Life Without You (21 page)

“And asking Grammie to make your cakes was a way of paying penance…” I murmured.

“Dellie, you know as well as I do that a piece of your grandmother’s cake was hardly punishment for anyone. But yes, I suppose it was, in some regards, my way of trying to make amends, to lessen the guilt I felt over everything.”

“But you still felt like losing the baby had been part of your punishment, didn’t you?” I ventured, though I had little doubt that, if she was being honest with me, the answer would have been an affirmative one. In light of the circumstances, who could blame her for that kind of logic? No matter that it really wasn’t true—that, in all reality, her miscarriage had had nothing to do with her less-than-commendable actions.

Annabelle sat silently for a moment before offering her reply.

“Yes, I did,” she said quietly. “I suppose you think me a foolhardy woman, Dellie. But life is never simple, and no matter how much we think we have it all planned, how much we think we have it all controlled, it never turns out the way we think it should.” She smiled sadly. “Sometimes that can be a good thing, and sometimes that can be a bad thing. The important thing to remember, though, is to look for the gifts and the lessons in all of it. They might not be easy to see at first, but they’re there.” She tapped lightly on the pearls I now noticed dangling from her ears. “Do like my mother always told me—never forget the struggle that it takes to make a pearl. They’re a beautiful thing, Dellie, but they don’t come without pain. Remember that, and never give up on finding your pearls.”

It was an unwitting reminder of what Bette had said to me on the phone, a reminder not to lose sight of what was important. A reminder that I could be strong enough to do this and make it through, even when I felt at my weakest.

“Savannah, this is amazing!” I said through a bite of flaky crust folded around a puree of carrot laced with pineapple bits and raisins. It was creamy and sweet without being cloying, a delightful little sample of one of Savannah’s mad creations. I swallowed and smiled tentatively at her, trying hard not to allow myself to panic over the fact that eating this bite of food was an unplanned part of my day; and even more than that, that it was something that was not even remotely on my safe list.
Eat Somewhere Unsafe
, I reminded myself, once again silently amending it to say
Eat Something Unsafe
.

“You really like it?” she asked, twisting her apron in her fingers nervously as she searched my face for any sign that I might be humoring her. She looked as though she was afraid I would spit it into my napkin the moment her back was turned.

I widened my eyes, surprised at how unsure she seemed. “It’s fantastic. No wonder people go nuts for them!”

She blushed under the praise. “Thanks. That means a lot. I always get worried, watching people eat my food. I always think they’re going to hate it,” she said, her eyes cast down at the floor.

I shook my head emphatically. “If anyone says they don’t like these, they’ve clearly lost their minds. So what other kinds can you make?” I asked, trying to draw her out.

“All kinds of things. I have savory ones with fillings that taste like pot pies; some that are kind of geared toward breakfast that I stuff with traditional egg-scramble mixtures; one with marinara, eggplant, parmesan, and ricotta. I’ve got some that have cheesecake fillings, molten chocolate fillings, peanut butter and jelly fillings. Oh, and one full of a baked chocolate pudding with almonds and marshmallows.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Like a twist on Rocky Road ice cream?”

Savannah nodded.

“You’re a genius, you know that?”

“So do you think people would come to a food truck for those?” She watched my expression carefully.

I thought for a minute before answering, trying to remember what it was like to eat with abandon. “I think they would. It’s fun. And definitely tasty. You obviously know what you’re doing, Savannah.”

“That’s what Vivi says, too,” she said, looking grave and slumping down into her seat. “She says I should go for it, and I’ll never know if I don’t take a risk and try. I guess I’m afraid of sinking so much time and money into it and having it fail, you know?”

I nodded. “I do. But I also agree with Vivi.”

“Of course you do. I’m never wrong. The question is, about what?” Vivi asked, sidling up next to Savannah.

It was mid-afternoon, and I’d now been in Hampton for nearly two weeks. Amazingly enough, I’d seen them quite frequently, whether it was here or at a cafe near the house that I had claimed as my daily workspace. Fortunately for me, I’d learned how to use the bus routes to my advantage, so even getting to places as far off as Azalea’s was no longer an issue—and I was beginning to think I really might not have to get a rental car, after all. Between the bus and my bike, I was getting around quite well.

“That these are fantastic, and that she should really try out the food truck,” I replied, holding up the last half of my hand pie, looking up at Vivi for further support.

“See?” Vivi said, putting an arm around Savannah, who had finally begun to look relaxed and as though she believed what we were telling her.

“She makes one that—get this—has smashed potato, cheddar cheese shreds, chives, and bacon crumbles. Everyone went mad for it when I put it on the menu at Azalea’s as a special—it was like this weird little spin on a twice-baked potato,” Vivi supplied helpfully. “But then, I think everything she’s tried out so far has been successful. Certainly has been a nice little boost in business for me, too,” she added with a smile, bumping her hip against Savannah’s.

A thought skittered through my brain, and I was surprised I hadn’t thought of asking it before. “What do your parents say, Savannah? Or Caleb’s? Are you guys close? I never hear you talk about your family,” I said, silently praying that I wasn’t being too intrusive. “Do they live here?”

“I guess I never told you I’m originally from North Carolina, did I? We didn’t move here until I was almost out of high school.”

I shook my head. This was definitely interesting. A girl named Savannah, from North Carolina, who baked like a church lady on an acid trip…

“I would maybe have expected Georgia, given your name,” I admitted. “Or maybe that you’re from here, but your parents are originally from Georgia.”

“I think that’s a natural assumption. And much more logical that my mama’s
actual
reason for naming me Savannah, if you want to know the truth.” She laughed.

I waited a beat. “So what was the reason?”

“She thought it sounded
classy
. She’d never been to Savannah in her life, but she thought it would make me sound like a deb,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Never mind that we were hardly candidates for cotillion, either. But she was a dreamer, and she always loved the idea of being a Southern society lady.” Savannah shrugged, smiling fondly. “Lucky for her, she eventually got to join the local chapter of Junior League, but she was always so worried about impressing the other ladies that she never said
no
to anything they asked her to do. It got to be insane.”

“They can be a little bit demanding,” I agreed, thinking of Bette and her fellow League ladies. It always amazed me to hear the stories she told after an event or a meeting. Some of those ladies had fangs. And very sharp claws.

“You say
was
…?” I let the question hang in the air, unfinished.

“Mama and Daddy both passed a few years ago,” she said. “They always encouraged my creativity, though. I think they would like my idea—at least, I hope they would.”

“I bet they would,” Vivi said without hesitation. “Your mama always told me she saw big things for you, and I don’t think she meant sitting behind a big desk with a big stack of paperwork. Every time I saw her, she told me she wished you were doing something you actually love—and you love this.”

“I do,” Savannah murmured, looking on the verge of tears.

“And you know Caleb’s parents love you to death.” Vivi paused, looking slightly frustrated, as though she’d had this conversation with Savannah on more than one occasion. “Can you believe she hasn’t told them yet that she wants to do this?” she demanded, directing the question at me.

I gave Savannah a scowl that I hoped would satisfy Vivi. “Why not? Maybe they’d offer to help you out, if you need it.”

“That’s one of the reasons I haven’t. They’d offer, I wouldn’t know how to tell them no, and then when the whole thing failed, I’d have lost every cent they gave me. And then some.” Savannah’s face was glum, and she looked miserable.

“Hush, now. Who peed on your pom-poms?” Vivi scolded. “You’re talking about failure before you’ve even started.”

“I don’t know,” Savannah sighed. “I guess I’m just emotional. My mama’s birthday would have been this week, and it always makes me miss her.” She grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser on the table and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

“That’s understandable,” I said, thinking of Grammie and how much she’d been on my mind a few months ago, when it should have been her own happy day of celebration. But Savannah’s loss was even closer to home. Hers was not a grandmother, but her mother. I felt my eyes tingle once again at the thought of losing my own mother.

“So what do you want to do?” Vivi asked.

“Do?” I could hear the confusion in Savannah’s voice.

“Yes, child. What do you want to do? How do you want to mark the occasion? It doesn’t have to be sad, you know. We can still make it feel happy, even though she isn’t there to share it with us.”

I gaped at Vivi, surprised by the sentimentality of such a suggestion. Why hadn’t I thought of that? It was perfect.

“I don’t know,” Savannah stammered, clearly still in her own state of shock. “I’ve never done anything like that before, so I guess I never really thought about what would be a nice way to celebrate the day and be happy about it.” She shrugged. “I kind of thought maybe being happy on that day would be disrespectful, somehow.”

Vivi shook her head. “Not disrespectful at all. Actually, I think the
more
disrespectful thing to do would be to mope all day. I met your mama enough times to know that she was anything but a moper, Savannah.”

Savannah smiled a little at the words. “She was a bit of a Pollyanna, sometimes, if you want to know the truth,” she said, looking at me. “Sometimes it drove me nuts; but most of the time, it was one of the things I loved best about her.”

“What was her name?” I asked, imagining something dainty, almost fairy-like and feminine.

Savannah’s grin widened. “Gertrude.”

“
Gertrude
?”

Savannah and Vivi both nodded, noting my reaction. “Gertrude,” Vivi repeated. “You were expecting something a little more…delicate-sounding?”

I tipped my head noncommittally, not wanting to offend Savannah. “Um…”

Savannah giggled, rising from her seat. “Don’t worry, Dellie. Most people didn’t think she much looked like a Gertrude. It was a family name, and she hated it. Which is why she used her middle name most of the time, which was Grace. People called her Gracie, and Gracie Leigh made the best flower arrangements in town,” Savannah murmured. “Oh, how she loved her flowers. Unfortunately, I have a thumb that’s blacker than coal; and I can’t even grow a weed to save my life.”

“Maybe not, but you can bake like nobody’s business,” I said, laying my hand lightly on her arm with a smile. “You’re amazing, and it sounds as if your mama believed you were, too,” I said. “So, Savannah. How are we going to celebrate your mama’s day? What did she like to do? Did y’all have any traditions or anything like that?”

Savannah pursed her lips in thought. “Well, we did like to go to the grocery store sometimes when I was little to buy one of those helium balloons so that we could send it to Grams, up in heaven. Mama always said that if we made a wish before we let one go, that wish would hang on tight to the string and catch a ride all the way up to Grams’s cloud, and then Grams would do her best to make it come true.”

“That’s sweet. Maybe we could buy a balloon and send it to your mama, then?” I suggested.

Savannah smiled. “I’d like that,” she said looking a bit more relaxed at the idea of her mother’s upcoming birthday. “And we loved to go to the park near our house—even when we moved here and I was in high school, we still did it about once a month. We’d to go with a packed lunch and sit outside in the sunshine and have a picnic. Virginia ham and tomato sandwiches on Wonder bread with mayo. Always with potato chips.” Savannah’s eyes were glittering at the memory. “And sometimes, if it was a
very
special day, we would get Slurpees from the 7-Eleven.”

“Guess I know what we’ll be doing that day, then,” Vivi said, breaking the spell a bit with her voice. “Balloons, park, ham sandwiches, and chips.” She paused, grinning widely. “
And
Slurpees. Sounds like a party to me!”

Gertrude Grace Leigh’s birthday came a few days later, with weather that was well deserving of celebration. The sky was a vivid shade of blue that matched Savannah’s eyes, and the conditions seemed perfect for the release of a single yellow balloon—Gracie’s favorite color—tied with an extra bits of ribbon streaming down, each invisibly tethered to a wish, a prayer, a message. And while the day might have been planned in recognition of Gracie, Vivi and I each bought our own balloons to release. Vivi, a pink one for her mother. Mine was lavender—Grammie’s favorite color. I held on tight to the string and closed my eyes, picturing her both as I had always known her and as the young woman she had once been, then opened my hand to let go, releasing it not so much with wishes, but with hopes—hopes that maybe she’d realized before it was too late that she had been beautiful and loved and treasured, hopes that maybe we’d all been able to show her how special she was.

And while those hopes for her held on to the balloon’s strings, so, too, did hopes for me and my own future.

Hopes that I would be strong enough to move past the fears that been holding me back for so long and stealing my joy.

Hopes that my dreams of a truly successful writing career would happen.