“No, no. I’m getting older. I’m getting older, Retin-A and all.”
“You got lots of sun today,” Megan reminded her.
“But I like looking tanned.”
“Then you’ll have to live with the wrinkles,” Savannah said.
Susan shot her a look. “You got color today, too. Aren’t you worried about your skin?”
“No. There are too many other things to worry about.”
“You don’t think about aging?”
“Oh, I think about it. When I’m forty, I’ll think about it more, and when I’m fifty, I’ll think about it even more. Right now, I’m more concerned with maturing than aging.”
Megan had always been intrigued by Savannah’s semantic distinctions. “What’s the difference?” she asked.
“Maturing implies positive growth. It represents all the good parts of aging.”
But Susan couldn’t see any. “Aging, maturing, getting older—one’s as bad as the next. I’m getting older. That’s all. I’m getting older, and what do I have to show for it?”
Savannah had to bite her tongue. She’d given Susan the solution to that problem time and time again, and wasn’t sure she wanted to argue about it now.
Megan wasn’t as hesitant. “You have things to show for it.”
“Like what?”
“Financial security.”
“I had that the day I was born.”
Which was one of the things Megan had always envied. But there were others. “You have lots of friends. You have positions on the boards of three different organizations—or is it four?”
“Five, but what is that worth? Really. I go to meetings several times a year. That’s it.”
“You could do more, if you wanted,” Savannah said before she could stop herself.
“Ah, yes. I could work. Well, that’s just fine for you to suggest. Your life is geared toward slavery. Mine isn’t.” In search of an ally, she turned to Megan. “Do you want to work?”
“I do work,” she answered. “I do the bookkeeping for the business.” She looked from one surprised face to the next. “Math was always my strong point. I’m a natural for the job.”
“But to do the bookkeeping for all that?” Susan said.
“It’s not so much.”
Savannah joined in. “I knew you did personal bills, but I hadn’t realized you did the rest.”
“Someone had to. Will couldn’t. He draws a blank when it comes to ledgers.”
“Aren’t the accounts done by computer?” Savannah asked.
Megan shook her head. “Will doesn’t like computers.”
“It’s all done byhand?” Susan asked. “Mistake, Meggie. Make him get a computer.”
Even in the dim light, Megan’s look was eloquent. Will wasn’t in the position to spend money on computers, any more than he was in the position to hire a financial adviser.
“At least,” Savannah said, “that explains the mess on the desk in your upstairs office. There were papers all over.” Her voice was soft, teasing. “Remember when we tripled senior year? Your things were totally scattered. You knew just where everything was and could always find whatever you wanted, but don’t ask me how. Neat you weren’t.”
