’s great. But don’t tell us the intimate details.”
Susan hadn’t expected criticism from that quarter. “You wanted intimate details about Jared Snow.”
“Details, but not intimate. I don’t want to know the really private things. It’s embarrassing.”
Susan looked from one face to the other in disbelief. “What’s the matter with you two? We used to sit around discussing things like this all the time. All of a sudden, you’ve both gone prudish on me.”
“Some things are sacred,” Megan said and focused unseeingly on the beach. She was thinking about Will, thinking about how beautiful loving used to be between them and how she couldn’t even undress in front of him now. The bruises were fading, but their memory remained. When she thought of Will entering her body, she thought of those other, brutal invasions.
It didn’t take a genius to interpret the stricken look on her face. Susan went very quiet, while Savannah put her hand on Megan’s. “It’ll get better,” she said softly. “It will, Meggie.”
Megan averted her eyes, then nodded, and Mrs. Stockley chose that moment to return with breakfast, giving them a diversion. Only when the older woman had returned to the kitchen with Susan’s order did Savannah speak.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended either of you for not having mentioned Jared sooner. Maybe I should have, but I thought I was doing the best thing.”
Having vented her anger, and having been sobered by Megan’s look, Susan was calming down. It still irked her that Savannah hadn’t seen fit to tell her about Jared. Mostly it irked her that Savannah, who had so much else, should have Jared at all. But the fact was that having seen the man in person, Susan wasn’t interested in him. Sure, he was handsome and had stud proportions. But those proportions didn’t set off any sparks inside her. Certainly not in the way Sam’s did, damn his Neanderthal hide.
“Is it a big thing—your relationship with him?” she asked Savannah, cautious but curious.
“I’m not sure,” Savannah answered, then realized that if, as it seemed, Susan was setting enmity aside, she owed her more than equivocation. “Yes,” she corrected, “it’s a big thing. But I don’t know where it will lead. You’re right. I have a career. If he wants a woman to be waiting at home with a gourmet dinner each night, he’s got the wrong one.”
“He wouldn’t want that,” Megan said. “Not Jared Snow.”
“How would you know?” Susan asked, but teasingly.
“I just know.” Megan looked at Savannah. “Then again, better not listen to me. I seem to be striking out a lot lately.”
“Oh, hush,” Savannah scolded. “Eat your breakfast.” She was greatly relieved when Megan did just that, because she didn’t want anything to reverse the ease in tension that had miraculously emerged in the wake of Susan’s attack. There would be time to talk more later. For now, it was enough that the ice had been broken.
***
They spent what was left of the morning and most of the afternoon lounging by the pool, alternately bathing in the sun and reading in the shade. Though they didn’t talk much, there was a sense of quiet camaraderie sweetened by memories of such times past when they had been vacationing from school or simply escaping for several days of enjoying idleness and each other. Now, as then, they didn’t stray from the house, not even to eat out. Mrs. Stockley was as good a cook as any chef and far more willing.
After dinner that night, they settled into Adirondack chairs on the back veranda. The night air was warm, redolent with the scent of lush greenery and the sea. Moon shadows played over the pool, but the real romance lay in the play of light on the waves.
They sat in varied poses—Savannah with one knee crossed over the other, Megan with her legs bent and her heels tucked against her bottom, Susan with her feet propped up on the wood railing before her. Each sipped from a slender glass of Amaretto.
For a time, they were lost in silent musings. Then Susan, who hadn’t had more to drink than a glass of wine with dinner and now the liqueur, sighed and said, “How complicated life becomes as we get older. I think back to the times we used to come here. Our greatest worry was who to date. Things were so simple. We were so young.”
Savannah turned her head against the wide wooden slats of the chair and said, “You make us sound ancient.”
“Sometimes I feel it. Sometimes I think that the best years of my life are behind me. Look at my hands.” She held them up, graceful in the dim light from the house. “I see lines that weren’t there a year ago, and I know that they won’t go away. The body doesn’t lie.”
Savannah gave a soft laugh. “You’re gorgeous, Susan. I can’t believe you’re worried about a few lines on your hands. You’re not getting older; you’re getting better.”
