“Yeah, you can get some at Lady & Son’s. It’s just up the street.” I was even gracious enough to point her in the direction.
She wasn’t paying a lick of attention to my lead. “Yeah, well maybe I’ll try to get over there.” But she didn’t move. How could she when she never even looked away from my plate?
Well, it was Sunday.“Would you like some?”
She turned away, embarrassed. “Oh no, baby. I don’t want to eat your food . You need your food . You can tell I get all the food I need.” She patted her stomach. I wasn’t going to argue with her. Then she turned quickly back around.“Well, if you really want me to have some, I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
I laughed at her sweet expression.“Here . Take two . Who wants to eat Sunday dinner alone anyway?” I laid a napkin out for her. Gave her some catfish and a homemade biscuit. By the time she was through, Garfield couldn’t have accomplished cleaner bones.“What’s your name?”
“Oh, my name is . . .” She looked off into the distance as if trying to find something to jog her memory or offer her a name. “My name is Joy . Yes, it’s Joy.” She finally answered as more of a declaration.
“Oh, that’s a beautiful name. Here, take a drink.” I handed her the tea I had yet to enjoy and offered her the opportunity to wash down what she had virtually inhaled.
“What’s your name, precious girl?”
“Savannah,” I said, scratching my nose.
“Nose itch?”
“Like crazy. My mother says that means somebody’s coming to see you.” I raised a right eyebrow at my dinner guest. “Guess she got that one right, huh?”
She looked at me inquisitively. “Well, I think Savannah is a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
“You don’t want to crack a joke about it? Everyone else does.”
“Now, who would crack a joke about a beautiful name?”
I wiped my mouth and gave her the rest of my plate. It seemed she needed it more than me.“You’d be surprised.”
“I’m surprised by a lot of things, Savannah. I’m surprised by how people rush to and fro. Hardly stop to breathe. Or give thanks for the ability to breathe. So busy working and doing and never simply resting or enjoying. I see the lights on in their windows until late in the night. They type on computers and rummage through papers. All the time doing and never living. And then the one moment, the one day the world is told to rest, it just keeps on moving . We all need rest, Savannah.”
“You’re telling me.”
She looked back at me, not seeming to remember.“You look kind of that way. Like you need some rest.”
“You said the same thing yesterday. I didn’t realize how bad I was looking until you informed me.”
She chuckled, causing her belly to move with her.“Ooh, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that you look bad like you were ugly or something. It’s a furrowed brow. It’s a heaviness of the eyes. It’s seeing the weight someone carries by the mere look in their eyes. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“You aren’t going to try to sell me some Anthony Robbins tape series are you?”
“Who’s Anthony Robbins?”
“Good.”
“No, I don’t have anything to sell. Life isn’t about selling and buying. It’s about knowing and doing. And I’m not talking about the twenty-four-hour-a-day, seven-day-a-week doing. I’m talking about the heart knowing and the life doing.”
I leaned my elbows on the step behind me. My mind was so tired. And all of this was just making me more tired. “I’m tired of doing.”
“I see you’ve had all you can take, my sweet Savannah.” She rose from her side of the stoop and laid my empty plate neatly beside me . Then she rose and picked up the half glass of tea to take it with her. I couldn’t help but smile at her mature innocence.
She seemed so wise, yet her eyes looked so young and vulnerable. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” I assured us both.
She turned and headed to the corner of the house. She stopped and turned back around. “Being, Savannah! That’s the word. Not doing, but just being, baby.”
I watched her as her skirt shifted tightly across her backside with the movement of her round legs. And I wondered who this stranger was and where she had come from. The thought of a strange elderly woman walking up some street, drinking my tea and singing, caused me to laugh at the absurdity of the last couple days. I would have asked her if she would like a job, but the way she was always hungry, it was evident cooking wasn’t her forte. And the blur that passed by me forced my attention elsewhere.
You don’t see a lot of lawn mowers in downtown Savannah. Few people actually have yards to be mowed. Most people’s yards aren’t lawns; they’re gardens. And gardens need maintaining, mulching, even manicuring, but nowhere do they need mowing. And if they do, the areas are so small that they pretty much only require a weed eater.
But the city does mow the town. Savannah takes great pride in the preservation of the squares for the enjoyment of the tourists, and the homeowners that claim them as front yards.
The young man driving the mower that zoomed by my house didn’t look too happy about his afternoon assignment. I followed him in sheer wonder of this most ordinary activity. He was probably a young college kid desperate for summer money. On a beautiful day like today, a kid his age had a thousand other things he should have been enjoying.
But this one kid now arriving at Lafayette Square, he was commissioned to mow. I sat down on a bench to observe. I don’t know why . Wasn’t much else to observe, well, nothing that I wanted to get in the middle of now. The grass flew up on the pavement in front of me, making a scattered green hedge along the edge of the sidewalk . The new design would have to be removed by the young worker after completing the first stage of his duty.
I bore easily. As I got up to work my way down the street, the edge of my flip-flop scraped some of the freshly laid hedge back onto the lawn. At least, on the edge of one square of one of the four sidewalks, this small section would not require his attention. It might not save much time, but it may save him a moment.
The two women in front of me didn’t quit talking, nor move from my path the entire way to the courthouse . Their hands were loaded down with shopping bags, and they rambled on incessantly for three blocks.
“What are you doing the rest of the day?” the stately, elderly woman said to the medium-built, stout younger one.
“Working. I’ve got final exams to finish grading before tomorrow. What about you?”
“The same. And next year will only be worse . We are going to have to submit weekly lesson plans.”
“Every week? I’m doing good to get mine submitted once a month.”
“It’s just gotten absurd.”
And on and on they went for three straight blocks. They waxed eloquent on everything from how the last week of school would run to who had lunch duty. By the time they were through, I needed a nap. Their incessant rambling made me decide not to think about work until tomorrow. After all, my story wasn’t going anywhere. It rested right down the street on that square alive with activity. And all I had to do was sit and observe. By Tuesday, Mr. Hicks would have an article on his desk.
I had no idea yet what I was going to tell people about the upheaval of our city, but I knew that story would consist of a thousand strangers, a large piece of granite, and a woman who claimed to be responsible for my physical birth. She would probably be the one responsible for my occupational death.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When the courthouse came into view, I was shocked at what I saw. In a part of the nation known as the Bible Belt, Savannah’s church- or cathedral- or synagogue-going population is probably right up there with the likes of Nashville. The name of God is mentioned in most conversations and everyone knows of Him, believes in Him, or knew of Him at one time or another, or at the very least attaches His name to their profanities.
But today, in Savannah, Georgia, church had come to the sq
uare. As I scanned the mass of people, most were stretched out, lying with their faces touching cement or the very dust of the earth. And a sound was rising from every corner . Wright Square was enveloped in prayer . The sound of it was overwhelming and amazing. And as if on cue, every prostrate pilgrim rose and began to sing the anthem of ages past, of saints and sinners alike,“Amazing Grace.”
I caught sight of Thomas and Dad, apparently headed to the same place I was.
“Brought church to the square today, huh?”
Dad smiled and responded.“Sounds like it, doesn’t it?”
We met up on the corner. As the final chorus ended I caught Dad’s eye . We each paused. Moments like this weren’t textbook, even for the South. None of us rushed it . Who would want to? For or against, some moments in life required everyone’s respect . This was one.
“Are y’all going inside the store?”
Dad wrapped his arm around me. “Yeah, I wanted a cup of coffee and it’s free at my place. But let’s go in the back. I don’t want anyone to think I’m open.”
Dad opened the back door. The aroma of coffee was so ingrained into the very wood that even on days when it wasn’t being brewed, Jake’s smelled like coffee. Even the hole where the dishwasher was supposed to be smelled of coffee.
“Did your dishwasher man take off with your cash?” I asked.
Dad shook his head, unable to hide his slight frustration.“Who knows? I’ve tried to call him three or four times, but he still hasn’t responded.”
“Didn’t you see him on your outing last night?”
“No. He didn’t show up there either.”
“Mervine and Louise will want a raise.”
“And you can bet they’ll let me know about it too.” He laughed. He put on a pot of coffee and Thomas sat on top of the stainless steel worktable that rested in the center of the room . Duke tried to join him, but lost his footing, only to end up in a pitiful clump on the stamped concrete floor.
“Duke, you’re pitiful, ol’ boy.” I patted his head but refused to pat his boo-boo. “So what did y’all do all afternoon?”
Thomas curled his feet up under him as if he were ten and turned his ball cap around backward. His green eyes became expressive with his recounting of their “picnic on the grounds.”
“We ate and told old stories. Mother told me things about her life when she was growing up, stories I don’t think I’ve ever heard.”
I tried not to act all that interested and turned around to fix myself a Coke.“Like what?”
“Like about how she would go out behind her house and smoke when she was little.”
I turned back around in amazement. “No way! Victoria Phillips never smoked.”
“Oh, yes she did! But if you told anyone, she would deny it.”
I sat down beside him on the table . The coffeepot began spattering and sputtering, and the fresh aroma of coffee began to take over the aroma of yesterdays.
“There is no way our mother, Miss No-Cigarettes-No-Alcohol-No-Nothing-but-Coffee,would ever have smoked.”
Dad poured his cup of coffee while looking amused at our exchange.
Thomas added.“She did, I swear! She said she could have even been addicted.”
Dad laughed out loud.
“She could not!” I slapped Thomas on the arm and went back to my Coke . Duke looked up once again just to make sure we hadn’t changed our minds about inviting him to join us on the table. Dad poured his coffee and leaned against the side of the counter by my Coke machine.
Thomas took my Coke from my hands and took a sip big enough to force me to have to get more.“Yes, she could have. She said it herself. You’ll have to get her to tell you all about it. It is hysterical.” He jumped down off of the table.
“What else did she tell you?”
“Oh, lots of stuff. About her parents. About how her mother started going to church when they moved next door to one . How their lives changed. How she felt when they died. All those kinds of things.”
“Well, sounds like a nostalgic afternoon. Mine was pretty interesting too.”
“That’s nice, Savannah. Okay, Dad, let’s go back. Mother’s going to be singing a special.”
“Heaven help us all.”
“Plus the judge is working around the clock to make sure this monument stays. And I wouldn’t mind catching another glimpse of that Ms. Austin lady . That woman is—” Dad gave him a playful slap on the back of the head.
I tried to hide my hurt at their lack of interest by pouring myself some more Coke.
Thomas turned around to look at me. Hiding my feelings from him seemed a wasted effort. He took no notice of them anyway. “Are you coming with us, Vanni, or heading back to your hole?”
I raised my right eyebrow at him in total disgust at his disregard for my choice to have a life.“No thanks. I really need to get home and start putting together my story.”
“Whatever you say.”
Dad locked the door behind us and put his arm around me to walk down the alley and back to the square.“Did you have a good afternoon?”
I stopped to ponder my tea-stealing stranger. The thought of her made me smile. “I had an interesting one, to say the least.”
“Good, I’m glad . We missed you though. Your mother was disappointed.”
I knew what her disappointment was: extreme sighing, dramatic chest clasping, pouty red lips.
I gave in. After all, this square was my story.“Well, let’s go see what the crowd out there is up to, shall we?”
“Yeah, let’s do.”
The size of the crowd seemed double that of yesterday. Apparently most people had Sunday off. Except for the lawn boy, the schoolteachers who weren’t even going to let their minds rest today, and Mr. Fisher. But a large portion of Savannah’s workforce seemed to be standing shoulder to shoulder, making clear their passion toward a monument of ancient truths.
Judge Hoddicks came out of the courthouse about the time we made it to the end of the square. Even the newsmen who sat through the hymn rose to take note of Judge Hoddicks’s arrival.
The judge cleared his throat as he stood behind the makeshift podium. Beside him stood a distinguished-looking gentleman with smooth, dark skin and hair sprinkled with gray, suggesting wisdom.
His tiny gold-framed glasses and steady eyes solidified his importance. I paused and tried to determine who he was and why he was here . Then I saw the familiar figure beside him. He saw me at the same time and tried to hide his white smile beneath his chocolate skin while acting dignified and important.
So it was clear now: Judge Tucker from Mississippi had indeed come to support his old friend. I was certain Gregory had come along for the sheer entertainment value of it all.
Judge Hoddicks introduced Judge Tucker to the captive audience. Well, at least one was truly captive. After giving an uninformative “update,” he motioned to someone in the crowd. For a brief moment I expected my mother to heave that monument atop her back and follow. But instead I watched as Ms. Austin headed his direction. She had traded her cascading ponytail for cascading curls that reached midway down the back of her brown sleeveless top.
Her lean legs covered in matching slacks followed the judges and my partner in legal battles, Gregory, up the stairs.
“That’s her,” I mouthed.“ACLU lady.”
His face made it clear he didn’t mind following her at all. And I suspected that every man within a two-block radius—maybe except for Jake—wished at that moment they were an old judge or a young law clerk from Mississippi.
My mother looked as if her mind was processing a thousand things . Which wasn’t any great phenomenon because she did usually have trouble focusing on one thing at a time. Her appearance, in contrast to the raven-haired beauty, had never before looked quite so unkempt. Granted, her level of unkemptness would pale in comparison to most people’s, because on a good day she was Queen-of-England caliber. In other words, she looked like a normal woman on a Saturday . The rushed ma
keup job . The not-going-to-iron-because-it’s-Saturday wrinkled clothes that had been lying in the floor, but looked remotely clean . The hair-will-do syndrome.
But on Vicky, well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
Her blue suit was extremely wrinkled. And the two stains from yesterday had apparently been poorly attacked with some Shout wipes, only to leave water marks and were now joined by three new stains. Her makeup looked reapplied and was nearing the “hard” arena. Her hair had lost its “edge” and was now teetering on the squashed, might-need-a-wash brink. And this was my mother. Sitting in front of that monument, with as much pride as a mother watching her child graduate from college after three previously failed attempts, was my mother.
It was obvious she hadn’t seen herself in a mirror in two days. Because if she had, she would be like any common criminal who holds up their handcuffed arms to shield their face from the cameras. The wide-brimmed hat, in a complementary shade of blue, had replaced the umbrella and averted a few prying eyes.
“Does she know how horrible she looks?”
“Savannah, your mother doesn’t look horrible. She looks,well, she looks alive.”
“Oh, that’s a new line . Try that one on her and then hand her a mirror and see whose going to need the new apartment. And another delicate matter I’ve been pondering . . .”
“And what would that be?”
“How does the woman go to the bathroom?”
“Very well actually.”
I punched his arm.“You know what I mean.”
“Ever heard of a Porta Potti?”
“There is no way.”
“Trust me, there is a way.”
“Victoria Phillips would not use a Porta Potti in the middle of a Savannah square.”
“You don’t know your mother like you think.”
“Please tell me I was adopted.”
“It’s never too late.” Dad began to head in her direction.“Now come tell your mother hello.”
“I will later. I’m not into crowds.”
“You mean you’re not into uncomfortable,” he said, leaving me to myself. My rather uncomfortable self.
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