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“A very nice lady—”
“A whore.” I nodded as if we were all in agreement. “You’d call her a whore. And all of us, every single one of the Notorious O’Neills, is alone. We live alone and we die alone.”
“I’m calling Margot,” Janice said and disappeared.
“But Matt Woods didn’t murder anyone,” I said, advancing on the teenagers who’d been whispering. They backed up, falling out of their chairs, astonished and terrified of me.
Good. Let them all be terrified.
Because what I was feeling these days, this poisonous mix of grief and longing and anger at myself and my world—it was terrifying.
I let him go, the thought my constant companion. I let him walk away.
“If Matt Woods is too good a man for me,” I said, “then Matt Woods is far too good a man to be talked about by you.”
He’s the best man.
“Honey,” Janice said softly. “Why don’t you come on into your office and have a seat?”
I let myself be led away, but turned back to the students. “Don’t talk about him,” I said. “Ever again.”
The kids nodded, mouths agape.
Satisfaction was a very dull candle against the blackness of all my grief, but it was something. One small thing.
Missing Matt was like carrying around a thousand extra pounds, and when I sat in my office chair, I collapsed, exhausted.
“Margot’s going to come pick you up,” Janice said, her chin wobbling, her hands clenched in front of the kittens playing with wool on her sweatshirt.
“I think…” I paused. “I need some time off.”
“That stomach thing again?” Janice asked, nodding as though she’d understood all along, and maybe she had. Who knew what kind of secrets Janice kept with her Fannie May sampler pack.
“I love a man and I let him go,” I whispered. “I really love him.”
Janice plunked down on the edge of the desk. “Does he love you?” she asked.
I nodded, staring at my hands. Useless, those hands. Numb and unfeeling without Matt to touch.
“Well, honey.” Janice sighed. “Men are simple creatures and that’s the truth. If they love you, then they’re yours. It’s just the way it is.”
“He wants…too much…too much from me.”
“Well,” Janice huffed. “Bill tried that, too, in the beginning and I told him that real women aren’t like girls in those porno films. We don’t—” Janice stopped and turned bright red. “Maybe we’re not talking about the same things.”
“He wants me to leave Bonne Terre. He wants me to go to him.” Even saying it made my stomach hurt.
“Well.” Janice stood. “That’d be all right. A nice trip—you could take Katie.” There was a commotion out by the desk and Janice glanced over her shoulder. “Everyone’s a little wound up out there. I better go take care of things.” Janice patted my shoulder and brushed back the hair I’d been wearing loose for some reason. As though Matt could see it. As though Matt would even know. “You take whatever time you need, Savannah. When Joey was sick last year you were so good to me and I’m happy to return the favor.”
Janice was gone and my office pounded with quiet.
It had been four weeks since Matt had left. Four weeks and three days. The first week I’d kept thinking he would be back. He had to come back. All of his things were in the sleeping porch. Five shirts. Four pairs of pants. The files. His bag. His toothbrush. He walked out wearing the suit he arrived in.
But as the first week faded into the second week, I realized he was leaving these things behind the way he’d left me.
Then it got worse. I slept in those shirts. Carried a river stone I’d found in the bottom of his bag in my pocket. I wore his cologne, used the last of his shampoo.
Losing it, right? Every day seemed longer and harder to bear.
Discovery had more work for me. Not that I cared.
Katie didn’t play hide-and-seek anymore. The three of us got together every night and played poker, but it was halfhearted at best.
Matt’s chair, still pulled up to the foot of the table as though he’d just gone to the bathroom or gotten a drink, seemed so big. So empty.
The piano collected dust.
“Well, look at you,” Margot said as she walked into my office, her hair tied back in a scarf. The ends, blue and green and red, fell over her shoulder. “Giving the gossips something meaty to chew on for a change.”
She didn’t look her age but no one was going to live forever. Margot would die. And Katie…
“I don’t want Katie to live like I do,” I said and Margot stepped in, shutting the door behind her. “I don’t want her to be scared.”
“Of what?” Margot asked as if this conversation made sense.
“Of people, of leaving the Manor, of…” I sighed. “Falling in love.”
“Well, then I imagine someone should show her that there’s nothing to be afraid of. That falling in love is something to treasure. A gift. A very very rare one.”
