Nocturne(88)

I stared at my drink. And tried not to think about it. Because one thing I’d always been was someone who could look in the mirror with pride. But twice now ... both times with Savannah ... I’d destroyed that. The first time, when I didn’t risk it. When I didn’t go after her. When I told James I’d cut off contact. It broke her heart, and it broke my soul.

The second time ... hard to believe it was only twenty-four hours ago. Twenty-four hours to ruin my life. Twenty-four hours to break her heart. I loved Savannah, and I’d do anything, anything at all, to have her in my life.

And she was the one thing I couldn’t have.

I tossed back my second drink then leaned my head on my hands for just a moment, rubbing my eyes. I kept them closed, leaning that way. Then I heard a voice.

Her voice.

She sounded exhausted, her voice rough, gravelly almost.

“Another gin and tonic for him. Red wine for me.”

I lifted my face from my hands. And Savannah sat down across from me.





Gregory


Every few minutes a light flashed by, the railcar rocked periodically, and the wheels rattled with their own rhythmic beauty as the train sped through the darkness. I don’t know how much further we travelled before we spoke. It could have been a hundred yards, or it could have been a hundred miles. I stared at her, rocking a little in my seat as the car moved.

She had dark circles under her eyes, which didn’t suit her at all, and her face was even more pale than normal. She sat back and sipped her wine and seemed to study me.

“Does this mean we’re speaking again?” I asked.

“We never stopped speaking. I just needed time to think.” As she said the words, she looked almost drained of emotion. She let out a long sigh, and I must have mirrored it, because her mouth quirked up on one side in a tiny smile.

“Tired?” I asked.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she replied, raising one eyebrow. Her tone was light, and she looked at me over her plastic wine glass as she said the words.

I swallowed, sudden tension in the air. Did this mean she was over her sudden anger? Or ... what did it mean? Why did she joke about something so intense? So deeply personal between the two of us?

The hell of it was, the night we’d just had together? It was … everything. It meant everything. It was so much more than sex. So much more than anything I’d ever experienced, even more than our fumbling first night five years before. More than I’d even imagined.

I couldn’t get a grip on my feelings, because every time I thought of her, I was overwhelmed. Every time I thought of last night I was overwhelmed.

Every time I thought of her whispering, I love us.

“Sometimes I don’t understand you,” I said.

She snorted, raising one eyebrow and looking at me with an expression that bordered on amusement. Then she took a long drink from her wine. “Did you seriously just say that, Gregory? You don’t understand me?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to tell me what you’re thinking.”

I sighed, then leaned forward and took a sip of my gin. “What I’m thinking, Savannah, is that … last night ... was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

She frowned and shook her head. “You didn’t look so happy in the morning. When your wife called.”

I shook my head impatiently. “That’s not as simple a situation as you might think.”

“What’s complicated about it?”

I sighed. I didn’t know how to answer, because it was a mess. I didn’t love Karin. I should never have married her. I’d done it in a moment of heartbreak and loneliness, two years after Savannah left, knowing I’d lost her forever. Not even realizing that I’d condemned myself by doing so.

There was no right answer. There was no excuse. And no matter what happened with Savannah, no matter what happened with Karin, the fact of the matter was, I was the one who was wrong. Every single step of the way. I wanted Savannah so badly it was like a wound that wouldn't heal. I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to make it right.

Then, before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I can’t promise you anything.”

“You what?” she asked. Her tone of voice implied irritation. Disgust.

“Listen to me,” I said. Fumbling. Confused. Unsure of myself.

“I’m listening,” she said, “but you aren’t making any sense.”

I swallowed and closed my eyes. Then I opened them and met her eyes. She shifted in her seat, and as I spoke the next words, I had the feeling that I’d taken a headlong rush off a cliff.

“You’re my heart, Savannah. Not in it. Not a part of it. I’m consumed by you. Obsessed by you. I need you in my life any way I can have you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

She frowned then looked away. Her face seemed to tremble. She looked back and whispered, “I’ve always loved you.”

I looked at the table. “Last night was undeniably the best night of my life.”

She rolled her eyes and waved at the waiter, indicating another round. I was an unsteady mess as it was, but another drink would just be more of the same.

“Savannah, I need you to listen to me.”