Serendipity of Fate, page 21
“You’re distracting.”
Savannah felt her eyebrow rise. “By sitting here?”
“No, by…I can see…” He raised both of his eyebrows and made a pointed glance down to her cleavage.
“Ah…” Savannah felt an odd sensation of satisfaction and embarrassment creep color into her cheeks. She slowly straightened up, a slight tug at her rib reminding her that it could hurt again if she wasn’t careful. “That wasn’t on purpose, I assure you.”
Taking a deep breath and checking the length of his cuffs, keeping his eyes averted, he said, “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could be a gentleman.”
Savannah opened her mouth to respond and then closed it, feeling a smile bloom at the corners of her lips. “You know, if you asked like a gentleman, I’d let you take a good long look at them in this dress.”
His eyes still on his cuffs, his face illuminated in a rare, beautiful smile that poured joy like sweet molten honey down through her core.
“I’ve gotten a good peripheral look.”
“There you are, using those sexy big words again. Jesus, Cason. Stop coming on to me. I think it might be illegal for me to do the things I’m thinking of while you’re in your dress blues.”
He laughed then and laid the full gaze of his penetrating green eyes on hers, and there she saw it, the yes in them, the enticement to do exactly what she was thinking. He was thinking of letting her do just what she wanted.
She took a step toward him. “Seems like you might need a hug.”
“Something tells me a hug is your cover story.”
“It might be. But I’m sticking to it.”
She took another step toward him, coming within arm’s reach, and noted his eyes on her mouth, and the way her own heart felt like she was in the midst of a marathon.
“I like to start slow, just a hug,” she said and moistened her lips.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he said, his breath catching.
“I can’t win with you. Or should I say, lose? Because I’m thinking that we might be on the right track for a win-win situation.”
“Not in my uniform.”
“Agreed. How fast can you get it off and back on?”
“What are you doing to me?”
“I’m not sure. It feels like you’re doing it all to me.”
He wiped a hand over his face. “I can’t do this.”
The line between them snapped. Everything had seemed so right too. Confusion swirled—it wasn’t just the uniform. It felt like another stiff arm from him. Frustration surfaced. “Right,” Savannah said and nodded. “What exactly are we doing?”
“We’re doing nothing.” He blew out a breath he seemed to be holding. “I made a promise. I can’t—”
There was a knock at the door, and Helen stepped into the room.
“A promise?” Savannah asked, then stepped to Cason’s side, feeling reality crash back in around them. “Mama, get out.”
Cason cleared his throat and turned around, a small smile on his face.
Savannah felt the moment blow away in the breeze and tried to not let her frustration show.
“Hi, you two.” Helen said, ignoring her daughter, “Just checking in—Oh, now, Cason, aren’t you handsome? I’m so happy to see you. I was worried, but oh my, just look at you.” She stopped and took him in. “Well, I never…”
“Mama, we’ll be right out—”
“I’ve come to rescue Cason. The event coordinators are looking for him, and they’re starting to call people to their seats. Savannah?” she said, beckoning for her daughter to come with her.
Cason said, “Thank you, ma’am—”
“We’ll be right down,” Savannah said tersely, clearly annoyed by what seemed like endless interruptions by her mother.
“No, now, hon. People are waiting, Savannah. Let’s go get our seats. It’ll be embarrassing if we’re late to our seats and keep Martin waiting. Not to mention Cason needs to be downstairs now.”
“Will you excuse me?” Cason said and simply stepped out of the room.
“Mama,” Savannah said in a low tone, “that wasn’t necessary.”
“What wasn’t? Was I interrupting something? Come on now,” she said, and Savannah had the feeling that she knew she was interrupting something—but society waited for no one.
“Mama,” Savannah put her fingers to her temples. “I’ll meet you at the table. I just need to freshen up.”
In the bathroom in Cason’s room, Savannah gently patted her face with wet hands, trying to revive her stuttering mind. The next time she had Cason alone in a room, she was going to lock the door. Cason had said at the end that he’d made a promise? Had she heard him right? Was that why he had pulled away? He was in his dress uniform, and they had just agreed he shouldn’t do anything in them. But why didn’t that feel like that was it? The walls between them got built and taken down so often that she was reminded that this was the yo-yo she had not wanted to be in. But still, instead of firmly giving him space, she wanted to do the direct opposite. She wanted to crawl into the dark places of him and turn on the light.
“God.” Savannah sighed and looked at the darkly eye shadowed woman in red looking back at her in the mirror. “Is this what love feels like?” If it was, she could see how people confused it with feeling sick. Her insides were twisted up in knots. She wanted—no, needed—more time with him.
Helen was waiting for her when she exited Cason’s room. She held out her arm for her daughter. “You won’t believe who’s here.”
Savannah raised a brow at her mother as they made their way toward the formal ballroom. They entered the cavernous and lavishly decorated room from behind the stage, through the potted foliage. Microphone and podium were set; guests streamed in through the main doors, making their way to their seats at linen-covered circular tables set with dinnerware and short floral arrangements. Off to the side, there was an open area where the program stated formal dancing and refreshments would be later.
Weaving through the tables behind her mother, Savannah prompted, “Who did you see?”
A coordinator came up to Helen right then and said, “Mrs. Sparling, we have your table here.”
“Wow, front and center,” Savannah said as they moved through the starched coverings to the front.
“Yes, we want all our family representatives up front for the ceremony.” The woman bustled off, clipboard in hand.
“Have you seen Martin?”
Savannah set her clutch down. “No, but Mama, what were you saying earlier about seeing someone?”
Helen wasn’t paying attention, though. “There he is.” She gave a wave, and Martin worked his way from the back bar through the sea of tables and seated guests.
Savannah didn’t even care anymore who her mother had seen, but now she was frustrated that her mother was so distractible. “Mama! The suspense is killing me. Who’d you see?”
“Who did I…? Oh yes! Peaches. Of all people.”
Savannah’s head spun. Cason’s mother. “Does Cason know she’s here?”
“I have no idea. He must, though. She wouldn’t know about it otherwise, right?” Helen placed her purse down and gestured to the chair next to her. “Martin, here’s your seat.”
“Are you sure? This seems like family only,” Martin said from behind Savannah.
“Nonsense. You’re my date.”
“If Cason doesn’t know, I need to go tell him now,” Savannah said while Martin and her mother negotiated the seats.
Just then the main coordinator, the one who had been carrying a clipboard, took hold of the microphone. “Welcome, everyone! Thank you so much for being here. We will be getting started in the next few minutes, so please take your seats. Thank you!”
“Well, you can’t find him now. Just sit down. There’s nothing you can do.”
“What do you mean just sit down?” Savannah asked her mother, who’d obviously forgotten what Peaches was to Cason and what she could do. She was chaos on two legs; just knowing she was there somewhere seated at a table in the gala, no doubt spreading lies as she slugged down drinks, Savannah could feel the place tilt toward entropy.
“I know gosh darned well what I mean when I say sit down. Don’t let that woman get under your skin. There’s nothing she can do except harm or embarrass herself. To give her credit is to give her power, Savannah—you know better. Now, would you please put your bottom on that chair?”
Savannah knew deep down her mother had a good point, but the need to defend Cason was strong. She reluctantly complied and slowly sat, scanning the white-clothed tables as she did so. More than half her client list was indeed there, and as the MC spoke into her microphone, Savannah spotted a bad orange dye job at the back of the room.
Savannah was distracted when her mother was asked to go up on stage. She watched as other coordinators ushered the family members of the men up to the stage. She turned her gaze to follow her mother as she took the steps and then looked at the rest of the stage. To her surprise, it was filled. Dark as midnight, blue uniforms formed a line along the stage. The spaces between the men were filling in with the family members of the fallen soldiers.
It had been one thing to see Cason face-to-face in his uniform earlier, but now that he was standing stoically on stage, his stance shoulder width, his chin proud, and his eyes distant, it conjured up an emotional swirl in her belly. There was a seriousness to his nature that made him Sergeant McPherson. The soldier who automatically took point commanding a team of eighteen against the enemy. A man who was determined enough to execute an escape plan while his leg was hemorrhaging blood.
Helen stood next to him. She looked calm; she patted Cason’s arm and then smiled down at Savannah and Martin. Savannah smiled back at her and thought for just a moment that Cason’s gaze had also flicked to hers. When she looked again, however, his stare was focused into the distance.
“Quite the to-do, don’t you think?” Martin leaned over to whisper.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “They put a lot of heart into it.”
Savannah caught a wave out of the corner of her eye. Myrna’s blue crushed-silk sleeve fluttered back and forth. Savannah followed her wave to Cason, who didn’t respond, and then to her mother, who smiled, unabashed, and waved back.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming tonight to help us honor the brave who are with us still and those who gave their lives for this great country.” The MC was back at the mic and reading from her program notes. “With us, to help us pay tribute and present the awards this evening, is General Glisan, commanding officer of the United States Army’s ISAF. General Glisan is a four-star general with previous commands including USFORA, JSOC, USCENTCOM, and MNFI—”
Savannah leaned back and whispered to Martin, “Is she speaking in code?”
Martin smiled. “I’m glad I’m not the only one wondering that.”
“Sounds like the alphabet, out of order.”
“I think it might be translated into: we have a very prestigious guest with us tonight.”
Savannah smiled and turned back to the stage as the MC finished, “Please help me in welcoming General Glisan.”
As applause rose, Savannah turned in her seat again to try to get another glimpse of the orange-haired woman. At the far rear table, there was no sign of her. Savannah scanned the nearby faces—expectant and watching the approach of the army general—to no avail.
“Thank you and good evening.” General Glisan had taken the mic. “I am humbled to be here before you and to stand in front of these brave individuals who risked their lives for God and country. It is a great honor that I have been tasked by our commander in chief, the president of the United States, to present the medals given tonight. Many of you are friends and families who have heard of the events on that fateful day two years ago in enemy territory. For those who have not, please allow me to take a moment to tell you, since this kind of bravery is rare and fortifying to the American soul.”
Savannah listened to the general as he recounted the story, as Cason had earlier. She was glad it wasn’t the first time she was hearing it because, even though his descriptions were clinical in us-versus-enemy terms, it didn’t take a big leap to get a visual on what went down on that rural mountaintop. Her mother, up on stage, dug her Kleenex out from up her sleeve, where she’d had the foresight to stash it, and dabbed her eyes. Savannah’s heart ached, wishing she could be up there with her mother to give her a hug, but her mother looked down at her, and Savannah put her hand over her heart and the green ribbon that represented Ryan. Her mother smiled back and covered her own and gave her a watery, knowing smile in return.
Savannah caught sight of Cason as his entire countenance shifted. He hadn’t moved, but his body language spoke volumes to her. His face morphed into anger and then rage; he was about to come unglued at the sight of something behind her.
Savannah seemed to be the only one who noticed and turned. And there, being ushered forward along the outer edges of the tables, was Peaches. She stumbled in her heels and stopped, grabbing the coordinator by the arm and lifting her foot unsteadily to check it. Her zebra-print spandex dress rolled up her aging thighs.
Savannah looked back at Cason for some sign that he wanted her to intervene. His gaze was boring into hers, silently begging for help. She stood and put a smile on her face as if she just needed to do something ladylike, like powder her nose or take a phone call. Or take down a fifty-year-old terror. She took the direct route toward Peaches and the coordinator, but they were on the move again. Savannah lifted her dress a little and picked up her pace, rounding the last table as Peaches and coordinator got to the stage steps.
It was too late.
Through the leaves of the potted palm trees lining the stage, Savannah watched as Peaches put her foot on the bottom stair and wobbled. The coordinator attempted to help her, but Peaches shrugged her off. Savannah emerged around the line of potted palms to see Peaches careen off the step and into the standing speaker.
Savannah halted, blinking, not believing that this could actually be happening. She watched as Peaches, caught in the cords, tried to extract herself. Standing ankle-deep in the extra speaker wire that had been neatly coiled and stacked out of the way, Peaches turned it instantly into chaos. Her chunky heels caught the cords, and with one hand on the back of the speaker, she tried to kick them off. As she did so, she seemed to bind herself even more tightly into the mass of coils. It was if they had turned to snakes and wound up her legs. Those at the table just beyond the plants openly stared through the gaps at her. The general stopped talking and stepped forward. Savannah didn’t have to look at Cason to know he was boiling with rage.
The coordinator attempted to help, and Savannah rushed over and grabbed the coordinator. “Just focus on the program. I’ll deal with her. She shouldn’t be here—”
“You bet your ass I’m s’pose be here!”
Savannah looked at the stricken coordinator. “Now.”
The coordinator spoke into her headset, and the general, who had moved toward the edge of the stage, nodded, going back to the podium.
Savannah looked down at Peaches still trying to extricate herself from the cords. She’d get one heel loose and then the other would get stuck. The general’s voice once again filled the room as he described the actions of the first fallen soldier, and then he invited the soldier’s family member to speak on his behalf.
Shame crept from Savannah’s neckline up into her face. She looked over at Cason; his eyes were looking forward, but the matching flush in his cheeks was unmistakable. She only half noticed the lingering stares on Peaches and then descended onto her like a hawk to a mouse. She grabbed the woman’s arm. “Move it,” she hissed.
“Now, who the fuck do you think you are? And what the fuck do you think I’m trying to do? I’m not standing here for my goddamn health—my ass belongs on that stage.”
Savannah’s voice was a low whisper when she said, “Your ass belongs nowhere near this stage.” Her grip on the older woman’s arm was like a vise, and she pulled her from the cords.
“Ouch,” Peaches said with no emotion. “Now, look, I’ve lost my damn shoe.”
Savannah wanted to say that she was about to lose more than a shoe but dug deep for her ladylike manners and said instead, “I’ll get your shoe.”
She retrieved it as Peaches smoothed her dress out and wavered, waiting.
“Here’s your shoe.”
Peaches put it on; her muddy eyes casually took in her surroundings as Savannah took her in. Her hair was the color of washed-out peaches and dry as straw with a grow-out that would make a stylist lose sleep. But it wasn’t her appearance that made Savannah shudder and want to pitch her out the side door; it was the ramble that she had carried on since falling into the speaker.
“You intend to keep me from my due. And I got a whole lot coming to me,” she slurred, getting close enough for Savannah to smell the alcohol on her breath and from her pores. “I got a good-for-nothing son here. I’m the goddamn hero.” Her voice seemed to compete with the audio of the woman currently speaking. The woman speaking was the aunt of an infantryman who had manned the fifty-caliber machine gun at the base. He was shot and killed, but not before buying the two squads precious time to push the insurgents back and make their way to the Humvees.
Savannah’s gut churned from suppressing her growing temper. Physically tossing her out the door would cause people to look and watch, interrupting the woman at the podium receiving the award for her fallen nephew. Savannah pressed herself to be smarter, even if it was morally questionable.
