Southern Belles, a Novel About Love, Purpose & Second Chances (9781310340970)

by Anderson, Sarah

  “How did you know?” CeCe said coyly, flipping back to see the look on Veronica’s face.

  Yes, another score for CeCe! She was always looking at ways to keep the score at least even if not ahead of Veronica’s accomplishments. CeCe scooted into our booth and I slid in right after her. I sat there listening to the conversations going on around me feeling like an outsider. CeCe loved being in the spotlight and soaked up the attention of all the guys surrounding us. The heat of the day and the salt from swimming in the ocean all afternoon tired me out. I loved the beach and spent most of my time there when I was not in school or at Trixie’s. There was a picture I kept pinned to my mirror in my bedroom that I imagined as me in a tropical beach paradise. I found it in a magazine once, several years ago. It was of a young woman, dressed only in a white, simple bikini, standing on a stretch of sandy beach in between two small lush islands. One hand held a snorkeling mask while the other lay gently at her side. Her relaxed smile depicted the ethereal beauty around her. Although I didn’t know where the photograph was taken, I could tell it was some foreign country with great, raw beauty. It was a picture of inspiration that made me work hard in everything I did so that one day I would reach my dreams of traveling the world and discovering the unadulterated and rare treasures of the globe, like this. Being at the beach kept my dreams alive.

  “Hey Char; do you want to go to the party?”

  Suddenly I was yanked back into some sort of conversation that I had not heard a word of since I sat down. These guys were cute but all the same. They were just hanging out in this town for a novel time. Probably, most of them were from Savannah and were here escaping all the ordinariness of the big city, like most of the college guys and girls that were not full-time residents of our community. None of them stuck around and usually were condescending towards the locals, as if they were better than us because they had second homes here. Anyway, it sounded like we had just been invited to some sort of last summer bash. Since, I had no plans other than dinner with the family and Aunt Juanita; I figured a party might help to speed up the countdown to tomorrow. I could finish the packing in the morning if I really needed to.

  “Yeah, I think I could fit that in.” I said, trying to look as if I’d been listening the entire time.

  An hour later and two milkshakes down, we were back in the car heading towards home. CeCe was going on and on about one of the guys she had just met and how he was in his second year at Georgia Tech, studying something she couldn’t quite remember the name of. It wasn’t really important anyway. It was only his good looks, flirtatiousness, and prestigious front that caught her attention. It wouldn’t last long anyway. We were headed to college, a different college, and CeCe liked to keep it fresh and exciting. She never really dated anyone for more than a date or two. The only relationship that lasted with anyone was with Father John—to ask for forgiveness for her habitual promiscuous behavior.

  “There’s Aunt Juanita.” I said as we pulled up in the driveway.

  “Oh yeah, Grandma Rose is also bringing her man friend.” Richie reminded us.

  “Hey girls”, Aunt Juanita called out from the porch, “how was the beach?”

  Hugging Aunt Juanita I said, “It was great but it’s even better to see you!”

  “You’re such a sugar.” Aunt Juanita said to me in her thick southern drawl. And pretty just like your momma.” She added.

  “So did you meet Grandma’s man friend yet?” Richie asked jokingly.

  “Yes I did and he seems very sweet.” Aunt Juanita said eyeballing Richie.

  “Well, did you guys have a good time?” Grandma Rose said as she was walked out the front door to greet us on the porch.

  “It was great. More importantly—where is this hottie we’ve been hearing about Rose?” CeCe asked as she walked up to give her a hug.

  “He’s in the bathroom…again.” She said giggling, “It’s only been the fourth time since we got here. He’s very nice, so you kids better behave.”

  “Grams, we always behave,” Richie snickered while giving her shoulders a quick rub.

  “Hmm, like the time you scared away my sugar daddy?” She quickly replied.

  “Grams, I was like eight years old and he smelled like sardines and bad cigars. And furthermore, how was I supposed to know he was allergic to cats and didn’t like kids in his face.” He said convincingly.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t like fish and you were a cute kid Richie.” Grandma Rose said as she now squeezed her arm around Richie’s waist as they walked inside.

  “Oh and you did know that he was allergic to cats because I asked you to keep the cat in the laundry room before he came because they cause him to breaks out in hives.” She retorted back tightening her hold on him.

  Richie is Grandma Rose’s favorite like I’m Aunt Juanita’s. He could get away with just about anything with her. Although, every once in a while when we were kids, she’d beat his little butt like the time he put lawn fertilizer in the fuel tank of the lawn mower (without telling anyone) to see what would happen. That was during the time Richie pondered about being a scientist when he grew up. It wasn’t until he was in high school that he realized he was a natural entertainer for more than just our family. He would take apart things—like dad’s brand new radio and mix things together that created small explosions—like the one time he singed the peach fuzz right off his forearms. This particular time, though, Richie did know about Mr. Knipper’s allergy to cats. He secretly despised him for monopolizing ‘his grams’ and was curious how fast the hives would appear. He came up with a daft little trick too. When mom invited Mr. Knipper and grandma over for dinner, he jumped up in Mr. Knipper’s lap and started hugging him. Mr. Knipper wasn’t sure what to do other than try not to drop him in front of grandma. Mr. Knipper was not the most kid-friendly man. Richie bouncing all over him, then started rubbing his face between his two small hands, shaking his head back and forth, repeating “hi Mr. Knipper” over and over again before my mother could finally pull him off his lap. Of course, this was after Richie spent a half hour in the laundry room petting and brushing Mr. Winkles, our cat, until half his hair fell out. Shortly after everyone sat down for dinner Mr. Knipper’s right cheek started twitching. His eyes seemed all of a sudden smaller. Trying to answer questions that my dad believed were thoughtful, he began to have a small cough backing up his sentences. Richie sat across from him, studying his face, while eating his peas. Not once did he take his eyes off him. Richie was keeping track of the time. The more Mr. Knipper talked the more he rubbed his neck and coughed until it was obvious to everyone at the table that something was truly wrong. Grandma and mom noticed first that he started having red splotches all over his face and neck. His eyes and cheeks began swelling up like he stuffed 50 marshmallows in his mouth. My mom ran to the medicine cabinet for some Benadryl while my dad called 911 to get the ambulance.

  Apparently, that’s what happens when someone is allergic to cats…very allergic to cats. After all the drama was over and Mr. Knipper was deemed stable at the ER, Richie told me that it took approximately 12 minutes for the welts to take over Mr. Knipper’s face. Although neither Richie nor I ever said anything about that night to anyone, Grandma was onto Richie’s stunt. That was the last time we saw Mr. Knipper. Dinner with my family was always exciting.

  At dinner that night my brothers joked around telling tall tales and recounting silly stories from when we were younger, on the farm. Grandma Evi, my mother’s mom, with Alzheimer’s, sat still, smiling. She moved in with my parents after Grandpa Wasis died. Even though she could no long speak in sentences due to the advanced stage of her disease, she sat comfortably, seeming entertained by the boy’s animated stories. Every now and then CeCe interjected some of her fond memories of our shenanigans with Richie—like sneaking out for cow rides at two in the morning. My mother and Aunt Juanita caught up and Aunt Juanita shared some stories about her latest trip to Haiti. Grandma Rose’s man friend sat quietly, smiling the major
ity of the time, when he was not excusing himself to the bathroom or straightening his toupee. He seemed like a nice little man and was about a foot shorter than Grandma. Dad was busy enjoying the delicious spread my mother prepared, like she did for all our family dinners, when he wasn’t talking about the farm with grandma. Sitting back with a belly full of great food and even better company, I watched as our dinner table, once again, lit up with laughter. I loved my family and the dinners that easily lasted hours. I couldn’t wait to get to Athens but dinners with my family where priceless.

  I looked at my watch and realized that it was almost nine o’clock. I whispered in CeCe’s ear that we needed to get going to the party and motioned to Richie. We gave hugs to Aunt Juanita, Grandma’s Evi, Rose, and her little man friend. I kissed my mom and dad goodbye before walking towards the door. My mother followed us to the entryway and quietly reminded us to stick together, not drink, and not do anything that we couldn’t do if she were in the same room with us.

  “Thanks mom, I love you too.” I said as I gave her another kiss and hug before tromping down the front porch steps.

  “Remember you need to be home before the sun comes up; I’ll be waiting up for you.” She said smiling as she stood in the doorway waving goodbye at us.

  There were cars parked all up and down the block when we arrived. I could already hear music wafting from the house. I was a little excited about the party but knew I’d probably be spending most of it by myself while CeCe exchanged spit with the college guy she fancied from Trixie’s. Richie opted to stay home and catch up on his video games. I didn’t mind hanging by myself as my heart was already in Athens—where the real party was waiting. This was just a bonus, in the meantime.

  The music reverberated as we opened the door. There were beautiful people enjoying themselves everywhere I looked.

  “CeCe, what’s the name of the guy you’re looking for?”

  “James or Jim, I think.” She said as she scanned over the house.

  “Do I look Okay Char? No eye or nose boogies, right?”

  “You look great, no eye or nose boogies.” I said reassuring her. “What about me?”

  “Beautiful of course, Char. You got some good sun today; your freckles are all over.” CeCe said hugging me quickly.

  “So who are you going to be tonight Char?” Ce asked as she continued to scan the room.

  “I don’t know. Maybe, I’ll be Lucy tonight,” I said jokingly.

  “That’s a good name. I have to be CeCe,” she said amusingly, “because Jim already knows my real name from the diner.”

  “That’s a great name,” I said grinning at CeCe. We always gave fake names to guys we didn’t know or met at parties just in case they ended up being annoying or creepy. We figured it would make us harder to find if they weren’t boyfriend material.

  Yelling over the crowd, the guy CeCe had been looking for found us. In tow, he had two guys and a girl following him. Undoubtedly, CeCe would have tried to fix me up with the lone guy had I promptly told her “Don’t bother CeCe, I don’t need a date tonight and he doesn’t look interesting anyway.”

  “Oh Char—don’t judge a book by its cover.”

  “I’m not. Just go enjoy yourself CeCe, I’m going to get a drink and hang out on the deck. Promise me thou that you won’t leave the party with that guy. I need a ride a home, you know.”

  “I promise! I would never leave you! You’re my BFF!” She said as she skipped away.

  Before CeCe snuck away with the college cutie, I vowed to meet back up with her, in a few hours, on the deck of this beautiful beach house humming with life and mesmerizing music. Sitting quietly, with one hand resting in my lap and the other holding a drink, I appreciated the calm peace I felt in all the noise. There were young people everywhere laughing and talking, drinking and dancing, inside and out on the beach. The music drifted in muted tones across the deck sending goose bumps across my neck and arms as I sat back in the lounge chair over-looking the ocean. I was so relaxed that I was reminded of my favorite book, the Great Gatsby. Gatsby always had the best parties. His home, on the beach, was filled with people just like me looking for a good time to pass the time. I sat silently taking in the still beauty of the night, admiring the white caps softly hitting the moonlit sandy shore. Almost a little too relaxed; a sudden and thunderous belch sprang forth. I laughed and let out a little “ooh” until I heard someone else, laugh behind me, and I jumped. Thinking I was alone on the deck, I was surprised to find a smiling guy standing behind me—a really cute, smiling guy.

  “That’s pretty impressive. You know most adolescent boys would be envious.” He said with a serious look on his face before letting down his eyebrows and walking towards me.

  “Okay, you tell me a secret. You already know mine. Heavy-weight belcher, defender of the Southern title”, I joked to cover my embarrassment.

  Blushing, he looked out at the crashing waves rolling in before peering at me from the side of his face. I could tell that my question had caught him off guard after my grand impression.

  “Really?” He asked with a smile deepening the dimples chiseled above his smooth ivory jawbone. His eyes twinkled from the light of the deck and the full moon overhead. They were a brilliant blue that reminded me of the way my Aunt Juanita described the Grecian seas in her travels around the Mediterranean. Starring intently at me, he created a warmth that slowly crept up my backside. I could feel it spreading to my arms, that just moments ago had goose bumps.

  “Yeah.”

  Looking up to the left before his eyes rolled to the right he replied, “I can’t stand Nirvana.”

  “Wow, you got me there!” I said with an over exaggerated look on my face.

  “What?”

  “I could have guessed that from your polo and your loafers.”

  “Are you mocking my style?” He said charmingly.

  “No, of course not,” I said coyly. “I said a secret, not an obvious assumption.”

  “Oh. So, you’re saying that I’m predictable?”

  “No, but most of the out-of-town guys wearing polo’s and loafers are usually riding around on their boats blaring U2. Dr. Dre if they’re trying to look a little less like you know…a jock driving their dad’s yacht.”

  “Is that what you think about me?”

  “I don’t know. I just met you. Should I think that? Does your dad own a boat?”

  “Yes. But what’s wrong with being a jock?” And why do wearing loafers or polo’s, owning boats, and not liking Nirvana define me as a jock?” He asked, now looking directly at me.

  “What’s wrong with being a jock?” I stammered as an image of a drunken, obnoxious, conceited Jersey flashed through my head.

  “Nothing, if you think being conceded, ungrateful, and having everything handed to you on a silver platter is Okay.”

  “Wow, sounds like somebody got burnt?” He said, taking a sip of his drink.

  Quickly realizing I sounded like a bitter and scorned ex-girlfriend from the abrupt seriousness our playful conversation went to, I giggled and apologized, “I’m Lucy, can we start over?”

  “Before or after that extraordinary monstrous belch?” He laughed, before extending his hand forward, “I’m Skylar Flower. Only my friends call me Skylar and only my really good friends get away with calling me Sky Flower.”

  “Hmm… Sky Flower.” I repeated his words aloud, hypnotized by his engaging smile and firm handshake.

  “And now you know my secret. I’m a product of hippies who wanted a baby girl.”

  “I thought my burp was embarrassing; you’re starting to help me feel a lot better about myself.” I teased.

  Chuckling quietly, Skylar asked, “Do you want to take a walk on the beach?”

  “I’d like that.”

  As we started to let our guards down, I felt an unfamiliar tickling jostle around in my belly. Watching him talk made me smile. The more he talked, the more I smiled. I tried biting my lip to hide the smile but it just got big
ger. The more I smiled, the more he smiled. It was odd and infectious. I don’t know why I couldn’t erase the smile off my face. It was almost like having to pee and trying not to do the peepee dance in public, yet still dancing around, trying to pass it off while others slowly and amusingly caught on to what you were really doing. He was gentle in his mannerisms and the slight facial expressions he made spoke of his character. Calm and collected, he was skilled at being charming without being rude or too nice. He asked me about my dreams and what I wanted to do when I grew up—as if he didn’t notice I was almost grown up. This was in contrast to boys I had entertained in passing conversations. Like Jersey, I can’t ever remember having any kind of a conversation where he wanted to know more about me or my opinion. He was always busy telling me about himself or his pumped up accomplishments. As I shared with him my dreams of being a journalist and writing books one day, I could tell Skylar was interested in what I had to say. He told me about visiting foreign countries, as a kid, with his little sister and his parents who had helped build orphanages all around the world. He laughed and said that his hippie parents got saved, by some visiting missionaries, when he was a baby while they were living in a commune in Southern California. After that they felt called to help the less fortunate. He said that because of his interesting upbringing that he wanted to do something good in the world but wasn’t sure what it was just yet. He knew he would find his purpose eventually. For now though, he was attending college overseas, studying international business.

  “I’ve always loved coming to the beach at night and watching the stars.” He said, taking a seat on the sandy shore. “It gives me a peace inside—I know that somewhere up there God is watching and listening to me. When life gets messy, I come to the beach and think out loud.” He said drawing his knees up with his arms resting over them, as his hair blew slightly in the breeze.

  “The beach is a second home to me too. I’d live here if my mom let me. Messy?” I asked looking at him, wondering what he had to worry about with the great family and life experiences he shared with me earlier.