Savannah Breeze

by Mary Kay Andrews

  I kissed him warmly. “You really and truly are an angel to suggest it. But I couldn’t take advantage of you like that. I really couldn’t.”

  He kissed me back. “Take advantage of me, please.”

  The phone rang then. “Hold that thought,” I told him, and I dashed for the kitchen.

  “Miss Loudermilk? This is Robert Walker. Dr. Walker. I’m your grandmother’s internist. I understand you were trying to reach me?”

  “Yes,” I said eagerly. “I saw my grandmother in the infirmary at Magnolia Manor today, and I was shocked by her condition. She’s lost so much weight, and the nurses say she sleeps most of the time.”

  “Well, she was in a good bit of pain from the urinary-tract infection, so we’ve been giving her something for that, and to help her sleep.”

  “I counted seven different kinds of pills she’s taking,” I said. “All that medicine can’t be a good thing.”

  “Seven?” he said, his voice sharp. “I’ve got her on Flagyl and Cipro, for the bladder infection, Vicodin for the pain, and Ambien to sleep. That’s only four. Plus, of course, we’re treating her now for a kidney infection.”

  “Kidney infection?” I yelped. “Since when? Nobody said anything about a kidney infection to me when I was over there today.”

  “I stopped by to see her on rounds at four, and didn’t like the look of her blood levels,” Dr. Walker said. “So we got her started on something for that right away.”

  “God,” I groaned. “But there were two other medicine bottles at the apartment. My grandfather said she’s also been taking Lasix and Digoxin, and Atavan.”

  “Oh?” he said.

  “You didn’t know?” Could things have gotten any worse? I glanced up at the kitchen ceiling, wondering when it would fall in on me.

  We hung up, and I went back to the front door, where Reddy was patiently waiting for me.

  “Sorry,” I said. It seemed as though I’d been saying that all day. And it had really been a very sorry day. “I had to take that call. It was Grandmama’s doctor. Now she’s got something else wrong with her. He says there’s something going on with her kidneys.”

  “Anything I can do?” Reddy asked. “I told you before, I’m good at a lot of different things. Except hospitals and sick people. That I’m not too good at.”

  “Nothing,” I said. But then I remembered.

  “Wait. There is something.” I rummaged around in the big copper dish I keep on the table in the foyer. It was where I kept all the keys to the rentals, plus the extra keys to my own town house.

  “I want to be at the hospital in the morning, to talk to the doctor, but in the meantime, the insurance adjuster is supposed to meet me over at West Gordon at ten. And the bug guy is supposed to be here at noon to spray. I’ve got silverfish. I hate to ask, but you’ve been so sweet to offer. Would you?”

  He held out his hand, and I gave him the keys. “This one with the red tag is for here, and the green one is for West Gordon. Tell Jerry, the bug guy, to be sure and spray the attic this time.”

  Reddy nodded. “I’m on it. See you tomorrow?”

  “I hope so,” I said. “Things can’t get any worse between now and then, can they?”

  8

  “Grandmama?” I’d been sitting at my grandmother’s bedside for more than two hours. She hadn’t stirred in all that time, except for the intermittent buzz of snoring. And the doctor still hadn’t shown.

  Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of my voice. She squeezed my hand.

  “How are you feeling? Any better?”

  She grimaced. “Tubes. I hate all these tubes.” Her voice was weak, barely audible, but if she was complaining, she was definitely feeling better.

  “I know,” I said. “You’ve had a bad time of it this week.”

  She struggled to sit upright. “Where’s Spencer?”

  “He’s at home, still sleeping,” I said. “He had a late night. Flash floods in northern California, mud slides, and a tropical disturbance in the Azores.”

  “Old fool,” she muttered. “What day is it?”

  “It’s Tuesday.”

  My grandmother shrugged but said nothing.

  There was a short knock on the door. Dr. Walker, a big, white-haired bear of a man, strode over and took Grandmama’s hand in his, giving me a polite nod.

  “Mrs. Loudermilk?” he said, softly. “I hear you had a bad night last night?”

  “So-so,” Grandmama said meekly. “Some problems breathing.”

  “We’re going to move you over to Memorial Hospital, to do some more tests on you. There’s an ambulance waiting right downstairs. Would that be all right?”

  “More tests?” she said, her voice suddenly sharper. “And how much is all that gonna cost?”

  Dr. Walker grinned. “I don’t want you to have a heart attack on me.”

  “It’s all right,” I assured her, standing at the side of her bed. “You’ve got good insurance. You can afford all the tests they want to run.”

  I glanced down at my watch. It was after eleven. I’d already fielded several phone calls from the restaurant, and I still had to figure out how to replace the two employees I’d fired over the weekend.

  “She’ll be fine,” Dr. Walker said quickly. “I’ll meet her over there in an hour. I’ve called ahead and let them know which tests I want run. You won’t really be able to see her until she’s back from X-ray anyway, and that’ll be around four.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked. “I can shuffle my schedule if I need to.”

  “Positive,” he said.

  “Go on about your business,” Grandmama said imperiously. “And don’t tell Spencer about all these tests. You know how he gets himself all worked up over nothing.”

  “I’ll bring him when I come this afternoon,” I promised. “You sure you don’t need me to help you move?”

  She waved me away. “Go.”

  It was closer to five by the time I left the restaurant, went back to Magnolia Manor to pick up my grandfather, and then over to Memorial Hospital.

  Granddaddy paused outside the door to her room. His face was pale. “She’s bad, isn’t she?” For the first time, he looked really scared.

  “Not that bad,” I said. “They’re just being cautious. Just in case. You’ll see. She’s going to be fine. Just make sure you tell her I’m feeding you good, so she doesn’t give me fits about not taking care of you.”

  I waited outside in the hallway to give them some privacy. After fifteen minutes, I went inside. Grandmama had a clear plastic mask over her face, with a hose hooked up to a humming machine. Granddaddy was sitting on a chair beside her hospital bed, holding his wife’s hand in his, staring raptly up at the television, watching what looked like a thirty-year-old rerun of Hollywood Squares.

  He looked up when I came in, and pointed at the television. “They got the Game Show Channel. Paul Lynde! We don’t get that at our place.”

  Grandmama pushed her mask aside. “I told this old fool to cut it off. I’m not paying for deluxe cable. They probably charge you double in a place like this.” She would have said more too, but her tirade was interrupted by a fit of coughing.

  A nurse came in then, looked at one of the monitors at her bedside, and shooed us back out into the hallway.

  My cell phone rang, and I walked rapidly to the visitors’ waiting area to take the call.

  It was Reddy. “Hey, BeBe,” he said. “How’s it going at your end?”

  I sighed. “Not so good. They’ve moved my grandmother over to Memorial Hospital, and they’re running a bunch of tests. I don’t really understand any of it.”

  “Hang in there,” Reddy said. “Who’s her doctor?”

  “Robert Walker,” I said.

  “I know Robert,” Reddy said. “One of my sisters was in his class at Emory. He’s the best.”

  “Hope so,” I said fervently. “Did you see the insurance adjuster?”

  “It’s all taken care of,” Reddy said. “Th
ey’re cutting you a check for $18,000 today. I called a floor guy I know, and he says he can do the job for a lot less than that. And the bug guy was here. He sprayed the attic, like you asked. I gave him a check, and he said to tell you he’ll see you next month.”

  “You’re the best,” I said, meaning it. “But you didn’t need to pay him. He usually just sends a bill.”

  “It was a new guy,” Reddy said. “Your regular guy is on vacation or something. Don’t worry about it, I took care of it.”

  “All right,” I said

  At eleven that night, I was finally able to ferry Granddaddy home. We were both exhausted. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep.

  I got a blanket and pillow of my own, and tried to make myself comfortable on the sofa bed, which felt as if it had been designed specifically as an instrument of torture. I closed my eyes and waited for sleep. Which never came.

  What did come was waves of anxiety. My grandmother was ill, her diagnosis uncertain. Granddaddy’s snores reverberated off the walls of the small apartment. He’d been worried about Lorena’s condition, but on the trip home he’d blithely assured me that the pills she’d been given would make her “right as rain.”

  Rain. Once it started, it never seemed to let up.

  9

  “BeBe?”

  “Hmm?”

  I was right on the edge of sleep. Not awake really, not asleep, just in that delicious twilight place between the two.

  We were aboard the Blue Moon, in the stateroom. I’d arrived late, and exhausted after a long night at Guale, and two glasses of Reddy’s champagne, along with the gentle rocking of the boat at its moorings, had the combined effect of knocking me out almost instantaneously.

  For more than a week, I’d been racing back and forth between my house, the restaurant, the hospital, and Magnolia Manor. My grandmother had finally been moved to a rehab ward, but on the other hand, Granddaddy, without his wife of fifty-two years, was like a ship adrift at sea. He ate only when I insisted, slept mostly, sitting up in front of television. I was already feeling guilt gnawing at the edges of my pleasure at being with Reddy.

  Between the demands of taking care of each of my grandparents, I’d given up trying to make it in to work on a daily basis. My erratic schedule irritated Daniel, as it did me, but I was all out of options.

  Reddy, bless him, had turned into my hero. He had a knack for knowing what needed to be done, and a gift for doing it with a minimum of fuss. In the short time we’d been together, he’d gotten the West Gordon apartment fixed up and rented out again—at a $150 a month increase in rent—gotten the wiring fixed in the Victorian district house, and had even found me a great little bungalow on East Forty-eighth Street to buy for a steal—and cut me in as a full partner on the deal. We sold it a week later, and split a $20,000 profit for a week’s work. He’d even taken to going into my office at Guale, to take a look at our books for me, a situation Daniel really resented.

  “Who is this guy?” Daniel asked—more than once. “He doesn’t know squat about the restaurant business, yet he’s trying to tell me we need to switch produce vendors, and he brought in this cheap-ass coffee, which he claims you approved.”

  “I did approve it,” I said sharply, looking up from a stack of bills on my desk. “We were paying an insane price for those Kona blue beans of yours. The new coffee is fine—and it’s half the price.”

  “It tastes like sludge,” Daniel muttered. “But hey, I’m just the chef here. Don’t go by my opinion.”

  “Fine. I won’t.”

  Tension between us was high, and it didn’t help that Weezie was down in Florida on a buying trip for her antiques shop. Daniel could be really moody on the best of days, but without Weezie’s softening influence, he’d accelerated from moody to downright cranky.

  I missed Weezie too. She was my sounding board, somebody to laugh with, shop with, and bitch to. Besides, I couldn’t wait for her to meet Reddy.

  Who was, in the meantime, nibbling at my ear and rubbing my back and just generally making himself indispensable.

  “Mmm,” I sighed. “Don’t stop. Okay? I’ll give you a million dollars if you’ll promise to never stop doing that.”

  “Throw in another million and I’ll do this too,” he whispered. And for what he did next, a million was definitely a bargain.

  “Mmm.” I kissed him lazily. “But I’ve got to get some sleep now. I promised Granddad I’d pick him up at eight for his appointment with the eye doctor, which means if I’m not there by seven-thirty, he’ll be calling the cops to report me missing.”

  Reddy got up and brought a sheaf of papers back to bed. “I just need you to sign some stuff for me,” he said, nuzzling my neck and handing me a pen. “We’re going to make an offer on the house next to the one you already own on Huntingdon Street.”

  “Now?” I yawned and squinted at the tiny type. “My reading glasses are up on deck. Can’t it wait till morning?”

  “I’ve got an early meeting too,” Reddy said. “Some investors are coming in from Oklahoma, and I’m picking them up at the airport. I want to drop the contract by the broker’s office first thing. If that house gets on multiple listing, it’ll sell in a skinny minute.”

  “Okay,” I relented. He put his finger on a line, and I signed there, and three or four more places, and then I couldn’t keep my eyes open for another minute. “Get some sleep,” Reddy said.

  In the morning, he was gone, but he’d made a fresh pot of coffee, and a banana muffin sat on a plate next to a paper napkin. I smiled as I sipped my coffee and nibbled at my breakfast. This one, I told myself, was a keeper. The sun shone weakly on the gray-blue waters of the yacht basin. A single seagull perched on the mast of a sailboat tied two slips over, squawked noisily as I stepped from the deck of the Blue Moon.

  I’d overslept, so there was no time to run home and change clothes. Instead, I raced over to Magnolia Manor, where my grandfather was busily pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of his unit. He was dressed in his best: neatly pressed dark slacks, a white shirt, wide-striped tie, and straw fedora.

  “Where were you last night? I was worried when you didn’t come home.”

  I’d called him from the restaurant to tell him I wasn’t coming, but obviously, he’d forgotten as soon as he’d hung up the phone. “Remember, I called to tell you I had a late night at work? I was so beat I just went straight home to bed.” I crossed my fingers mentally at the lie, at the same time chiding myself for not having the nerve to admit to my grandfather that, at thirty-five, and thrice married, I was no longer a virgin.

  “Sorry!” I said, coming around the car to open the door for him.

  He tapped the face of his wristwatch and frowned at me.

  “It’ll only take me five minutes to get to the doctor’s office,” I said, deliberately underestimating.

  “Time is money,” Granddaddy said pointedly, fumbling for the seat belt. I leaned over and fastened it for him, and bussed him on the cheek.

  While he was in with the doctor, I went outside and called the hospital to check on my grandmother, as I did every morning. The unit’s visiting hours didn’t start until three o’clock, but Granddaddy insisted on getting a progress report first thing every day.

  I dialed the extension for my grandmother’s room. She picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Spencer?” Her voice was a whimper. “I want you to come get me right this minute. These waitresses here are terrible. I never been to a hotel as sorry as this one.”

  “Grandmama, it’s me, BeBe.”

  “Who? What’d you say?”

  “It’s BeBe,” I said loudly.

  “Put Spencer on the line,” she demanded.

  “I can’t right now. He’s with the eye doctor,” I said. “Grandmama, do you know that you’re in the hospital? You’re in the rehab unit at Memorial. Remember?”

  “I want to check out of this hotel,” she said, her voice weak. “Right now. Tell Spencer.” />
  And then she hung up.

  When we left the doctor’s office, I took my grandfather through the drive-in window at McDonald’s for his favorite breakfast, hotcakes and sausage. “Doctor says I’ve got the eyes of a young kid,” he reported in between chews. “You know why that is?”

  “No,” I said. “Why?”

  “Good genes,” he said. “All the Loudermilks have great eyesight. My grandfather? He lived to be ninety, and he never did need eyeglasses. It’s the genes. And buttermilk.”

  “Really?”

  He glanced over at me, and pointed at the reading glasses I’d pushed on top of my head. “You never did drink any buttermilk, did you?”

  “Not much,” I admitted.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Explains a lot. Plus, your mother’s people were weak-eyed. Nice enough, but weak-eyed, the whole lot of ’em.”

  We pulled up in front of Magnolia Manor. “I better get going,” he said as I unlocked the door to his villa. “Got a lot to do this morning. It’s Thursday, you know. Grocery coupons.” He made a scissoring motion with his hand. “I gotta get my coupons clipped. Thursday is double-coupon day for seniors at the Kroger.” He glanced around the parking lot and frowned at the sight of his old Buick Electra, parked where the Lincoln had been parked only a few days earlier.

  “What did you say happened to my new white Lincoln?”

  “I told you. Remember? The, uh, Lincoln was recalled, Granddaddy. Yeah. The dealership called me and said that the new models had faulty, uh, defibrillators and the government was making them take them all back. See, if you accelerated too quickly, with that doohickey thing, you could have spontaneous combustion.”

  Granddaddy took off his fedora and ran his fingers through his thinning white hair. “That’s a bunch of bull hockey, young lady. You telling me somebody called you up and handed you that line and you believed it?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said meekly. I was afraid to look him in the eye. “I didn’t want to worry you over it, with Grandmama sick and all. So I just took the Lincoln in and they gave me back your old car.”