The Good Kind of Crazy. Tanya Michaels

As if Savannah hadn’t been dyeing her hair for years? Or did Douglas think it was naturally retaining its youthful gold, unmarred by the hereditary gray that streaked Neely’s ash-blond bob? Vi had heard their mother sigh to Neely as they’d set out the china, “I suppose that awful bleaching is better than some of the colors Vidalia could have chosen.”

      She forced a laugh. “Pointless to say something about it now that it’s done, isn’t it? Besides, I’m a grown-up, and it’s my hair.”

      Douglas stared at her for a long, unsmiling second, then ducked his head, a wry grin and one dimple evident in profile. “You’re no more a responsible grown-up than I am. We just play different games, is all.”

      Savannah parked The Tank, her SUV, wondering if she’d ever be completely comfortable maneuvering the vehicle into her half of the garage. When Trent left for university next fall and she was officially beyond her toting-children-around years, maybe she’d buy something small and sleek. The thought should have made her smile, but instead a cold shadow passed through her. It seemed like only yesterday her sons had been strapped into car seats behind her, pelting each other with Cheerios.

      She unfastened her seat belt with a sigh, her mood not lightened by the realization that she should have called. Arriving home late with no word was the kind of behavior that would have earned her boys a reprimand. Even though her husband and youngest son knew she’d been with her family, a lot could have happened between Kennesaw and Roswell. She’d been so caught up in the excitement of Neely’s wedding plans that she’d forgotten to phone them so they didn’t worry and let them know what dinner options were in the refrigerator.

      But a voice that sounded more like one of her sisters’ than hers whispered, Trent is seventeen and Jason has a medical degree, they can darn well open the fridge and see for themselves what’s available. Okay, maybe that didn’t sound exactly like her sisters. She couldn’t imagine no-nonsense Neely saying darn, and the thought of Vi using such a watered-down expression was enough to restore Savannah’s grin as she opened the door that led into her spacious navy-and-white kitchen. Sunflower accents added bright splashes of cheer.

      Although she hadn’t done any baking today, the room smelled as homey and delicious as it did on Thanksgiving, thanks to the cinnamon spice potpourri she kept in the windowsill over the double sink. She worked hard to make this house a comfortable, inviting place to live. Whether he was capable of checking in the refrigerator or not wasn’t the point—Jason Carter, one of Atlanta’s best obstetricians, worked long, draining shifts and provided well for his wife and two sons. The least she could do was insure he came home to lovingly prepared meals and clean rooms.

      The kitchen was unsurprisingly empty. Though the women in her family were known for congregating in kitchens, Savannah’s sons and husband normally gravitated toward the big-screen television. She heard muffled sounds from the den down the hallway.

      “I’m home,” she called out, kicking off her shoes before she padded across the pale carpeting.

      Trent and Jason were both in the den, her son stretched across the couch with his size twelve sneakers on the velour arm, and her husband sprawled in the recliner she’d bought him for Christmas. An open cardboard box on the coffee table between them revealed two uneaten slices of pizza, and while both men said hello, neither looked away from the basketball game they were watching.

      “Honestly, Trent, you’re old enough to know better than to put your shoes on my furniture.” And a shower after his softball practice wouldn’t have killed him, either.

      “Sorry.” He bent toward his feet with teenage flexibility, tossing the shoes to the ground with muffled thuds while his gaze stayed locked on the foul shot being made. Now the room smelled like sweat socks and sausage pizza—she squelched the urge to run for her vacuum cleaner and some carpet deodorizer.

      “I hope you two weren’t worried about me,” she said, feeling like an idiot even as the words left her mouth. The glassy-eyed, sauce-smeared faces before her did not hold expressions of concern. “I know I’m normally back long before dinnertime, but—”

      “Now that you mention it.” Trent craned his head, his hazel eyes finally meeting hers as he flashed her an impish grin. “What are we having?”

      It was just plain sad that some part of her was pleased by his request, felt gratifyingly needed. “Didn’t you have pizza already?”

      He crinkled his nose. “That was an afternoon snack. I’m starved. But I can finish off those last two slices if you don’t want to cook, Mom.”

      “I don’t mind.” The words came out too fast, the echo of desperation worse than the locker-room-meets-pizzeria aroma. “Any special requests, Jason?”

      Her husband shook his head. “I made the mistake of having a piece of our son’s killer pizza when I got in and have the heartburn to show for it. I’ll probably take some antacid and hit the sack early.”

      “Deliveries go okay?” she asked.

      “One emergency C, but all mothers and babies are in good health. I’m exhausted, though. I swear I could just sleep here—this chair’s even more comfortable than our bed.”

      If Trent hadn’t been in the room, would she have flirted a little, teased that she’d miss her husband if he didn’t come to bed? The truth was, with the crazy hours he sometimes worked, she was accustomed to sleeping alone. Besides, his snoring on the mattress next to her didn’t always make her feel less lonely.

      She forced a bright smile, not that anyone was looking at her. “Well, I have big news! You’ll never believe who’s getting married—Neely.”

      That got their attention. Jason looked up, grunting in surprise. “Neely? I half expected you to say Vi followed a wild impulse and ran off with her pottery instructor or something.”

      “Aunt Cornelia?” Trent’s mouth had fallen open. “Wow. Why?”

      Men. “Because she’s in love.”

      Her son ran a hand through his dark hair, considering. “I guess. It’s just weird to think about someone her age, you know, dating.”

      “She’s younger than I am.”

      “Sure, but not by much and you’re a mom. You’ve got grown kids. You don’t date!”

      No, she didn’t. She went with her son to scout universities and planned meals, making jokes about how much her grocery bill would drop once she no longer had teenage boys in the house. Reverting to type now, she left the guys to their game and retreated to the kitchen, deciding a chef salad would work nicely for her and Trent’s dinner. It had been tough when Adam, her twenty-year-old, left for school, but having Trent at home had helped ease the ache. Once he was gone, her life would be so…

      Quiet. She tried to put a relaxing spin on the word. Less stressful without a seventeen-year-old and his appalling musical taste. She wouldn’t have to wait up on Saturday nights, lying in bed and listening for him to come home from his dates. Oh, who did she think she was kidding? With her baby out on his own, she’d probably lie in bed worrying about him every night. Hoping he didn’t fall in with the wrong kids, wondering if he was keeping on top of his course work, praying he didn’t get some pretty young coed pregnant.

      Jason had chuckled at those same concerns when Adam left for university. “You raised good kids,” her husband had assured her. “Now it’s time to let them go and become the men they’ll be.”

      Raised good kids—past tense. She’d been a full-time mom and housewife for two decades. Her days were going to be strangely empty without PTA meetings, doctors’ appointments, football booster club. Not that she felt sorry for herself. She was proud of her nearly grown sons, and aware of her blessings. How many of her friends and neighbors had marveled over Savannah’s life?

      You’re so together, Savannah, I could never be that organized!

      You have such great boys.

      How on earth do