Thus, Cindy had become a computer wizard and Internet junkie. She would log onto the Web and surf the Net on a regular basis, reading news articles, browsing home shopping networks, and generally discovering things she had never known before the advent of this information superhighway.
Each day she would look forward to Billy’s emails from around the world. True to his word, Billy had indeed embarked on his global adventure, and Cindy would often receive emails and electronic postcards from exotic locations. Billy updated her on his travels and the places he visited, and she replied with her news from home. He had always been a good kid, she thought, and she missed him—not that he had ever visited her in Savannah.
Cindy was a popular member of the Gordonston community and got on well with all her neighbors—especially her immediate neighbors to the right, Kelly and Tom Hudd. Tom was one of Savannah’s finest, a full-time firefighter who often helped Cindy when she needed a strong man for garden or household chores. Tom, Cindy often thought, was the ideal husband, and she thought that her young neighbors were the picture-postcard couple. All they needed was a couple of kids, and they would be the all-American family; and Cindy was sure that it wouldn’t be long before children joined the Hudd household.
Kelly was an extremely attractive young woman and could quite easily have embarked on a modeling career, and Tom, as well as being a great guy, was just as handsome. Cindy often spent time with them, enjoying an impromptu cocktail in the garden or chatting over the fence that separated their two properties.
Cindy enjoyed her peaceful and quiet life in Gordonston, and though naturally upset by her friend Thelma’s approaching death, she had known that it had been in the cards for a while. The mere fact Thelma had survived this long had been a bonus, and some, including Cindy, would even say a miracle. She would miss Thelma. She and the fellow members of the Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club were beginning to feel the effects of not having their friend with them for their afternoon soirees. Thelma had always been a live wire; her ability to come up with gossip about anyone in the neighborhood was legendary, and the Dog Walking ladies all missed her, though Cindy felt that she herself would probably miss Thelma the most. Poor Elliott, she thought. He would be lost in that big house by himself; she was sure he would need help in the weeks and months after his wife’s death.
As she relaxed in her easy chair, Cindy decided she would take it on herself to provide Elliott with homemade meals and good company. She was sure he would welcome her southern cooking, and maybe the company of a woman, once Thelma had passed away. Elliott was an attractive man, and who knew what could happen in the future? Cindy’s mind was taking her forward in time. She pictured herself one day as the mayor’s wife, she and Elliott together at functions and entertaining guests at City Hall. Thelma surely wouldn’t want Elliott to remain a single man for the rest of his life. Elliott would surely welcome, and even need, the support of a spouse, especially if he were going to run for office.
Cindy temporarily dismissed her thoughts of wooing Elliott and turned them to the next Residents’ Association meeting. She felt there was room to increase the membership of certain neighborhood societies; the Book Club could do with more members, and the Neighborhood Watch Association was lacking block captains. Even the Dog Walking Club could do with one or two very select new members. She considered inviting Kelly to join them, work and job permitting, maybe as a weekend member, though of course she would have to run that idea by Heidi and Carla first.
Her thoughts then turned back to poor Elliott. Poor Biscuit and Grits. Maybe they could make a special dispensation for Elliott. Maybe if she discussed it with Heidi and Carla, they could invite Elliott to join them as an honorary member of the Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club. It would be a way of getting close to Elliott, and it would mean Biscuit and Grits could rejoin their friends in the park for afternoon fun.
Cindy checked the time on her watch. It was fast approaching five o’clock, and she wondered if her nephew Billy had managed to find a computer that he could email her from. She hadn’t heard from her nephew for over a week, when he had sent her an email from India. She doubted rural India offered many computers, though, and wasn’t worried. Billy was always exploring places other tourists seldom visited, and she was sure if there were a computer to be found, Billy would find it. Regardless, she booted up her laptop anyway. She needed to produce some flyers for the upcoming oyster roast that the Residents’ Association was planning for later that month.
Cindy decided she would make sure Elliott got a hand-delivered flyer. She also decided that tomorrow she would broach the subject of inviting Elliott to be an honorary member of the Dog Walking Club with Heidi and Carla. Cindy smiled as her computer switched on. She had two new emails, and one was from Billy. She would reply with her news before baking the apple pie she would give to Elliott the next morning. Cindy was sure that the poor man hadn’t eaten a decent home-cooked meal in months, and of course, it was the least she could do for her dying friend’s husband.
Carla Zipp had been a high school and college cheerleader and was a former beauty queen, having won several contests in her youth. She possessed a youthful air, and her good looks and healthy figure belied the fact that she was in her sixties. Carla was a relative newcomer to the Gordonston area, having arrived five years earlier from Florida. Though born in Savannah, Carla had left the town she grew up in to forge a career as a dancer. Her travels took her to Las Vegas, where she was hired as a showgirl. There she danced in many reviews and shows and appeared onstage with such entertainment greats as Tom Jones and even Elvis Presley himself. It was while in Las Vegas that she met her future husband, Ian Zipp. Ian was visiting Las Vegas for a banking convention; though still relatively young, he’d become the rising star of the Floridian banking group for which he worked. Already a manager at the young age of thirty, he was brash, wealthy, and lived life to the full.
Carla met Ian while taking a late night stroll, which she often did after a grueling three-show night. The young man approached and offered to buy her a late-night supper. Although Carla had encountered many admirers during her time in Las Vegas, she was impressed with the clean-cut young bank manager from Florida. Compared to the mobsters who used to send her flowers night after night, declaring their undying love for her, he seemed like a breath of fresh air. Carla always suspected that those men were only after one thing, and once they had it, she probably would never see them again. Ian was different, she felt; he had manners and was romantic, and when his convention in Las Vegas ended after a week and he returned to Florida, he flooded the young dancer with letters every day for a month. He begged her to visit him, and finally Carla took a Greyhound to Daytona to spend a weeklong vacation with Ian and his parents. That week turned into forever. Carla, impressed with all that she found in Florida, abandoned Las Vegas and married Ian four days after he proposed to her.
As Ian’s career with the bank skyrocketed, Carla found herself in the role of dutiful housewife. Her own career aspirations now ended, her new ambition was to become the perfect wife to Ian and mother to a large brood of children. Ian was too busy with work to plan a family. It wasn’t until much later that Carla discovered her husband had had a secret vasectomy.
The reason for this operation became apparent to Carla when she caught her husband cheating on her on various occasions with various women. With her friends, women he would meet in bars, bank tellers, and even customers: Ian couldn’t keep his fly zipped.
Carla left him on numerous occasions and headed back to Vegas, only to be convinced to return on the promise that the infidelities would never happen again. Unfortunately, they always did, and her fairytale began turning into a nightmare. When Ian eventually became president of the bank, Carla hoped that his days of philandering were now behind him, but unfortunately they weren’t. He embarked on a clandestine relationship with his secretary, who was more than thirty years his junior. At the age of sixty, gro
ssly overweight and bald, he died of a massive coronary attack in his office while in the arms of his younger lover. To avoid a scandal, the bank hushed up the affair between bank president and secretary, and to ensure Carla’s silence and continued discretion regarding the circumstances of her husband’s death, they offered her a generous pension for life.
Carla wasn’t exactly heartbroken at her husband’s sudden demise; over the years she had come to detest her cheating spouse, while accepting the wealth her marriage offered. She remained in Florida for several years before realizing that her heart actually belonged back in Savannah, and she sold her beachfront home in Daytona Beach and bought the large and spacious home she now resided in, in the picturesque neighborhood of Gordonston.
Carla had many admirers among the menfolk of Savannah, though the only male who shared her bed these days was Walter, her bulldog. It was thanks to Walter that she met Cindy and Thelma and joined the Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club. The afternoon cocktail club gradually became the highlight of her day.
Though childless, Carla had sponsored several youngsters in third-world countries, donating substantial monthly sums to charities, and in return she received letters of thanks from the children she helped. Some even visited her. One boy had done so well that he rose from the slums of India to become a leading pediatrician with a practice in Ohio. He visited Carla in Savannah whenever he could.
Carla was pleased that she was able to help others with Ian’s money, and she prided herself on her caring nature. Overall, things had not turned out too badly for her. She loved her home and enjoyed the company of her three good friends and neighbors. Sadly, though, one of those friends would soon be gone, and as she poured herself a glass of sweet tea, Carla couldn’t help but reminisce about the fun times she’d had with Thelma. Poor Elliott, she thought as she took a sip of the refreshing tea. How will he manage all alone? Elliott was an attractive man and a kind man too. He always had a smile on his face and a kind word for everyone he met. This was probably why he had defended his seat on the city council so successfully all these years, Carla thought. She’d heard, just as Cindy had, that it was his intention to run for office at the next mayoral election. If he did, he would definitely have her vote, she thought.
Maybe she would bake Elliott one of her famous apple pies and drop it off in the morning, or maybe even offer to do some of his laundry. He probably hadn’t eaten a decent home-cooked meal in weeks—maybe even months—and of course he would need to look presentable if he were going to run for mayor. She would do his laundry, and even offer to press his shirts. It was the least she could do. No doubt the poor man was beside himself with grief as the news was that Thelma probably wouldn’t last the week.
Elliott would also need a shoulder to cry on, Carla supposed, to help him through the coming months. Yes, Carla’s mind was made up; she would bake him a pie tonight and take it ‘round to him in the morning. Who knew what the future might hold? If he became mayor, he would need a companion at official mayoral functions and other civic events. Carla pictured herself arm in arm with Elliott at a charity ball, he in an elegant tux and she in a long, sequined gown and her sable stole, press cameras flashing away. She quickly dismissed the image from her mind. Thelma, who was not even dead yet, was her friend. What was she thinking? How could she even think of becoming involved with Elliott?
Carla rose from her seat and checked her pantry; she had apples and the ingredients for a pie, and decided to spend the rest of the day baking. Walter, exhausted from his afternoon of play, was curled up asleep in his wicker basket in the kitchen. She refilled his water bowl and switched on the oven before getting out her mixing bowl and rolling pin. Poor Elliott, she thought again as she began to peel the first apple from the pile before her. She was sure a pie would help him feel a little better.
As Heidi rested, Cindy emailed Billy, and Carla peeled apples for a pie, Thelma Miller slipped into unconsciousness for the last time and died peacefully in her sleep, her devoted husband Elliott at her bedside, holding her hand. Many relatives and close friends had gathered, including her two sons, Spencer and Gordon, who had arrived just minutes before their mother’s death, via a privately chartered jet from Los Angeles.
Elliott wiped a tear from his eye and kissed his wife on the forehead. Biscuit and Grits whined softly out of confusion, aware somehow that their mistress was gone. Thelma’s elder son, Spencer, placed a gentle arm on Elliott’s shoulder as he knelt by the body of his wife, and the city councilman appreciated the gesture. He rose and smiled at the assembled throng of relatives and close friends who had come to say their final farewells to his wife. “Thank you all,” he said to those gathered, and then promptly and unashamedly burst into tears.
Chapter 3
It had been a long sad night for Elliott Miller. First the undertakers arrived and transported Thelma to the chapel of rest, where she now lay in an open casket, made up and attired in the outfit she had selected for the occasion, awaiting the many friends and relatives who would file to pay their final respects. Then, it was Elliot’s unenviable task to call close friends and relatives with the news of the death of his beloved wife, lover, and soul mate. Gordon and Spencer, Thelma’s two sons, were pillars of support and assisted Elliott in this heartbreaking chore as well as in composing the heartfelt obituary that would be published the following day in the Savannah Morning News.
Elliott slept intermittently that night, managing only an hour or two of sleep. He tossed and turned, not used to the solitude of the empty house. Despite the fact that he’d known for the past few years that this day would eventually come and had prepared himself for it, it didn’t ease the pain and heartache he felt. The house he had shared with his wife of thirty years wouldn’t be the same without her laughter and larger than life presence. Even the diagnosis of terminal and untreatable throat cancer five years earlier hadn’t altered her sense of fun and her zest for living. Thelma had always been his stalwart mate and support, and though his beloved wife had been gone only a few hours, he felt empty inside.
Still, he was lucky, he thought, to live in a community where people actually cared about each other, a close-knit community with neighborhood values and residents who knew and looked out for one another. Only that morning, while releasing Biscuit and Grits into the street to exercise and toilet, he had been greeted by Cindy Mopper and Carla Zipp, both bearing apple pies they had baked for him the previous day. He told them the tragic and sad news of Thelma’s death the night before, and after their initial tears and commiserations, they promised to spread the word throughout the neighborhood. Cindy said she would announce Thelma’s passing in a special bulletin of the Association newsletter, which she would produce immediately and distribute throughout the neighborhood by nightfall. Carla said she would personally inform Heidi Launer, whom she knew was a close and long-time friend to both Elliott and Thelma and who would be just as devastated as they all were by her friend’s demise.
There was also much more to do to prepare for Thelma’s funeral. Spencer and Gordon had checked themselves into suites at the Hyatt in downtown Savannah, two miles west of Gordonston, despite Elliott’s insistence that they stay with him. The men told each other that it was better that Elliott be alone with his thoughts and that it was more appropriate for them to give him space and time alone to grieve. They would be arriving back at house later that morning to assist Elliott with the preparations for the funeral and wake.
Thelma had left specific written instructions that her wake should be a joyous affair, celebrating her life rather than mourning her death. The gathering at the house the night before Thelma’s funeral would be by open invitation, extended to all who knew her, and would be followed by a grander wake after her funeral on Friday, when a jazz band would play and white-jacketed, black-tied waiters would staff an open bar. Thelma wanted to be remembered as a fun person with style, flair, and a penchant for the finer things, who, though struck down at a relat
ively young age, had enjoyed life to its fullest.
Elliott had often marveled at his wife’s resilience and ability to deal with the illness that doctors had told her would, without any doubt, eventually kill her. Despite the warnings that she only had months to live, Thelma had continued to smoke heavily and partake of her afternoon cocktails. Many who knew her well put her staunch defense against the cancer down to the fact she had refused to just lie down and die. She had laughed at suggestions that she stop smoking and drinking, and waved away the warnings about how her habits might be hurting her.
Miraculously, she had survived the first year after her diagnosis, continuing to work and refusing to let the disease dictate her lifestyle. She had been especially grateful that she’d been able to assist young Veronica in securing her house on Kinzie Avenue, and she was pleased that at last the husband she’d heard so much about was finally going to move to Savannah. It had been her final act as a realtor. She’d known that Veronica wanted a good home in a great neighborhood for her new baby, and of course Gordonston was such a place, the park especially, with its woods and children’s play area.
The few months the doctors gave Thelma had eventually lengthened into five years. Despite the chemotherapy and the multi-hued variety of fashionable wigs she wore, it was sometimes difficult to remember that Thelma was actually ill. She maintained her sense of humor and outgoing demeanor until the end. Indeed, the very day before she had become bedridden, she’d still managed to take Biscuit and Grits to the park for their afternoon exercise and playtime with their canine friends, and to partake of her afternoon cocktail with the other members of the Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club. Despite everything, Thelma had still had the energy to gossip about her neighbors and the goings-on within Gordonston.
The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Page 3
