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the preparations Savannah and Price managed to either carry on polite conversation or avoid one another. By the time the family gathered around the dining room table, the strain of keeping up this facade of a happy marriage had worn Savannah out.
    She slumped in her chair and gritted her teeth as Price gave a rambling speech, half blessing, half toast.
    Just breathe , she told herself, keeping her eyes on the mashed potatoes. Try not to listen to the sound of his phony voice.
    “And of course our utmost gratitude goes to Neenie, through whom all good food comes.”
    The children’s table erupted in applause and Savannah lifted her glass to toast the exhausted chef. By Savannah’s own decree, Neenie always ate holiday dinners with the family. As Neenie lifted her glass in return, her soulful brown eyes held Savannah’s in a private tribute.
    “But...” Naturally, Price wasn’t finished. “As always, I am most grateful for my beautiful wife, who holds this family together. To Savannah.” Price leaned down and brushed her forehead with a kiss before whispering in her ear, “ Smile darling.”
    She was caught off guard, but managed to mumble, “Thank you.” Hoping to avoid any further scrutiny, she said. “Let’s eat.”
    Damn him anyway .
    Though everything smelled divine, she could only pick at her food. She was hungry, starving in fact, but not for what was on her plate. She looked around the room. She was a stranger in her own life, nosed pressed up against the glass from the inside, wanting what was out there .
    Kip and Cheryl were laughing, shoulders pressed close as they shared a private joke. Still openly flirting with one another after twenty years of marriage. The solidarity in their laughter touched a hollow place inside Savannah. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Price had shared a laugh.
    At the far end of the table sat her baby sister, Rebecca, and her husband, Ben. Though they were more reserved than Kip and Cheryl, Savannah caught the sweet looks passed between them as Rebecca buttered a roll and handed it to Ben.
    Even her own parents displayed their affection physically. Her father, Judge Jackson Kendall, often patted his wife’s hand while he spoke. Beverly was a fragile creature and Jackson’s mission was to protect her, both from the world, and herself. Savannah considered herself lucky to have such a devoted couple as parents. To witness a love continually polished over time to a smooth stone.
    Her father made it look so easy, and Savannah had taken it for granted that her own marriage would ease into the same gentle groove of mutual love and respect.
    Jackson Kendall grew up dirt poor on a small farm at the outskirts of Savannah. Now, a retired Georgia State Supreme Court Justice, he honored his hard-scrabble life by remaining a man of the people throughout his entire career. Savannah always stood an inch taller when she told anyone who her daddy was.
    Jackson had been encouraged by parents who pushed him beyond the property line of their dusty acres. With their blessing, he tossed his dreams in a sack over his shoulder and let them carry him far from home. And yet, he made sure his own children never strayed too far from the land and their rural roots.
    “People lose sight of who they’re supposed to be,” he said. “When they get away from the dirt and pile on top of one another in cities.”
    The Kendall children were given the blessing of a simple childhood, encouraged to roll up their dungarees and play in the marshes around Tybee Island. Kip, Savannah and Rebecca hunted for turtles, climbed trees and rode bikes on daring adventures, returning home exhausted and covered in red Georgia clay.
    Price Palmerton could trace his family roots to the Pilgrims. Because his blood ran so cobalt blue, he was expected to attend exclusive prep schools with a roster of influential students.
    In the beginning Savannah was impressed by Price’s pedigree, thrilled to marry into it, happy