coffee, then collapsed at the kitchen counter, her robe trailing behind like a tattered superhero’s cape.
Neenie set a mug of the dark tonic and a spoon in front of her and returned to her large wooden bowl of bread dough.
“Thank you,” Savannah said. “And good morning.” Her throat was dry and the few words squeaked out only half-said.
“Morning’?” Neenie looked askance at her. “The morning’ s long gone. It’s pretty near noon.”
Savannah winced at the reprimanding tone in Neenie’s voice and watched as the brown hands sunk into the billowing yeast mixture. Turning, and punching until the floury balloon was half its size. She sprinkled more flour on top and spread a clean dish towel over the bowl, setting it aside for the dough to rise again.
Savannah rested her head on her palm, her elbow on the counter.
“Where are the kids?” The words stretched out with a yawn.
“They’re long gone, too. Up with the birds and out they went, barely time to get a piece of toast in them before they flew outta here.” Her head shook, but Savannah saw her lips turn upward. “Kids. Always running.”
“I know. I wish I had the energy.” She stirred her coffee and watched the little ripples follow her spoon. Leaning over her cup she breathed deeply as last night’s events untangled themselves, only to collide and snarl again. Disjointed images surfaced and teased, then faded before her eyes. How many sleeping pills had she taken? She couldn’t recall.
You’re such a fool.
She shuddered at her recklessness, unable to recognize the woman who had tossed aside the good sense she was born with to go chasing her libido. She’d managed to escape last night, but what about next time?
There won’t be a next time.
Or won’t there?
She couldn’t be sure of anything anymore, because she didn’t know the eyes reflected in her coffee cup. This common, shameless adulterer.
Almost-adulterer . As if that were any consolation.
After a long silence, Savannah whispered, “Neenie, what am I going to do?” The words hung in the air, refugees looking for a safe haven.
Neenie turned from the sink as if she’d been expecting them. She poured herself a slow cup of coffee and positioned herself on one of the stools next to Savannah. Her lap spread out under a flowered apron, ready for whatever Savannah needed to put there.
“The question is, child, what do you want to do?”
“I want to be happy.”
“That’s too big.” Neenie shook her head. “What does happy look like, anyway?”
“I can’t remember.”
Happy was a wayward balloon with a string she couldn’t quite grasp no matter how high she jumped. Happy belonged to the barefoot summer girl of her youth. It didn’t live here.
“You have to start smaller.” Neenie was saying. “Baby steps towards glad. Then you keep on moving until you can find happy again.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”
“What if you only get one shot at it?”
“I don’t believe that. Lots of ways to be happy. You’ll find yours again.”
“Maybe.” It would be so much easier if she were a child again, able to crawl into Neenie’s lap, where everything was all right. “I need someone to point me in the right direction,” she said, wallowing in the sulk, lacking the strength to even lift her head to the possibility of happiness.
“Well, I know one place you won’t find it.”
Savannah looked up, eyebrows knitted together.
“In the bottom of a glass of vodka.”
Neenie sat back then and squared her shoulders, hands folded neatly in her lap, inviting a sharp rebuttal. Instead, Savannah’s shoulders collapsed and all the air went out of her lungs.
It was one thing to have Price taunting her, but to hear Neenie say it—was a cold water splash in the face. She wanted to turn away, hiding the shame dripping down her cheeks. She fumbled for an excuse, but something gave way. She was tired, and the shadows were such a lonely
Neenie set a mug of the dark tonic and a spoon in front of her and returned to her large wooden bowl of bread dough.
“Thank you,” Savannah said. “And good morning.” Her throat was dry and the few words squeaked out only half-said.
“Morning’?” Neenie looked askance at her. “The morning’ s long gone. It’s pretty near noon.”
Savannah winced at the reprimanding tone in Neenie’s voice and watched as the brown hands sunk into the billowing yeast mixture. Turning, and punching until the floury balloon was half its size. She sprinkled more flour on top and spread a clean dish towel over the bowl, setting it aside for the dough to rise again.
Savannah rested her head on her palm, her elbow on the counter.
“Where are the kids?” The words stretched out with a yawn.
“They’re long gone, too. Up with the birds and out they went, barely time to get a piece of toast in them before they flew outta here.” Her head shook, but Savannah saw her lips turn upward. “Kids. Always running.”
“I know. I wish I had the energy.” She stirred her coffee and watched the little ripples follow her spoon. Leaning over her cup she breathed deeply as last night’s events untangled themselves, only to collide and snarl again. Disjointed images surfaced and teased, then faded before her eyes. How many sleeping pills had she taken? She couldn’t recall.
You’re such a fool.
She shuddered at her recklessness, unable to recognize the woman who had tossed aside the good sense she was born with to go chasing her libido. She’d managed to escape last night, but what about next time?
There won’t be a next time.
Or won’t there?
She couldn’t be sure of anything anymore, because she didn’t know the eyes reflected in her coffee cup. This common, shameless adulterer.
Almost-adulterer . As if that were any consolation.
After a long silence, Savannah whispered, “Neenie, what am I going to do?” The words hung in the air, refugees looking for a safe haven.
Neenie turned from the sink as if she’d been expecting them. She poured herself a slow cup of coffee and positioned herself on one of the stools next to Savannah. Her lap spread out under a flowered apron, ready for whatever Savannah needed to put there.
“The question is, child, what do you want to do?”
“I want to be happy.”
“That’s too big.” Neenie shook her head. “What does happy look like, anyway?”
“I can’t remember.”
Happy was a wayward balloon with a string she couldn’t quite grasp no matter how high she jumped. Happy belonged to the barefoot summer girl of her youth. It didn’t live here.
“You have to start smaller.” Neenie was saying. “Baby steps towards glad. Then you keep on moving until you can find happy again.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”
“What if you only get one shot at it?”
“I don’t believe that. Lots of ways to be happy. You’ll find yours again.”
“Maybe.” It would be so much easier if she were a child again, able to crawl into Neenie’s lap, where everything was all right. “I need someone to point me in the right direction,” she said, wallowing in the sulk, lacking the strength to even lift her head to the possibility of happiness.
“Well, I know one place you won’t find it.”
Savannah looked up, eyebrows knitted together.
“In the bottom of a glass of vodka.”
Neenie sat back then and squared her shoulders, hands folded neatly in her lap, inviting a sharp rebuttal. Instead, Savannah’s shoulders collapsed and all the air went out of her lungs.
It was one thing to have Price taunting her, but to hear Neenie say it—was a cold water splash in the face. She wanted to turn away, hiding the shame dripping down her cheeks. She fumbled for an excuse, but something gave way. She was tired, and the shadows were such a lonely
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