The One She Left Behind

That she hadn’t heard. “I didn’t realize he had a daughter.”

“She’s about six now,” May added. “And it’s such a shame that she comes from a broken home. Divorce is a terrible thing for a child to go through.”

Divorce?

Savannah didn’t know which shocked her more—that Sam and Darlene’s marriage had ended, or that he’d fathered a child. “When did they split up?”

“A couple of years ago, maybe longer. Didn’t your mama tell you?”

“She never tells me anything, May.” And neither had her old girlfriends, but she’d only sporadically spoken to them over the past few years.

Savannah scooted back from the table and stood before she had to endure any more unexpected news. “Tell Mother I’ll see her in the morning.”

May looked completely dismayed. “You should tell her.”

Yes, she should, and she supposed she could make it brief. “You’re right.”

After giving her aunt another hug, Savannah left the kitchen and returned to the living room, where she found her uncle watching a sitcom rerun. “Where’s Mother?” she asked when she discovered Ruth had disappeared.

Bill put down the television remote and smiled. “She’s in her room, sugar. She said she has one of her sick headaches.”

Savannah had no doubt she’d contributed to that headache. “Before I retire for the night, do you and Aunt May need anything? Extra towels or linens?”

“Your mama saw to that when we came in yesterday. Now you scoot along and get some rest. And just so you know, the weatherman’s calling for storms tonight.”

An appropriate ending to a perfectly dreadful evening, Savannah decided.

As soon as she doled out a hug for her uncle, she grabbed up her bags, scaled the stairs and entered her old bedroom at the end of the hall. She closed the door behind her before turning to survey the place where she’d spent many a night during her teen years, talking on the phone for hours with her girlfriends, and Sam. Everything still looked much the same as it had when she’d left for college. The pink-and-blue patchwork quilt still covered the double bed. The shelves flanking the floral-cushioned window seat still held all the mementos of her youth—withered corsages, movie ticket stubs, debate trophies.

After setting her bags on the cedar chest at the end of the bed, she walked to the bureau and removed a favorite snapshot from the mirror. The photo—taken on the beach in Gulfport—featured the inseparable group of friends known to their fellow students as “the six-pack.” Best buddies Chase Reed and Jessica Keller sat side by side on the sand in the middle of the group. Childhood sweethearts Rachel Wainwright and Matt Boyd had claimed the spot on the right, Rachel’s head resting on Matt’s shoulder. And of course, she and Sam sat to the left, holding each other tightly, Sam’s beat-up guitar at their feet. They’d easily assumed the role as Placid High’s designated “hottest couple.” But it hadn’t been a farce. It had been real.

How young they all looked. How hopeful and ready to take on the world. Forever friends, they’d vowed. Then everything had changed after graduation. Still, the picture signified that she’d seen more than her share of good times in Placid. But those fond reminiscences were all a part of the distant past, and that’s where they would stay. Yet at the sound of rain pelting the window, another memory came back to Savannah, as bright as the flash of lightning on the horizon.

A surprise midnight visit one misty fall evening. A few well tossed pebbles to garner her attention. A trellis perfect for climbing. One love-struck girl who still believed in happily-ever-after. One teenage boy driven by raging hormones. An easily removed screen and a kiss so hot it could have set the roof on fire.

Sam had begged her to come inside, but she hadn’t allowed it. At least not that particular night.?…

All in the past, Savannah kept reminding herself as she hauled her suitcase onto the bed and began to unpack. No good ever came of rehashing old history, her mother had told her time and again. She couldn’t agree more, but that didn’t keep her from remembering. That didn’t prevent the sudden sense of sadness when she turned her attention to another framed photograph resting on the nightstand, the one of her and her father at the Tennessee State Fair when she was eight years old.

Remorse hit her like a blow to the heart. She should have come home more often. She should have insisted that he come to visit her in Chicago even if her mother had refused to make the trip. She should have known something was wrong during their last conversation when he’d told her several times how proud he was of her, how much he loved her and then asked her to forgive her mother. She should have been there to hold his hand when he’d died.

Savannah couldn’t contain the sorrow any more than she could stop the storm. With the photo clutched against her chest, she stretched out on her back across the bed and released all her pent-up anguish. The tears fell hot against her cheek as she mourned the loss of her father and her inability to earn her mother’s love. She grieved the innocence she no longer possessed. She even allowed herself to cry for all the promises Sam had broken, and most important…for what might have been.

CHAPTER TWO

THE CROWD OF MOURNERS gathered around the gravesite was as thick as the Delta humidity, leading Sam to believe well over half of Placid’s population had come to say goodbye to Floyd Greer. If things had turned out differently all those years ago, he might’ve been sitting with the family with his arm around Savannah, comforting her. Instead, he stood several feet away, on the outside looking in.

Not long after the minister delivered the final prayer, Savannah appeared from beneath the green funeral tent, flanked by her aunt and uncle. When he noticed Ruth Greer trailing behind the trio, Sam figured the problems between mother and daughter hadn’t disappeared, and that was a damn shame. His own mother hadn’t stuck around long enough to build any kind of relationship with him, good, bad or indifferent. At times like these, people needed someone to lean on—except maybe Savannah.

She held her head high as she accepted condolences from the townsfolk, forcing a smile every now and then. Although she looked composed on the surface, Sam knew better. She’d always been inclined to keep her emotions bottled up inside so no one could see her suffering. Not that he was one to talk. But with Savannah, things had been different. He had been different. They’d served as each other’s sounding board and leaning shoulder from the moment she’d arrived in Placid.

And that had all ended a long time ago…?.

“Done any fishin’ lately, Mac?”

Only one person ever called him Mac. Sam turned to find Chase Reed standing behind him, dressed in a civilian suit instead of the Army-issue uniform he’d been wearing the last time he’d seen his best friend over a half-dozen years ago.

Sam grinned and offered his hand. “I’ll be damned, Reed. I heard they’d finally let you out, but I didn’t believe it.”

Chase shook Sam’s hand and smiled, but it didn’t form all the way. “I’d had about all the active duty I could take.”

Sam imagined he had. Three tours in a war zone would be more than most men could take, and the stress showed in Chase’s features. He had a definite edge about him now, unlike the kid who’d been the happy-go-lucky golden boy.

Sam felt damn guilty that he hadn’t stayed in touch nearly enough during Chase’s absence, but he’d never been great at correspondence. “How long have you been back?” he asked.

“For a couple of weeks.”

Looked like his friend was punishing him for that lack of communication. “And you didn’t call and let me know you were in town?”

“I had to help Dad clean out the old sharecropper cabin behind the house so I’d have a place to stay.” Chase shook his head. “Pretty sad, living at home at the age of thirty-one.”

Sam could relate. “I’ve been living at home since I left college and even after I married.” Just one more thing that hadn’t set too well with his ex-wife.

“Sorry to hear it didn’t work out between you and Darlene,” Chase said.

“It was just one of those things.” One of those things that Sam sometimes regretted because of the impact on his daughter. “When you get a chance, you need to stop by and see my kid. She’s going to be with me all week.”

Chase barked out a laugh. “I’m still trying to picture you with a kid. Is she here now?”

A funeral was no place for a six-year-old, as far as Sam was concerned. “She’s back at the farm with Hank Anderson’s girl.”

Chase frowned. “Hank’s got a kid that’s old enough to babysit?”

Sam shrugged out of his sports coat and draped it over his arm, finding little relief from the midmorning heat. “Yeah. Hank’s two years older than us and his daughter was born right after he graduated.”

“Man, that makes me feel old.” Chase shook his head and studied the ground. “Time passes way too fast.”

Sam dealt with that issue every time he looked at his child. “I know what you mean. One minute, Jamie’s in diapers and the next, she’s a hell-on-wheels kindergartner and a natural-born flirt. No telling what I’ll be facing when she’s sixteen and she discovers boys.”

“That serves you right, Mac,” Chase said. “Now you’ll know firsthand why Savannah’s parents used to give you hell when you dated her.”

Sam suddenly remembered where he was and why. “It’s going to be tough, not having Floyd around. He was one of the good guys.”

“Yeah, he was.” Chase remained silent for a time before he added, “I heard Wainwright’s bank has been calling in loans on some of the farms. The greedy bastard.”

That was a subject that made Sam as angry as Chase sounded. Edwin Wainwright was the biggest SOB in three counties, and a rich one at that. “You heard right. That’s why I took my banking business elsewhere when I started upgrading the farm.”

Chase’s expression turned to stone as he focused on some point behind Sam. “Speaking of bastards,” he muttered.