Waking Savannah

by Terri-Lynne Defino

  Savannah searched his dear, lined face. Had Benny known something she didn’t? Guessed something she’d been too preoccupied to even consider? Breaking the unspoken rule between them, she hugged Edgardo tight. The man fidgeted, but held her in return.

  “Lo siento, Savvy.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she managed to say. “I’m just going to miss you, is all.”

  “We stay the season,” Raul said. “Teach mi sobrino what he do.”

  Sobrino?

  When the men spoke to one another, it was full of the rural lilts and slang she recognized but couldn’t decipher. When they spoke to her, they stuck mostly to English peppered with the Spanish she knew. And Savannah knew that word.

  “Your nephew?” She looked from man to man. “You brought your nephew here to take your place?”

  “My son.” Edgardo patted his chest proudly. “Adelmo. College boy, si? He study many years. He come here, work para ti. Learn. Next season, he be ready.”

  “Good boy,” Raul added. “Very good. You like him.”

  Trading two seasoned foremen for a college kid made her uneasy. Savvy’s had a good reputation as a farm that, while not certified organic, was close to it, all thanks to the experience of the two men smiling and nodding uncomfortably before her. “Well,” she sighed, “where is he?”

  “Not here,” Edgardo told her. “Two days, he come. Five o’clock airplane. Okay?”

  “Okay. Yes, good. Thank you, gentlemen.”

  She took a deep breath, let it go along with the dread. They were leaving her. Edgardo and Raul, who had worked the farm as long as she had, were going home as they always did in October, and wouldn’t come back. Ever. In their place, a boy without their experience, a boy she had no attachment to, but would, in time, because no matter how hard she tried not to care, Savannah Callowell usually did.

  “I brought you window fans.” She turned abruptly and headed to where she left them. “There isn’t an air conditioner to be had in all of Connecticut or Massachusetts. If it gets too hot, you can sleep in the office…”

  * * * *

  The dark crescent that always preceded a full-blown headache appeared in her periphery. Savannah padded to her bathroom and grabbed the bottle of pills Margit had prescribed for her. Of all those she left behind in Georgia, her friend and doctor was the only one she kept in touch with, under sworn promise not to tell anyone where she was. Ever.

  Through Margit, Savannah got her medication and any pertinent news of home. Her adoptive sisters and brother, old friends and ancient Auntie Bea had not changed, as far as she could tell. Keeping in touch made it easier for Savannah to stay away, to pretend doing so somehow helped.

  Swallowing down the pills, she closed her eyes against that crescent harbinger. The medication never averted the headache, but it did help. She jiggled the bottle. Only six left, and it wasn’t even August yet. Savannah put it back in the medicine cabinet, fished the cellphone from the pocket of her tattered robe, and punched up Margit.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Margit.” Savannah cleared the gravel from her voice. “It’s me. Savvy.”

  “I can read my caller ID.” The sweet, rich voice on the other end laughed. “Out of meds?”

  “Almost. Can you call it in?”

  “It’s been over a year since I’ve seen you, Savvy. You know I can’t prescribe these meds without seeing you annually. Come home.”

  Savannah pressed fingertips to her eyelids, rubbing at them until sparkles appeared.

  “Savvy? You still there?”

  She let go a sigh. “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  “I am home. Can you meet me in New York again?”

  “No.”

  Savannah let her hand fall. “What?”

  “No, I won’t meet you in New York, but I’ll tell you what I will do.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “I’m coming to see you. I want to see the farm. And the childbirth clinic.”

  “I…”

  “You what? Don’t think it’s a good idea? Too bad. It’s that or you can find another neurologist to prescribe your meds for you. I can have all your records—”

  “No. Sorry. Of course I want you to come. I’d love to see you.”

  “Oh, you are such a liar.” Margit laughed again, this time a little sadly. “But I’ll pretend I don’t know I’m unwelcome and come anyway. How’s next week look for you?”

  “Fine. It’s fine. Just let me know your flight plans. And I have to warn you, I have a houseguest staying the summer. You’ll have to sleep in my room with me.”

  “Like when we were in college. Does this mean we get to stay up all night talking about boys and smoking pot?”

  “Margit.”

  “Fine, fine. We won’t talk about boys. We’ll talk about men. I’ll email you later. Do you have enough pills to last until then?”

  “It’s debatable. You know how much worse they get this time of year.”

  “I’ll try calling in an emergency prescription after we hang up. Same pharmacy?”

  Savannah hung up her phone, slid it back into the pocket of her robe, barely remembered contributing to the idle chatter after Margit agreed to try. Leaning close to the mirror, she pulled at the corners of her eyes, but the lines around them reappeared the moment she let go. Women in her family were famously unwrinkled well into their cronehoods. She, only just tipped into her forties, had enough to make up for all of them. She blamed the sun, but it was the headaches aging her.

  Turning away from the mirror, Savannah shucked off her tattered robe. It puddled on the floor. She stepped into the shower and let the cold water shock her out of thoughts she didn’t want to have. Instead, she thought about Margit’s visit, about Edgardo and Raul leaving, about the heat and the farm and the college boy about to become her new foreman. Anything but the thoughts etching lines into the corners of her eyes.

  * * * *

  Town has changed so much, and not at all. It’s swell hanging around after the big picnic, scrabbling around like a rat in the garbage left behind, but it ends up making me sad. Just like scaring people, especially the teenagers, ends up making me sad. They remind me of all I didn’t get to be.

  I’ve met others like me, here in Nowheresville. I try to talk to them so I don’t have to talk to myself, but aside from the old lady who never leaves the cemetery, they don’t stick around long. Strange, I haven’t noticed her in a while either. I think. There’s that time thing, you know. I wonder where she got to. Maybe she finally let go of whatever was keeping her here. I know I should too.

  It’s just not fair. He gypped me out of my life, now he’s gypping me out of my afterlife. But I’m just so scared. What if what’s waiting beyond Nowheresville is way worse? What if what’s waiting is him?

  Chapter 3

  my musing gaze

  Though Edgardo assured her his son would be very comfortable bunking with him and Raul, she didn’t want Adelmo to start his new life on a couch in a double-wide trailer barely big enough for two. Her home, though modest, had an unused bedroom she utilized as a catchall for anything she didn’t feel like putting away. The treadmill, currently a place to hang clothes, and the filing cabinet, full of outdated seed catalogs, were things she’d meant to get rid of long ago, anyway. Clearing out the house was a relief, as was fitting it with a futon, second-hand dresser, cable, and even a mini-fridge for the young man to stash beer and ice cream in.

  The Berkshire Mountains were already absorbing the heat wave, leaving behind the breezy days and cool nights she had grown to love during her years in Bitterly. As she transformed her spare room for Edgardo’s son, her misgivings about a college student replacing her seasoned foremen began to dissipate. She trusted their judgment. Implicitly. If they said he was the right person for the job that was good enough for her.

  “Ade stay when we go,” Edgardo said as they stood in the doorway of the renovated room. “He
write his paper before spring.”

  Paper? For grad school, she guessed. Adelmo—Ade to his father and uncle—would move into the trailer come their October departure. Edgardo’s discomfort over his son living in the house with Savannah was as endearing as it was antiquated. Did he fear she would fall prey to his son’s wiles? Or that he would fall prey to hers?

  I would have daughters nearly his age, she wanted to tell him. But Savannah Callowell didn’t have daughters. Not anymore. Not in a very long time. Ade was, nevertheless, perfectly safe.

  Savannah got on the scooter Benny gave her after Irene was born, and headed to the thrift shop just outside of town proper. Though she’d be in East Perry on Wednesday, getting to one of the big stores before or after her volunteer shift at the childbirth clinic never happened. It would be too late anyway. Adelmo was to arrive sometime on Tuesday. For his sake, and his father’s, she would have the window shades up and functioning before then.

  Benny had given her a helmet along with the scooter, making her promise to wear it. A promise Savannah did not keep. There was no helmet law in Connecticut. As a doctor who worked her stint in the ER, she knew all too well what could happen to a head sans helmet. Idiotic as it was, the helmet sat, dusty and unused, in the top of Savannah’s hall closet. Riding the quiet lanes along the river, she thought nothing of idiocy or nephews or foremen leaving, only of the summer warmth that would all too soon become autumn’s brisk chill. Savannah reveled in the sensations of sunshine on her skin and wind in her hair, and the sound of insects buzzing in tandem with her scooter’s engine.

  Pulling into the lot at the thrift store that had once been a bank, she noticed a car with New Jersey plates. She glided into a spot, switched off her engine and headed hopefully inside. The steady stream of chatter started a smile that the clipped, red head turned grand. Savannah snuck up behind her, putting a finger to her lips so the clerk wouldn’t tell, and tapped the young woman on the shoulder.

  “Savvy!” Charlotte McCallan threw long arms around her before Savannah could see her face properly. She had been one of the first high school students hired on the farm all those years ago. Charlotte’s unfailing energy made her a quick favorite with Edgardo and Raul. Her willingness to do those tasks the other high school kids balked at—like cleaning the lamb pens—earned Savannah’s respect. It was Charlotte’s genuine kindness and incomparable hutzpah that made Savannah love her like she loved few others in Bitterly. But Charlotte didn’t live in Bitterly anymore.

  “You cut your hair again.” Savannah tugged at a spikey lock. “Too hot?”

  “Yes and no.” Charlotte fingered the hair near her ear. “I donated it. Matt was so pissed.”

  Matt. The boyfriend. Savannah quelled the instinct to grimace. She had only met the man once, after all. “Why was he angry?”

  “He likes long hair.” Charlotte shrugged. “He said the donation isn’t a donation, really, because the organization that gets the hair sells the wigs they make.”

  “Some organizations do, true.”

  “Not the one I donated to. I checked it out first.” Charlotte nudged Savannah in the side, winking dramatically. “A bunch of little kids are running around with my red hair on their heads and I didn’t even have to give birth to them. Sometimes Matt forgets I have a brain.”

  “You do have a college degree.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Culinary school.”

  Holding her tongue became nearly impossible. Savannah knew all about men like Matt. How long before his failed attempts to chip away at Charlotte’s self-esteem turned physical? Savannah’s hand went automatically to her ribs, to that phantom ache always reminding her. She pretended to scratch an itch. “How long are you here for?”

  “I was trying to get here for the picnic, but things get crazy in Cape May on the Fourth. Matt’s minding the bakery so I can stay a few days, but I really have to get back for the weekend. Will you come to Dad and Johanna’s for a barbeque on Friday? Nina and Gunner will be there with Tabitha.”

  “Tabitha?”

  Charlotte shoved her playfully. “The mysterious Tabitha they brought home from Greece. How could you possibly forget that juicy bit of gossip?”

  Savannah remembered, vaguely, hearing about the orphan Nina and Gunner Coco-Allen brought home from their curiosity-seeking voyage around the world. “I don’t do gossip, sugar. You know that.”

  “Well, you’ll meet her anyway. Will you come?”

  “Only if I can bring something.”

  “Watermelon and tomato salad?” Charlotte crinkled her nose. “No one makes it like you do.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Fantastic.” The young woman threw her arms about Savannah again, rocking her back and forth. “I’m so excited. Now I have to go home and tell Dad and Johanna they’re throwing me a barbeque on Friday.”

  “Charlotte!”

  Dancing off, Charlotte laughed. “I’m kidding. Be there at six.”

  Waving, shaking her head, Savannah let it go. Charlotte was a force to be reckoned with, and there was no thwarting her. She pushed away thoughts of Matt and his undermining ways and instead ticked through the ingredients for the salad she had become famous for after Benny posted it on the Savvy Gardening site. Tomatoes still green before the picnic would be the perfect ripeness come Friday. She just needed to buy a watermelon.

  She searched for window shades, found a pair that matched, and a third that matched well enough for a young man’s room. Adelmo probably wouldn’t even notice. Savannah laughed softly under her breath. Despite his father’s uneasiness, he probably wouldn’t use them at all. The more she prepared for his arrival, the more she liked the idea of having him around. Edgardo and Raul taught her everything she knew. Now she would have the next generation to teach in turn. Though they never said his degree had been in agriculture of any kind, Savannah couldn’t imagine him earning one in another field and still consenting to take his father’s place.

  Savannah halted in her tracks, nearly dropping the shades in the process. In all the years Edgardo and Raul worked her farm, she had filed the appropriate applications, gained the proper visas and never had a problem with immigration.

  She had not done so for Adelmo.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. Would the boy be there on a work visa? An education visa? Her heart stuttered. Illegally? Her foremen’s announcement, coming when it did, had been a shock, one that clouded this very important detail. She purchased the shades without even haggling about the price, dumped them in the milk crate carrier that was bungee-corded to her scooter and headed for home.

  * * * *

  I always liked that redheaded panic. I knew her name once. I’ve forgotten now. Memories are hard to hold on to, in my state. I think they’re for the living. Makes things easier. Anyway, I put pebbles in the panic’s shoes once. In all the years I’ve been doing it, she was the only one I let give them to someone else. Honestly, I couldn’t have done anything about it anyway. She made the switch and called her little sister to the porch without ever giving me the chance. I couldn’t let her get away with it, of course, and ended up scaring her a little later that night when she was out with her friends. Just for fun, really. A tap. Or two. She probably doesn’t remember anymore. I usually remember all my little tricks. Maybe dead-girl memory is just selective.

  But the Negro lady? I don’t know her, really. I’ve seen her, of course. She’s hard to miss, considering, you know, she’s not white. Maybe there are more in Bitterly these days. That’d be peachy, wouldn’t it? Still, I thought I kind of knew everyone in Bitterly. Once, everyone knew me. Then everyone knew of me. Now, well…anyway…

  They didn’t even know I was there, sitting on the rock jutting out of the river. Though I guess I should be used to that by now. There aren’t many who can feel me near, let alone see me. Not unless I want them to. A fleeting glimpse works best. Scares the bejesus out of people. I know it’s kind of mean, but it’s a little something I f
eel entitled to.

  The water is shallow here, not like that other rock where he tossed me all wrapped up in a carpet I can still smell sometimes, though don’t ask me how. Maybe it’s just the shadow of the dust and my own blood in my nose. And the water. So cold. I don’t go to that rock, even if all the kids dare one another to swim there like it’s a rite of passage or something. It makes me angry, them making a game out of what happened to me. Sometimes angry enough that the traffic lights in town don’t work for a week.

  It’s funny, not in a ha-ha way, but in a strange way, how I was drawn to the Negro lady today. At first, it was the panic who caught my attention, but then I saw her, and noticed that angry thing hovering nearby. And then I noticed those two little girls standing between it and her. Once I saw them, I couldn’t not see them anymore. I’m not sure if they noticed me. I really don’t know how it all works. And now I’m curious. That’s something I haven’t been in, well, however long it’s been. I know, I know. Curiosity killed the cat, but I’m already dead, so...

  * * * *

  “No worries, no worries.” Edgardo had laughed when Savannah expressed her concern. “Ade have papers. All legal. No worries.”

  “But I didn’t fill out any—”

  “He have papers from university,” Raul assured her, winking. “Is good, promise.”

  Savannah had left the men in their trailer and went to the computer in her office. She clicked through all the sites she could find about education visas. Despite the myriad of possibilities rattling about in her mind, Savannah let it go. She hoped Adelmo spoke better English than his father and uncle, hoped he would have an adequate explanation for her. The last thing she wanted was trouble with immigration. Savannah Callowell had crusaded for more than her share of injustices in her forty-two years. After she bought Larson’s and changed the name to Savvy’s, she decided that the illegal farm workers issue was not one she had the stamina to maintain. She found Egdardo and Raul through serendipitous, though proper, channels, and hired local kids for the summer months. Adelmo’s legal status, or lack thereof, had the potential to change the easy balance on her farm. It made Savannah exceedingly nervous. And headachy.