“You’re always welcome at Mama’s.” She drops her chin to her chest, remorsefully. “Mama was really hoping we could work things out.” Returning her eyes to his, Savannah persists, “She’ll always consider you her son-in-law. And she told me to be sure to tell you, ‘Don’t be a stranger.’ You’re still part of the family, Jack.”
“Just not yours,” he says. She refrains from saying anything. “What about Jac?” he questions, knowing her eldest sister is very protective of her.
“You might have to give her a little time, but she’ll come around.”
“Oh, so you told her about the phone calls…to other women?” he deduces, knowing Savannah and Jac have no secrets. “Why’d you have to go and tell her about that?”
“You can tell whatever you like to whomever you like, but I can’t confide in my sister?” she says, her anger resurfacing with the thought of the onslaught of questions she’s received from firefighter wives. “I know what you tell all the guys, Jack. The reason why we’re divorced. Because I want to ‘screw around with other men,’” she quotes his usual story.
“That’s the truth, Savannah. The way I see it,” he says adamantly.
“Did you tell them you’ve been calling other women? Doing whatever it is you’re doing with other women?” She challenges, finding herself caught up in their usual, revolving, regular circus-fare conversation.
“Well, no,” he huffs.
“Of course not.” She chuckles. “Say whatever you have to say. Whatever makes you feel good, Jack. Put it all on me, if you like. That’s fine.” She shakes her head. “This is ridiculous. We can’t keep doing this.” Savannah tires of their constant tit-for-tat approach, rehashing and arguing over the past. She eyes her wristwatch. “I have to get back inside.”
“I know,” he begins, blaming, “be a shame if your personal life got in the way of your precious work.” She ignores his goading. “So who is this guy? Is it serious?” he returns to his initial reason for paying her a visit.
“If we’re ever going to move on and establish some semblance of a friendship, I don’t think we even need to go there, Jack. It was good to see you.” She turns to walk away.
“Savannah,” he calls, causing her to turn back around, now standing a few feet from him. “I hope it is serious. I hope you fall head over heels in love with this guy, and he doesn’t love you back. Then you’ll know how it feels.” His expression laced with hurt and resentment.
Fighting off tears at the backs of her eyes with the realization of just how much she must have hurt this man for him to wish the same on her, Savannah clears her throat. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Jack. I wish you nothing but happiness. Really, I do.” She makes her way back inside the building.
Chapter Six
Sunday afternoon at the home of Elizabeth “Buffy” Bondurant, Savannah and her sisters help their mother prune and tend her immaculate backyard. The three sisters, perched on their hands and knees, pull weeds from rosebushes. Luka and Zoey busy themselves with play in the tree house above nestled in a sprawling live oak.
Jac wears a white t-shirt tucked into skater shorts, her short, wispy platinum blonde hair is spiked in the front, the ends tinted a deep purple, a diamond stud implanted into the side of her petite nose. If one didn’t know any better, they might mistake her for the rebellious rocker Pink, her voice and attitude a dead ringer. Beside her, Savannah wears workout gear, a tank top and running shorts from an earlier physical excursion. Her long dirty blonde hair in low braids, a do-rag wrapped about her crown. Vangie, on the other side of Savannah, wears a vibrant yellow sundress, her dark brunette locks pulled into a ponytail at the base of her matching wide-brimmed yellow sun hat.
Their mother, Buffy, with a full head of Paula Deen-esque silver hair, stands behind them. In her gardening gear—khaki-colored capris, a long-sleeved white blouse and her Crocs—she supervises her daughters. Savannah grows edgy as Jack Bondurant takes up the majority of their conversation.
“You did tell him he’s still welcome here, didn’t you?” Buffy asks.
“Yes Mama. I told him,” Savannah answers, her tone frustrated, wondering how it is she is supposed to move on when her mother feels the need to hold on.
“I just don’t want him to think we’ve deserted him,” Buffy says. “Shame you two couldn’t work things out.” The Bondurant matriarch knows nothing of and does not condone divorce, having been married to their father for thirty-plus years prior to his untimely passing.
“Payton invited him over for poker last night with the boys. But he never showed up. Didn’t even answer his phone,” Vangie adds. “Texted Payton back and said he had a date.” She looks at Savannah, awaiting her response, which does not come. “That doesn’t bother you?”
“No, Vangie. It doesn’t bother me.” Savannah stops pulling weeds and runs her forearm across her cheeks, mopping from them beads of perspiration. “I hope he had a good time. Might give him something else to concentrate on.”
“What do you mean?” Jac asks, growing defensive. “Has he been bothering you?”
“Not really,” Savannah sidesteps the truth. “He came by my work the other day. And he calls regularly, every night,” she bites, the constant calling verging on harassment.
“To see if you’re home,” Jac reasons, shaking her head.
“The poor dear,” Buffy sighs.
“Poor nothing, Mama,” Jac snaps. “You need to quit answering your phone,” she scolds Savannah. “And he needs to get a life. Move on.” Jac wings another wad of weeds over her shoulder. “And Mama, you need to get a yard-boy.”
“A yard-boy?” Buffy ponders.
“Yes,” Jac answers. “Preferably a hot one.” She throws her arm out in the direction of the next-door neighbor. “You know like Widow McKettrick’s pool-boy.” Savannah and Vangie chuckle.
“You mean that young man who services her pool while she and her friends sit around the sun deck, sipping mint juleps and ogling?” Buffy retorts.
“Exactly!” Jac says. “And don’t kid yourself, Mama. Her pool is not the only thing he’s servicing.”
“Jacqueline Bondurant, you hush your mouth,” Buffy scolds, the corners of her lips forming into a grin.
“We could hold auditions,” Vangie joins in the banter, her imagination fully engaged with the idea of a hunky male casting call.
“Yeah, we’ll have Savannah hang a wanted poster at that gym she goes to.” Jac elbows Savannah. “So what’s the scoop on gym boy?”
“He has a name, Jac. It’s Brody.” Savannah dodges her question.
“I didn’t ask for his name. Have you talked to him? Went out again?” Jac continues.
“No.” Savannah pulls her gloves from her hands, tightening her do-rag. “He called and invited me to dinner.”
“And you turned him down, because you didn’t want to hurt Jack’s feelings,” Jac comes to her own conclusion, knowing her little sister better than she knows herself at times. “He had a date Saturday night. At least that’s what he told Payton. Savannah, I’m telling you, if you continue to let Jack play with your head, he will.”
“Jack’s going out on dates. You’re running and talking with some other man,” Buffy begins. “You kids move fast these days. In my day, you at least waited for the sheets to cool off.” She fans herself, the Georgia sun high in the afternoon sky. “It’s inappropriate, Savannah.”
“According to who?” Jac contends. “You propose she take your lead and let five years of her life waste away before dating again?” Jac mentions her mother’s resistance to leaving the house, much less dating, since their father’s death.
“Jac,” Vangie scolds.
“It sure is sweltering, this heat. You girls must be parched,” Buffy deflects. “I’ll go get us some tea.” She makes her way into the house.
“What?” Jac snaps at Vangie.
“You know she’s had trouble letting go of Daddy. Was that really necessary?” Vangie scowls.
“It wasn’t necessary for
her to intrude on Savannah’s choices, either. You know, if she’d get control over her life, and worry about her own happiness, she wouldn’t be so inclined to monitor ours. Nothing’s ever good enough for that woman.” Jac rips another pile of weeds from the rosebushes, chucking them at the ground. “Clean this, sweep that, ‘keep up with the Joneses,’ prim and proper, spit and polish, worry and fuss over stuff that doesn’t even matter. No wonder Daddy died of a heart attack.”
“That’s enough, Jac,” Vangie warns, slinging a wad of dirt and weeds at her, the soil clinging to Jac’s white t-shirt.
Jac grabs up her pile of rosebush invaders, retaliating, she lobs the brown and green mess at Vangie. It splatters across her bright yellow sundress.
“I thought y’all would have outgrown this years ago.” Savannah falls into an age-old familiar position, between the two, her arms outspread holding them off, their hands swatting across her body at each other. “You two stop it!”
The rise in her voice causes Luka and Zoey to repel down the ladder from their tree house, wondering what all the excitement is. Still in their church clothes, the two wear adorable matching winter white dresses.
“What’s going on?” Luka asks, the first to descend, eyeing Vangie and Jac, her innocent face concerned at the mud on their shirts.
“Nothing baby,” Vangie says, wiping the soil from her sundress. “Mama and Aunt Jac just got into a little mud fight, that’s all.”
“That’s it,” Zoey chimes, “both of you in time out.” Her tiny finger points to the chairs on the back porch, having suffered such punishment herself after several mud battles with Luka.
Zoey’s furrowed, disproving brow coupled with her sentiments fully delivers in breaking the tension, sending Jac, Vangie and Savannah into belly laughs. Happy to have entertained them, Zoey giggles and snorts, running to Savannah’s open arms, hers seeming to be the best choice as she is unsoiled.
Luka, the elder of the two siblings, is not so easily convinced. Her arm leaning on her mother’s shoulder, she further investigates, “Is everything okay, Mama?”
“Yes baby,” Vangie consoles her. “You know how you and Zoey have your moments? Where you get a little upset with each other?” Luka nods, her face still drawn and concerned. “Well, sometimes Aunt Jac and I have those moments, too.”
“But you’re sisters. You still love each other, don’t you?” Luka asks.
Jac brushes the dirt from Vangie’s sundress, a show of good faith. “We’ll always be sisters, Luka. Just like you and Zoey. And I’m always going to love your mama. And you.” Jac taps her finger off Luka’s nose, causing her to smile.
“And me. You love me too, right, Aunt Jac?” Zoey jumps from Savannah’s arms into Jac’s, mashing her dress up against the mud and grass still clinging to Jac’s t-shirt.
“Zoey!” Vangie calls, her motherly mind catapulting to the dainty, white dress her daughter wears, the thought of mud stains daunting.
“Yes. I love you to the moon.” Jac cuddles her up. “A little dirt never hurt anybody,” she attempts to ease Vangie’s worry.
Zoey pulls away, proudly inspecting the mud glob on her white dress. Shrugging, she says, “I think it looks better that way.”
“Who’s ready for some sweet tea?” Buffy returns from the house, setting a loaded tray on the picnic table under the shade tree. Luka and Zoey race to the table for their helping of the sugary beverage. “Ooh,” Buffy says, “what happened to your dress, Zoey?” She diligently dabs a linen napkin at the silky material.
“Oh Nana,” Zoey says, “don’t you know a little dirt never hurt anybody.”
“Sounds like you’ve been talking to your Aunt Jac.” Buffy chuckles. “I’ll get some water. Nana will have you fixed up in a jiff.” She finally looks over at her daughters, still perched on their knees in front of her rosebushes. Vangie’s and Jac’s mud-smudged clothing draws her attention. “I won’t even ask,” she says, shaking her head and waving her hand at them, returning to the house.
“Do you ladies,” Savannah begins, stressing the term, “think we can enjoy some tea without throwing it on each other?”
“Ask the ol’ weed-slinger.” Jac giggles, pointing to Vangie, impressed with her edgy spirit.
Vangie laughs, her cheeks slightly blushing from her less than ladylike behavior. “I believe I can refrain,” she says. Savannah stands, offering her hands to them, helping them up.
Buffy returns from the house, the Savannah Sun Times Sunday edition in her hand, a jug of water in the other. “Saw your column this morning, Savannah. It’s very good,” she approves, laying the newspaper on the picnic table.
“‘Taking Out The Trash by Savannah Bondurant,’” Luka reads the title slowly, her first grade literary skills gaining ground.
“Very good,” Savannah compliments, patting Luka on the back.
“You’re the garbage reporter, Aunt Vannah?” Zoey inquires innocently.
Savannah chuckles. “Something like that, Miss Zoey.” She talks out of the corner of her mouth, “Especially if you ask some of my reviewers.”
Jac, within earshot, always has her sister’s back. “Everyone’s a critic, huh?” she pipes. “Tell them to take a stab at it, if they think they can do any better.” Jac quickly picks up the newspaper, swiping it out from under Vangie’s hand. “Elders first,” she taunts playfully.
“What’s it about?” Vangie asks. “The number one cause of couples arguing over who’s going to take out the trash,” she presumes, knowing Savannah writes a marriage column.
Luka giggles. “Mama gets on Daddy all the time about the trash at our house. She says, ‘Payton, that trash isn’t going to take itself out.’”
“And Daddy says, ‘Well, I guess you better take it out, then.’” Zoey giggles and snorts. “Then he gooses her bottom and takes that trash right out the door.”
Buffy marvels at her comedic granddaughter, working around her animated arms, diligently tending her mud-stained dress.
“You bet he does,” Vangie adds. “Your daddy’s no fool. He knows dinner doesn’t make itself either.” She eyes Jac, who reads through the column.
“It’s a metaphor,” Jac says, “for letting go of the baggage we accumulate from past relationships.” She looks up from the paper. “I like it, Savannah. That’s pretty clever.”
“I’d like to take all the credit, but I had some help with the hook,” Savannah says.
“Brody,” Jac concludes. “Has he been married before, too?”
“Yeah.” Savannah quickly follows up at the discretion of her mother’s and Vangie’s glances. “It was a clean separation. No kiddos. They just drifted apart. Kind of like Jack and I.” She shrugs. “It’s nice, actually, to have someone to relate to.”
“I don’t know, Savannah,” Buffy begins, “you know what they say. If a man can’t make one marriage work, how do you expect him to make it work with you?”
“I’m not marrying the man, Mama. I’m just getting to know him.” Savannah sits down across from Jac and Vangie at the picnic table.
“And just how well have you,” aware of the youthful ears lingering, Jac rephrases her otherwise blunt inquiry, “come to know him?”
“Not that well, Jac.” Savannah smiles at her, diverting her eyes.
“Ah, but you want to…so say your eyes.” Jac grins.
“I think you two should get as much tree house time as you can before we have to leave.” Vangie shoos Luka and Zoey from the table, her own non-virgin ears now piqued with interest.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We know.” Luka says. “Little ears need not apply.” She and Zoey race away to the ladder, scooting up into the wooden playhouse.
“You like this guy that much?” Vangie returns to the conversation.
“I think lust would be the operative word,” Jac corrects, to which Savannah agrees notably considering her empty bed of two years.
“You girls and your conversations. I thought sex,” Buffy whispers the one syllable word, “was
something only boys obsessed about.” She sits down at the table, secretly interested and apparently not too terribly offended.
“I’ll have to say, the man definitely stirs my loins,” Savannah confirms.
“Stirs your loins?” Buffy says, her eyes wincing.
“You know, Mama.” Savannah fans herself with her hands at the thought, her voice growing molten. “When you see a man and instantly you react. In here,” she says, gesturing to her lower abdomen. “It’s visceral. You just want to…ahh!”
Vangie and Jac giggle, mocking her with simultaneous, “Ahhs!”
“See! They know exactly what I’m talking about,” Savannah declares.
Buffy shrugs, unfamiliar with such a feeling. “Maybe I don’t have any loins.”
Savannah nearly chokes on her sweet tea. “Loin check,” she says. “Okay, so you know the movie Australia. With Hugh Jackman?”
“Yes,” Buffy acknowledges encouragingly, having watched and enjoyed the movie.
“The bucket scene. That part where Hugh Jackman dumps the bucket of water over his glorious naked torso,” Savannah takes pleasure in drawing out every adjective. Vangie and Jac ooh and ahh with sheer mention of the image, their loins effectively stirred. “If that scene doesn’t stir your loins, Mama, then you may not have any.”
“Hmm…” Buffy says, neither confirming nor denying whether Hugh Jackman was successful in stirring her loins.
“Well then, what’s stopping you?” Jac asks, alluding to her physical attraction to Brody. “You’re a free woman. Look at the way you go after your career.” She wields the newspaper, Savannah’s column facing out. “You use words in here I can’t even spell, let alone know the meaning of.” Jac grows loud and animated. “You’re fearless and driven in your profession, baby sister. You would be wise to take the same approach in your personal life.”
“Easy,” Vangie attempts to soothe Jac.
“I’m not mad at her,” Jac points out. “I just want her to know and see what I do now.” Jac looks at Savannah, her hand thumping off her chest, wishing she could give her younger sister all the experience and wisdom that slowly accumulates with age. “I’m six years older than you, Savannah. And I know I can come off as preachy sometimes. It’s just that I’m so proud of you. And I don’t want to see you make the same mistakes I have. It took me years to be authentic. Years to forget about what everybody else thinks. Who gives a shit about pomp and pretense.”
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