Souvenir (17 page)

Her first thought was to blurt, “You’re supposed to be in Boston.”

“I detoured for an early birthday present,” he said, as Savannah joined them.

More like a belated apology, Meg thought. It was a bit much, and hardly the kind of thing she cared about, especially now. She tried to look pleased, though, and managed a falsely hearty, “Wow.”

Savannah ran her hand over the hood. “Usually I don’t like these gasguzzlers…but I guess they can be practical; half my team could ride in there at once, which would save someone else from driving.”

“They could watch movies in there too,” Brian said. He came and took Meg’s hand. “Well? Do you like it?”

“Of course.” What was there to not like? “But really, my car’s perfectly fine.”

“It’s six years old. I have a new car, Savannah’s about to get one—I didn’t want you to feel left out.” Team Hamilton. “Besides,” he added, “this gives us practical options we didn’t have before. I could borrow it if, say, I have a big group of clients in.”

Savannah opened the driver’s door. “Can we take it tonight? Please? It’s so spacious—and I
was
gonna watch a DVD tonight, before I had to pack. This way I don’t have to miss it.”

Brian put the keys in Meg’s hand and said, “By the way, the color? It’s called ‘Savannah Metallic.’ Perfect, huh?”

Perfect.

Twenty-five

S
AVANNAH TURNED OVER ONTO HER BELLY AND UNTIED THE RED STRINGS OF
her bikini top, aware that a pair of balding men whose hairy guts overhung their swim trunks kept looking at her. Their stares made her uncomfortable in one way, pleased her in another; men liked the way she looked, a truth that surprised and flattered her. She didn’t look at the men directly, preferring to leave a safe distance between herself and any man who wasn’t Kyle. Kyle, who she would see in twenty-four hours. Her anticipation grew with each sweep of the minute hand on her World Wildlife Federation watch, making her too anxious to eat. That was fine; she could lose another pound before tomorrow afternoon, when it would be Kyle’s eyes devouring her instead.

The pool deck was filling with hotel guests now, at four o’clock. She watched groups of overdressed old ladies in wide hats and pants and long sleeves; perky moms with toddlers in swim diapers; loud, mouthy school-age kids screaming “Marco!” “Polo!” “Marco!” “Polo!” in the pool’s shallow end.

Her mom had called an hour earlier to say she’d be back by six. Her voice was as weary as Savannah had ever heard it, so as soon as they ended the call, she booked her a massage appointment for six-thirty. Hopefully that would revive her, destress her from whatever was making the day so rough. And if the massage didn’t do it, the concert definitely would.

Closing her eyes, she let the tilting afternoon sunshine color her vision bright orange, the color of zinnias, marigolds, oranges—obviously oranges; she thought about how Carson McKay’s parents grew oranges and grapefruit and lemons, and how her mom and aunts had been able to run over to the orchards any time they wanted, just pick fruit from the trees and eat it on the spot. The last time she visited her grandparents’ house, just after her grandma died, she’d walked across the pasture to the fence edge, where the bushy fruit trees were visible, lining the land like stalwart soldiers ready to fight colds and scurvy—did anyone even get scurvy anymore? She’d wanted to hide herself in the rows, the thick green canopy like a blanket protecting her from the world, from her loss. She half believed she might find her grandma there, waiting with an understanding smile and supportive hug. It was funny how her grandma had always seemed to have time for her—not just
found
time, but
made
time. Went out of her way to call or come over just to go to the park or wander the mall together. Awful as it sounded, she wished it was her grandpa who’d died, if someone had to. Death was so unfair.

The song she’d been trying to compose was dedicated to her Grandma Anna, and she was trying to tread a line between edgy melancholy and gratitude. It wasn’t coming out right because she was still angrier to have lost her than she was grateful to have had her, that was what her music theory teacher said at her lesson Tuesday. Lying here, the bright orange of her vision shifting to wild geometrics of dark orange and red, she played the tune over in her mind again, thinking of how she might push the sound away from angry. Fewer chord changes, or maybe space them farther apart? What if she layered in an upbeat melody line, something Sheryl Crow–like? Tuning out the noise of the yelling, splashing kids, she mentally ran through some possibilities, wishing she’d thought to bring her guitar. Not only could she have tried out some of her ideas during her downtime, she could’ve taken the guitar with them tonight, gotten it autographed.

Another tune distracted her, and it took a third ring for her to realize it was her phone, stored inside her green canvas purse. Forgetting that she’d untied her top, she propped herself on her elbows and leaned over to reach the phone. She realized she was half naked at the same moment a preschool boy yelled, “Boobies!”

She dropped onto her towel, mortified, and dug out the phone.

“Hello?”

“Babe!”

“Kyle, hi!” she said, the horror of her mistake lessened by the sound of his voice. “Can you hold on two seconds?” She set the phone down and tied her top securely, then sat up and wrapped her towel around her.
No more free shows today
, she thought, not brave enough to even glance the way of her earlier admirers.

Phone to her ear, she said, “Sorry—I, um, I’m laying out at the pool, and I had to put my bikini back on.” Why not use the truth to keep his interest at full steam? Sure, she wanted him to like her for more substantial reasons than her looks, than sex, but wasn’t her body and her sexuality also an important part of who she was? He should love all of her.

Kyle whistled. “I’m real sorry to be stuck here in the swamp, man, I’ll tell you that!”

“Yeah…well, tomorrow’s not so long to wait, right?”

“Five minutes is too long to wait, if you ask me.”

His sultry voice sent a thrill from the pit of her stomach straight south. She shifted on the deck chair and decided she should turn the conversation in a safer direction, at least while she was in public. She said cheerfully, “So, what’s up?”

“Well, I had the afternoon off, so I took a nap, right? And I had this dream about you.”

“You did? What was it?”

“You want me to tell you?” he said. “’Cause it’s kind of…personal, if you know what I mean. Kinda sexy, you know?”

This wasn’t turning out to be safer at all. She liked it, though. “That’s, um, that’s cool.”

“Oh, no, no, no, not
cool. Hot.
It was definitely hot.”

Embarrassed, Savannah stared at her toenails, painted a deep plum to match the shirt she was going to wear to the concert. Kyle’s suggestive responses made her feel the way the stares of the overweight men had—uncomfortable and intrigued at the same time. She wished she had more experience with this stuff. What if, when they were face-to-face, he’d be able to tell she wasn’t even close to sexually experienced—let alone twenty years old? What if he got mad, or demanded to see her driver’s license? She would just have to force herself to be bolder, not give him any reason to doubt her story—now or tomorrow.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening in. “Tell me.”

“So we were at some beach—it looked like Gulf side, right, like Tampa. And you were wearing that little flowered bikini, the one from your webpage.”

She could picture them together, Kyle shirtless, the calm water lapping at the sand. “Okay. Go on.”

“Is that the suit you’re wearing right now?”

“No, this one’s red with tiny white stars on it.”

“Huh, bet that’s real pretty too. Anyway, so you were telling me about some manatee that you’d named…I don’t know, Melanie or something, and okay, I was trying to listen, but what can I say? I’m a guy.” He laughed. “I was getting distracted by your body, so I was, well, hard, you know? So I pulled you against me and said, ‘I can’t wait one more minute. I need you
now
.’”

Savannah gulped, eyes wide. Two little girls of about six ran past her, their bare feet slapping the wet concrete, a younger little boy chasing them, carrying a squirt gun almost as big as himself.

“You there?” Kyle said.

“Yeah. Wow. That’s…that’s a good dream.”

“There’s more. You want to hear it?”

She wasn’t sure; she felt so far out into uncharted waters that she had no idea where the line was—or if there was a line. Would a twenty-year-old encourage him to spell out all the details? She thought of the ads she’d seen for that video about wild girls on spring break.
Those
girls would ask for all the details—and probably add a bunch of their own.

Kyle didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead he said, “I’ll just tell you this: it was, like, beautiful. Really romantic.”

Savannah sighed, charmed and relieved at the same time.

“Oh, there you are.” Her mom appeared from behind her. “No wonder I couldn’t get through.” She sat down on the end of the deck chair.

“Mom, hi!” Savannah said, trying to look innocent. “You’re early.” Into the phone she said, “I have to go, okay? I’m sorry—I’ll call you later.” She flipped the phone closed fast.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your fun.”

Savannah felt as if her face would catch flame any second. Her fun? Could her mom somehow sense what she’d been talking about? “Oh, no, it’s fine. I was just, um, talking to Rachel. She was…saying how we should buy her a souvenir T-shirt tonight.”

“Okay,” her mom said, with no trace of suspicion. “But I wouldn’t expect there to be any McKay band tees, since this was a last-minute thing.”

Savannah nodded, studiedly gathering up her sunscreen and book and phone and stuffing it all into her purse. “Yeah, well, maybe the club will have cool ones.”

“Maybe. So, how about some dinner?” her mom asked, and Savannah noticed a too-bright edge to her voice, something forced and tight that was different from her usual long-day sound.

“I’m not hungry yet. Are you okay?”

“Oh, sure, I’m fine. Tired. Those meetings today just wouldn’t seem to end. The sessions are like that sometimes.” She stood up, and Savannah stood too. “And you know, I’m not hungry either.”

“Okay, well, I made you an appointment with the masseuse for six-thirty. Is that cool?”

Her mom’s eyebrows rose above the top of her sunglasses. “No kidding? That was thoughtful of you. But, I’m not sure—”

“You don’t have to. I mean, I just thought maybe, you know, after a busy day—”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She kissed Savannah, a quick peck near her ear. “No, I
do
want to go—what about you? Did you want one too, or…”

“I got a pedicure already,” Savannah said, sticking out her foot, now clad in her dyed-red hemp flip-flops. “I’ll just take a shower and watch TV or something till you get back.”

She followed her mom into the hotel, noticing, first, the sloppiness of her mom’s hair—coiled hurriedly into a loose bun and secured by a crooked gold clip. And was she limping a little? Just the slightest bit? Letting the space between them widen as they walked through the pool lobby and to the elevators, Savannah looked more closely. It was something in the uneven rise of her mom’s left shoulder, accentuated by the rise and fall of the cream linen jacket at the shoulder and lower, at the hip.

“Did you hurt your leg or something?” she asked at the elevator.

“What? Oh, no. Well, yes—that is, I have a blister. New shoes.”

That sounded plausible, but Savannah sensed that something else was going on. The messy hair was so abnormal—it made her wonder, suddenly, if her mom had spent the day in bed with some man. But no, that was
crazy
, just her Kyle-influenced mind talking. She couldn’t imagine her mom having sex with anyone, not even her dad. What she could imagine—not about her mom—was what Kyle had been describing just before her mom showed up. He wanted her, dreamed about her—was there a bigger thrill than knowing that?

W
HEN HER MOM WAS GONE TO HAVE THE MASSAGE
, S
AVANNAH CALLED
Kyle and apologized.

“My mom showed up—I am
so
sorry I hung up on you.”

He laughed. “Keeping me a secret, huh?”

“No! I mean, why would I? I just haven’t gotten a chance to talk about you, that’s all. My mom’s been tired and stressed out so—”

“Don’t sweat it, babe. There’s time for all that, plenty of time. Now listen, make sure you don’t, you know, hook up with anybody at the show tonight. I want you to save yourself for me.”

She had saved herself for him, all right. The thing about sex, as far as she’d heard, was that teenage guys weren’t so great at it. A guy Kyle’s age, on the other hand, should know what he was doing. She didn’t want to be anybody’s guinea pig. Didn’t her dad always say, “If you’re going to bother to do something, do it right”?

“The only guy I want to talk to tonight is Carson McKay,” Savannah said.

“Who would jump on you in a hot second, from what I hear—dude’s marrying a chick barely older than you!”

“Please! He’s my mom’s age—and anyway, they used to know each other, remember? I told you that last night.”

“Yeah, but still.”

“Anyway, she hasn’t seen him in a long time, but we might get backstage when she tells whoever that they’re old friends.”

“Pretty awesome. You should, like, ask if you can join his band. You’re really good.”

Savannah grinned. She’d played for him over the phone and he had seemed truly impressed. “He’s got a full-time guitarist, but thanks. Listen, I need to get ready to go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Be thinkin’ of you,” he said suggestively.

“Me too.” This time it was easier to flirt—it was just a matter of practice, like anything else.

After hanging up, she pressed the phone to her chest. Finally, life was
happening
—to her! She couldn’t explain it, but she had the strongest feeling that she had come to the crest of a hill and in no time at all, everything in her life was going to change.