“I beg to differ.” Sinclair pinned her with a sharp stare. “But we have more important things to discuss, don’t you think?”
Savannah looked over her shoulder to make sure the lounge remained empty, then turned back to Sinclair. “You’re going to be an aunt.” There. She’d said it out loud.
For a long moment her sister just stared at her, and she feared the reaction foreshadowed a near future full of strained silences and stunned looks, but then the dimple appeared in her cheek. She pulled Savannah into her arms and in an unsteady voice, said, “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
Savannah closed her eyes and clung for a moment, eternally grateful for the sincerely happy reaction. Sinclair, of all people, could have called her out on every less-than-ideal aspect of the situation, every uncertainty concerning her and Beau’s relationship. And given all the challenges and uncertainties, she could have validly questioned the one decision Savannah had already made. But she didn’t. She smiled, and hugged, and…sniffled?
“Oh, no. Don’t you dare cry, Sinclair.” She pulled away and handed her sister a bunch of tissues from the box on the counter. “If you cry, I’ll cry, and then—”
The flush of a toilet cut her off. The last door in the line of stalls opened, and Mrs. Pinkerton waddled out and approached the sinks. Savannah nearly groaned out loud. “Hello, Mrs. Pinkerton.”
“Hello. My, don’t the Smith girls look pretty tonight.”
“So do you,” Sinclair said.
“Nonsense,” she dismissed as she washed her hands. “I aim for comfort, at my age. Not like you youngsters. Sinclair, that dress certainly catches the eye.” She dried her hands. “And you, Savannah”—she stood back and took stock—“why, you’re positively glowing. Don’t hide out in here all night, ladies.”
When she ambled out, Savannah looked at Sinclair. “Do you think she heard?”
“She hears a lot. And she repeats every word. Have you told Beau yet?”
“I planned to talk to him when we got back to Atlanta. His parents’ basement is no place to tell a man he’s going to be a daddy.”
“I think you should assume the whispers have started as of now. Better move your timetable up if you want him to hear it from you first.”
Chapter Nineteen
Beau sat between Savannah and his father at the round table in the center of the banquet room where the Daughters of Magnolia Grove, along with plenty of friends and family, had gathered to eat, drink, and be merry. Mrs. Pinkerton stood at a lectern in front of the room, giving her annual year-in-review speech spotlighting citizens who’d celebrated a milestone during the last twelve months. The crowd applauded in response to everything from newborns to ninetieth birthdays.
He knew from years ago the evening would wind down shortly afterward. Some people would head out for Midnight Mass, and some would head home to put kids to sleep and then stuff stockings, wrap last-minute gifts, and do all the stuff parents did to make sure Santa had come and gone by the time the first little eyes blinked open on Christmas morning. Still, sitting in the room among all the neighborly goodwill reminded him the Magnolia Grove Christmas Eve dinner was a nice tradition. Catching up with people had been more fun and less uncomfortable than he’d anticipated.
At least for him. Beside him, Savannah twisted her napkin, untwisted it, smoothed it over her lap, and then began twisting it again. All the while her eyes darted around the room. She’d been on edge all night, and he was beginning to think she’d lied her pretty little lips off earlier when she’d told him she felt better. He placed a stilling hand over her restless ones, and she nearly jumped out of her chair.
He leaned close. “Are you all right?”
Those big blue eyes bounced to him, and then back to the lectern. “Yes. I’m sorry I’m so fidgety. I just…I really need to talk to you. After this, can we drop your parents at home and go for a drive or something?”
“Sure.” He kept his voice casual even though his gut tightened. They’d agreed to back-burner the whole conversation about staying, but evidently she’d given the matter more thought. Her anxious look suggested he wasn’t going to be thrilled with her decision. He straightened in his chair and faced front while he racked his brain for ways to change her mind.
“…and speaking of engagements,” Mrs. Pinkerton rambled on, “please join me in congratulating Laurel and Bill Smith and Cheryl and Trent Montgomery on the engagement of Savannah Smith and Beau Montgomery.”
His face heated as the proverbial spotlight landed on them and the room filled with more applause. Around the table their parents beamed. Sinclair looked oddly tense, which was weird because she knew the score.
“Now, I know that’s not breaking news. We all saw the announcement in the Gazette a few weeks ago, but I’m going to go out on a limb and speculate they’re opting for a short engagement.”
The comment brought some whistles and laughter, but Savannah clenched her fists and whispered, “Please don’t.”
“Why do I hazard such a guess? Well, let’s say I got a little scoop tonight. Please join me in being the first to congratulate the happy couple on the impending arrival of Baby Smith-Montgomery!”
What? Reenergized applause drowned out the echo of the words in his ears, but everything else shifted into a disorienting slow motion. People smiled broadly. His father clapped him on the back. Savannah’s mom flung her arms around her daughter. Sinclair covered her face with her hand, and Savannah…
Savannah looked up at him—he belatedly realized he’d gotten to his feet—her lips and cheeks feverish red against her ghostly skin.
“What?” he repeated, and the word came out that time. “Is it true?”
But he knew. Before her hand came to rest on her flat abdomen, before she nodded, he knew. A jumble of fragmented details suddenly clicked into a complete and undeniable picture. Nausea, low energy, her suddenly sensitive breasts. A raw and livid panic tore through him, along with a crushing sense of betrayal. How long had she known?
She stood and reached for him. “Beau, I—”