Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
SAVANNAH HOLLINGSWORTH
N oah barrels out of the car and runs toward me as I open the trunk. “Who did you tell?”
I blink at him, unsure what he’s talking about. “What?”
“That Tobias and Kiki are getting married. Who did you tell?”
I’m confused as to why he’s all worked up. “No one.”
He exhales and puts his hand on his chest, almost falling to the curb. “Good. Because it’s not true.”
I take a step back. “Not true? But I heard you say it.”
“I lied to Courtney. I just wanted her to leave. I didn’t want to start a rumor all over the island.” He chuckles and grabs the sacks from The Rusty Nail. “But if you didn’t tell anyone, then we’re fine.”
I pick up the sledgehammer from the floor of my trunk. Did I tell someone? Now I’m second-guessing myself. “I don’t think I said anything,” I say slowly.
Poor Noah’s eyes bug out of his head. “Wait, are you unsure?”
“Well, I don’t know now. I was happy about it, so maybe I said something?” I bite my lower lip. “Josephine came into Peachy Keen this week, and I think the subject of Kiki and Tobias came up. But I don’t remember if I mentioned a wedding.”
Noah cringes, swipes a hand through his hair, and mutters, “Great.”
“I’m sorry,” I say as I close the trunk. “I thought it was true. I mean, they’re so in love, it’s easily believable.” I look up at him.
His features soften, and he lowers the sacks of tools in his hand. “It’s fine. I never should have lied like that.” He puts his free hand on my shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
His touch zings through me and I take a step back, breaking contact, shocked that my body would react to him like that. Like I still have a thing for him. I don’t. That was years ago.
Noah lowers his hand, a stricken look on his face. I feel terrible. He looks at me like I told him not to touch me. I quickly rush to my front door and unlock it, hoping to get past this awkward exchange so my heart can settle down. “What do I need to do to help you?” I ask, changing the subject after we’re inside.
He sets down all the Rusty Nail bags. “Help me find the stud finder. We’ll need to install the batteries.”
I busy myself with going through the sacks until I see the box he needs. After I unbox and get the batteries inside the unit, I hand it to him. “Y’all want some sweet tea?”
“Yes. Thank you.” He goes into the bedroom and starts doing something with his gadget.
I go into the kitchen and try to forget how his touch sent my body back seven years, when Noah was everything to me. I open the fridge and grab the tea, curling my fingers around the cool handle of the pitcher.
“Do you have a pencil?” Noah calls from the other room.
“Yeah. I’ll bring one in.” I pour his tea and grab a pencil from my junk drawer. I hand them to him, and I notice he’s careful not to brush his fingers against mine.
He drinks half the tea, then hands it back to me. “Can you put this in the other room? This room will be filled with dust soon.”
“Sure.” I set it down on the counter in the kitchen.
Noah uses the stud finder and marks little x’s on the wall. “Good news. There are no pipes or wires in this wall.”
“And you’re marking where the studs are.”
He grins at me, his dimple showing. “Yeah.” He points to the supplies on the floor. “Put on the gear.”
We both grab goggles, gloves, and masks and put them on. Noah turns to me. “We’ll want to punch some starter holes between the studs. Do you want to do those?”
I laugh, looking between us. Noah, the burly cop who looks like he can bench press two hundred and fifty pounds, and myself, with arms like noodles. “Me?”
He gives me a so-what face. “It’s great for getting out your anger.”
“What do I have to be angry about?”
Noah silently assesses me. “You don’t have anything? I find that hard to believe. You’re just repressing it like all the proper southern ladies on this island.”
He picks up the sledgehammer and hands it to me, a devilish smile on his face. “Come on, you want to hit this wall. Don’t you?”
I bounce the hammer in my hand, feeling the weight of it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do have repressed anger inside of me. “So, I just hit it, avoiding the x marks?”
“Yes. Go for it.”
I raise the hammer and hit the wall, but it bounces off, barely leaving a ding.
Noah shakes his head. “You can do better than that. What makes you really angry? Think of anything. Who did you wrong? Dig deep. Put all that anger into your next hit.”
What makes me angry? I ponder for a split second before it slams into me, heating my body like a furnace. I know what makes me angry. I should have known the instant he said it. The thought of it makes me want to scream. It’s what took away my ability to have children. It took away my future family and all my financial security. And it will eventually take away my life.
Cancer makes me angry.
I grip the handle of the sledgehammer so tight my knuckles hurt. I swing it again, this time slamming it into the wall with all my force. A satisfying thud sounds right before the wall crunches and splinters. Pieces of the wall fall to the wood floor, skittering in all directions.
Noah chuckles behind me. “Yeah. You got it. Do it again.”
I think about what happened when my mom was first diagnosed with colon cancer. I was just a little kid. All I can remember was how the cancer tore my family apart. She beat it, but two years later, she grew sick again, and we got the second diagnosis. A brain tumor. She beat that one, too, but then she developed breast cancer. She survived that as well, but then the doctors did some genetic testing and found out why the cancer kept coming back.
My mom has a genetic disorder that gives her a much higher risk of cancer. I had a 50% chance of inheriting the genetic disorder, so they tested me, too.
Yeah. I have it. And I didn’t realize how it could affect me until my senior year in high school when they found a growth in my uterus. It was full of cancer.
I swing my hammer again, punching a hole in the next section, the handle vibrating with the impact. Heat rises inside of me as I think about all that I lost.
Cancer robbed me. I didn’t have a mother growing up. She was always in the hospital, or too sick to come to my school functions. It bankrupted my family and made my father bitter. It stole my future children. I hit the wall again, this time hard enough to knock a hole in the wall behind, light showing through.
Something about destroying that wall makes me feel free. It brings a pleasure I can’t describe. I move to the next section and swing the hammer again, hitting it with even more force. More dust and drywall go flying. I do it again, feeling the anger seep through me.
My cancer journey isn’t over. Because I have this genetic disorder, I have a high chance of getting another type of cancer. And another. Just like my mother. I smash the hammer into the wall again. And again. As I hit the wall, I imagine it’s full of cancer, and I’m destroying it. My muscles ache as I swing the sledgehammer, cracking through another portion. Light pours in now between the studs.
I keep hitting the wall, more large pieces crumbling to the floor. I’m making a huge mess, but I don’t care. I keep going, my muscles screaming at me. It hurts, but in a good way.
“Hey,” Noah says, but I barely hear him. I swing again, more drywall crumbling away. I put my whole body into it, holding nothing back. I. Hate. Cancer. I pound that cancer wall to pieces. It feels too good to stop. A scream tears from my throat as I smash into that wall.
“Hey,” Noah says again, taking hold of the hammer. I try to swing again, but he’s got a strong hold on it, and my body jerks. I look at him, my vision blurry. I realize I’m crying.
Noah stares at me, his eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
I drop my arms, turning away from him, embarrassed. My hands tremble, and I have a hard time breathing. The dust. The mask. It’s all suffocating me.
Noah grabs my arm. “Savannah?”
I don’t want him to see me crying, so I pull away and rush out to the living room. I rip the mask, goggles, and gloves off, gulping in air. Noah comes in, worry etched across his forehead. “What’s going on?”
I swipe my hands over my face to get rid of the tears. My whole body is shaking, but at least I feel like I can breathe now. Embarrassment falls over me like a black shroud. I don’t want to look at Noah, but I can’t be rude, so I turn to him. “Sorry. I just got too into it.”
His gaze sweeps over my face. He stands there, staring at me for a moment before he steps back. “You sure?”
I nod and let out a little chuckle. “Yeah. Sorry to freak you out. Guess I’m better at demolition than I thought.”
He slowly nods. “I guess so.”
“I’m hungry,” I blurt out. “I didn’t eat breakfast. How about I make us some sandwiches?”
“I have a better idea. Go wash up, and we’ll go out for lunch. My treat.” Noah smiles at me, his boyish grin making my insides feel funny.
“All right.”