I blinked at her, feeling both unsurprised and caught off guard all at the same time.
“Why I’m really here?”
Vivi smirked. “You and I both know that you’re not here simply to keep your grandfather company. Knowing Peter, I’d bet he’s hardly had an idle second since your grandmother died. He doesn’t let moss grow under his feet,” she observed.
I pressed my lips together, trying to come up with an answer that might hold her off for a little bit longer. I still wasn’t ready to offer up all the gory details of my life to someone I hardly knew. If I told her, how could I be sure that the news wouldn’t be all over town by the time the nightly news came on? She was, after all, a close personal friend of Annabelle, possessor of minute-by-minute society happenings and self-appointed Hampton news wire. I looked hard at Vivi, searching for even the slightest clue that might suggest she was more discreet than her friend.
She seemed to read my mind.
“Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. Lord knows, I know when to keep my mouth shut. And remember, I might be friends with Annabelle, but I’m hardly blind to her ways.”
“Speaking of which—” I began, abandoning my earlier decision to let Vivi tell me in her own time about what had happened and wondering whether she’d actually answer the question I was about to ask without having received any real response to her own. “She hurt your mama so much, and it seems like you’ve got a really hot and cold relationship with her, as well. Why keep that going, now that your mama’s gone? And why did she maintain their friendship? Wasn’t it hard for her to trust Annabelle and forgive her for something like that?”
Vivi grimaced. “Mama was a fan of forgiving, not necessarily of forgetting—which is how she raised me to be. You don’t survive being a single mother without learning things like that, believe me,” she said, confirming my suspicions.
“So you proceed with caution, then?” I couldn’t resist pressing. “Why?”
Vivi shrugged, then reached out a hand to fiddle with the straw in her empty cup. “Mama loved my daddy almost blindly, I think. For her, he was the one that got away, the love of her life,” Vivi said with a small shake of her head. “But when he left and she needed someone to lean on, Annabelle was still there. Even when my mama pushed her away, Annabelle wouldn’t leave her on her own. So as much as Mama always resented Annabelle’s influence in making my father leave, she also recognized how important it was to remember who stayed.”
I realized then, in the momentary silence that followed, that the conversation had naturally worked its focus away from me, a fact for which I was grateful beyond words. It didn’t take any further prompting from me to get Vivi to keep going, either. I sat quietly and let her continue the tale.
“Mama never really got over my father; but she didn’t let not having a husband hold her back, either. She set out to prove she could make it, and that was part of what made her open Sweet Azalea’s. Not that that was easy, either.” Vivi snorted. “Plenty of people in town bad-mouthed her, said no one should ‘encourage’ a woman who obviously had no morals.”
I felt my eyes grow wide. “Seriously? Wow, you’d think that people would want to be a little more supportive of someone who was trying to provide for her child and be self-sufficient. That takes integrity.”
“I know. Not everyone sees things that way, though,” Vivi admitted. “But Mama was determined, and Annabelle was a big enough deterrent to some of the less-encouraging people around here that things eventually got off the ground.” Vivi shifted in her seat. We’d been here awhile now, it seemed, but I wasn’t sure exactly how long. The conversation had grown far more personal than I would have expected, and I wondered how my luck would hold on not having to reveal any of my own details.
“Funnily enough, as much as Annabelle did to blow up relationships—meddling in my mama’s affairs and being the reason George ended things with your grammie—she did just as much to help both of them in ways that only her particular influence could bring,” Vivi said, once again picking up her thread of the conversation. She was almost lost in the telling, from what I could see.
I raised a questioning eyebrow, hoping I wouldn’t break the spell.
Vivi caught my look and grinned. “When Mama opened Sweet Azalea’s, she went to your grandmother to see if she would sell her cakes to the restaurant,” she began, the grin faltering ever so slightly at the threat of a grimace. “As good a cook as Mama was, she couldn’t bake to save her life—and she’d tell you that outright. So when Annabelle told her she needed to ask Merry to bake for her, Mama was like a pig after acorns.” Vivi paused a minute, looking thoughtful. When she spoke again, her words came more slowly. “I think, in a way, it was Annabelle’s way of redeeming herself with Mama—and Merry—without making things awkward.”
I nodded. “That makes sense.”
I knew it was risky, breaking Vivi’s flow like that by speaking, reminding her that I was there, potentially reigniting her curiosity in me. I had a feeling, though, that she was satisfied to keep her own narrative going. “Did Grammie agree? I don’t think I ever heard her mention baking anywhere or selling her cakes to a restaurant, and I know I would’ve remembered something like that.”
“No, Merry didn’t take the offer. Even when Mama begged her to just make the cakes at home and sell them to her, she wouldn’t do it. I don’t think back then that she felt confident enough. She sold her cakes to society ladies and mothers who wanted them for their children’s birthdays and brides who came to her raving about how much they loved the frosting they’d tasted on a friend’s cake. But I don’t think that Merry ever really, truly understood how good she was,” Vivi sighed. “She thought of it like a hobby; you know that, I’m sure. I think maybe she was afraid that if she sold her cakes to Mama, no one would buy them. No one would go to a real restaurant and buy a piece of cake made by a home-baker.”
“But she baked so many cakes, for so many people,” I protested, feeling a little upended by how much a woman I hardly knew could know so much about my grandmother when I didn’t.
Vivi tipped her head to the side, contemplative. “She did, Dellie. But I don’t think she ever thought that it was important. I don’t think that she realized she was making more than cake for people.”
The words hit my ears and my heart with the piercing force of an arrow, ringing with ultimate truth. She didn’t know, and now it was too late to tell her that.
“Does Hal know you’re here?”
Despite the accusatory nature of those words, they were wrapped in the tone of a tease, delivered by a warm voice that sounded somehow like it could glaze a sweet roll. I looked up to see a petite blonde shaking her head at Vivi, her blue eyes wide and mischievous. Her raspberry-glossed mouth formed a mock moue.
“Savannah Leigh, don’t even go there!” Vivi shot back with a laugh, reaching out to swat playfully at the young woman who now stood beside our table.
“Better watch out, or I’ll report you for harassment!” Savannah squeaked, neatly dodging Vivi’s swat.
“That only works for sexual harassment, you goof. Plus, you don’t actually work for me,” Vivi retorted. “And if you tell Hal I was here this morning—not that he should care, since I am his boss, and it’s not as though I’m betraying him by eating their food—I’ll tell him that you’ve started going to KFC for their fried chicken.”
Savannah shivered. “Don’t even say the words, Vivi.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He’ll hear you.”
“Heaven forbid,” Vivi agreed. “And then you’d forever be blacklisted, never again to taste the crunchy goodness of his buttermilk-basted yardbirds. You’d have to resort to finding someone willing to put their butt on the line and bring them to you on the sly, and I suspect you’d have a better shot at getting an audience with the Pope on that one,” Vivi continued almost cruelly. “Not even I would risk it.”
I watched the tag team in silence, marveling at the ease of their banter and mentally comparing it to what I had witnessed between Vivi and Annabelle. The difference was remarkable, refreshing, and fun.
I cleared my throat, hating to break the flow, but I was feeling increasingly awkward as the un-introduced member of the party.
“Oh, Savannah,” Vivi said, shooting me an apologetic look. “I’ve forgotten my manners. This is Dellie Simms—Merry Samuelson’s granddaughter.”
Savannah offered me a bright smile, her teeth the enviable white of a toothpaste ad, yet somehow still managing not to be obnoxious. “Happy to meet you, Dellie,” she said, still in that warm glaze of a voice. “Your grandmother was a good lady, and we all miss her like crazy. And I think everyone in Hampton misses her cakes.”
I smiled back at her. “Thanks. So is that how you knew her, Savannah?” I studied her, trying to gauge her age, wondering if Grammie had made her birthday cakes or delivered a tiered confection on her wedding day. I caught a glimpse of a ring-free hand. That would be a no on the wedding cake, then—but that didn’t rule out the possibility of her having tasted one at someone else’s wedding. Or, I remembered with a flash of self-reproach, that she had never been married at all. I was the last person on Earth who should be assuming that the lack of a wedding band definitively meant the lack of a marriage.
Savannah nodded in answer to my question. “Your grandmother made every cake, for every occasion in my family. I’m not half convinced that we didn’t invent a few of our own just so we had an excuse to order a cake from Merry!” Savannah giggled, and I almost giggled back. I couldn’t help it. Everything about this person standing next to me made me want to be her friend, to fill my calendar for the foreseeable future with trips to the nail salon and the craft store and everything else girly and pink that I’d missed out on for so long, despite the best efforts of my mother, my sister, and even Bette.
“So are you here visiting your grandfather, then?” she asked.
“I am. I wish I had been able to make it here for the funeral, but there was a lot going on with work and…” I trailed off, the explanation sounding suddenly weak to my ears. I hadn’t come, hadn’t been able to, and now I felt incredibly guilty. Because, if I was perfectly honest, the biggest roadblock to Hampton had been me. My own fears and anxieties had gotten in the way—and the reminder of that came like a sobering slap in the face.
“I understand,” Savannah said kindly, generously. “And plane tickets that last-minute are outrageous!” she exclaimed, her already wide eyes becoming great blue orbs. They reminded me of aquamarines, and I wondered if she was a March baby. It would have only been fitting, with eyes that color.
Vivi nodded in agreement.
“So what do you do, Savannah?” I asked, once again trying to steer the conversation away from any details about myself. “Do you work with Vivi at the restaurant?” Given the earlier exchange, it was a reasonable assumption.
“No, not technically. I come in every once in awhile to lend a hand, but I’m not on the payroll. I guess you could say that they pay me in food,” she said with a wink and a smile. “And it’s fun for me, too, which helps. Especially since I’m trying to learn what it’s like to work in a professional kitchen. I want to open my own place someday, but until I do, I pay the bills by being an office manager. It’s not a bad job, but it’s not something I want to do forever, you know?”
I nodded. I did know. Before I’d become a writer, I’d been in exactly the same position; so I was all too familiar with that feeling of being unfulfilled at work, but not knowing what would really fulfill you. It seemed, though, that Savannah knew just what her true calling might be.
“And running a restaurant is?” I ventured.
She blushed. “Well, not really a restaurant. I kind of like the idea of a food truck. Keeps things interesting when you can move around, I think, and Vivi thinks it would be successful,” she said.
“I do,” Vivi confirmed, puffing up like a proud mother. “Savannah’s got a great palate, and she knows what things would taste good together, even if they don’t seem like they would make sense. She can get a little crazy with some of her ideas, but that’s what I like about it,” Vivi observed. “It’s not something you’d find everywhere, and that’s what I think would make it a success.”
I looked back at Savannah. “So what kind of food will you serve on your truck?”
Her grin deepened. “Hand pies.”
I blinked. Hand pies? Fortunately for me, I knew what she was talking about. I knew that hand pies were, in many areas of the country, generally referred to as turnovers; but still, the idea was taking a few moments to compute in my brain. To look at Savannah, it might seem more logical to expect her to say she wanted to run a restaurant, maybe something along the lines of a breakfast bistro or a little sandwich shop…but a food truck that served hand pies? I narrowed my eyes, trying to imagine her with a rolling pin in her hand, dusted from nose to toes in flour. Okay, I could believe that. She looked like she knew her way around a few church cookbooks, some of which, no doubt, would impart recipes for some very delicious pockets of crust.
Obviously, my face telegraphed my thoughts, because Savannah threw her head back in laughter.
“I know, I know. It’s weird. But not impossible—there have been some pretty odd-sounding food truck concepts, but they can still be successful. Plus, I’m a Southern girl. Who doesn’t eat up the idea of a Southern girl baking pies?” Savannah asked, flicking away any hint of protest away with a flap of her hand. “And it may not exactly be pie, but it’s basically the same thing…just made into a street-ready version. A little pie-dough pocket of love to hold in your hand…” Savannah trailed off with a happy little sigh. “I know it may not seem like something to build a whole menu around—but give me flour, eggs, and some shortening, and I can come up with something pretty tasty, if I do say so myself.” She sounded confident without being arrogant in the least. More like she really, really wanted to cook for you and prove the hidden potential in her pie dough.
“She wants to call it The HandStand, but I’m trying to convince her otherwise,” Vivi said, shaking her head with a fond smile. “I don’t think it sounds like it has anything to do with food. It’s confusing, and that’s not going to help her get any business.”
“Oh, stop. I think it’s cute,” Savannah protested. “It definitely speaks to the concept, don’t you think?” She looked to me, a hopeful blush suffused on her cheeks.
“Um,” I swallowed, casting about for a good answer. I saw both points, actually. And while I didn’t want Vivi to think I was a complete cheese-ball, I didn’t want to offend Savannah, either. I opted for neutrality.
“I know, I know,” Savannah grumbled, still somehow managing to sound cheerful. “It might be a little bit cheesy, but I think you’d be convinced if you had one of my masterpieces.” She grinned.
I narrowed my eyes at her, extremely curious by this point. What could she possibly do with hand pies that hadn’t already been done?
“Here’s your five-minute elevator pitch, then, Savannah. Sell me on the idea. I don’t know you, so you don’t have to worry that I’m giving you a biased opinion. Tell me—what would bring people to your truck?” I asked, shifting my weight in my seat so I could look her full in the face.
Savannah pulled one of the empty chairs at the table and proceeded to plant herself on the cushion, her movements quick and excited. Her face was flushed with pleasure, and her eyes danced.
“May I?” she asked, almost as an afterthought.
I dipped a quick nod. “Please do,” I replied, not sure she even registered the answer.
“I was pretty broke when I moved here, living in a cramped apartment with a kitchen the size of a litter box—” I raised an eyebrow at the analogy “—and yes, I have a cat, okay?” She admitted with a hopeless shrug of her shoulders. “But I only have one, so technically, that would make me ‘a woman with a cat,’ not ‘the cat lady.’ Right?” Savannah suddenly looked worried, her eyes ping-ponging between Vivi and me for confirmation.
“Focus, Savannah!” Vivi barked.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, wiggling in her chair. “You have to forgive me, Dellie, I tend to go off on rabbit trails… Mama always said I wasn’t the most focused person in the world, but I’d like to think it’s a sign of my creativity.”
I nodded, hoping she would shift back to our earlier conversation.
“Anyway, Mama sent me a cookbook that was nothing but recipes for pies—sweet pies, savory pies…and at the back of the book were a few for hand pies. They were amazing, and all of them had such inexpensive ingredients that they were perfect for me. Even in my eensie kitchen, making them was pretty quick and easy; and I could make enough of them to eat and freeze for later…” She trailed off to take a breath. “I had so much fun with it and came up with so many recipes of my own, using some of the same ingredients from traditional pies, that pretty soon I was making almost everything into hand pies. I gave Vivi a few to try, and she loved them.” Savannah shrugged. “I don’t know, somehow the idea of opening a food truck happened.”
“And I told her that it was a little off-the-wall, but it was good—and since it was so good, it wouldn’t matter so much that it was kind of crazy.” Vivi smiled at Savannah, nodding confidently. “We need to shake things up a little around here.”
“Have you tested it out at all? Do you think people here will be willing to go to a food truck that serves nothing but hand pies?” I asked. Sure, I totally loved the idea, but I wasn’t the majority of the population. They were the ones who would ultimately determine the success or failure of Savannah’s venture, should it ever come to fruition.
Vivi took the liberty of answering. “They will, if the ones she’s made for me are anything to go by—I’ve actually had her make some for me so that I could sell them at Azalea’s sort of as a test run, and they’ve been a huge hit every time.”
Savannah glowed under the praise, savoring the sweetness of Vivi’s obvious confidence in her as though it was a piece of chocolate melting on her tongue.
“Wow. The HandStand, huh?” I looked from one woman to the other, feeling a smile of my own forming. “That’s so exciting! Do you know where your target area would be or when you’re going to get your truck?”
Savannah’s face fell a little bit as she came crashing back to reality. “Not yet, and I don’t have all the money I need yet, either. Still working on that, but I’m not too far off.”
“And I know that she’d be able to take out a small business loan,” Vivi added. “She’s got everything a bank would be looking for—good credit, a strong business plan, stable history in the community.” She paused. “And me. I’d be a reference for her in a heartbeat,” Vivi concluded.
Quick as a flash, Savannah pulled Vivi into a tight hug, her cheek mashed up against Vivi’s. “Thanks for that, Vivi. That means a lot.” She was smiling, and her eyes were squeezed shut, but I could tell by the timbre of her voice that Savannah was close to tears.
“Oh, stop making a scene. You know I would—I’ve told you that before,” Vivi replied, neatly extricating herself from Savannah’s embrace. “We just have to find you the perfect spot and set you loose!”
“So what’s your signature pie? Do you have one?” I asked.
“Everybody loves my Love Me Tender Bacon Bender, so that’s definitely going to be on the menu… It’s inspired by Elvis, of course. It’s got a filling of peanut butter, chocolate pudding, banana custard, and chopped bacon that’s been cooked all crispy crunchy… It’s divine,” she said, moaning and rolling her eyes. “Oh, that reminds me, Vivi. Have you gotten your present for Tilley’s shower on Saturday?” Savannah asked, once again veering swiftly off topic. I, for one, was completely lost, having absolutely no point of reference that might clue me in to how she had leapt from Elvis-inspired turnovers to a shower for someone named Tilley.
“No, I hadn’t,” Vivi replied, looking sufficiently surprised. “I forgot that’s this week! Have you gotten yours yet?”
Savannah shook her head. “No, that was actually why I came over this way this morning. I need to pick something out before I go shopping for the ingredients for the hand pies the ladies’ committee asked me to make for the shower. Wanna go with me?” she asked, looking hopeful.
“I’d love to. I’ll get my present while we’re at it.” Vivi practically shot up out of her seat. “Come with us, Dellie?” she asked, suddenly remembering that I was there.
I looked at the women in front of me, both watching me expectantly. “Um…” My brain shot through a million different reasons to say no, one of which involved the risk I would run on losing my highly covetable table space. Another reference to the fact that, technically, this was office time; and to be a proper workaholic, I was required to remain chained to the computer until the proverbial whistle blew at the end of the workday.
With pee breaks scattered at necessary intervals throughout, of course.
“Um,” I said again, wanting to say yes, but still feeling unjustified in doing so.
“Come on, Dellie. Come with us,” Savannah urged. “It’ll be fun. Vivi and I have to pick up a bridal shower gift for a friend of ours who’s getting married,” she explained.
“I appreciate the invitation,” I stammered, completely caught off guard by their desire to include me. “But I really should stay here and work.” I realized, even in the limited way that I knew these ladies, that chances ran high they were unlikely to let me off the hook so easily—but still, it was worth a shot.
Savannah’s hand fluttered through the air dismissively. “Oh, pooh. You can work later.” She stopped, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t you? What is it that you do, anyway, Dellie?”
“I’m a freelance writer,” I replied, hoping I wouldn’t get the look I sometimes got from people who obviously didn’t consider writing to be “a real job.”
“Really?” Savannah squealed. “Vivi, she’s a writer!”
Vivi nodded. “I heard. So what do you write?”
“Mostly magazine pieces.”
“Ooh, I bet that’s fun!” Savannah exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I’ve always wished I could write.”
“It’s fun, but it can definitely be stressful sometimes. And it’s not the most lucrative career…but it makes me happy. I finally feel like this is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life.”
Both women nodded. “That’s huge. I think it counts more than the paycheck,” Savannah said sagely. “So were you scared at all when you started doing it?”
“Terrified, if I’m going to be honest. But I felt like not doing it would be a mistake I would regret for the rest of my life, you know?”
More nods.
“It’s not easy having to rely on your own resources like that,” Vivi said. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wake up in the morning and wonder if I’m going to make it, if Azalea’s is going to make enough to pay all our bills on time, if I’m being a fool to think I can keep it all going.” She shook her head, looking lost in thought. “Mama was so much better at this than I am.”
The admission of even a shred of self-doubt surprised me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Vivi was surprised at it herself. She was such a tough woman that I could only imagine she didn’t often allow herself to be so vulnerable with people, especially relative strangers like me.
“That’s not true, Vivi,” Savannah protested. “You’ve kept Azalea’s going through some really rough patches, and you’ve made it better, I think. Not to slight your mama in any way, of course, but you’re better at this than you give yourself credit for.” Savannah reached out and squeezed Vivi’s shoulder lightly, trying to offer physical affirmation of her reassuring words.
“Well,” Vivi said, back in tough mode. “Thanks for that, Savannah. Now, what do you ladies say to blowing this joint and doing some shopping?”
I watched Vivi carefully, still trying to figure her out. If I hadn’t witnessed her momentary lapse of confidence for myself, I never would have guessed that, only seconds ago, she had shown so much vulnerability. It seemed so uncharacteristic—at least, from what I had observed so far from her. But I certainly didn’t know everything about her, just as she didn’t know everything about me. Quite the contrary, actually, since I had been able to keep her on a conversational track that was geared more toward her own past than mine.
And what a past hers was. Things could be so much more complicated than anyone ever realized, I marveled. I darted a look at Savannah. What was her story? What kind of history was wrapped up in that bright little bundle of energy?
“I don’t know…” I mumbled, still feeling torn about whether to stay here or take Vivi and Savannah up on the unexpected invitation. They really did seem as though they wanted me to go along with them, and I really did want to get to know these two better. But I also really did need to work.
Vivi clapped her hands together commandingly. “Come on, girl. Get your gear packed up and go with us. All of this will keep and still be here when we’re done,” she said decisively, rising from her chair.
“I know. It’ll still be here—that’s why I really shouldn’t go,” I mumbled, my rear still firmly planted in place on my seat. Another email popped into my Inbox, seeming to confirm the legitimacy of my unease about leaving my post for awhile. I’d already been off-line for a couple of days, so I was feeling guilty and behind the curve—not that I’d been lazy or remiss, if I was perfectly honest with myself. But still. The little workaholic maniac in my head was screaming with indignation that I was even considering this for a second.
“Maybe you can get an article idea out of this… ‘Shopping Dos and Don’ts for the Modern Bridal Party,’” Savannah suggested helpfully, doing her best to make my butt budge from the chair.
I had to smile at that one.
“Umm, are you talking lingerie?” I asked, wondering what fresh bits of advice she might provide as she plundered the panties and pillaged through push-ups. I didn’t really think that would be a pitch any of my editors would go for. Sure, one of the magazines I freelanced for was a bridal magazine, but it was only a quarterly rag, and we’d just closed out the last issue. Which, consequently, meant that new assignments with them would be a long time in coming.
She shrugged with a half-smile, half-grimace. “As part of it, yes. But with suggestions of other things to buy the bride-to-be, as well,” she replied. “I think it would be a really useful topic.” She rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things that I got at my bridal shower. I would have liked to die, right there on the spot. You would think, this being the South and all, that people would have a little more consideration for what they’re bringing—especially when they know your mama is going to be there to see every last little stitch that you unwrap.”
“And by little, she means little,” Vivi chortled.
My mouth popped open in surprise as I digested the words. “Your shower?” I asked, my glance shooting down to her left hand. Nope, no ring. I hadn’t been imagining things.
Savannah nodded, her smile slipping as she caught my eye, which had lingered just a second too long on her naked finger. “I was married. Not for very long, but it was one of the happiest times of my life—even though there were some really, really hard days in there. We loved each other so much—” Savannah’s voice trailed off wistfully.
“What happened?” I asked quietly, hoping I wasn’t being too intrusive.
The smile on her lips was bittersweet, her blue eyes sparkling with the sheen of unshed tears. She blinked quickly, clearing them.
“He died,” she said at last, her voice over-bright in her attempt to sound as though maybe, just maybe, she had gotten past it.
I peered at her, feeling my brow furrow. I wasn’t buying what she was selling. Even though I’d just met her, I could already tell that Savannah was hardly someone who would have gotten over something like that so easily. Still, I wasn’t sure how much I could press her for information, so I kept silent, hoping she would continue without further prompting.
“He was my high school sweetheart, and we always knew we wanted to get married—but our parents wanted us to wait until we were through college and had stable jobs.” She swallowed, staring blankly into the distance. “We got through all of it—even when we had to go to schools in different cities and then got jobs that kept us apart, we stuck it out. It took seven years, but we did it. And then we had the sweetest, prettiest wedding you can imagine.” Savannah paused again; and I could hear myself swallow, my throat tightened by a sense of dread for what was coming next in the story.
Vivi was still as a statue and just as silent as one while we waited for Savannah to continue. All the other noise in the cafe around us seemed to have faded into the background, making our silence thick and heavy. I could hear my own breathing, and I wondered if it sounded as loud to Vivi and Savannah or if I was just imagining it.
“They didn’t find Caleb’s cancer until it was too late—they didn’t even give him hope for recovery. It was just too late and too aggressive.” Savannah’s voice grew softer. “He was gone in four months,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “But those four months were everything. We should have had the rest of our lives together—and I guess, in our way, we did—but it should have been longer. It should have been decades, and we should have had the chance to grow old and gray together.” Her voice was so soft I could hardly hear the words. “But we made those months count—we made them our lifetime, because they were all we had.”
There were tears streaming down my cheeks by now, though I hadn’t even been aware of them starting. It was so sad and so sweet, so great a reminder that every minute of every day really did matter and that they shouldn’t be wasted. There were no insignificant moments, so quickly could life come to its end.
“We made a list of everything we wanted to do together and then did them all—even went to Buckingham Palace to see if we could make the guards break that death stare and to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower. We spent way too much time just staring at one another, just listening to each other talk. I couldn’t get enough of his voice or his heartbeat. I would lie there for hours with my head on his chest, listening to his heart and to his breath—all the sounds of life. In a strange way, it was a gift, knowing how little time we would have together, because it made us appreciate and pay attention—something that I think a lot of couples lose when they think they’ll really have forever.”
I knew I was breaking the spell, but I heard myself ask the question anyway. “How long has he been gone?”
“Four years, eight months, fifteen days,” Savannah replied, her eyes brought back to focus. “Only and already, all at once. Funny how that happens,” she murmured.
Vivi and I both nodded. It truly was a strange phenomenon how the passage of time could work that way, slow and fast all at the same time. An instant and an eternity.
“They were so good together,” Vivi said, breaking her own silence at last. She’d held it a surprising length of time, I realized. Something told me that Vivi, much like Annabelle, was hardly known for holding her tongue. Obviously, this was something that really hit a nerve with her. And with me. I couldn’t help but think of the list I’d been making for myself, struck by how different our goals were in making them.
Theirs had been made in an effort to make memories, so that death would not seem such a bitter loss.
Mine had been an attempt to reclaim a life I’d lost, to bring myself back from the dead.
“Caleb and Savannah gave us all hope that people really could still fall in love, that it wasn’t unrealistic to believe that it was out there,” Vivi said, bursting my wayward thought bubbles. “And you know, for me to say that…” she shook her head “…that’s definitely something.”
I nodded. I could only imagine.
“Hey, now,” Savannah said, her voice more steady. “Let’s stop being so heavy. We can’t go being Debbie Downers—they might throw us out of the store for bringing the mood down,” she scolded. “No pity parties in the panties or sobbing by the swizzle sticks.” Once again, I saw her gaze narrow at me. “You’re coming with us, Dellie, so pack it up,” she directed, fluttering a hand in the direction of my computer and various assortment of gadgets. “Humor the wise widows and come with us.”
It could have turned into the perfect time to begin my own story. But I couldn’t. Somehow, I still didn’t feel ready—even though Vivi and Savannah had both been so candid with me. It didn’t feel right for my dysfunctional nightmare of a marriage to follow so quickly on the heels of Savannah’s sad but beautiful love story. And there was still a part of me that was ashamed at having been so greatly deceived, so easily taken in. So naive. I had married a bad guy, who did bad things, and things had ended in a bad way.
Instead of taking the opening, I just blinked, looking from one woman to the other, my brain now blank of any real excuse not to go with them.
“Okay,” I sighed, resigned to my fate.
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, Dellie!” Vivi laughed. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Give yourself a break from work and live a little.”
“True,” I agreed, closing out all my documents and shutting down my laptop.
Get out of your own way, Dellie. Find your sparkle again and set yourself free, my brain whispered.
Live a little.
If they only knew.