Waking Savannah

by Terri-Lynne Defino

  She flicked on the one in the kitchen, cleaned up the spilled water, and grabbed the bottle of oil and the marble bowl. Savannah brought them out to Carmen chatting amiably with Ade, as if nothing at all had just happened.

  “Savvy never lets me drive the tractor,” Benny burst as if they had been talking of it all along. “Just because I didn’t really drive much until recently doesn’t mean I can’t handle a tractor, right?”

  “It is a bit temperamental,” Ade warned.

  “Psh.” Benny grabbed his hand. “I can do it. Show me. I’ll be right back, Carmen.”

  And off she hauled him without even a glance over her shoulder. Benny’s talent for subtlety was even more lacking than Margit’s. Savannah couldn’t help smiling, or being embarrassed. She handed Carmen her things.

  “I’m sorry for being so rude. I don’t want Ad…my workers knowing about any of this. It’ll freak them out. Please, stay and have tea.”

  “I would rather not, dear.” Carmen patted her arm. “Not because I am offended. You aren’t the first to react this way. I’m a little shaken, is all, and think I need to lie down.”

  “I’m so sorry, Carmen.”

  The old woman shrugged thin shoulders. “It’s happened before. The spirit world does drain, and I’m old. And because I am old, I will ask your indulgence, even though you don’t want to know.”

  Savannah quelled the sigh, the shuddering. “All right.”

  Carmen leaned in closer. “Your malevolent spirit is not happy about your houseguest, but he is wary of him too. Maybe even a little afraid. Take notice, do your headaches ease when Mr. Gallegos is around?”

  All the hair on Savannah’s arms stood on end. The pounding ache earlier squinting her eyes was gone. Not even the dull ache remained.

  Carmen grinned. “I had a hunch. The air around you changed when he arrived.”

  Ade started up the tractor again. Benny rode on the running board, jumped off as he drove past. He waved and continued on to the garage where Raul and Edgardo stood waiting.

  “We good?” Benny asked, her gaze darting from young woman to old.

  “We’re good,” Savannah answered.

  Together, they assisted the old woman, less sturdy than she had been earlier, to the car. Savannah settled her into the front seat. The walk had pinked Carmen’s cheeks, but her smile was wan. She reached for Savannah’s hand through the lowered window.

  “Sometimes a soul is broken beyond fixing.” Carmen said. “It’s a sad and terrible thing when anger is all that remains. It doesn’t allow healing, Savannah dear, no matter how we might wish otherwise. Whatever you believe happened or didn’t happen, remember that.”

  “I will.”

  Carmen squeezed her hand once, and let it go. Leaning back into the car seat, she closed her eyes. Savannah bent low to wave Benny good-bye. Her friend only nodded, a grim expression her only other response.

  * * * *

  The old bat has a point. Anger just makes everything worse. Maybe that’s why I’m still here. Maybe I’m still too angry about what happened. About being stupid enough to believe his lies. Yeah, I’m scared of that monster, but why would he be anywhere I get to go? I was a good kid. Stupid, maybe, but I was good. Unless throwing rocks at barking dogs or ditching drips before the flutterbums catch you talking to them is bad. I guess it is a little, like scaring kids and messing with the traffic lights is a little bad. Whooee! It’s going to be a while before they fix what I did this time. And it didn’t even make me feel better. But then I heard them, the little girls. I didn’t even know they noticed me, but they called somehow, and I heard. It took all three of us to slam that ghoul inside the house, but we did it. That made me feel better. It made me feel really good, in fact. Less alone and…and powerful, I guess. Like I could actually do something other than what I’ve been doing. So I guess I’ll stick around a little longer. Besides, there’s always the chance of seeing Ricky Ricardo naked again.

  Chapter 12

  love’s ardent hands

  Another day in the upper field. Another failed yet satisfying attempt to find agricultural treasure. With this, patience, diligence, and care were key. He had absorbed that alongside everything else he had learned, twisted it to his needs, his ambitions. In Bitterly, he was untwisting those lessons and relearning them all over again. La jefa would be proud. And Lita, who the old woman visiting from Brooklyn reminded him of. They looked nothing alike. It was something else. Something not quite definable. Benny had the same quality Ade neither understood nor dismissed.

  “So how do you feel about spirits and shit?” Benny’s question had taken Ade aback, as had the obvious but effective effort to separate him from Savannah and the elderly woman the Saturday prior. Whatever Savannah assured him, something was most definitely wrong. Ade had answered, “I am an optimistic skeptic. Why?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I need more proof than faith, but I never say never. Again, why?”

  Benny had pursed her lips then, pretending interest in the workings of the tractor she’d hauled him off to show her.

  “There is an otherworld all around us,” she said. “I’ve enough proof to satisfy even you, but I understand it’s a personal thing. You can’t take my experience at my word. You’d have to have your own.”

  Benny had quickly told him about the old woman, the bowl and the oil, and the strange and terrible happenings in the kitchen. Ade could easily have explained the science of the static sensation and spinning fans with the electrical storm brewing and earth tremors too faint for active bodies to feel. But he kept those thoughts to himself. Hadn’t he felt the eerie and definite sensation of being watched the night he stood naked in Savannah’s kitchen? So much so that he dressed before cleaning up the mess he’d made in the entry. Despite his years in America, he was raised in a culture that venerated the dead, believed they watched over loved ones for all eternity.

  “I’m just making you aware,” Benny finished. “You do with it what you will.”

  Ade had kept his skeptical mind open all week. Whether alone in his room or playing a board game with Savannah, he watched, listened, felt. Nothing. The only goosebumps he got were Savannah-related. Whatever Benny thought she saw made no second appearance. Of the experience, Savannah said nothing at all.

  Ade turned off the shower and pulled his towel from the rack. Savannah’s voice came muffled but audible through the floorboards of the creaky old house. His heart swelled, stuttered, soothed. The weeks he’d been in Bitterly seemed like years. Good years. Boston was a distant and blurry past, even if he’d only cut ties with his life there little more than a week ago. Pleasantly restorative as were evenings spent playing games or watching television or simply talking, it was too much like comfort. Comfort quickly became friendship, and Ade—impossibly, strangely, wonderfully—wanted more. After drying, dressing quickly, he headed downstairs.

  But he halted when he neared the kitchen. Savannah was on the phone, her back to him. She had the old, corded phone balanced on her shoulder, away from her ear. He could hear the muffled, heavily accented voice on the other end.

  “Well, my goodness, sugarbeet, it was good talking to you.”

  “I’ve been remiss way too long, Auntie Bea.” Savannah’s voice was clear. “I’m sorry for that. No excuses, just sorry.”

  “Sorry enough to come visit?”

  “It’s hard to even think about it.”

  “Sure it is, sugarbeet, but hard never stopped you. Never once, even when you were a little girl. Maybe if you bring that handsome Spaniard with you, it’ll be easier.”

  Ade bit down on his lip to keep from laughing. So she was talking about him. Excellent.

  “Auntie Bea.” Savannah laughed. “I never said he was handsome.”

  “Isn’t he?”

  “Well, yes he is. But I’m not sure Spaniard is politically correct these days.”

  “Just think about it, a
ll right? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

  “Ah, the infamous Bea guilt.”

  Ade leaned on the doorjamb, wanting to hear more.

  “It’s a fact, young lady. I’ll be one-O-five this May. How much older can I get?”

  “You’ll live forever,” Savannah said softly. “I’ll think about it. And I’ll call you next week.” She hung up the phone. Moving to the counter, she let go a sigh.

  Sorrowful? Relieved? Ade could not be certain. He cleared his throat.

  “Oh.” She grimaced. “How much of that did you hear?”

  He pushed off the doorjamb. “Spaniard is not offensive, but inaccurate. I am Ecuadorian.”

  “That much, huh?” Savannah laughed. “Auntie Bea’s voice certainly carries.”

  “I thought you had her on speaker until I saw the phone you were using.”

  “She doesn’t hear well, so she shouts. Can’t keep the phone to your ear when talking to her, that’s for sure.” Savannah glanced at the ancient phone on the wall of her kitchen. The cord, stretched out and tangled, hung nearly to the floor. “I never use the landline,” she said. “I only keep it for Auntie Bea. Same number the Larsons’ used to have. I’ve given her my cell number a hundred times.” She spread her fingers. “She only remembers this one, and she won’t answer a call if she doesn’t recognize the number on caller ID.”

  “Then you called her?”

  “I don’t do it nearly enough.”

  Ade ruffled his wet hair. “Will you go?”

  Savannah shrugged. “I haven’t been back in a very long time. But I know if I don’t, I’ll never see Auntie Bea again. She’s too old and frail to make the trip north.”

  Ade went to her, took her hands in his. He kissed one, then the other. “I would go with you, if you asked.”

  Savannah averted her gaze. “I won’t ask.”

  “Why?” But he knew. He searched her silence for some sign that now was the moment to confess. Any sign at all.

  “If I go, it’ll be alone. It has to be. But thank you, Ade.”

  Sign enough to hold his tongue. “The offer stands, all right?”

  She nodded.

  “Excellent, then let us change the subject to how very handsome you think I am.”

  Savannah looked up at him through her lashes, coy and cautious. Ade had not well and truly kissed her since her blackout. The urge to do so now overwhelmed him, which made it imperative he did not. Instead, he tugged her gently toward the door.

  “Let us go out tonight,” he said. “A real date. No pretending it is just business.”

  No more coy and cautious, Savannah met his gaze dead on. She didn’t speak, only stared. Her hands in his twitched but didn’t let go. “I’d love to, Ade. Very much.”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “D’Angelo’s again?” she said. “It really is the best in town.”

  “D’Angelo’s it is. Do we need a reservation?”

  “Probably not, but why don’t you call while I freshen up a bit.”

  “Seven o’clock?”

  “Seven o’clock.”

  Ade let her hands go. He pulled his new-but-ancient cell phone from his pocket. “Ah, no Internet capabilities on this thing. Can I use your cell?”

  Savannah handed it over. “I’ll be ready by a quarter of.”

  She had to know what he’d done to his smartphone. He’d found it on the counter the following day. And the glass he’d dunked it into was dry on the rack. But she hadn’t said a word about it. Ade was no fool. Questions begat questions Savannah didn’t wish to answer. They both hid painful pieces of their pasts. The difference was, he’d been curious and cautious and the Internet supplied an outlet for both. Even if she looked, Savannah’s online search would find nothing about his troubles. Anita had made certain of that, and it would remain so until she either got what she wanted or knew without question she would not. The Durst power reached that far.

  The shower went on upstairs. Ade found D’Angelo’s in her recent calls and made the reservation. Sitting in the parlor, waiting for this woman who had come to mean so much to him, he made a decision. He wouldn’t give Anita the chance to ruin him for a second time. Savannah had the right to know what she was getting into. Who he was and all he had done. If he had any chance of a future with her, in Bitterly, he had to come clean. Tonight.

  * * * *

  Cool water countered August’s heat on her skin, but not the heat inside. Savannah’s fingers still tingled. Her body ached. He had kissed her hands, asked for a date, and the conversation with Auntie Bea popped like a soap bubble. In the moments following, the years of her lonely vigil swept through her mind and out again. They lived together, enjoyed one another’s company. Safely. Ade’s simple request pulled away that safety, leaving Savannah to freefall into, I’d love to.

  Evenings spent domestically contented gave fodder to her lusty dreaming, had long since tumbled into daydreams. The evening ahead allowed Savannah to luxuriate in the conjuring. In her mind’s eye, Ade parted the shower curtain. He stepped into the tub behind her, nuzzled the nape of her neck. His hands moved up and down the curve of her waist. Slowly. So sensually. To her breasts…

  Soon enough, Savannah. She smiled, and then she laughed. Softly, lest he hear. He wanted her, and she was ready. Savannah had no doubt. Maybe tonight would turn dreams into reality, or maybe she would hold on to the excruciatingly gorgeous anticipation of it all. Now, next week, next month, it didn’t matter. They had two whole seasons with nothing more to do than decide how to spend them.

  Back in her room, she dressed quickly. A dress this time. Full and flowing. And no Birkenstocks. Savannah didn’t pretend to slip earrings on, but chose the turquoise dangles so blue against the dark of her skin that Auntie Bea had sent for her fortieth birthday. Twirling her hair into careful coils she pinned up and off her neck, she spotted her laptop in the mirror, still open to the page that had prompted her to call her aunt in the first place.

  She smoothed a little moisturizer into summer-burned cheeks, her eyes drawn again to the computer screen. Spirit Reckonings. She had first seen the page as a suggested interest at the bottom of Savvy Gardening, the blog site Benny had created for her. Clicking through it, she discovered Spirit Reckoning, a regular commenter. Savannah had clicked on the suggestion, telling herself adamantly, out of common courtesy. It was good manners to show like interest.

  The posts and following discussions mostly dealt with the way a human mind worked through grief, responded to cues, and came up with acceptable answers for those inclined to believe. No pointers on how to spot ghosts, quell hauntings, or which crystals to use to conjure otherworldly phenomenon. Thought led to thought, and Savannah’s had traveled to Auntie Bea, who couldn’t possibly live forever despite her efforts.

  She turned away from the mirror, sat on the edge of her bed and put the computer on her lap. Swiping her finger across the screen, she accidentally moved it to the next page instead of closing out.

  The human mind is an awesome thing, capable of creating worlds both physical, and mental. There is usually a scientific explanation for everything, but sometimes we simply have to accept that there are things that can’t be explained by what we, as humans, know now. Keep an open mind to the non-sensible. Peace.

  “Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of what might be.” ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  A smile worked at Savannah’s lips. She saved the page in her favorites and closed the laptop, ran her hand across the cover. Electronic warmth tingled through her palm, up her arm, to her shoulders where, Carmen said, she had wings. One like a shadow. One like a cloud.

  Savannah closed her eyes. A deep inhale. A long exhale. She carried the memory of her daughters in her heart. Would it be so terrible, so tremendous a leap, to believe they were still with her in spirit? Was it wrong for a mother to want such a thing?

  No longer her laptop, but the Box re
sted on her lap, and Savannah had no recollection of moving. The scent of the cedar trunk, open beneath her windows, soothed and filled Savannah’s head, left no room for the ache trying hard to bloom.

  She opened the Box. Serenity twirled about inside her like a tiny whirlwind. Tears welled. Savannah didn’t wipe them away or quell them. She took the booties out, kissed them one at a time and set them aside. Drawings. The princess valentines the girls gave out in kindergarten, one made out to her and one to Doc while he was still overseas. Tiny, articulated dolls they got with their kids’ meals at Christmastime, their favorite things in the world.

  They’d both gotten the white doll and Sally cried. It wasn’t fair that five of the six collectables were white. Ginger traded with one of her preschool friends who got the black one and didn’t want it, but when she presented it to her sister in trade, Sally refused.

  “You keep that one. I’ll keep mine. Okay?”

  Tiny as were the toys, the twins never lost them. The hair was always tangled and the faces mostly rubbed off. Ginger and Sally never went anywhere without them, just like they never went anywhere without one another. Savannah remembered searching the house for those dolls, once she’d been released from the hospital, after the funeral and burial. She found them where she should have looked in the first place, under their pillows, in beds still and forever unmade because that was where she found them. Unresponsive. Already gone. Her consolation being that they hadn’t suffered, only fallen asleep to never wake again. Doc, in his twisted way, loved them. He loved them so much he couldn’t let them live in a world as evil as the one he knew existed.

  Sometimes, life breaks a soul beyond fixing.

  Savannah could no longer see for the tears. Wiping them away, she placed the dolls aside with the booties and the valentines. She pulled out the clipping. The only one she kept. Because it had come closest to the truth during that time of speculation and exaggeration: