NoDa…
True to Ginny’s prediction, Monday offered a perfect June morning. As they sped toward Charlotte, decorative Bradford pear trees, which had bloomed early in the spring, now marched like lime green snow cones under a robin’s egg-blue sky. Ginny explained that these pear trees, with their thin spindly trunks, were vulnerable to damaging winds and sterile of fruit. Like the blossoming cherry trees in Washington, DC, the pears’ blooming was a prized event, over too quickly.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Amanda asked her perky companion.
Ginny wore a funky white cotton blouse printed with abstract scribbles that looked like children’s crayon drawings, black tights, and purple clogs. Amanda wore jeans, her favorite Save the Loggerheads T-shirt and sandals. While Ginny was hopped up like the Energizer Bunny, Amanda felt like she’d done nine rounds with the bunny’s evil uncle, the Mad Hatter.
“Well, I could be shopping for my wedding dress. After all, Trev and I are getting hitched next month. But you’re much more fun than shopping, Mandy.”
Sure I am. It seemed to Amanda that hanging with her was akin to being pulled around by a disaster magnet, but that was Ginny’s choice. Besides, it was Amanda’s inability to say no that had initiated this insane visit to Sara Orlando’s house. It was none of their business. And when Ginny had explained that the neighborhood where Sara lived was Charlotte’s version of Sarasota’s Towles Court, the adventure became even less appealing.
“Why would a psychiatrist live in an arts district?” Amanda asked as Ginny steered her forest green Subaru off the exit to North Tryon Street.
“NoDa, named after North Davidson Street, attracts all kinds of hip young professionals. It used to be a mill town but when cotton went belly-up, the area went downhill. Starving artists renovated the old homes and warehouses in the nineties for savvy developers to move in. The place is bohemian chic, very trendy.”
“How do you know all this?” Amanda wondered. After all, Ginny had only recently returned to North Carolina.
“A girl needs to keep up, right?” Ginny checked her GPS and began winding south into a residential neighborhood. “But I’ve never been here before. Maybe it will remind you of that place where your ex-girlfriend lives.”
Amanda fervently hoped not. Been there, done that. And as they neared their destination on Clemson Avenue, it was clear the district was nothing like Florida. Instead of the lush foliage—palms and live oaks—many yards had a stripped-down look. Some of the older bungalows had been rehabbed with bright cheery colors, others definitely not. These blocks were up-and-coming, but not there yet.
As Ginny slowed and began watching street signs, Amanda’s pulse sped up and her nerves twitched. Why on earth was she doing this? She flashed back to images of Sara—first spotlighted in the sunbeam the day they met, next hip bumping in the line to see Thigpen’s letter, then finally the glaze of tears in Sara’s eyes after the fight when she’d jabbed her finger in the air and emphatically warned Amanda to leave her alone. She had no reason to believe Sara would welcome her visit. In fact, the exact opposite was undoubtedly true. In essence, her infatuation with a total stranger was making her stupid.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she told Ginny. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Too late now, girlfriend.” Ginny pulled to the curb and cut the engine. “We’re here now. If you won’t go, I’ll go in without you.”
Shit, double shit. Amanda took a deep breath and peeked at the brand new faux-Victorian structure. She could almost smell the fresh lumber and the sprouting carpet of sodded grass showering under the sprinkler system. The large home was undeniably attractive, with two A-framed peaks, upstairs dormer window, cedar shake walls and stone pillars. The exterior walls were painted in tones of turquoise with touches of cream and burgundy trim. Her mother the realtor could confirm the house was expensive, but then, Amanda assumed shrinks made big bucks in spite of Sara’s protests to the contrary.
She exhaled and felt less nervous as curiosity took over. For instance, who was Sara living with? She knew from Marc’s comment that the roommate was female, but what was their relationship?
“Are we ready now?” Ginny nudged her and opened her car door.
Amanda grunted and opened hers. She was as ready as she’d ever be. Ginny took the lead as they wound up the freshly-poured cement walkway. Little droplets of water from the sprinkler system dotted Amanda’s bare arms, raising fresh goose bumps on her fevered skin. She couldn’t tell if anybody was home, because the door to the two-car garage was closed. When Ginny punched the doorbell and Westminster chimes echoed from within, Amanda’s nerves began twitching all over again.
After what seemed an eternity, the door cracked open the width of a security chain. The face that peered out must have belonged to a very tall woman, for it blended with the interior darkness high above both their heads.
“What do you want?” The deep melodic voice carried the trace of an accent and more than a trace of annoyance at their intrusion.
In that instant, Amanda saw that the woman was African-American, with high cheekbones, amazingly smooth café au lait skin and penetrating amber eyes.
“You do not look like cops, so you must be reporters,” the woman snapped. “You are not welcome here.”
“But we—” Ginny began, but before she could finish the sentence, the door slammed in their faces and the deadbolt lock shot home.