A Down-Home Savannah Christmas

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  “It’s always a special day in our family’s history when we hand off the property to the next generation. It propels our heritage. It keeps our legacy and the mission of my great-great-grandparents alive. That’s why it’s so important that you girls start preparing for the day when it will be your turn to take it over. Even though y’all grew up here and you have lives away from the inn right now, you’ll need to start thinking of yourselves as Zelda’s apprentices.”

  Elle glanced at her mother, who looked pale and unfocused. She watched Zelda throw back her drink, refill her glass and chug it.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” Elle placed her hand on her mother’s as she tried to reach for a third refill.

  “No, I’m not okay. Not really. I’m happy for Gigi. She deserves to retire. You’re almost eighty-five years old, for God’s sake. You should’ve retired a long time ago. The only reason you didn’t was because I wasn’t ready to take over and you were tied to this place.”

  “Zelda,” Wiladean’s voice was low and serious. “I thought we worked this out.”

  Zelda laughed, but there were tears in her eyes. “We did. Because there is no other answer. There is no choice. We were born into this godforsaken prison of an inn and all choice has been taken from us. I’m still not ready to take over, but if I don’t take over for you after you retire, who will? Do we expect the girls to give up the lives they’ve made for themselves to jump in? I wouldn’t foist this burden on anyone, much less my daughters.”

  Gigi looked bewildered. “What are you saying, Zelda?”

  “What I’m saying, Mama, is I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to run this place.” Zelda reached out and picked up the manila folder she’d brought in with her. She opened it and shook out a smattering of glossy brochures. They spilled out onto the table. “I’m saying that I don’t want to be tied to this inn until I’m eighty-five years old. After Fred left, I quit living. I gave up on myself and the things in life that make me happy. I did that because I felt so damned guilty that I almost lost everything to a man who said he loved me and then tried to take our family for a ride.

  “It was a pretty dumb thing to do—to give up on myself. I may be a little late to the party, but I need to invest in me for a while.”

  She picked up a brochure about a tour of the Machu Picchu area; another one was for the Galápagos Islands, and yet another one was for a three-week meditation cruise.

  “I want to do these things,” she said. “I want to travel and find myself again. But I won’t be able to do that if my future is decided for me day in and day out right here at the Forsyth Galloway Inn. This place is a prison.”

  Gigi sat in her seat looking as if she’d been slapped in the face.

  “What are you suggesting, Zelda? That we sell the place? That we throw six generations of history out like it was yesterday’s garbage?”

  Gigi didn’t give Zelda a chance to answer. She got up and walked out of the room. Zelda and Gigi were prone to disagreeing, but they had never arrived at an impasse like this one.

  Elle was at a loss for how she would fix this rift.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, Elle’s phone rang as she was getting out of the shower. She wrapped herself in a towel and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “What’s this I hear about you and Daniel Quindlin?”

  It was her older sister, Jane. Elle realized with a sinking stomach that she should’ve called her after all that had transpired last night. It wasn’t necessary though, because Kate had most likely called Jane on her way home, leaving a message if Jane had still been working. She could picture Kate saying, “Call me. Call me as soon as you get off work. I don’t care how late it is.” Because she was that eager to slide into the juicy gossip-palooza mud.

  “Good morning, Jane. What exactly did you hear?”

  “Don’t be coy, Elle. Kate said you’re in love with Daniel Quindlin. Do I need to come down there and hold an intervention?”

  Her stomach twisted. She wished she could rewind and take back the words, because they were premature. Once they’d fallen out of her mouth, like a wad of gum she shouldn’t have been chewing, she had regretted them. Regretted them to the point that all night she’d kept waking up, hearing herself saying I think I’m falling in love with Daniel Quindlin.

  She didn’t know what she wanted. Because she didn’t want to stop seeing him. But the big fat L-word made her feel like she’d jumped out of the open door of an airplane without a parachute and was free-falling toward a hard impact.

  Her head was spinning, and she didn’t want to have this conversation with Jane right now.

  “If it will make you come home, sure, knock yourself out, come hold an intervention.”

  “But Daniel Quindlin, Elle? What kind of an alternate universe did I wake up in this morning?”

  Elle seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Speaking of, what are you doing up this early? You’ve only had about four hours of sleep.”

  “I’m calling to see if you’ve lost your mind. Daniel Quindlin? What the hell?”

  She said his name like he was garbage and even though she knew her big sister thought she had her best interest at heart, it irked her.

  “No, my mind is right where I left it.” She pulled the phone away to check the time. It was just before 7:00. Daniel and Chloe were due to arrive at 8:00; she still had to dry her hair and she could use a cup of coffee—or two. “Could you please hear me out before you jump to conclusions?”

  Jane was quiet, but Elle could virtually hear her mind trying to reconcile the details of the conversation she’d overheard before the wedding with a plausible explanation of how Elle could even stand to be in the same room with Daniel, much less entertain romantic notions.

  For the second time in as many days, she heard herself telling the story of seeing Daniel jogging in the park and him showing up at the inn.

  “I suppose Kate told you that Mom and Gigi hired him to fix the old hurricane damage as well as do some renovations?”

  “Yeah, apparently you’ve all had a drink of the Daniel Kool-Aid.”

  “Before you crucify them, you need to hear the facts. Look, the bottom line is what happened between Roger and me really isn’t Daniel’s fault. I appreciate you circling the wagons, but Roger cheated on me. Apparently, it had been going on for a while—like the whole time we were apart in college and even as recent as the night before the wedding. I didn’t want to hear the gory details, but I’m guessing that it was bad enough for Daniel to nudge Roger, and Roger—whether it was in a moment of conscience or he was just being true to his cowardly ways—ran. Daniel didn’t kidnap him. Roger ran. Jane, as humiliating as it was to be left at the altar, I believe Daniel saved me from a really bad marriage.”

  “So, is this like a delayed offshoot of Stockholm syndrome?” Jane’s tone softened, but it still held notes of confusion. The answer had Elle’s mind winging back to that day in the library when Daniel had kissed her.

  “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone before. I’m telling you this in the cone of silence. So, you can’t tell anyone.” She started to say, Not that it matters. But it did matter. It mattered to her.

  “Daniel kissed me when we were in high school, when I was tutoring him. He had only lived here about a month. I was dating Roger at the time, but it was before he and Roger had become friends. He kissed me, and I was so sheltered and naive he scared me to death. Jane, he made me feel things I’d never felt before. Even though we mostly avoided each other after it happened, I guess I never really got over that kiss. I didn’t even know it until I saw him again. It made me a believer in that old saying, ‘There’s a thin line between love and hate.’ It’s so complicated, but I think I have a better idea of which side of that line I’m standing on now. Because I certainly don’t hate him anymore.”

 
Jane was silent. Elle’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure what she’d wanted Jane to say, but she only knew that confession made her feel vulnerable because she didn’t want her to downplay it or say, So...? That kiss had shaped her, even if it had taken all these years to realize it. Maybe she hadn’t been ready for Daniel Quindlin back then. Maybe she still wasn’t ready for him. But the only way she’d ever know if she was edging too close to the fire was to risk getting burned.

  * * *

  Chloe was a stabilizer. Everyone minded their manners when she was at the inn. Everyone—especially Zelda and Gigi, bless their hearts—made an effort to watch their tones and soften their prickly edges. Because despite the tragedy of her daddy being in the hospital, Chloe was still a happy little girl with a sweet disposition. When she was around, she brightened the Forsyth like Savannah sunshine on a perfect spring day.

  Plus, the guests loved her and the ever-present Princess Sweetie Pie, who was always tucked under Chloe’s arm or sitting close by when she was playing the My Little Pony game or painting at the small easel that Elle and Daniel had picked out for her. Gigi told Chloe she was the ambassador of the Forsyth Galloway Inn.

  “It’s like you’re a princess who makes everyone feel happy and welcome.” That was the beginning of a brand-new game of make-believe that had Chloe pretending to be a princess. Gigi was her faithful servant.

  They were having so much fun that it shouldn’t have been surprising when Gigi suggested Daniel and Elle have a date night so that Chloe could stay and play longer. After what had transpired the other night when she had blurted out her feelings for Daniel and then Gigi and Zelda had come to verbal blows, Elle had been hesitant to ask for Chloe to stay, but Gigi had relieved her of that task by volunteering. Actually, she had insisted.

  On Friday morning, when Daniel and Chloe had arrived, Gigi said, “Why don’t you leave that sweet little girl here with me and y’all go out and have a good time. She goes off to camp next week. I’m going to miss having her here.”

  That evening, he had done just that. He had gone home to change and then returned to the Forsyth to pick up Elle.

  * * *

  She was gorgeous in the not-too-dressy black dress—that still showed she’d made an extra effort—and flat sandals laced around her tan ankles. She looked so good it almost stopped him in his tracks. She had twisted her long, blond hair off her face and put on enough makeup to look polished but not spackled.

  First they drove to the Crystal Beer Parlor on Jones Street, where they had dinner and drinks. They were seated side by side in a booth in the back of the restaurant. He’d turned on the seat so that he was facing her. His knee was touching her thigh under the checkered tablecloth. He put his hand on her leg, caressing it, inching it ever so slightly under the hem of her dress.

  “What’s the story behind this place?” Her body shifted so that she pressed into him a little more. The connection was electric. He could tell that she felt it, too. He wished he could scoop her up and take her to his house and forget the pretense of dinner. But he wanted to give her more than that. Their history had been him taking what he wanted. He wanted to show her that he was better than that. She deserved better than that.

  “It’s funny, I’ve been here more times than I can count,” she said, “but I don’t know the Crystal’s history. All I know is it has my favorite burger in the world. I’d bet money that you know all about this place, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “For about thirty years, this place used to be a grocery store. The Gerken Family Grocery Store opened back in the early 1900s. In the early 1930s, they sold the place to Blocko Manning and his wife, Connie. The Crystal was one of the first places to serve alcohol after the repeal of Prohibition. It’s rumored that Manning ran a little hooch back in the day and may have even operated a speakeasy.”

  “Right here?” Elle asked.

  “The speakeasy was in the basement. The house of ill repute was upstairs.”

  “If these walls could talk.”

  “A lot of people would’ve gotten into trouble.”

  “You’re really passionate about knowing all this history, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “If you look deep enough, you see that everyone has a story. I think it’s fascinating. I love collecting deeper stories about Savannah.”

  “Tell me another one,” she said.

  He thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s one. Did you know Savannah has more than one hundred distinct neighborhoods in six principal areas of the city?”

  “And what are those principal areas?” She bit her bottom lip and he leaned in and kissed her, drawing her lip between his teeth, biting it and teasing it.

  “Downtown, Midtown, Southside, Eastside, Westside and West Chatham.” As he ticked off the locations, he scooted his finger higher up her thigh with each one.

  She leaned in closer. “I like all this...history. Tell me more.”

  Her hand fell onto his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. She let it linger, tracing small circles on the leg of his jeans. His body responded.

  “The historic district encompasses about two and a half square miles and houses around twenty-three hundred buildings—give or take a few.”

  She was teasing him and it was driving him crazy.

  “And what else?”

  His hand was at the base of her panties, now. He could feel the lace. He trailed his finger along the edge of it. She shivered.

  “The architecture is in a handful of different styles. Steamboat Gothic, which is way over the top, and Colonial, which is pretty straightforward. Federal architecture and Italianate style and, of course, Victorian.” He slid his finger under the edge of the lace and she shuddered. “I know there are others...but I can’t think of them right now.”

  Out of his peripheral vision he saw someone moving toward their table. Their server.

  “To be continued,” he whispered, as he discreetly withdrew his hand.

  After dinner they drove back to Hall Street. Daniel parked the truck at the inn so they could get out and walk. It was unseasonably warm tonight, the perfect night to show Elle his favorite places in Savannah.

  “I have a surprise,” he said. He reached into the back seat and grabbed a small cooler. Inside was a bottle of champagne and a couple of red plastic cups.

  “Care for a to-go cup to start off our champagne tour of the city? This is a classy operation.”

  To-go cups were one of the guilty pleasures of walking in the city. It was perfectly legal to take your beverage of choice for a stroll.

  “This is perfect,” she said. “Are you planning on getting me drunk so you can take advantage of me?”

  “Would you like that?”

  The question hung in the air between them.

  She leaned in and kissed his neck, trailing her lips up to his ear, where she whispered, “Yes. I would. But you wouldn’t have to get me drunk. And you wouldn’t be taking advantage of me.”

  Her breath was hot and sweet and he almost came undone as he pulled her in for a long, slow kiss. If not for the damned cooler in the well between them, he would’ve pulled her onto his lap and finished what they’d started in the Crystal.

  But the blockade was a sign that he needed to slow things down. So, he poured the champagne into the two cups and handed her one. “Wait right here,” he said. “I’m coming around to open your door.”

  As they walked up Whitaker toward Jones Street, it gave him a chance to cool off. “There are hundreds of houses and buildings worthy of me pointing out. But I’ve narrowed it down to my favorite dozen.”

  “Oh, yeah? I can’t wait to see what you have planned.”

  He put his free hand on the small of her back. “You know the phrase ‘keeping up with the Joneses,’ right? They say it originated right here on Jones Street. They say it’s supposed to be the most beautiful street in Savannah.”
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  “I’ve heard that.” She smiled as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Is it true?”

  “Look around. What do you think?”

  “It’s pretty. In an understated way. Not grand and flashy like some of the mansions on the squares.”

  “Exactly. They say Jones Street doesn’t house attractions as much as the street is an attraction in itself.”

  “I have to admit,” Elle said looking around in wonder, “as much as I love the Forsyth and all that it means to our family, sometimes I wouldn’t mind trading my portion for a cozy house of my own...some place like Jones Street.”

  “Even with the Forsyth right around the corner? Could you really live here knowing your family home was in someone else’s hands?”

  “Probably not. But you can’t blame a girl for wanting a life of her own. That’s what I was trying to build in Atlanta.”

  “Sometimes fate has its own plans for you,” he said.

  “That’s what my mother is trying to come to terms with right now.” She sipped her champagne. “Gigi has announced her retirement, but Mom isn’t sure she wants her turn at running the inn. She seems to think fate is tempting her to travel.”

  They walked up Abercorn Street toward Lafayette Square.

  “What does that mean for the inn? Can anyone else step in and help out?”

  “We’re trying to figure that out. We don’t have other family. It’s been a point of pride that the Forsyth Galloway Inn has always been run by the women on Gigi’s side of the family. She had a sister, our aunt Gertie, but she never had children. She’s gone now. It’s all come down to us. Jane is in New York, Kate has built a career doing hair...

  “I’m really bummed because of what transpired between Mom and Gigi. Gigi announced her plans to retire and Mom says she’s going to the Galápagos and will talk about what’s happening with the inn when she gets back. I don’t know how long I will be here to help out.”