A Marriage Made In Joeville. Anne Eames
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bed.
Jenny leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “At least the wedding invitations weren’t sent out yet.”
Savannah stopped packing and dropped cross-legged on the braided oval rug. “He could have told me a long time ago there was someone else.” She shook her head, feeling the familiar sting of betrayal.
“You told me you weren’t sure he was the one, anyway. So why the long face?”
Savannah bowed her head, the heat of a sudden blush traveling up her neck. She stole a peek at Jenny’s cocked eyebrow, then lowered her gaze again. “Because now I’m the dumpee, not the dumper.” And after a lifetime of self-doubts, she still felt like that frumpy little fat girl of her youth, regardless of her metamorphosis.
“I’d prefer to think you made the decision and he simply forced your hand.” Jenny’s tone softened as she pushed off the jamb and moved closer. “All things considered, isn’t it for the best?”
Savannah glanced up and caught Jenny’s tender look. “I guess so.” Then with more enthusiasm, she added, “You’re right, as usual.”
Jenny nodded her head and knelt down. “Smart girl.” After a brief reflection, she tugged at Savannah’s arm and pulled them both to their feet.
“Come on, kiddo. That was over a month ago. No point beating yourself up over it again.” She wrapped an arm around Savannah’s shoulder and ushered her to the white wicker love seat angled in the corner of the room. They sat sideways on overstuffed chintz cushions, tucked their legs beneath them and eyed each other.
“Tell me, Jen. Have you ever been passionately in love? You know, the kind of goose-bumpy feeling whenever he walks into a room, or brushes a part of you accidentally?”
Jen looked away with exaggerated wistfulness, then back in a flash. “No.”
“Never?”
“Passionately in lust? Oh, yeah. But not what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe I’m the incurable romantic for holding out so long, but geesh, Jen, somebody better come along pretty soon. I’m almost thirty, for Pete’s sake!” She let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I can almost hear my mother saying, ‘If you don’t use it, it’ll get rusty.’ ”
“Your mother.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Now there’s a woman to emulate. Where exactly in Europe is she this month?”
“This isn’t about my mother.” Savannah heard the defensiveness in her voice and was surprised it was there. Jenny had every reason to sound critical of a mother who’d abandoned a teenage daughter before the ink was dry on her father’s life insurance check.
Jenny poked Savannah’s knee with an index finger. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have dug up that old bone.” She squirmed in the corner of the sofa in a way that left no doubt they were changing the subject. In an airy, optimistic voice she said, “Look at it this way, something good came out of it. At long last you’re going to Montana to check out this passionate love I’ve been hearing about.”
Savannah looked across the clothes-strewn bed and wondered if her latest decision had been the right one...or just another impulsive folly.
“You don’t look too convinced, amigo,” Jenny said, looking askance. “Okay, let’s go through it one more time.” She turned and faced Savannah squarely. “In the seven years since I’ve known you, who do we end up talking about every time you break up with another guy?”
Savannah grabbed the pillow next to her and hugged it to her chest.
“Come on. Say it.”
“Ryder. Ryder Malone.” Savannah peeked out from under her lashes, her heart skipping faster at the mere mention of Ryder’s name. Amazing. Twelve years since he’d left Detroit, and he still had this powerful effect on her. “But you keep forgetting something, Jen. I was just his buddy, nothing more.” She expelled a weary sigh. “Time’s marched on. I’d be lucky if he even remembered me.”
“You know he’d remember you. That’s not why you’re worried.” She scooted closer and patted Savannah’s knee. “You’re afraid he won’t care.”
“You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
“I’m your friend, remember?” She tilted her head lower and waited for eye contact.
Savannah rewarded her with a smile. “How could I forget?” She squeezed Jenny’s hand then pushed off the love seat. “I’ll never get my packing done at this rate. And we still have that haircut and dye job to do.” She reached back and pulled Jenny’s hand. “Come on, friend. Get your butt in gear. You talked me into this little charade. The least you can do is help.”
Now it was Jenny’s turn to look dejected. She stood motionless in front of a wicker armrest.
“What? What did I say?” Savannah stared at the moisture rimming above Jenny’s lower lashes.
“I know it’s the right thing...you going to Montana, taking that job, getting to know Ryder again...but, God, Savannah. This apartment is going to seem awfully empty without you.”
“It’s just for the summer, maybe less—”
“No,” Jenny interrupted. “You’re never coming back.” She swept at a lone tear with the back of her hand.
The simple statement sucked Savannah’s breath away. Not the words, but the certainty with which they’d been spoken. Jenny had a way of saying things as though they were fact. And with an eerie insight she never quite understood, Savannah knew Jenny was always right when she used that distant, unwavering tone. She’d joke it was the Crow thing—the one-half native American blood that channeled through her veins, sending prophetic messages to her brain. Whatever it was, it rocked Savannah to the core. She lowered herself onto the foot of the bed.
“You could always move to Joeville with me,” Savannah said, not thinking for a second it would happen, but not wanting the separation, either. Jenny had been more than a friend. She’d been the sister Savannah never had, her confidante, her own personal clairvoyant. Even if things went perfectly with Ryder, which she found hard to believe, she couldn’t imagine going months or years without seeing her best friend.
Jenny sniffed and walked toward the headboard. “Ha! Could you picture me in Joeville, Montana? With all those cowboys and Indians?”
Yes, she could, but more importantly she didn’t miss the use of the word Indians. Jenny’s political incorrectness was intentional. It always was whenever her ancestry entered the conversation. Her father’s abandonment and mother’s bitterness toward an entire race had hung over Jenny like a large gray cloud in the shape of giant question mark. No. That wasn’t true. Only Savannah saw the cloud as a question mark. Jenny wouldn’t allow herself to question. To question was to bleed some more.
Jenny lifted a maroon and gold volume from the nightstand, finding the diversion she sought, and turned back with a devilish smile. “Hmm. What have we here? Class of ’85—”
“Oh, please. Don’t.” Savannah winced and prepared for the inevitable.
Jenny thumbed to the index in the back. “Let’s see...senior photo, page twenty-seven.” She fanned the pages backward, then stopped and covered her mouth with her hand. “So this is why you never showed me!”
“I know, I know. What a sight, huh?” Savannah crossed to Jenny’s side and grimaced at the image of her former self: braces, shoulder-length mousy brown hair, and at least an extra fifty pounds.
Jenny looked from the photo to Savannah then back to the page. “Too bad you don’t wear contacts so we could change those baby blues to green.” Looking up again, she said, “Still, just a little more work and he’ll never know it’s you.” She put the book down and swept Savannah’s hair back from her face with both hands. “Yep. Shorter and darker ought to do the trick.”