Page 5 of Savannah Heat
“And no one can tell it’s a fake?” Brock leaned down to look at the emerald necklace.
“Can you—or could you before I told you it was?”
Brock picked up the necklace and held it up to the light. “No, can’t say that I could. This must be a good copy. How much did that set you back?”
Jenna shook her head and smiled. “Now, that’s an example of things you should never ask someone, especially a woman, and especially in the South. Have you learned nothing?”
Brock laughed. “Okay, but how much? Just between you and me?”
“Thousands, many thousands, Brock. The cost always depends on the gems used, how many of them, and the setting and materials used for the piece in question. There’s also a time factor to consider. The jeweler’s time is valuable and is added to the cost.”
Brock shook his head again, eyes wide. “It’s just crazy, and women are crazy in general when it comes to jewelry and clothes.”
Jenna felt her annoyance with Brock grow. “But I thought you said that image was everything.”
“Buying some quality items is one thing, Jenna, but it’s insane to pay for fake jewelry, and thousands for one dress. One simple dress, or worse, for a purse. People do dumb things, especially women.”
Jenna grinned. “Dumb things like hitting a little white ball across the grass with a stick?”
“That’s different. That’s a sport and a contest of skill. You can’t compare that to people who spend yet more money making copies of their jewelry that they spent a fortune on and can’t wear.”
Jenna held up a diamond necklace, inspecting the clasp. “No, those two don’t compare exactly. What I meant was that everyone has their thing—what they love, and it’s not the same for everyone. It’s like art. Some collect jewelry for the love of it, and some collect it as an investment, or both. Yes, it just hangs there doing nothing, but it makes you feel a certain way when you look at it. Jewelry is like that for some—it’s like that for me.”
Brock held up his hands. “Okay, once again I’m in an argument I can’t win. So, now I will watch the news while you do what you do.”
Later, as they walked the few blocks to the restaurant, Jenna once again slowed her pace to look around and take advantage of being back in Savannah. She wondered how many times she walked those streets with her grandmother and looked at the same lampposts and the same trees. Some of the same shops were still there that were there in her childhood. “I look at all this, and I see history,” Jenna said to Brock as they walked along.
Brock pointed to an old tree and the old sidewalks with uneven stones. “I just see old stuff.”
“You have no romance in your soul, Brock.”
“I’m a businessman, Jenna. I feel very romantic about success and money.”
Jenna knew then they were not going to make it. The only thing left was to decide how to end it.
Brock talked about his business, the golf game, and his plans to expand his company, and his efforts to make it an international market. Though he wasn’t fond of airline travel, he made the ultimate sacrifice and checked out the market in the South of England recently. He was now more interested in the European market overall. But his travels did not result in a broader world view. Instead, it made him determined to compare each place to New York City. She couldn’t make him see his error.
As they made their way back to the hotel after dinner, Jenna wondered again about Dan. Where was he, what was he doing, and even more important, why had he left her five years before with no explanation? The hurt and confusion still remained.
As they entered the hotel lobby, Jenna was interrupted in her attempt to explain to Brock about what Savannah meant to her when his phone rang.
Brock ended his call and smiled at Jenna. “Payoff time. That was a well-connected businessman who wants to talk business in the bar. I’m going down for a drink. I might be a while if it’s going well.
Jenna nodded and didn’t complain.
Brock made a quick exit toward the bar.
Jenna, a bit relieved to see him go, went to their room. She washed her makeup off, put on her pajamas, and tried to distract herself with the late news recap.
Her last thought before she fell asleep was to wonder how Brock would react if he knew how much her jewelry collection was worth and how she owned such a collection. That was a story she would never tell. The only other person who knew that story was Dan. He couldn’t tell her story for the same reason she could never tell his.
The next morning, Jenna woke before Brock and put on her running gear. She had not even heard him come in the night before. She looked at him now and hoped he’d gained another client to add to his list. She didn’t want to hear about it or anything else he could find wrong about their trip. She needed to clear her head and think through a few things, and running was one thing that often helped her. The sun was barely up, but that’s how she liked it. The streets would be quiet, and she could think.
After a satisfying run along her favorite path, Jenna ended up, as she often did, on that bench with a plaque that read—for Gloria, who still dreams here, December 1967. The etched letters on the bronze plaque were still in good shape. She tried to recall what her own dreams were and couldn’t see them clearly anymore. Dan was once the star in all her dreams. Since he left her with no warning, she rarely remembered her dreams anymore.
As she sat on Gloria’s bench, she asked herself one hard question—was she going to keep living this way, piecing parts of her life together and calling it a life worth living? Her real dream dissolved five years before and left her not quite whole. That was it—not quite whole; she was a woman walking around with a piece missing. It was the feeling she wrestled with for five years as she reclaimed her life, and she was tired of doing it. It meant pushing everything else away, the past in particular. She thought she’d finally left her broken self behind, but somehow being in Savannah was showing her what she was missing—herself.
Jenna felt his presence before he spoke. At first, she thought it was just her imagination sparked by her trip down memory lane. But no, there he was looking down at her. She looked into his eyes, and for a few seconds, no time had passed at all. She couldn’t look away. She could hardly breathe. She couldn’t move. “Dan,” she whispered.