Savannah by the Sea

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  Well, Grant couldn’t be a complete waste. He had loved me for years.“You liked that, huh?”

  “Oh, yes, it just felt like she was part of my family.” Her red, curly hair lay perfectly on her shoulders.

  I ran my fingers through my ponytail, and they got caught in a tangle about midway through. I jerked a little too hard and about lost my balance.

  She grabbed my elbow.“You okay?”

  I recomposed myself quickly. Mervine snickered. I gave her another glance. A little more assertive this time. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Well, I know you’re busy. Must be headed out to run, it looks like.”

  She would never know I had already run and showered for the day.

  “Tell your dad the coffee is perfect as usual. And maybe we can get together sometime. Maybe do a double date,” she said with a wink. A genuine wink.

  I winked back. Not so genuine.“We’ll see what we can do.” I’d die a thousand deaths. She walked out.

  Louise poked me as she passed. “She really is a nice girl, Savannah.”

  “Yakety-yak.”

  Richard popped my arm as he followed her. “Don’t you be disrespectful to your elders, young lady.”

  I stared at them all in disbelief. Mayhem obviously was no respecter of doorsteps.

  I hate the taste of coffee. Go figure. Fortunately for me, however, I love the smell. Because the smell is continually seeping through the floor of my home. I considered this as I climbed the back stairs to my apartment to grab some clothes. I walked into my freshly painted, Indian Ivory striped, tone-on-tone bedroom and clicked the answering machine on my bedside table.“Darling, bring that pretty new outfit I got you. It will look great when we go to Criolla’s.”

  I opened my closet and stared at the blue and white sailor pantsuit Mother had purchased for me. Not nautical. Sailor. Hat and all. I walked to the answering machine and hit erase.

  “Savannah, it better be a story that knocks my socks off, or you’ll be paying me for this week,”Mr. Hicks announced on the machine.

  I pulled out my rolling bag and laid it on the bed. I crammed all the comforts of life inside:T-shirts, jeans, flip-flops, a few sun-dresses, and last year’s bathing suit. SPF 15, so I could get the perfect tan without the complete look of leather, because all work and no tan make for a, well, perfectly wasted week at the beach.

  The beep indicated another message. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Mom and Dad about Mary Francis. I’ll deal with it when I get there. Just tell them I’ll see them later.”

  “I will not do your dirty work!” I screamed to the next beep.

  “SAVAAAAANNAH,” the voice wailed. It could only be Miss Amber Two-Time-First-Runner-Up-to-Miss-Georgia-United-States-of-America Topaz. It had happened two weeks ago. She lost for the umpteenth time, and this one had plumb near sent her over the edge. I had pledged to be her friend. She had taken me up on it. “I’m so glad you’re going with us.”Word travels fast.“I JUST NEEEEEED TOOO BEE HELLLLD!!!”

  I studied my suitcase, about to return it to the closet.“I’ll put her in the front seat.”

  I turned off all the lights, checked the air, cut off the stove. It was so nice to have something that was mine. All mine. I turned back to survey everything once more as I left. The light struck the crystals of the crystal chandelier that hung over the breakfast table. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t completely mine. Well, maybe “most” of it was mine.

  The chandelier, however,was delivered with a note that read, “anonymous contributor to future happiness.”This for a girl who doesn’t even have a dining room. I have an eat-in kitchen. Mother came over, oh so pleasantly surprised, right after its arrival. She informed me every woman needs a crystal chande- lier. I reminded her of my budget,my very tight budget, in hopes that would remove her need to actually hang it. It didn’t. So, I gave in. Probably the first time in my life. But I gave her that one. Had I known she would tell most of the city, I would have fought harder. And when I find something I actually like to replace it with, I’ll put it in storage and save it for a charity auction.

  I closed the door with a sigh. A rather loud sigh.

  I heard her before I saw her. That was enough. The reigning Miss Savannah United States of America and now never-to-be Miss Georgia United States of America was sitting on the steps in our garage, crying as my dad loaded the car. Amber Childers Topaz, speed demon, had made a beeline for my house. The little white ratty mongrel, encased in a hot pink vest, came running out the door, fangs bared, headed in my direction.

  “GET!” I hollered. “Or I will squash you like a bug!” That did it. She retreated to Amber’s feet and started trembling.

  “Oh, Savannah!” Amber said, barreling toward me as the rat had done only moments before.

  She wrapped me in long, expansive arms that were attached to her six-foot frame and rested her head on the top of my own—not hard considering she’s six inches taller than I am. Our bodies shook in unison as she heaved.

  Dad looked up from the Louis Vuitton luggage he was putting into the back of his brand spankin’ used Lexus LX470 and chuckled. Dad never bought new cars. Vicky never bought anything someone else’s behind had sat in.

  I patted her back and pried her hands from around my shoulders.“ Oh,Amber, it’s okay. Just go inside and relax until we leave.”

  She pulled herself back. “It’s just sooooooo hard.”

  I nodded my assurance.“Go rest. It’s best.”

  “I will. I’ve close to extinguished myself.”

  Dad eyed me.

  I shook my head.

  She walked dejectedly back into the house. The rat had her nose attached to Amber’s leg the entire journey.

  “She meant exhausted,” I explained. “You get used to it. Which piece is hers?” I asked, eyeing the luggage.

  “The pink one.”

  I grabbed it. “Let’s make it stay.”

  Mother heard me as she rounded the rear of the car in two-and-a-half-inch sling-back pumps, just how every woman should travel . . . in a car . . . for six hours. She carried a cooler. “She is going, Savannah, and you’ll be nice. The poor child’s been through hell since she lost the Miss Georgia United States of America Pageant.”

  “Excuse me, did you just say hell?”

  “Savannah! Don’t you make it sound like I was cussing! I was just trying to reference the depth of her despair.” Mother placed the large cooler in the back of the car.

  “Mother, we’re talking beauty pageant.” I spoke slowly, trying to make it clear the child hadn’t just amputated a limb or something.

  “Savannah, you will never understand.” She turned on her heels, rather gracefully, I might add. But she’s had centuries of practice.“And she is coming,” she added in a yelled whisper over her shoulder. Then she called out to the tragic figure inside the house, “Don’t you worry, precious girl. Miss Victoria will make this the best week of your life. We’ll go to the spa, paint pottery, go shop . . .” The words faded as they drifted back inside. However, Amber’s moans continued to waft through the garage. The little white ball of fur encased in hot pink came back to the door and yapped at me for good measure before following Vicky.

  “Yap, yap, yourself.” I hollered with a stomp of my foot. She tucked her tail between her legs and beat it.

  “Savannah, quit.” Dad nudged me playfully.“You’ll scar her.”

  “Me scar her? You’re about to travel with two women—no, make that three women, if you include the little white varmint, who seriously could be the poster children for ‘This is drugs, this is your brain on—’”

  “Cut it out.” He gave me a raised eyebrow.

  I returned the gesture.“Seriously, you’ll need a vacation from your vacation with all of this estrogen.”

  “Maybe you can help Amber get through this difficult time. After all, you did offer your friendship, remember?” He closed the trunk.

  “Me?” I pointed to myself. “Do you have any idea what
I have already helped this girl through in the weeks since she lost? The dinners, the movies, the emptied tissue boxes? Lord have mercy, man, the sleepovers.”

  “Careful.”

  “Well, I haven’t forgotten.And all I can say is, if you are resolute on this point, then I’m resolute that Paige is going with us.”

  “We don’t have room, Savannah. Thomas is going to have to share the backseat with Duke as it is.” He walked around the side of the car and checked the straps on the rooftop luggage container.

  “Well, rumor has it Thomas is delayed.”

  He eyed me.

  “And another rumor has it that I have already asked Paige, and she said yes.”

  “Well, I guess I should be grateful I have Duke along for the ride.” He gave the luggage strap one more tug. “And we’ll deal with the Thomas rumor later.”

  The amazing thing about Jake Phillips: he always found time for later.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Does Pink Toes have a name?” I asked my father as he filled the cooler with Cokes from the refrigerator in the garage. I was avoiding the house at all costs. Not having to see my mother or Amber offered a little hope that maybe this nightmare that was supposed to be a vacation would all go away.

  “She does. Magnolia.” He smiled.

  “Well, why did I ask?” I really should have known. Magnolia was what Mother had wanted to name Duke. It was in fact one of the reasons she despised Duke and he despised her. Her animosity: he wasn’t her Magnolia. His animosity: she had wanted to name him after a tree. Granted, the dog liked to pee on trees and flowers, but he didn’t want to be named after one.A dog had his pride.They hadn’t cared for each other since. She hid his treats; he ate her shoes. It was an equal trade. But his life had now successfully been destroyed. At least at home. I doubt Pink Toes would make it to Jake’s Coffee Shop for daily siestas.

  “I think I’ll call her Maggy,” I said as a declaration.

  “If you dare.”Vicky hated anything ending in y. That’s why I wanted to change my name to Betty.Why I still called her Vicky in my head. And why her friends Cindy, Lucy, and Chloe have been renamed Cynthia, Lucinda, and Chloina.The woman doesn’t care that Chloina isn’t a name. Nor is she apparently cognizant of the fact that Chloe doesn’t end in a y. But if Chloe doesn’t mind, who am I to protest.

  “Oh, I dare.”

  Dad disappeared into the house to round up Mother and Amber. Paige rounded the corner of the garage about the same time Maggy came running out of the house, barking as if she had no idea one swat would fly her into next week.

  My friend halted in her tracks at the edge of the house, suitcase in one hand, art portfolio in the other. She set the suitcase down. “Savannah, you better tell me that dog doesn’t belong to your mama.”

  “Okay.That dog doesn’t belong to my mama. Now, let’s put your little bag here in the trunk.” I tried to lift her two-ton bag from the concrete into the back of the SUV.

  “Oh no you don’t!” She jerked her luggage from my hand. “You are not going to corner me in a car with all of this”—her jutting neck indicated the surrounding chaos—“and then sit me in a house with it for a week.”

  I grabbed both of her shoulders and made her look into my eyes. Her messy, short, bleached-blonde tresses were in exceptional disarray today. But I stared into her blue eyes.“You can do this,” I assured her. “We can do this,” I assured myself. “We are competent, able women.”

  She met my gaze.“You are certifiable.”

  “I just need to go.”

  “Why? Why do you need to go? You could have a week’s vacation from all of this if you stayed here. Why in the world would you want to follow the havoc?”

  “Because . . . well, there’s a story. A necessary story that I need to tell. And the only way it will be told is . . . well . . . is if I tell it.”

  “And you couldn’t just make a phone call, take an interview, write your little story, and prevent this madness?”

  “Please, no more questions. My little mind is full of riddles. And it can’t take all this riddling. Please, you have to do this with me.We’ll get there and leave these people to their own devices. We’ll lie on the beach far away from them.We’ll eat at different restaurants. We’ll sleep outside in a pup tent if necessary.”

  “That will not be necessary.”

  “Good!” I sighed in relief.“But I would have done it for you. Plus, the tans that await us will be spectacular.”

  “You will owe me for the rest of your life.”

  I removed her luggage from her death grip. “I probably already do.”

  “Oh, you do.” She glared.“You do.”

  “Okay. Let’s get a move on,” Dad declared as he returned. He opened up the back and let Duke in where he had created enough room for Duke’s expansive pillow. Mother came out of the house with one arm wrapped around the sniffling Amber, and the other arm carrying a pink-pillowed basket with Pink Toes resting inside. Few ever returned from the place where we were about to travel. One could only hope the spiral downward would offer directions back up.

  Like all things Amber, even her getting “settled” into the backseat was a performance. Paige and I, not being the sharpest knives in the drawer, just stood and watched as Amber “settled” herself into the middle. Had we been a tad more astute, we would have pushed her long-legged behind over to the door.

  She placed her purse between her legs. Set her makeup bag on top of that, and then nestled a box of tissues in her lap. She put her seat belt on, attentive to its potentially crushing effects on her seersucker sundress. One leg stretched itself onto my side, the other reached over to Paige, and then Amber reached into her rather colorful Louis Vuitton bag, which probably cost as much as a month of my rent, and pulled out some rather sizable white-framed sunglasses.“They’ll cover the puffiness,” she informed the two lamentable gawkers witnessing her invading their space. Truth be told, the child looked like an albino fly. Further truth be told, I might just pawn her bag to pay next month’s rent and the speeding ticket that should have been hers.

  Paige only entered because I shoved her.

  “Grrr,” Maggy offered.

  “Grrr,” Paige retorted.

  Maggy returned to hiding.This was going to be fun.

  I squeezed in beside the retail store, and Duke sat in the back, none too happy either. He leaned his head over my right shoulder mighty close to Amber’s rather large white hoop earrings and about ripped her ear open with his nose when it got caught in the center of the ring.That caused a brief interruption, but with Duke’s nose set free,Amber’s earrings placed inside next month’s rent, and Paige’s huffing slowed to a heavy sigh, we finally made it out of the garage. Nothing transpired as planned. Had it, we would have all started looking up for Jesus’ return!

  As we pulled onto Oglethorpe, I felt the familiar tug of my city. The tug that reminded me I really never liked leaving this place, even if it was only for a week of vaca—research. Odd for a woman who had been gone six years and only returned ten months ago. But even through those years of college and graduate school there was always an aching for home. My home. The city that mocked me as its “Savannah from Savannah,” an identity forced upon me by years of Victoria-induced introductions.

  I, however, finally accepted it, realized only one man would ever call me Betty, and now ended each of my columns declaring my own self “Savannah from Savannah” to the very readers who taunted me. The hope was that the self-assertion would end all ridicule. It wasn’t completely successful. Today, I simply disregarded the pockets of resistance. Well, most of the time.

  But Savannah the city had come to define me. It had allowed me a place to fail miserably and yet survive. Few places allow such grace. And even though I had let go of my one-time goal of literary acclaim, I settled into a nice rhythm of literary life, examining the essence of our humanness and telling its story through the eyes of a less-than-perfect journeyman. The city had welcomed me. Begrudgingly but
eventually. I had accepted it. Begrudgingly but eventually as well.

  The foghorn of Amber’s nose blared beside me.

  Let’s hope my return would be better than the departure.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Seaside had been the official Phillips-family vacation site since I can remember. I know people say that a lot, but it really is true. My parents started vacationing in Seaside in 1982 when I was only two and Thomas just a thought. In all honesty,Thomas might have been created at Seaside. Ooh, now, that’s a thought a child shouldn’t have to have.

  Seaside provided Dad the ability to get away from Atlanta’s craziness and get to the ocean. That longing for the water is one reason he finally decided to hang his hat in Savannah, but when you see his face in Seaside, you have to wonder if maybe this isn’t the place he would rather have retired.

  The small community of Seaside was only four years old at the time of our first visit, an ocean community that was the dream of Robert and Daryl Davis. A place of honest-to-goodness community living, of brick streets and neighbors who stop and chat when they see you sitting on the front porch. A place where the pace doesn’t lose you; you lose the pace. Actually, it was eighty acres of land that Robert’s grandfather purchased in 1946 for a hundred dollars an acre. He had a dream of building an employee summer camp called Dreamland Heights. And though he never saw his dream come to pass, many a passer through has enjoyed or created a few dreams of their own in the place now called Seaside.

  Another reason I’m sure we continue to drive south for our vacation instead of travel to far-off, exotic places, is because Vicky refuses to fly anymore. And after her last trip (which entailed an overdose of Xanax and some shameless pictures Thomas and I took of her), she prefers vacation sites that can be reached by car. However, Dad still forces her on a plane once a year for his annual fall vacation.

  We also go to Seaside due in large part to the fact that we can rent homes with full kitchens there. Not that Vicky gets to cook, though. No. Vicky is only allowed to cook breakfast on vacation and a few beach-going offerings. Seaside week is Jake’s domain. He is the grilling king, and this is his week to shine. Plus, his are about the only offerings she will actually eat without inspection. She doesn’t do this often. The woman has culinary phobia. If it’s not hers, it might not be from scratch. And if it’s not from scratch, well, the Lord will have to raise the South again. So, Seaside offers nice, fully furnished homes with clean linens (she still brings her own) and functioning kitchens and outdoor grills.