“Elsie. Where are you going?”
I spun around. Dang it... I’d almost made it out.
“I’m meeting Jenna, remember?”
“I need you to go to Mr. Smith’s at nine.”
“Really? You didn’t tell me that last night.”
“Sorry. I forgot. I have to go to Vaughn’s and finish up before she gets back from Houston, but I’d like to get to the hospital by two.”
“Okay,” I said, as I headed out the door.
Ten minutes late, I turned into the park. The place was beautifully kept; acres of forests adorned with patina cannons, pyramid stacks made of shiny black cannon balls, alongside monuments dedicated to the various states that fought in the battle – Ohio, Indiana, and others I couldn’t read because of years of weathering. Dad had told me about the Battle of Shiloh, but I always dismissed his extensive knowledge of the Civil War, tuning him out like I did history class. He’d tried to share so many things with me, why hadn’t I listened?
Within the next mile, I spotted Tyler standing next to a polished, silver, two-door Mercedes sports car. Arms crossed, he watched me pull up. I started shaking, nerves on high alert. Oh my gosh. He looked like he’d been posing for a photo shoot; dressed in long, navy shorts and a light gray T-shirt, his dark hair damp and clean-cut.
“This is crazy, ” I whispered as I parked the car.
Deep breaths, Elsie. You can do this.
He opened my door. “Mornin’, nice you made it.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be late.” I climbed out and nodded toward his car. “Nice ride.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve never seen a Mercedes like that.”
“Yeah, it’s a 2015 CL63. Dad drove it for a while, but then he gave it to me.” He shrugged, as if everyone had a Dad that gave them a Mercedes. “Bears, huh?”
“What?”
He pointed at my T-shirt. “You might get hot in that. You ready?” He motioned to a tree line several yards away. “I like jogging this trail. It’s called The Sunken Road.”
We walked toward a split-rail fence dividing the woodlands from the acres of open battlefield. He waved for me to follow as he started slowly jogging down the trail.
“It’s a beautiful morning,” he said. “Be careful. This trail can trip you up.”
We started at a slow pace and for the first few hundred yards, I actually enjoyed the peaceful setting. The morning breeze was cool, balancing the hot July sun. Birds were singing, and the breeze rustled through the trees. Despite the scenery, I couldn’t stop watching Tyler. Jogging with perfect posture, his torso solid against his fitted shirt, and his tan arms rippling with muscle.
As we crossed a small wooden bridge, sweat began to trickle down my face and my head tingled with perspiration. Not good. Once my face lit up from the heat, I’d look like a drowned cat. After a few more strides, a sharp pain pierced my side. I cringed, trying to ignore it. But then my lungs started to burn.
“Y’all right back there?” he asked over his shoulder.
I forced out the word, “Sure.”
The next step, I stumbled forward, my legs wobbling like a baby giraffe’s. Regaining my footing, I thought I could recover gracefully, but then the stitch stabbed me again. I stopped. Hands to knees, I gasped for air. I heard gravel shifting, and then his Nikes stepped inside my small perspective of the ground.
“You okay?” he asked, offering his hand.
“Hell, no,” I panted. “I think I’m gonna die.”
I took his hand and stood straight. We both burst out laughing. Another stitch wrenched my ribs and I hissed and grabbed my side.
“You need to walk. I shouldn’t let you stop like this.” He put his hand between my shoulders, guiding me forward. “Damn, girl, your face is really red.”
“Great.” At least it covered how embarrassed I felt. “Sorry. I’m not very athletic.”
“You don’t have to apologize. It’s just something I do, and I thought it would be great to have you join me.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be here. I just didn’t plan on making an ass out of myself. Not that quickly, anyway.”
“You didn’t make an ass of yourself. It’s all good.” He turned around and started walking backward with a slight bounce. “So, that Bears T-shirt...”
I looked down at the orange Bears logo across my chest. “What about it?”
“You’re a Bears fan, huh?”
“Yeah, they’re my team.”
“Okay. I like football. More of a N’Orleans fan myself.”
“Not the Saints!” I let my head fall back, pretending to be disgusted. “What about the Titans? You’re a Tennessean.”
He winced. “Titans? I like to win. That’s not where I’m going with this though. Miss Elsie, I believe you’ve given yourself away.”
“About what?”
“No one around here likes the Bears. That accent, that shirt, you’re totally from Illinois.”
I eyed him. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” He shook his head to confirm. “Yes, I’m from Illinois. Fighting Illini country.”
He jumped in front of me, pumping his arms above his head, and then he jogged in a circle to imitate a crowd cheering.
“Whatever.” I laughed.
After another exaggerated cheer, he let his victory dance go, and we continued down the trail.
“Why are you so private about it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. We’ve been here for five years. I guess I haven’t picked up the accent.”
“You and your mom. Claire definitely doesn’t sound Southern.” He dropped his drawl for a candid northern inflection. “Midwesterners have such enunciated words. Your English is very proper.” He switched back to his silky, Southern drawl. “Mind you, we don’t use the word ‘very’ ‘round here. ‘Mighty’ or ‘awfully,’ yes. But never ‘very.’”
He could charm a rattle snake into a firepit with that voice.
“Note taken.” I giggled, face burning even more. “Everyone doesn’t talk that way. Mom’s always correcting our English, it’s so annoying.”
“My mom does, too. She claims I’m better than a Southern twang, as she calls it.”
“You definitely don’t sound like the boys around here. They still blow me crap about my stupid accent. Such jerks.”
The locals in the area had bloodlines that ran deep into American history. Rebel flags and Southern pride spilled across the region, reminding all trespassers they’d better tread lightly. Tyler’s grandmother’s house was no exception. The place was filled with priceless Confederate artifacts. I had to assume he felt the same way as everyone else.
He must’ve sensed my insecurity because he stopped walking as we approached a white-stone memorial of the Iowa Regiment. He stepped toward me and gently touched my chin.
“Hey... I could care less where you’re from,” he said. I lifted my eyes to his. “I’m glad you don’t run around with jerks. If you did, I’d have to question what kind of guy I am.”
“You aren’t very shy.”
“I’m usually not this forward, if that’s what you mean.”
He stepped away, and then he asked if I knew anything about the battle at Shiloh. Of course, I hadn’t listened to Dad, so I let Tyler explain it to me again.
The Sunken Road was where the Union troops retreated, fighting against the surge of Confederate soldiers who later called the area The Hornet’s Nest. After the Confederates withdrew, Shiloh was labeled the bloodiest battle of the Civil War. Tyler also told me about the different states that fought (including Illinois), reciting dates, the number of men who died, and both sides’ strategies. His intelligence was invigorating. He animated his stories, hands moving in the air, walking with an enthusiastic bounce in his step. Pure passion for the subject flashed across his face, and he made normally boring facts sound fascinating.
We’d come to the end of the trail when he took my hand, lacing his fingers between mine. Smiling, he whispered,
“Let me show you something.”
My head spun at the feel of his touch. He led me across a paved road toward an area of dense trees. We gazed through the canopy of a massive oak, then he pointed toward the top of the tree next to it. I tilted my head and scanned the branches. He bent down to share my perspective, his face less than an inch from mine.
“You see it?” he asked, moving his arm a little to the left.
Then I saw a huge nest, near the peak of the tree, where an enormous white-headed bird was watching us from above.
I gasped and pressed my hand over my smile. “Oh my gosh, it’s a bald eagle.”
The bird eyed us, stretching out its massive wings.
“I saw her the other day,” Tyler said. “Isn’t she amazing?”
“Yes. I’ve never seen one before. So beautiful.”
“I bet her wingspan’s over five feet. She was circling the peach orchard when I saw her, and then I watched her swoop down and grab a snake out of the field. I love this place. It’s one of the few things that makes being at Nana’s tolerable.”
“Why do you stay with her if you hate it so much?”
“They insist on it.”
He stared at the nest, waiting for the bird to fly. I watched him instead. His intense focus held an underlying tone, almost as if he were jealous. He wanted to fly, too.
“Let’s go over here. Maybe she’ll take off soon,” he said, leading me across the lawn to another split-rail fence.
“So, if they insisted you come here, maybe you should rebel,” I teased. “Do something drastic. Get a tattoo, or better yet, go goth. That’ll get their attention.”
“Yeah. That’s never gonna happen.” He laughed. “You have a twisted mind.”
“Ooh, I know! How ‘bout we trade cars? You can drive the Honda, and I’ll drive yours.”
“Good try,” he said as he leaned against the fence. “No one drives my car but me.”
“Oh, really? Well, I’m gonna have to change your mind on that one.”
“Good luck with that,” he said. “How’s your dad doing?”
I leaned against the fence beside him, nerves prickling from the question. “Not great.”
“I’ve thought about him a lot since the other day.”
“That’s nice of you to say.”
“I mean it. That has to be really hard for you. Why is he sick?”
I swallowed. Please don’t cry in front of him. Please. “He has a brain tumor.”
“Oh.” He gave me a concerned look. “How long has he had it?”
“Five years. The doctor told us to prepare for the worst. Translated: He’s dying.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and then he gently took my hand in his again. “If there’s anything I can do, please tell me.”
“Thanks.” I had to change the topic. Tears threatened me, the pre-sting before the burn. Blinking my eyes, I looked up. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. It’s just... well. It’s hard.”
He squeezed my fingers between his.
“Do you like school?” I asked.
“Sure. I like being on my own, mostly.”
“Was Vanderbilt your first choice?”
I’d noticed several Vanderbilt diplomas in Mrs. Vaughn’s den, as if it was some kind of family tradition to attend the college.
“No, I wanted to go to Stanford, but I didn’t have a choice. All Vaughns go to Vanderbilt. Nana had five of her kids attend, so the University loves us.”
“What’s with Vanderbilt?” I held up my hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I realize it’s an excellent school, but why can’t you choose?”
“Like I said, they insisted. My great-grandfather had been a board member, and since then, it had become a family tradition. Nana’s adamant about keeping the Southern customs in place. That includes the overall belief system of how the North stole the South. She says every generation after forgets more about where we come from. I understand not forgetting, but the rest of it borders on bigotry. I refuse to have anything to do with it.”
“Oh. That’s kind of crazy. So, Vanderbilt’s just a label? It’s all about tradition.”
“Exactly. Just like coming to Savannah. They’ve sent me here every summer since I was three, so now it’s required. Sometimes, I don’t mind. I can chill and study, the solitude doesn’t bother me. I’m just ready to move on. Do my own thing, you know?”
“Makes sense. How old are you, anyway?”
“Nineteen. But they won’t let me go until the trust fund’s opened. That happens when I turn twenty. Until then, they think I’m incapable of supporting myself.” He shook his head. “Maybe they’re right, but they hover over me like I’m a little kid or something.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I tried to resist my curiosity, but deep inside I had to know. “I have to ask you something, and maybe I’m a jerk for doing so, but... What’s it like?”
“What’s ‘what’ like?” he asked. “School?”
“No, not school.”
I shouldn’t have said anything... such a thoughtless question.
“The money?” he asked.
I nodded. He slowly swayed his head back and forth like he couldn’t decide which item to order off a menu.
“It’s all right, I guess. I know people think it makes everything perfect, but there’s a lot... well, it comes with a lot of pressure. Don’t get me wrong, it does make life easier, but it depends on how a person handles it.” He smirked. “I know so many snobs. They ruin everything because of the way they act. I refuse to ever be that kind of person.”
I wanted to hug him for saying that. Assuming money made his life perfect was easy to do since our family didn’t have any at the moment. Clearly, he hadn’t been given a pass from normal problems just because of his bank account.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.
“Yeah, I have an older brother, Mark. You?”
“No, it’s just me.”
“What are you studying?”
“Business.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Not at all.”
“What do you want then?”
He lifted our hands and pressed his lips just below my knuckles. I held my breath, savoring his cool kiss against my hot skin. Lightheaded, I slowly exhaled as he lowered our hands.
“You’re standing in it,” he said, and then he pushed off the fence and turned to me. “I spend a lot of time out here when I’m in Savannah. I read about the wars – the Revolutionary War, Civil War, and World War I and II. It’s what I do. Well, during the summers, at least since I’m too busy during school. But I think I’d be a good teacher. I’d love to talk about history all day, make it interesting for kids, especially teenagers. They just need someone who’ll teach it in a thought-provoking way.” He stopped talking, as if something interrupted his enthusiasm for the idea. “But it doesn’t matter what I want. To my family, teaching is a service job.”
As I listened, I realized how much we actually had in common. Living in polar opposite worlds, we were fighting against the same currents. We were stuck; expected to behave in the proper way, do as we’re told and suck it up. He didn’t have any more control over his life than I did over mine. At least I had my art to escape to. I had to wonder how he handled the pressure.
He ran his hand through his hair, and looked at me with curious eyes.
“Do you ever feel like you’re being pushed by something bigger? Not by your family, but something more? Our circumstances are so random. I didn’t ask to be born into money, any more than you asked to move to Tennessee. We’re at the mercy of our parents, but then we have to find our own way, and one bad decision, one missed step will send us tumbling backwards. It’s like we’re on a staircase. We’re desperate to reach a goal, so we skip a step or maybe two, hoping to get there faster, and then we get kicked back to learn the lessons we missed. That’s the
hard part... finding the courage to keep trying. We have to accept what we’ve been given and embrace our circumstances, even if we don’t like them. After that, we have to try to make them our own. You know? Reinvent.”
“My family’s enslaved in circumstances. Have you talked to your parents about it?”
“Kind of. Dad’s cool. He listens, but Mom and Nana think I have more potential than being a teacher.”
“You can definitely make more money doing something else.”
“I know, but that isn’t my concern,” he said, dismissively. “I assume you want to study art. You’d be crazy not to.”
He leaned against the fence again, this time a little closer to me. I liked his unabashed affection, but I sensed he wouldn’t move too fast. His approach was temperate. A gentleman who understood the art of treating a girl with respect. There was a kind of pureness about him. I had to question if he was the player he could’ve easily been, yet nothing about him implied he was playing around.
“Yeah, I’d really like to go to art school.”
“What colleges have you looked at?”
“Not many. Memphis College of Art has been the goal. I haven’t applied though.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “Circumstances, I guess.”
My enthusiasm for school had dwindled since Dad’s seizure. But I didn’t want to talk about that. I wanted Tyler to get to know me for me, not out of sympathy or even obligation. I could handle the chaos in my life on my own. What I wanted was to be with someone who would help me forget about it all, even if it was only for a few hours.
“Okay, you got me there,” he said. “But you have to make your own circumstances, too.”
“I’m not even sure what I’d do with an art degree.”
He chuckled. “Make art.”
“Right.” I smiled. “I guess it’s easier to say what I don’t want than what I do want.”
“What don’t you want, then?”
I lightly bumped against his shoulder. “To never clean another person’s house again.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“It’s so uncomfortable. You have no idea.”
“You’re right, I don’t. It has to suck.”
“Pretty much. But I have to help, we’re broke.”
Life Happens on the Stairs Page 4
