Page 23 of Falls From Grace
“Can I make you an actual cup?” she offered.
“Depends. Did he get his brewing technique from you?”
Savannah’s mouth quirked and she cocked her head for Brynn to follow her. They entered the big, open-plan, kitchen-dining-living space. The immense windows faced out toward the forest, but little light came in today. The sky outside was almost charcoal and the rain that lashed the glass kept alternating into chunks of ice. Wind howled through the trees, sending their bright leaves tumbling through the air and shredding them of their vibrance. Warm copper light fittings kept the room from darkness.
The comforting scent of coffee filled the air and she turned to watch as Savannah moved about the kitchen. Her movements were graceful and practiced, a woman who was comfortable in her own space. She reached up to pull two cups out of a cupboard above her head, her sweater rising with the movement and Brynn bit the inside of her cheek, hard, in self-recrimination for staring at the perfect curve of her ass. She wrenched herself away to go stare out the window instead, worrying that the silence between them was quickly going from comfortable to loaded.
A moment later, Savannah was beside her, extending a big white mug of coffee toward her. Black and strong. Savannah had both observed and remembered how she took it. She murmured her thanks and quickly reverted to talking about the weather, rather than reading into it.
“Is it hailing or snowing?” Brynn asked as they stood side by side, looking out at the frozen drops smushing against the glass. When she dared to look over, Savannah was watching her face, with something - amusement, perhaps - in her eyes.
“Hail is a warm weather thing,” she told Brynn. “What you’re seeing right now is frozen rain. With a bit of sleet.”
Brynn was nonplussed.
“Aren’t hail and frozen rain exactly the same thing? Ice from the sky?”
“Different mechanisms.” Savannah looked thoughtful. “Hail comes from raindrops that are thrown up by the warm air of storms into colder parts of the atmosphere where they freeze and fall to earth. Frozen rain, on the other hand, starts up high as snow then partially defrosts on the way down,” she explained. “What?” she asked, when she caught Brynn’s expression.
“You’re a nerd,” she said wonderingly.
“Excuse me?” Savannah’s jaw dropped.
“You’re like, a weather nerd.” Brynn couldn’t stop smiling. “How do you know this shit?”
Savannah rolled her eyes, but she was fighting a smile too.
“I read a lot,” she said defensively. “It’s interesting to me.”
“The weather?” Brynn raised her eyebrows.
“The world.” Savannah shook her head. “I didn’t get close to finishing high school,” she disclosed. “It wasn’t really set up for kids like me, who grew up poor. Not just like a little bit poor-” her eyes flicked up to Brynn’s. “I mean my family was really poor. The other kids… well, you know kids. Suffice to say, I didn’t fit in.” She shrugged, something flashing in her eyes. “Then, you know… I left home by my mid-teens anyway, so I wasn’t exactly able to go to school, since I had to survive. But I read everything I could get my hands on. Still do. I don’t want to not be informed.”
Brynn gazed at her. She’d tried to keep the conversation shallow. The weather, for crying out loud. But instead Savannah had just gifted her with an entire stack of insight into the kind of woman she was. Smart and vulnerable, curious and creative, a self-made fighter. And now she was looking back at Brynn, waiting for a response. God, you’re so fucking hot, was what she wanted to say.
“Like I said, a nerd,” she repeated instead, biting her lip against any further words slipping out, but letting the warmth she felt glow in her eyes.
Savannah rolled her eyes again, but her smile was there too.
“I don’t talk about my childhood much,” she admitted.
“How come?”
“People get weird about it. I’m not ashamed of it, but people who didn’t grow up the way I did tend to romanticize it. I guess because of where I ended up?” She gestured around her.
“Ah,” said Brynn. “Everyone loves a Cinderella story.” She scrunched up her nose and Savannah snorted.
“Yeah, they do. I just think it’s kind of gross to view poverty that way. Like poor people are a nice moral lesson about bootstraps or appreciating what you have.”
Brynn knew she had no concept of this. She’d been on the verge of contemplating homelessness in LA, but that was out of pride and a misguided attempt at mental health preservation. She might not want to accept their help, but she had well-off parents to fall back on. She imagined having no protection at all from the economic and social forces that prevailed and it made her feel cold.
“How does it feel?” she asked curiously. “To go from so little to so much?”
Savannah examined her for a moment.
“Weird,” she admitted. “Morally complex. I donate a lot. Lots of food programs and housing support in particular. But also, clearly… I keep a lot of it too.” She looked up at the ceiling of her immense winter mansion. “It leaves you always trying to make sure you’re safe, even when you’re beyond comfortable. Sometimes I lie awake calculating what I’d do if my album fails, or my tour doesn’t sell. As if Tucker and I couldn’t live forever on what I’ve already got. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” Brynn frowned. “You’re being self-protective and protective of your child. You might know intellectually that you’ve got what you need, but child Savannah’s always going to be in there, working hard to survive. You’ve got to take care of her too.”
