“He sent them, didn’t he?” As she set the arrangement on Savannah’s desk, Patty touched one velvety bloom almost reverently.
“I haven’t read the card yet,” Savannah evaded.
“Yes, but you know they’re from him.”
Savannah was spared having to answer when Patty’s phone lines began to ring. Clearly frustrated, Patty returned to her desk. But Savannah knew the questions wouldn’t go away as easily.
She opened the florist’s card with unsteady fingers.
“Think of me,” was all it said. No signature. But, of course, none was required.
Her mouth twisted wryly. Kit must surely know that she’d thought of little else but him since he’d appeared on her doorstep only a few nights ago.
SAVANNAH KNEW from the moment she walked into her kitchen that evening that something had upset Ernestine.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, worried that Michael had given his grandmother problems.
Ernestine nodded toward the folded newspaper lying on the kitchen table. “You might want to take a look at that.”
Reluctantly, suspecting that she wasn’t going to like what she saw, Savannah picked up that afternoon’s edition of the small, weekly Campbellville Courier.
Someone had taken a photograph of Savannah, Kit, and Miranda all sitting together at the ballpark. They looked like a very cozy group, all of them smiling and relaxed. They looked like a family, Savannah couldn’t help thinking.
The copy beneath the photograph explained that “bestselling novelist and Academy-Award-winning screenwriter” Christopher Pace had been in town doing research for his next book. The article added that Pace was spending a great deal of time with the Mc-Bride family, who had apparently invited him to utilize their town for his research.
“I don’t know why you seem so upset,” Savannah told her mother, laying the paper back down. “There’s nothing of particular interest in that article.”
“You like having your picture splashed all over the paper, do you? Having people gawk at you?”
“You, more than anyone, should know exactly how much I dislike that,” Savannah replied. “But there’s really nothing we can do about it at this point, is there?”
“I don’t trust him, Savannah. And if you had the sense God gave a goose, you wouldn’t, either. The two of you are as different as night and day. He’s going to hurt you. Doesn’t he remind you of…?
“Kit is nothing like Vince, Mother,” Savannah interrupted sharply.
Ernestine only looked at her. “I didn’t have to say the name, did I? You’d already thought of it.”
“He isn’t like him,” Savannah repeated, wanting very badly to convince herself as well as her mother.
It wasn’t a particularly pleasant evening. The telephone rang incessantly. Miranda gloated because so many of her friends had seen the photograph of her sitting next to Kit. Michael sulked because Savannah wouldn’t allow him to talk to his buddies. And Ernestine simply sat in silence and looked worried.
The final straw was when Miranda called Savannah to the phone.
“I don’t know who it is,” she said. “Some guy. Could you hurry, Mom? I’m expecting another call.”
“You’ve spent about enough time on the telephone this evening,” Savannah replied, and took the receiver. “Hello?”
“Ms. McBride? This is Carl Burger from the Universal News. I was a college roommate of Fred Justice, who’s now a reporter for the Campbellville Courier.”
The Universal News was a particularly unsavory tabloid that Savannah had seen while standing in line at the grocery store. “I’m sorry, I have nothing to say to you,” she said.
“Just a couple of quick questions, ma’am. I understand you’re a close friend of Christopher Pace. Is it true that he’s just signed a new, multimillion-dollar deal with a major studio for the film rights to his latest book? I’ve heard this will make him the highest-paid screenwriter in Hollywood history. Can you confirm that?”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t. Goodbye, Mr. Burger.”
The man was still talking when Savannah hung up. She immediately snapped on the answering machine.
Kit called at ten, just after the twins had headed upstairs for bed.