This woman was good.“But in spite of all of that, how is anyone really listening, when everyone is screaming their positions?”
“Some people will never listen, Savannah. Some people will set their course and die for what they believe in.”
“My mother would.”
“Yes, she would. But she listens too. She may not always act like she’s listening,” she said with a slight laugh. “The question is, what are you listening to? Truth, or your own set of ideals?”
“It depends who you ask.”
“But the answer doesn’t change what is true. A person’s opinion, even perception, doesn’t change truth.”
“I know, you’re right . Truth is the one constant, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“And you might just find it on a slab of concrete strapped to my mama.”
That made her chuckle, causing her thickness to shake. “Yes, Savannah, you just might.”
On my walk back to the office, I noticed Vicky’s countless touches in the streets of Savannah. The landscaping in the squares reflected her taste. The tongues of the passersby often held her name. The Pumpkin House that faced me as I turned the corner held her animosity.
Four years ago, a man from Atlanta purchased the stately home, which required substantial renovation. He began by painting it a lovely shade of Halloween pumpkin orange. Once the update began, Mr. Atlanta ran into some financial troubles . Thus the renovations were completely halted for two years and have run at a virtual snail’s pace since then.
Had he known my mother, he would have known that getting approval for the color on the streets of her city would prove rather difficult. About as difficult as his money woes. As a member of the Historic Review Board, Vicky was certain pumpkin orange was not a period color. So, in a rather precise letter, the board informed him that he must repaint his house in a color that was truly representative of the historic period.
They didn’t know who they were dealing with either. Mr. Atlanta had done research of his own and proved that his “Pumpkin House” was indeed a period color . Well,Vicky is still confident he fabricated the whole thing, even forged history books, but don’t be fooled by her frustration. His house is still orange.
So, seeing her touch everywhere reiterated to me her passion. The same passion that was denying her of down feathers and hot showers was the same passion that propelled her to aid underprivileged families to tidy up their neighborhoods and preserve their dignity . The same woman that was out there praying, singing, and having evening dinner parties was the same woman who had taken this city to new heights in, dare I say, the eyes of the world.
Though ordinary on any scale cannot be found within sight of her, extraordinary shows up quite often. The world may laugh. People may ridicule. But in the end, for those who know her, all eventually conclude she’s an all right kind of lady.
“Okay, Mr. Attorney, I have a few questions.”
I could hear Gregory’s heavy sigh on the other end. “What now, Queen of Denial?”
“I’ve never been the queen of anything, except the okra-seed-spitting contest, and Vicky refuses to allow me to mention it.”
We both laughed.
“Seriously, I have a few questions. Sergeant Millings has issued my mother something called an Order to Disperse. He said if she doesn’t hightail it home by Friday afternoon at five, he will put her in jail. Can he really do that?”
“Is he a federal officer?”
“No, he’s a Savannah officer who should have retired years ago. But after all this attention, he will probably stay around for the next ten years.”
“I would think this would be a federal issue, with her being in front of a Federal Courthouse.”
“They’re still wrangling over that one. Sergeant Millings is fighting them tooth and nail to be the one who gets to handcuff Victoria Phillips right back up. Of course, if she got too close to him, poor soul would have a coronary. But could my mother really go to jail? I mean, the woman’s good, but Martha Stewart she ain’t. My mother would crumble at a strip search.”
“Well, if he gave her an Order to Disperse, our Criminal Code Section 39-17-305 says she could get arrested for disorderly conduct if she doesn’t comply. I’m not sure if it’s the same for Georgia.”
“So you’re saying she very well could.”
“Yes,my friend, she very well could. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten her for Section 39-17-307, obstructing a highway or other passageway.”
“She’s on a sidewalk, Gregory.”
“Yes, a passageway to the courthouse.”
“I couldn’t stand to see her get thrown in jail. That just wouldn’t be right. Plus, the local police shouldn’t be forced to endure her for thirty days. Maybe we should break into Sergeant Millings’s office and find that order and throw it away.”
“That—”
“That would not be stealing; that would be misplacing.”
“You need help.”
“I know. I need yours . Will you come defend my mother?”
“She’ll have to pay me more than you.”
“She has more money than me, genius.”
“Sure. If it gets that far, call me .Now, have you dealt with your other issue?”
“I don’t have any other issues. Ooh, I think my phone’s beeping. Check your calendar . We’ll need you by Friday.”
“Savann—”
“Ooh, gotta run! Beep, beep, beep! Bye.”
“Yeah, Mr. Hicks received almost a hundred letters about her picture in the paper.” That little snide secretary made sure I could hear her.
“Hello, Savannah.” Ms. Austin was apparently leaving and looked rather startled as I rounded the corner.
“Hello,” I responded to her and the tormented one . The little tick turned up her already upturned nose and asked.“Ooh, what’s that smell?”
“It smells like mothballs,” Ms. Austin said.
“Yeah, I smell that in the foyer every now and then too,” I assured them.
“Well, I’ve never smelled it before,” Jessica said.
Joshua came around the corner right behind me and about knocked us all down. I was actually glad to see him. He bumped into Faith and gave a quick “Excuse me” but offered nothing else to any of us.
Ms. Austin scanned him up and down, and her eyes followed him down the hall. I found it rather uncomfortable. “Who is that good-looking man?”
“Oh, that’s Joshua North,” Jessica responded.“He is one of the cutest things around here. Doesn’t pay much attention to anyone though . Trust me, I’ve tried for years . . .” she recalled the two of us were present.“Oh,” she said, semiembarrassed.
Ms. Austin’s cell phone rang. “Ms. Austin . . . Yes . . . I know. Would you lay off? I told you I’d call you when I got through.” She slammed the phone shut.
Jessica jumped.“Well then, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to Mr. Hicks . The paper never slows down for anyone.”
“Sure. Thank you, Jessica, for your hospitality today.” As soon as Jessica was out of earshot, Ms. Austin unleashed.“My God, that woman is simply insufferable. She’s been breathing down my neck all day long . Well, Savannah. Always good to see you. Let me know if we can get together soon.”
Her outburst startled me. I watched her as she walked away. Granted, Jessica was condescending, downright annoying and, well, a pain to be certain,but hearing someone else say it felt a little awkward. The woman in the thousand-dollar outfit and bust-the-bank cosmetic line left. I watched her leave. After all, that’s what people did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Do you want me to come help you pack?” Paige asked over the phone.
I looked out my car window and stared up at my house. I’d spent a long afternoon staring at a blank computer screen . Tomorrow, my friend and real-estate agent, Claire,would bring me keys for my new place . Yet the whole moment felt slightly overwhelming.“No, I think this is something I need to do myself.”
<
br /> “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Are we still moving you out tomorrow night, though?”
“Yeah,Thomas has agreed to help. Not much to move though.”
“We’ll have to move your whole bedroom suite.”
“Yeah, but that’s about it. I don’t have anything else. And with what I have to pay you back, I’ll be eating sitting on my bed for the next year.”
“You’ll be surprised how quickly things will change.”
Thinking back to all the happenings of this week, I knew things had already changed.“I’m already surprised.”
“Well, have fun. It’s a new day.”
“Yes, it’s a new day. I’ll call you later.”
“What are you going to do? Plop you a monument in your front yard?”The younger man asked the elderly gentleman as they walked past my house.
“If I need to, I will . Wouldn’t hurt you anyway, young man.”
“You are so totally out of touch with this generation, Grandpa.”
Their conversation rounded the corner as they did. But the pitch of the grandfather’s voice made it clear who was in touch with whom.
I stood at the bottom of the steps to my house for what seemed like forever. I looked around at the ivy. It was so perfect. It ran neatly up the brick wall that surrounded the Abercorn side of our house. Each shrub had been maintained by Jake and his good friend Wayne, who had helped him for years. Every detail was attended to. Everything had its order. Its place. Just like my father. A man of order and detail. He commanded the whole while paying attention to the one. Looking at his handiwork, I was confronted with how much I’d yet to learn about life, about love, about work, about this family. Lord have mercy—about pretty much everything. I couldn’t handle one thing, let alone one thousand things. My stars, I couldn’t handle myself half the time. I heard a hum.
“You going in, or just going to watch the ivy grow?”
Poor sister always gave herself away before she even said a word. “I’m going in eventually.”
“Things have changed, little one.” I could feel Joy staring at me.
“How can you tell?”
“See it in your face.”
“Look older, huh?”
“You’re an old soul, Savannah; a person can’t help that.”
“Could we talk about something else?”
“Want to talk about dinner?”
I turned and looked at her wide black eyes. Then I cracked up. I laughed until I was doubled over. I even had to hold on to Joy so I wouldn’t fall down on the pavement. People were watching, but I didn’t care. I deserved to laugh. Somebody needed to laugh . Things had gotten way too serious around here. Before I knew it, Joy was laughing too . We were both trying to hold each other up, but we couldn’t, so we finally surrendered and plopped ourselves down on the bottom step. And by the time we were through, neither of us could even remember what had been so funny.
I leaned back on the stoop.“Joy, ahh, you make me laugh . How do you do it?”
“Do what?” She used one of her plump arms to try to lower herself down onto the step beside me. I reached out and helped steady her down.
“Stay so happy. I mean, you’re always singing or smiling. Every now and then you get a faraway look, but you’re just full of . . .”
“Full of what, baby? Joy?”
I laughed.“Yeah, crazy, isn’t it? You are your name . You’re just a joy.”
She looked at me as if this was no revelation to her at all.
“Well, what else would I be, Savannah?”
“Well, I know, but what if your name was Suzy? You’d still be full of joy.”
“Ever the clever one, aren’t you? Destiny’s in a name, Savannah.”
Here we went again.“You think?”
“I know. Ever met a child whose parents called him stupid all of his life? Stupid is what he turns out to be. Ever met a kid whose parents told him he wouldn’t amount to anything? I bet if you looked him up now, you’ll find he hasn’t amounted to anything. But tell a child he can do anything, and he won’t know any better but to believe you. Call a child a champion, or a hero, or a young girl a lady, or a woman of grace, and see what she grows up to be.”
She turned and looked at me with that look. That Joy look. That “I’m about to say something you should write down” look.
“Or name a girl Savannah, and she will forever have a destiny for that city . You were meant to be here, baby . You were meant to affect this city. Just like your name says, that is what you were created to do.”
“You think?” I asked again, except this time with a totally different attitude.
“I know,” she answered, still as confident as she was the last time. “Just like Victoria is meant to bring people to victory . Your mother knew what she was doing when she named you, Miss Savannah from Savannah.”
I stared across the street into the window of Clary’s . To think my name had a purpose. To think what I called people had an effect on them . Well, that just created a whole other set of issues for me and my life.
“What about Jake?” I asked looking at her.
“Now, that’s a man’s kind of name.”
“That pretty much defines my father, a real man . What about the name Mr. Hicks?”
She snickered. “I’ll have to look that one up, Savannah. But today, why don’t you just think about who you are. What you’re here for. And why you were given such a substantial name . Maybe because you have a substantial purpose.”
With that she got up and hummed her way down the street. I went inside to close a chapter of my life. And contemplate this new challenge.
As a writer, it is interesting to write the end of a chapter. You want things to be neat and tidy . You want dilemmas to be solved and your characters to be okay. You want your reader to end satisfied. As if the last drink offers the most satisfaction. But unfortunately, that kind of ending creates little anticipation. So you create drama, conflict, questions.
That was what this was for me. As much as I wanted to leave home, create my own life, have my own space, I was scared. I was torn. I was homesick. I was hungry. And I knew a few of those things would only get worse. But it was a necessary closing. It was a necessary journey. I couldn’t stay here forever . Victoria and Jake were where Savannah had come from. But it was time for Savannah to clearly define where she was going. I had to fly, grow, change, somehow. And this was the next step in all of those things.
As I walked up each step leading to the front door I decided to make this moment different. I would memorize and remember. And that is what I did. I knew I would be alone to accomplish it. The rest of my family was having supper on a sidewalk. So I took my time. For an hour I did nothing but walk around my house and remember.
Our parlor (or living room, if you’re normal) beckoned me. In truth, the monstrosity of a picture over the fireplace—my mother in her tiara, draped in her Miss Georgia United States of America sash, and rather expansive hair—forces one to look. It caused me to smile. It used to cause me to pity her. But tonight was different. Tonight was not about just her. It was about us.
I remembered birthdays and arguments. I remembered sneaking out of windows with Paige and sneaking Grant in for midnight conversations. I remembered countless dinners around the table that had seen far less action than this week and remembered Jake and Victoria and Thomas and Duke and how life had been made better because they were in it. Not perfect. Nothing can reach such standards. But Savannah perfect. Perfectly fit for me. Perfectly created for me.
I walked to Dad’s study at the back of the house, across from the kitchen, tucked beside the powder room on the other side of the stairs. I sat down on his leather sofa and looked at the perfect door that only years before had to be entirely replaced. It was the day of Victoria’s garden tea . Who knows what for. And who knows who was there. But one person, or canine rather, had been banned and sequestered in Dad’s office . Vicky thought that
would work. Mistaken child. Duke could see them from Dad’s window. First he barked at them . Vicky shut the blinds. Then he howled at them. Vicky turned on Harry Connick Jr . Then he flat decided to come through the door. She hadn’t prepared for that one.
And a grand entrance he made with half of Dad’s study door wrapped around his neck like a rather large flea collar. She tried to pull him inside. He pulled the other way. It was a tug-of-wills. Duke lost, but only after he had successfully knocked over two tables, feasted on overpriced caviar, and peed on an elderly lady’s leg that looked amazingly like a tree stump. I can’t help it; the woman had substantial calves . Then he was taken away by Thomas to Dad’s store, where he spent the next week in “time-out.”Truth be known, Duke probably didn’t lose after all.
I walked up the stairs and noticed the gash in step number six. That took place during a rather lively discussion I was having with Thomas that prompted the throwing of a stapler. It had been unsuccessfully patched. I had been successfully disciplined.
I climbed into the attic and retrieved the necessary boxes to pack up my room. Scanning my wall of bookshelves behind my bed, I took each book down carefully and laid it in a box, remembering something about each one. The sight that followed was really not surprising. Hillary Clinton’s book Living History lay hidden behind all of my other books. No need to ask who put it there. No need to ask why. Because standing upright next to it was Dick Morris’s book, Rewriting History.
“Sad lady. Sad lady.” I laughed.
My eyes were drawn to one of the eye-level shelves and the works of C. S. Lewis. Of all the authors I have read, few have captured the essence of the soul like Lewis. I looked at each of his books stacked neatly in a row in alphabetical order by title.
I picked up Mere Christianity and leafed through its pages, chuckling at the oxymoron of the title, pondering the thoughts of Lewis as he decided to place that label on the weight and depth of those pages, making it clear in such relevant terms that Christianity is anything but mere. I recalled his statement in The Weight of Glory, where he said,“If you have not chosen the Kingdom of God, it will make in the end no difference what you have chosen instead.”
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