“You two go get a seat and sit quietly.” As if that thought would be lost on us in some way. We just smiled and did as we were told. Wonder what would’ve happened if, instead, we had chosen to stand in the back and carry on loud conversations, just to prove we were too inept at coming up with such a conclusion ourselves.
Inside, Thomas and I hugged necks, said hellos, and sat down about midway back on the left-hand side. Vicky and Dad sat on the second row on the right-hand side. The music started, and no one saw their seat again for almost forty-five minutes. The music rocked the house, then came down to a soothing pace. Each song gave me a reason to rejoice, reflect, or respond. Some clapped, some stood silent, others raised their hands in a form of surrender, but each responded in the way that expressed his own heart.
When the special song was over, Pastor Brice took the platform in his usual unpretentious way. He acquired his congregation’s respect without demanding it. Today’s message was titled “The Life You’re Looking For.” For the next forty minutes, Pastor Brice made it clear that the direction for our lives could be something we’ve yet to discover. Then he told us what was necessary in a person’s character to achieve the ultimate destiny for his or her life. I listened as if every word was spoken directly to me. I felt as if he had followed me around for the last two months, cataloging my life and culling a message from my mayhem. But somewhere between his reading of the Scripture and his final point I felt a calming, even an assuring, that the decision I had made was necessary for wherever I was going.
After a magnificent meal of roast and potatoes, Vicky was sitting in wait. “OK, let’s go. I want to show you your new apartment.”
I eased myself out of the chair and followed her reluctantly to the front door.“Don’t get too excited. There are no guarantees that I’m going to move into this apartment.”
“You’re going to love it. I promise.” And she took off out the front door and across the street. I had barely closed the door behind me when she turned around in front of a townhouse almost directly in line with her own front door, flung her arms wide open, and declared,“Ta-da! Isn’t it perfect?!” I sat down right on our top step.“Savannah, get up . You’re going to love this.”
I got up and walked over to the Mini-Me. It was made with brick, just like her house; had an iron railing in front of the door, just like her house; and had ivy growing halfway up the wall, just like her house. The only difference was the red front door.“Why didn’t you pick the one next to it?” I asked as I stood beside her.
“Its door is black.”
“It didn’t have as much charm. Come on, Bett loaned me her MLS key.” Bett Thomas is the only real real estate agent in town.
Others try, but she’s the master.
“Of course she did. But there is really no reason for me to see this, Mother. I’m not going to live across the street from you. I may as well not move out at all.”
“Oh, OK. Well, good, let’s just go home then,” she said, turning her little three-inch heels around quicker than she could rename a street Victoria Valley Drive.
“Is that what this is about? Did you do all of this so I would stay home? Well, get your hiney in that house and show it to me then.”
“Savannah! I’m going to have whiplash if you keep spinning me in circles like this.” She opened the door.
The place was breathtaking. It had plantation shutters, hardwood floors, built-in bookcases, and a newly remodeled kitchen and master bath. It had three bedrooms and two baths. And it was simply perfect.
As she closed the door behind us, I stood my ground.“Well, if I was even willing to live across the street, it wouldn’t matter, because I couldn’t afford this place anyway. It’s probably $1,500 a month.”
“Actually, it’s $2,500 a month,” she said,“but I’ll help you pay what you can’t afford.”
“How would that have me independent and making my own way?”
“Savannah, give me a break. You’ll be living by yourself. I won’t even bring you dinner, unless we have tons of leftovers.” She smiled. We walked back through our front door.“Well, I think it’s perfect, and if you let it go, you’ll be sorely disappointed,” she said to my back as I dragged myself up the stairs.
“It won’t be the first time,” I called back. I spent the rest of the evening in travail over the fact that I needed a story. She and Dad went up the street for a Bible study, allowing me to use that time to get a snack and head back upstairs.
Duke and I conversed about the Abercorn address and relocation. He was all for it. And the thoughts of how nice it would look decorated did have a certain appeal.“I would technically be out on my own.” Duke panted in agreement. “No one would have to know Vicky was supplementing the rent. It would look nice with some furniture and my bedroom suite.” Somewhere between choosing toile or damask,we both surrendered to sleep. And somewhere in the middle of the night,Vicky slipped me a lovely sample of a new-address acknowledgment for one Savannah Phillips at the address across the street.
CHAPTER TEN
There is something about dogs that just makes life better: they have a way of listening without giving opinions, following you wherever you go, and being totally comfortable with no agenda at all. What an ideal relationship. After slipping on my Nikes, I headed out with Duke. I talked to him for a couple of blocks, then I put my earphones on to listen to my new weekly tilling CD, Jonathan Pierce’s Run to You, I put the button on repeat. “I could walk to you, but I’d rather run,” came the lyrics, giving me the motivation to keep up the pace.
After the second mile, I stopped to give Duke a break at the doggy fountain. The break was really more for me, because Duke was in much better shape since he and Dad started working out. I sat down on a bench at the south side of the park and saw a familiar face approaching out of the corner of my eye.
“Savannah?” Grant called.
I took off my earphones and swung them over my shoulder. “Hey, Grant,” I said, wondering if hugging him was appropriate anymore. Hard to believe I was actually having to ask myself that question.
He bent down and hugged me instead.“I saw Duke and knew you weren’t your father. I heard you were home. How’re you doing?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m doing great!” I said, sounding ridiculously fake. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m doing pretty well. Work is good. Dad and I manage pretty well together.” He was wiping his beautiful tan face with a white towel. “I have had some things change, though. Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked, waving to the empty side of the bench.
“No, not at all,” I answered. Duke came up from his water break and shook his head right in front of us, soaking us both.“Oh, that’s attractive, Duke,” I said, laughing. Grant smiled, causing both his green eyes and perfectly white teeth to flash, as they did anytime something amusing or thought-provoking happened.
“Savannah,” he began rather cautiously, “I’ve wanted to call you for a while, but I didn’t know where to begin. I met someone my last semester at school. Her name’s Elisabeth.” So much for Paige’s accuracy.“She’s a sweet girl. After you and I had our talk, I decided that I had to get on with life. So she and I started dating after I graduated. We’ve been dating almost two years now, and we’re getting married next month. I wanted to tell you myself, but figured your mom would tell you first,” he said, laughing. I had long since grown accustomed to people laughing after they said my mother’s name.
“Well, she didn’t tell me anything, which means somehow this has escaped her realm of knowledge. How that is at all possible, I am totally unaware. But Paige told me yesterday.”
“Well, we haven’t had a need to tell that many people around here. Elisabeth’s from North Carolina, so we’re getting married there, but then we’ll move back here after the honeymoon.” He spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone. Did he not know this news was only a day old to me?
“So do you love her?” I blurted, then slapped my hand over my mouth.“I’m
sorry. I can’t believe I said that. Of course you love her. You wouldn’t marry someone you didn’t love. Why would anyone marry someone they didn’t love? No one marries someone they don’t love. Well, maybe if it were for money, but I’m sure this isn’t about money . . .”
“Yes.” He paused, then softly touched my arm.“I do love her, and you’re right. I wouldn’t marry someone I didn’t love. She’s a wonderful girl, and she really loves me. And she’s Methodist too!” Another laugh.
“Well, what more could you ask for?” I asked, all the while wishing he would say, “I could have asked for you.” But he had asked for me. And two years ago, I had let him get away.
He looked me directly in the eyes. “Not much. I’m a lucky man. I’ve loved well, Savannah. And I loved you well.”
“I loved you too, Grant. No, I love you too. But you know me, I believe that the decisions we make are for a reason. You’ve been one of my best friends for as long as I can remember. I know what your expressions mean. I can tell what you’re thinking by the way you squint your nose when you’re perplexed, or by the different rubs you have for your head. There’s the stressed rub”—I demon-strated—“ and the thinking rub.” My laugh was much more awkward than his. “I know all of these things about you, and I still let you walk out of my life. And that day led us to this day, a day I didn’t plan, but apparently a day that was meant to be. You deserve to be loved well,” I said. Grant looked down at the top of Duke’s head. I touched the bottom of his face and lifted his chin so I could see those green eyes as we closed this chapter of our lives.“You’re a wonderful man. One I always appreciated, but never quite the way that you deserved. I wish you the greatest happiness.” I turned to go and heard him call out my name, differently than I had ever heard before. He was letting go.
“Savannah, you would like her. She would have been your kind of friend.”
“If she likes you, I know I would like her,” I said.
He stood up and brushed himself off. “And she would like you,” he said. “Everyone likes you.” He smiled at me as only he can, then he turned and jogged away.
Duke and I stood there. Walking away felt somehow treasonous. Downright sacrilegious. But Grant—Grant hadn’t just walked away; he had jogged. There was no slow step, no hung head, no discreet wipe of the eyes. But I couldn’t move. Moving meant letting go. Moving meant good-bye.
Duke’s whimper forced me back to Forsythe Park. “Me too, boy. Me too.”
Dad’s Land Rover was sitting in the street when I rounded Abercorn Street. My mother was perched at the door, his hand eclipsing hers as they rested on the edge of his open window. This was how love looked: undivided attention and last-minute conversations. It looked through the same eyes after twenty some years and yet still held a reluctance to part, an anticipation of the next time they would see one another. I looked at Duke sadly. He looked at me as if he knew what I was thinking. Well, he had never known love either. There was the chocolate lab up the street, but Dad wouldn’t let him anywhere near her. I walked up the steps a tad slower than usual.
I distracted myself by taking inventory of my closet. It was certain— I possessed no appropriate newspaper reporter attire. It was time to shop. I decided to walk because summer would be here soon, and months would pass before I could again walk without perspiration settling behind my knees and in the creases of my arms. Today was beautiful and warm, but not cruel. As I passed Katherine’s bookstore, a customer emerged with a sack full of books. Thinking maybe something inside could spark my interest and give me an idea for a human-interest story that might actually interest a human, I decided to go inside.
People were browsing most every nook and cranny. Many looked like tourists. An elderly gentleman dressed in plaid pants picked up Vicky’s book with pictures of someone else’s home. He skimmed through and set it down and progressed to another about ghosts. Savannah has a ghost story around almost every corner, which appalls Vicky to no end. When she found out Disney World copied the exterior of the Hamilton Turner Inn for the facade of their haunted mansion, well, she wrote Mr. Disney himself, totally oblivious to the fact that he had been dead for years. And this past year, Savannah was voted the most haunted city in North America; and well, let’s just say, had my mother learned of it,Washington would have been notified.
Katherine was behind the counter when I came in, and she saw me immediately. A customer was waiting to check out, and she thanked him and invited him to stop by again before leaving Savannah. With her greeting,my pulse went haywire. The voice on the tape. Katherine was the one who had a story to tell. A story she never finished. Afraid my expression would give me away, I pretended to interest myself in a display. My new friend had a secret.
When she spoke again, I jumped.“Well, Savannah. I hoped I’d see you again soon. I didn’t know it would be this soon, though. I see you’ve got your book with you. Wanting to return it already?”
“No, no, I usually carry one around. You know, in case there’s any lag time. And I . . . well I . . . I hadn’t planned on stopping in so soon, but I just needed to do a little research, you know, take a few minutes to browse.” I picked up the closest thing to me, to show that I hadn’t really come to expose her deep, dark, buried secret.
“Well, you research all you need to,” she said, turning her attention to Mr. Plaid Pants’s wife,Mrs. Polka Dot.
More people came and went, so I spent some time browsing through the new autobiography section, trying hard not to stare at Katherine. My mind raced with a thousand questions, all begging for immediate answers. Katherine walked around the bookstore like she owned the place. Well, you know what I mean. She has a quiet confidence that invites you in and encourages you to stay, but you know you’re in her domain. I tried to act interested in the autobiographies.
There were more stars’ faces on the covers of books than you could find on the walls at the Chamber of Commerce office. Vicky had all the stars take a picture with her and the Chamber staff before they left town after filming their movies. Then she would shoo everyone out of the way and get one of her own. She has pictures with Julia Roberts,Tom Hanks, Denzel Washington, Kevin Spacey, and Clint Eastwood. They all hang in her office at home. Not that anyone knows what that office is for. Come to think of it, no one knows what her office is for at the Chamber either, because she’s usually standing in someone’s front yard talking or sitting on the back of a trolley car acting like she’s not who everyone knows she is.
Eventually, Katherine got a moment of reprieve from her busy spurt and came back to where I was. “We just got a lot of new books in. You should look through the titles and see what you find.”
“Do you read a lot?” I asked, not wanting to blurt out the real question lying beneath the surface: “What on earth were you doing in a pageant and what on earth do you know?”
“As often as I can.”
“Do you mind if I ask what you’re reading now?”
“You’ll laugh,” she said, putting her hand up to her mouth to hide her blushing face.
“Trust me, after the books I tell people I’ve read and loved, you won’t find me laughing at you. Try me.” I hoped she would reveal that she had just picked up the latest edition of Pageant Scandals and Recovering Drama Queens, which would be a perfect segue into my questions.
“Well, I was going through our young-reader section the other day and found one I hadn’t read in years. I couldn’t remember much about it except how much I enjoyed reading it the first time. So, I picked it up again.”
“OK . . . and it is . . . ?”
“I’m rereading Lord of the Flies,” she said, squinting in mock embarrassment.
“No way!” I hollered, belting her on the arm. She lost her balance and almost tumbled into the shelf in front of us. I grabbed her and helped her stand upright.“Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
I asked, half laughing, half humiliated.
“No!” she said, laughing quite hysterically. “I’m fine, but
I didn’t quite expect that response.”
“That is like my favorite book of all time. I reread it about once every couple of years.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, I am dead serious. And trust me, I don’t use the words dead and me in the same sentence unless I’m totally serious. That’s my favorite book. I just think it is so telling of human nature when every form of law is removed, when every boundary is released, and we are expected to create our own. That struggle alone is mesmerizing. It has to be one of the best books of all time.”
“Well, don’t we have similar tastes? But no more talking about me. You said you came by to do some research. What are you researching?”
It still felt bittersweet coming off of my lips. “I’m working at the paper. I’m going to write human-interest stories.”
For a minute she didn’t speak. “Oh, well, well, that will be wonderful, Savannah. Are you taking Gloria’s place?”
I responded as quickly as I could so she wouldn’t think I was avoiding her questions.“Well, I don’t know that anyone will ever take her place, but I hope I can at least write stories as provocative and transforming as the pieces she wrote through the years.”
“Yes, she is—well, she was a wonderful writer. I loved her pieces.” She turned to straighten the books she had knocked out of place when I sent her reeling. Her silence made me feel like I needed to say something. I wanted to make her comfortable, make her trust me. The more open and honest I could be, the better the opportunity in the end.
“It’s been a crazy journey for me.”
She turned her attention back to me.“Really? How so?”
“Can we sit down?” I asked, motioning to the steps beside us.
“Sure.”
For the next hour, we had the luxury of uninterrupted time. Absolutely no other customer entered the store. It was a divine appointment. I told her about the fiction award and publishing opportunity, leaving out the part about my mother but adding the revelation of my destiny and the countless papers that had made their way to UGA.
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