Chapter Five

He came to her every night for the next three weeks. Sometimes they walked through forests lit with golden light, and other times they were dancing under the stars or swimming on exotic beaches under a bright, low-hanging moon. They talked for hours, night after night. Rather, she talked and he listened. He liked to hear her voice, but what he loved even more than that was seeing her smile and watching her eyes light up when he created things for her.

Sometimes he would materialize something simple, like a bouquet of flowers or a sterling silver charm bracelet. He would weave costumes that fit her as though they had been made especially for her, which she supposed they had been. But her favorite creations were the elaborate worlds he constructed for her enjoyment. A beach with white sand and glittering, purple water so clear you could see twenty feet to the bottom, waterfalls lush with vegetation and smooth, brown stone. One night, he designed an entire amusement park simply because she said she had never been to one. She had only to think of something and he made it into reality.

Tonight they had been swimming in a shallow, sparkling blue lagoon. The surface of the water had been shimmery before Savannah had asked him to coat the entire lagoon in blue glitter. Now it bordered on outrageously gaudy, eye catching as it was.

Tired and momentarily spent from the hour-long swim, Savannah had needed a break and so they were stretched out, side by side, on a large flat rock that jutted like an island from the center of their glitter lagoon.

"So then what happened?" her angel asked.

"You don't want to hear all this." Savannah shook her head and half turned from him. Of course he didn't want to listen to her prattle on and on about herself for hours on end. She told him as much.

"It hasn't been hours," he assured her with an easygoing smile. "And anyway, we've been swimming most of the night, not talking. But it wouldn't matter. I like listening to your stories."

"Really?" She sat up and locked her hands behind her back, darting a glance at him. "If you're sure?" Dream or not, modesty demanded that Savannah at least offer to shut up. When he nodded, she took a deep breath and continued, still a little uncertain.

The only person who had ever encouraged her to talk about herself—or anything else for that matter—was Rachel. No, Savannah frowned, that wasn't right, not really; now that she thought about it, Rachel usually did all of the talking when they were together. But that was just Rachel's personality, and Savannah's other friends were more casual. She'd never discussed her old life with them, with the exception of Anthony. But even with Anthony and Rachel she'd only skimmed the surface of her past.

"Savannah?" A gentle hand brushed across her shoulder.

"Sorry, where was I?"

"You were ten years old, and the school talent show was coming up."

"Oh right." Savannah laughed.

He leaned forward. "So, did you try out?"

"You mean did I enter? I did. Secretly, of course. The Holbrooks never would have allowed it if they'd known." Savannah's eyes took on a faraway look as she stared at the myriad of pink and gold strewn across the horizon. Around her, the surface of the lagoon caught the fading light and reflected it back at them in dazzling detail. "Such a beautiful sunset." She sighed.

"Savannah?" he gently prompted.

"They wouldn't have immediately forbid it," she finally told him. "Not right at first anyway… They would have been sour-faced and full of silent disapproval, but they would've waited until a week or two passed and then, just before the talent show, Myra would have complained that I hadn't done something or other—some chore—properly, and Vern would have decreed a fitting punishment to be removal from the talent show." Savannah shrugged. "So, that particular time, I didn't tell them."

"And what happened?"

She cringed at the memory of what had happened next, but forged ahead anyway. "Um, well you see, I'd always wanted to sing," she confessed. "Bayleigh has the most beautiful voice, and sometimes I would hear her singing in her room, or out in the barn. She used to sneak away to hide out there every year just after the fall harvest and—" Savannah paused and took a deep breath, collected her thoughts. "Well, anyway, the point is, I'd always wanted to be able to sing, and so that's what I marked down on the talent show entry form. I was going to sing," she finished on a shaky laugh.

"What song?"

Savannah blinked, surprised that he had asked.

"What song did you pick?" he pressed.

"Amazing Grace." She smiled. "It was the only song I knew all of the words for. They sang it in church."

"That was probably the only place you'd ever been outside of school," he muttered.

"More or less." She nodded. "How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess." He inched closer to her on the smooth, flat rock. "What happened next?"

Savannah shot him a rueful smile and leaned over to run her fingers through the glittery surface of the lagoon, using her index finger to create a tiny whirlpool as she spoke. "I learned that little girls who are barely allowed to talk shouldn't get up on a stage in front of the entire school and sing Amazing Grace. It turns out I'm not much of a singer." She looked at him from beneath her lashes. When he didn't automatically pity her, she felt brave enough to turn and face him the rest of the way. "That was the last time I tried to sing in public." She shrugged and scooted closer to him. Her head fit nicely on his shoulder, and she drank in the evening air as he twisted a section of her hair around his finger.

"We aren't in public right now," he said after several long moments.

"Forget it." Savannah shook her head.

"What if I wanted to hear you sing?"

"No way."

"What if … I could help you sing?"

"You mean a duet?"

"Not exactly," he hedged.

She raised her face to his, wide-eyed. "You can make me sing better?" Of course he could, she thought a second later. He was, after all, a dream—her dream.

After a moment, he nodded. "If that's what you want."

"I…" She thought about it. It was something she'd always wanted, the ability to sing. Or was it? It had definitely been elementary school Savannah's dream, and to a lesser degree, teenage Savannah had wanted it as well. But now? Did she really need it, like she'd once thought she did? It didn't take much soul searching to find the answer to that.

"Thanks, but no." Savannah shook her head but reached out to cover his hand with her own. "Nothing short of the end of a pistol would get me to stand up on this rock and sing to you." She smiled when he chuckled. "Anyway, it doesn't matter that I can't sing. I'm good at other things."

"Very true," he agreed.

She shivered when he tightened his hold on her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Tell me more," he instructed after a while. "I want to hear it all."

"Okay." Savannah grinned. "Did I ever tell you about the time…"

* * *

Night after night, they went on like this. Much to her disappointment, he was always careful not to touch her beyond heat-filled kisses and fleeting touches. Savannah awoke each morning feeling more tired than the last and filled with a painful longing for him. She struggled through the days, waiting with anticipation for nightfall to come, when she would be with her angel who had no name beyond "mine."

Rachel and Anthony seemed increasingly nervous as the days wore on, and it wasn't difficult to guess why. Gone was the vibrant girl they both knew and loved. She had no energy, and she didn't return phone calls. She rarely left the house.

Late one evening, Anthony surprised her with a knock on the door. She opened it to find him standing on the sidewalk with two cartons of ice cream and a bottle of wine.

"Anthony, what are you doing here?"

"Hello, Savannah." His smile faltered a bit at the less than enthusiastic greeting. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Oh, ah, yes … come inside. I'm sorry." She cringed and moved aside for him to enter. "I don't mean to be rude. It's just that I wasn't expecting company. I was actually about to go to bed…"

"Yeah, you look like you could use some sleep," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. But if you're too tired, I can come back tomorrow or over the weekend."

"No, it's fine, really. I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks." She glanced over her shoulder as she gathered spoons and two fluted glasses from the cupboard.

"Three weeks," Anthony helpfully supplied.

"Has it been that long?"

"Three weeks and one day, if you want to be exact." He smiled and poured the wine. "At first, I thought it was just me that you didn't want to see, but Rachel tells me she hasn't seen you in about three weeks either. In fact, no one has seen you since the night of the party."

"I-I've been so busy with work," Savannah lied.

"You look like hell."

"Well thanks, Anthony."

"You misunderstand me, love. You're as beautiful as ever, but you look exhausted. Are you sick?"

"No," she quickly assured him. "I just don't feel like myself lately. I don't really know how to explain it." She bit her lip. How could she tell Anthony of all people that she had been spending her nights in a dream with a man she had conjured up from thin air?

"I'm just going to come right out and say this. Are you doing drugs?"

"Drugs?" Savannah echoed.

"It's okay if you are, honey. You can tell me. We'll get you some help. We can—"

"Anthony. I'm not on drugs. Do I look that bad?" She crossed abruptly to the wide mirror hanging above her living room sofa. "Oh, Jesus, I look that bad." She pressed cool hands to her cheeks and turned to find Anthony standing behind her, his face creased with worry.

"Vannah, what's going on?"

"I just … haven't been sleeping well. I don't know what's happening. Everything is so different now."

"Different? You and I are different?"

"No, me. I'm different. My life is different. The night of my party was so wonderful. I appreciated it so much. You have no idea. To even have one person in my life who would throw a party for me, let alone…" She shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder if there will ever be a time where it won't feel like such a new thing. Then again, I'm not even sure I want it to." Her lips twisted, gratitude mingled with the slightest touch of sadness.

"You're talking about how you were raised."

Savannah nodded. "There are moments when I can't believe that this is my life, I guess. And sometimes, well… Sometimes maybe I think it would be easier to hide with a fantasy than to experience what's real, what's all around me. Does that make sense?" She could only spread her hands wide and hope that it did, because in her present sleep deprived state, she was in no shape for intense personal scrutiny or detailed explanations of things that she herself barely understood. She only knew, objectively—reluctantly—that she couldn't go on like this.

"It makes perfect sense," Anthony said. He set his wineglass in the sink, then circled his arms around her shoulders as he led her out of the kitchen and into the living room. "It was never you, Savannah. Please know that. There was never anything wrong with you. I don't know the Holbrooks, and I hope to God I never have the misfortune of knowing them, but don't let their ugliness reflect on you. Everything you have, you've worked hard for. You deserve to be here. You belong here."

"Anthony." His shirt muffled her voice. "Thank you." They stayed like that for several minutes, embracing each other.

The discordant sound of breaking glass cut through the silence and had them jumping apart. "What on earth?" she exclaimed.

Anthony was right behind her, heading back into the kitchen. "What was that?"

"I don't know."

He checked the back door, then nudged the curtain aside to peer out the window. "I don't see anything. Did something fall?"

"I would say so…"

"What's that?" He stood next to her, overlooking the breakfast nook in the west corner of the oversized kitchen.

"Those are two of my drinking glasses." Shards of glass littered most of the kitchen floor. She chewed her bottom lip and looked around the room. The air suddenly felt too thick, and static electricity made her feel cold and shivery, despite the Georgia heat that permeated the evening.

"Go sit down, Savannah. I'll clean this up."

She was already reaching for the broom and dustpan. "I've got it, thanks. I don't understand how these fell, though."

"You must have left them on the edge of the counter. Happens all the time."

"No, I'm certain these were put away in the cabinet, which is still closed. Did you notice them sitting out when we were in here?"

"No, but I wasn't really paying attention. You look tired. Are you sure you didn't take them out, maybe earlier?"

"I'm sure. I never use those glasses. They're Waterford and very expensive."

"Why do women buy dishes they can't use?" Anthony mused.

"You wouldn't understand." Savannah shook her head and swept up a particularly large shard; it clanked loudly against the copper-colored metal dustpan, and the sound seemed to echo in the kitchen.

"Glasses don't just walk out of cabinets and fall onto the floor, Vannah," Anthony pointed out with calm logic.

"No, of course they don't." She dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash and contemplated the cabinet door once again. "Hell, I don't know. Maybe I did get them out for some reason." She seriously doubted it even as she said it.

"Why don't we get out of here for a little while?"

"A date?" She frowned.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," she hedged, glancing uneasily around the kitchen. Something felt so … off.

"It could be fun," Anthony cajoled, already taking hold of her arm and pulling her along with him.

She didn't really want to go anywhere right then, but maybe a couple hours out of the house wasn't such a bad idea. "Can we get Chinese food?"

"You bet. Go get dressed. I'll be waiting outside."