Paper Castles Page 4

  “People lose sight of who they’re supposed to be,” he said. “When they get away from the dirt and pile on top of one another in cities.”

  The Kendall children were given the blessing of a simple childhood, encouraged to roll up their dungarees and play in the marshes around Tybee Island. Kip, Savannah and Rebecca hunted for turtles, climbed trees and rode bikes on daring adventures, returning home exhausted and covered in red Georgia clay.

  Price Palmerton could trace his family roots to the Pilgrims. Because his blood ran so cobalt blue, he was expected to attend exclusive prep schools with a roster of influential students.

  In the beginning Savannah was impressed by Price’s pedigree, thrilled to marry into it, happy to adopt the Palmerton lineage for her herself and her children and proud to be the wife of a lawyer. Yet while her own father and brother, fiercely loved the law, Savannah quickly learned Price only loved what the law could give him: money and power.

  As the years went by, his career became one more thing to clash over.

  Savannah’s head jerked up. She’d been lost in her thoughts while the conversation swirled around her. Kip had been talking about Kennedy’s funeral, but now everyone’s attention had shifted to Price.

  “Actually, I have been giving it some thought.” Price put both elbows on the table and rested his chin on his laced fingers.

  “Giving what some thought?” Savannah asked.

  “Going into politics.”

  “Good God, that’s the last thing we need.” Savannah looked around the table, the startled expressions telling her the remark was ill-timed. Price’s lips tightened into a fine line.

  “I only meant... One congressman per family,” she said. “Let’s not be greedy.”

  Nervous laughter rippled around the table, but the damage had been done. Her mask had slipped.

  “YOU MADE an ass out of yourself tonight, Savannah.”

  “What else is new?” She was too tired to lace up her gloves for the sparring contest. Here they were, starring in a rerun of the Thanksgiving Post Show. When all the good-byes had been said and the door closed on the rest of the world, this little drama could play on for hours.

  “If you’re hell-bent on making a spectacle of yourself it would be so much more entertaining if you could put some thought into it. Your little one-act play is rather stale.”

  “What on earth are you talking about? Does everything have to be a riddle with you?”

  “I do not want my children to witness another outburst like the one this evening. I will not have my entire family embarrassed in their own home. Is that clear enough for you?”

  Savannah cringed at the mention of her children. Price always knew where to thrust the knife. She was sure the icy draft swirling around her and Price at the dinner table didn’t go unnoticed. A glacial breeze from the tip of their marriage’s iceberg. But the guests had likely attributed it to the stress of the assassination and not questioned it further.

  “And how did I make an ass of myself? By saying I think it’s a bad idea for you to get into politics? God forbid I speak the truth.”

  “Savannah, you wouldn’t recognize the truth if it was an ice cube floating in your vodka. And let’s be clear, vodka is the problem here.”

  “No. Vodka is a symptom.”

  Submerging her pain at the bottom of a glass wasn’t a plan. It was just something she’d slipped into little by little. She’d begun to dread Price coming home with that cold look on his face, and a drink or two became a comfy pair of slippers to ward off the chill. A couple of cocktails were just enough to blur the edges, so she could hold her own in his court of disapproval.

  There was no point in trying to engage him in his games since he was always so much better at them than she. And that’s all it was now, a game. No longer a marriage or a love to be salvaged. Their courtship was so far away she could barely make out the shadowy figures they used to be.

  Gone was the confident young woman who’d attracted the attention of the campus prince. In her place was a tattered paper doll with a smile drawn on her face. Dressed up and placed in the middle of a swirling party where everyone but her knew the steps to the dance.

  “Your audience has gone home. You can drop the dramatics. Besides...” Price waved her away as if she were a fly on a summer day. “I haven’t made any decisions, I simply stated I was thinking about it.”

  Savannah shook her head in bewilderment. “How in the world can you even contemplate running for office? Are you such a narcissist that you can’t see past your own reflection in the mirror?”

  Price sat in his favorite chair, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. He stared at his wife, as if weighing her worth against the importance of the argument. The scales tipped side to side: silent diplomatic tact on one pan, the thrill of arguing and being right on the other. In the end, Price always preferred the fight to the silence.

  “I see,” he said. “So your precious brother is fit for office, but I’m not?”

  “Are you serious, Price?” Savannah stepped out of her high heels and sat down on the sofa with a sigh. The ice cubes rattled in her glass as she bent over to rub an aching foot with her free hand. “How can you possibly think about opening up our family to such scrutiny? You and I are barely hanging on here.”

  Price shifted in his chair. “Maybe it would be good for us.”

  “How?”

  “We’d be together, working toward a common goal.”

  She almost laughed. “How altruistic of you. Apparently, you’ve already been working on your acceptance speech. Except it’s not a common goal. It’s your goal.”

  “The point is, it’s something we could do together. Isn’t that what you’re always harping about?”

  “It’s the farthest thing from what I’ve been talking about. And if you can’t see that, then you’re more lost than I thought.” She studied her husband’s chiseled, handsome face, looking for the boy who showed up on her doorstep wearing a letterman’s jacket. The ardent young man who searched eight stores to find her favorite chocolate and left love notes in her glove box. The face hadn’t changed, yet this man with his legs stretched out before him, feet casually crossed at the ankles, was unrecognizable.

  “I’ve been harping about you to spending more time with your family,” Savannah said.

  “I’m sorry I have to work such long hours to provide this incredible life of yours.”

  “This is your life too, Price. All of it.”

  “Poor Savannah, forced to live in the lap of luxury.”

  Savannah’s fist clenched, wanting to slap the sarcasm right out of his mouth.

  “Jesus Christ, woman,” he said. “I give you everything. I just let you wallpaper the entire first floor of this house. You’re never satisfied.”

  “I’m not talking about wallpaper or furniture. I’m talking about us, Price. When was the last time you did what was right for us?”

  “My family is the reason for all my decisions.”

  Savannah’s lips moved along with the words. It was a mantra he repeated constantly, and one of his, ‘And that’s final’, windups. He claimed to do everything for her and the children, but did he take any responsibility for veering off the map and ending up on this lonely road, so far from their original destination?

  He was a cool, practiced, liar. Perhaps he’d actually convinced himself. After seventeen years of marriage, she still didn’t know. Her husband was a mystery to her and frankly, she was tired of digging for clues.

  She took a fortifying sip of her drink. “I advise you to squash any romantic notions you have of running for office, because I have no intention of standing by your side and playing the dutiful political wife. Besides, the stage might get a little crowded with you and me and your endless parade of clients.”

  “This argument again, Savannah? You’re boring me.” His lips curled around the words.

  “In spite of that little fact, even you should be able to see the evidence that we’r
e not Political Couple material. I can’t be trusted to smile and wave to the adoring crowds.”

  “You’re right, you can’t be trusted.”

  Savannah looked at Price a long time. He stared straight ahead, fixated on some spot on the far wall as smoke curled from his perfect lips. God, if her children weren’t in the other room, she’d leave right now. The thought of Adam’s address tucked in the bottom of her purse had her running to something wild and dangerous.

  Take me with you, she’d silently begged as she said goodbye to her family tonight. She’d kissed cheeks, hugged nieces and nephews, and waved from the doorway, all the while wanting to walk out with them. Tuck herself into a warm coat pocket and be borne off to their safe, loving houses.

  She stood up. “I’m going to bed.” Not waiting for a response, she walked out of the living room. Her limbs were heavy as she climbed the stairs, dragging the dead carcass of her marriage behind her. She could hear its head thud on every step. She had a body to bury and no shovel. Perhaps she’d just leave the damn thing here on the stairs.

  She used to sit up with Price, after they’d argued, into the wee hours, trying to come up with a resolution before they said goodnight. Now she walked out, letting him have the last word, because she didn’t care. She couldn’t remember when she’d made the transition. Once they would have made up in bed. But for weeks now, Price had been sleeping in the guest room downstairs.

  At first the hackneyed charade of him creeping into their room late at night carrying his shoes in one hand and his lies in the other had infuriated her. Then the excuse of being busy with nighttime clients bored her. The arrangement to sleep apart had been made without discussion. And she didn’t care.

  She sat on the edge of her bed and reached for the small bottle of pills on her nightstand. She popped the lid with one finger and poured the promise of a sleep without dreams into the palm of her hand. The pebble-sized ice cubes in her glass, rattled as she swallowed.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” she murmured.

  SAVANNAH STUDIED her face in the dressing table mirror. Her skin was pale against her red lipstick and her eyes were round as if she’d received shocking news. She was going to see Adam.

  I’m going to sleep with him.

  Price made it easy: he had an out of town meeting. She was free to make her own plans. And she did.

  Is this how it’s done? Is this how Price does it?

  She tied the belt of her trench coat firmly around her waist, hiding the silky blouse and lace promises beneath, then went downstairs and through the kitchen.

  “I have a meeting with the Preservation Society, Neenie,” she said finding her purse. “It’ll probably run late. Then a few of the girls want to go out for cocktails afterwards. Don’t wait up.” She was pulling her keys out of her purse, fumbled, and dropped them on the floor. Bending to pick them up she whacked her elbow on the counter. “Damn,” she said.

  “What’s eating you? You’re as jumpy as a feral cat.”

  “I’m running late, that’s all.”

  She’d spent her life covering up imperfections. Shoving them under the bed, in the closet, hidden behind a perfectly made-up face. But she’d never lied to Neenie.

  For a stabbing moment she wished her old friend’s sharp eyes would call her out, see through her flimsy ruse and demand the truth.

  “Have a good time, Honey,” Neenie said. “You deserve it.”

  Smarting under Neenie’s blind trust Savannah walked to her car, high heels clicking on the driveway. She pulled the collar of her coat a little higher against the December chill. Masked, cloaked, and on a mission. A Russian spy heading out into the night.

  You deserve it. The words echoed in her head as she drove away. Yes, I do, she thought.

  Any last bit of strength she’d had, any conscience, any of the initial guilt that had laced those early meetings with Adam—all of it withered under Price’s cold dismissal and blatant indiscretions. All his talk of family and all his dreams of political glory, yet he was still skulking out into the night to meet his clients. He hadn’t come home for two nights in a row.

  Now he was called out of town. And Savannah made a call of her own. “Your marriage is over,” Adam said picking up her second thoughts and reservations and tucking them into her pockets. “Come be with me.”

  She folded beneath the words, limp with wanting and his voice only inches from her ears. Her appetite had reached an insatiable level. She was starving. She needed sustenance and she knew where to get it. A common excuse for infidelity, but raw in its simplicity.

  It is this easy. And I deserve it.

  Savannah pulled her Thunderbird alongside the curb and turned off the ignition. She checked the address against the small slip of paper that had been tucked in her purse for the last two weeks. 210 Deerfield Drive. She sat with both hands gripping the steering wheel, her heart thrumming against her chest.

  Then, she hesitated. Her hand moved back to the key in the ignition. She could still go. She could drive off and nobody would be any wiser. A movement from the second floor window, and Adam pulled back the curtain, staring out at the dark street below. He waved to her.

  She turned off her headlights.

  Gathering her purse, and her nerve she got out of the car. A lonely light from the nearby lamppost cast her shadow ahead of her like a guide. She took the elevator even though it was only one floor up, because she couldn’t trust her legs. Her knuckles barely brushed against the door before Adam opened it wide with a grin to match.

  “Come in, Beautiful.”

  On shaky legs, she stepped across the threshold and stopped to let Adam take her coat. Shrugging off her khaki-colored trench, she turned as Adam bit his lip and nodded appreciatively at what he saw.

  This. In his eyes, she was beautiful. Desirable. She was a ravenous orphan and an invitation to a banquet lay in his outstretched hand.

  “This place is huge.” Her eyes roamed over the expansive loft, which took up the entire second floor of the old office building.

  Exposed brick walls. Open ductwork along tall ceilings. Adam had lit candles throughout the space, which softened the industrial feel. A small, simple kitchen was in one corner, a seating area with two mismatched sofas in another.

  She had no idea a place like this existed in downtown Savannah. She walked around, letting her eyes rest on paintings and her fingers trail over leather spines of books. Letting the soul of the room introduce itself. Adam seemed to sense her need to connect with the space and let her be.

  His studio was at the far end of the loft, by a bank of large windows. Oversized canvases leaned up against the old brick, while smaller works hung on the walls. Jars of paint brushes lined up on a weathered bench. Used artists’ palettes strewn about. The large easel set up in the middle of the workspace was draped with a cloth, leaving only the legs visible.

  “Can I look?” She nodded toward the easel as Adam walked over.

  “In a minute,” he said, handing her a glass of chilled white wine.

  She wandered to re-examine the bookshelves, doing everything to avoid looking at his bed. It was impossible not to notice it: set up on a platform, like a throne or an altar where willing damsels went to sacrifice themselves. How many other women had accepted a glass of wine and fingered Adam’s objects while they awaited seduction?

  Yet here in the midst of Adam’s world it seemed completely natural to have a giant bed out in the open. Everything about him was out in the open. Nothing to hide. He wasn’t trying too hard or playing a part. Everything here reflected his soul, inspired him, or brought him joy.

  Any other set-up would have been out of place for this man who wore his animal magnetism like aftershave. It unleashed something primitive in her as well.

  She was surprised to find this unpretentious place spoke to her soul. She was at home among the books and dried paint and simple furnishings. No priceless antiques, no family heirlooms to swoon over. Yet she could see herself here, maybe not livin
g with Adam, but if she ever ran away—she could picture herself in a place like this.

  She looked over at him, now. Seeing the moment almost as if she were outside of herself. Holding a glass of white wine while the sexy voice of Sam Cooke wrapped around the room. She had to hand it to Adam. The man knew how to set the scene. The seduction was on, and this was a beautiful place to be seduced.

  Adam said something and she heard herself laughing, and though the laugh was real, there was something about this person that Savannah didn’t quite recognize.

  Adam reached for her hand. “Come. You can look, now.” He led her back to the easel by the windows, set down his glass and began pulling the cloth off.

  The last fold of the drop-cloth fell away and the wine glass wobbled in Savannah’s hand as she stared at the nude woman on the canvas. A figure gazed back over her shoulder, her grey-eyed smoldering expression half concealed by tousled waves of blonde hair. Rippling gold and white and ash down her bare back. The curve of her hips so enticing, Savannah reached out to touch her, but stopped short with her hand dangling in mid-air.

  “She’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “No mistaking my muse, is there?” Adam’s eyes crinkled at the corners, as he searched her face before quickly looking away.

  The dart of his eyes was shy. She’d never seen him act bashful or insecure. Yet as she followed his gaze back to the painting, she saw his soul mixed with the pigment and she knew he was waiting and wanting her approval.

  Savannah turned back to the painting and looked into her own eyes.

  “No mistaking it,” she said. “You’ve obviously spent a lot of time on this.” She marveled not only at the play of light and shadows, but how Adam had captured something elusive. For all her open sensuality and bare skin, this creature was veiled. She was a woman with a secret.

  Adam traced the woman’s spine with his finger. “It was a labor of…”