Paper Castles (28 page)

“No. You have enough on your plate without trying to own her death, too.”

“It’s mine to own.”

“You can be proud of what the two of you had. You gave her everything. You took good care of her.”

“No. She took good care of
me
. And in the end when she needed me, I was nowhere to be found. She died alone. I left her alone. I’ll never forgive myself for that. I should have been there, Kip.” She collapsed on Kip’s shoulder, her confession muffled into a striped shirt. “I should have been there. I should have been there.”

I’m sorry, Neenie. Please forgive me.

“Shhh…” Kip drew her in close, whispering in her ear. “How could you have known, Savvy? You were there for all the times that mattered.”

“I think my heart might give out too.”

Kip let her cry. The sobs pushed through her throat, like steam whistling through a teapot, releasing the pressure. Grief, being a physical thing, demanded a physical reaction. Lofty words unable to rise to the occasion shrank from the scene. Savannah wept hard, holding onto her brother until the storm subsided and her breathing quieted.

Looking up at Kip’s firm jaw, set with deliberation, she felt sorry for him. Always having to be the strong one. The big brother. Never having the option of falling apart, because he was always too busy holding her up.

“Want to take a walk around the block?” Kip offered, after she settled down and blew her nose. “It might feel good to get out for a bit.”

Savannah balked. “No. I don’t go out.”

“Ever?”

“I try not to.”

“Now that makes me feel bad. Knowing you’re shut up here in this house day after day. That’s not healthy.”

“Don’t feel bad. I’m lucky I’m not in jail. It’s best that I keep a low profile.” She shrugged. “Besides, the one time I slipped out it didn’t end well.”

Kip grinned. “Ah yes, the slap heard around the world. Wish I’d seen it.”

“Head into town, I’m sure you can hear fifteen different versions of it.”

“There’s my girl.”

Nedra Rose Bailey

Born February 20, 1893

Went to be with Our Lord

June 10, 1964

S
AVANNAH SAT staring at the words on the little funeral card as if they were written in a foreign language. Nedra Rose. Neenie. Two dates on a piece of cardstock, beginning and end. But what about all the years in between?

All the hardships, the struggle. A little girl not quite white, not quite black. A mother taunted with names until she ran out of town chasing another dream, another guy promising to make it all go away. The fatherless little girl, now motherless, too. An elderly grandmother asked to step in and finish the job.

When the grandmother died, Neenie was shuffled between various aunts and uncles until she was old enough to make her own way. Such a hard beginning. Where did that smile come from?

None of that was on this card. Nothing about how Nedra Rose saved a family from their own dark story and fell in love with a little yellow-haired girl named Savannah.

The Kendall family sat in the family pews of Mount Zion Baptist church. Behind them, every seat was taken. The pews crammed, the small church bursting at the seams with people determined to bid farewell to Neenie.

It was a closed casket, as Neenie wished.

“I don’t want nobody up there looking me over when I can’t look back.” she’d always said.

Savannah picked out Neenie’s finest dress and hat, confident Neenie looked her best, just in case anyone peeked.

Savannah herself refused to look. She didn’t want it to be the last snapshot in her mind. Still, she stared at the casket covered in flowers, trying to imagine her lifelong friend lying inside. Beverly might’ve given birth to Savannah, but it was Neenie who breathed life into her. She would never again be anyone’s Baby Girl.

The good Reverend Walker gave a fine eulogy about a godly woman amidst several shouts of “Amen.” But the music carried Savannah through the service. As exuberant chords drifted from the organ to heaven, the congregation was on its feet.

Ladies swayed in big hats, hands lifted in praise. Everyone clapping and singing in a celebration of life. Everyone except Savannah’s parents, who looked so uncomfortable they might as well have been standing in a police line-up. Their hands moved in a slow-motion imitation of the joy around them, missing the beat.

Savannah closed her eyes and let the music wash over her, swaying back and forth as if she were being rocked in Neenie’s loving arms. She could almost hear the rich molasses voice saying, “Child, it’s gonna be all right.”

The crowd drifted away from the gravesite, leaving only Savannah. The cemetery workers moved off, allowing her the space and privacy to mourn these last few minutes. She sat on the edge of the uncomfortable folding chair, the June sun on her shoulders.

Everyone was waiting on her, but she couldn’t close the door on the moment. This was the end. All during the week, Neenie had continued being a presence. They talked about her, planned this day for her. Remembered her. But after this day, life would go on without her. And Savannah was afraid to walk away and start.

The tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t believe she still had tears to give. This grief was nothing like what she’d experienced with Price. The days following the murder had been filled with shock, anger, worry, and disbelief. But never this consuming sadness, the inability to breathe at night, and the feeling one of her own vital organs was being buried today.

She said what words she had left to say. She gave Neenie her love and her tears. Bending down to kiss the casket she whispered, “I love you more than biscuits and gravy.”

Back home, nobody knew what to do with themselves. They moved around slowly, wrung out from the day. Stuffed beyond comfort with good food and sent home with more, they wouldn’t need to even think about eating for days.

Jack and Beverly finally gathered Ken and Doris and Angela to head home. Savannah watched Angela’s back as she moved out the front door. She’d go back to Florida tomorrow, another opportunity lost.

Rebecca and Ben would stay an extra night, then Savannah would be alone again, rattling around in a big house, empty of people and full of memories. The thought terrified her.

She looked through the mountain of plants and flowers delivered by the funeral home. Many were left at the grave site, the rest dropped off here. It looked as if a flower shop had a going out of business sale in her dining room.

She ran her hands over cards with names she knew and some she didn’t. Words of comfort scribbled for her to find and hold onto. She reached for the card attached to the largest basket, overflowing with lavender hydrangeas.

I’ll miss you. City Boy

Savannah clutched the card to her heart.

“I
’M WORRIED about you,” Beverly said as Savannah opened the front door.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine, honey.” Beverly followed her into the living room. “No one expects you to be fine. But I can still be worried.”

Savannah flopped down on the couch and eyed Beverly, too exhausted to care what her mother would think about her appearance.

“Have you been out?” Beverly asked, sitting in the chair across from the couch.

“No, why?”

“Because I’ve called and you haven’t answered the phone.”

“I don’t feel like talking.”

Beverly stared at her hands in her lap. “I’d love it if you let me help.”

“Do I need help?”

“I think you do.” Across the continental divide between them, Beverly threw a rope and waited for Savannah to reach out. Savannah blinked and Beverly was up out of her chair, taking her daughter in her arms.

“Let’s get you upstairs and in a nice hot shower.” Beverly tugged on Savannah’s hand, pulling her off the couch and toward the stairs.

A hot shower felt good. Steam loosened some of the tension in Savannah’s shoulders and back. She watched the little whirlpool of suds slide down the drain, wishing she could follow it. It had been three days since everyone left. Three days and three longer nights. Someone stopped by to check on her at least once a day. But the nights were left to the monsters under the bed.

A soft knock on her bedroom door and Savannah’s heart lurched at the sight of Beverly, instead of Neenie, carrying a tray of tea and cinnamon toast.

“I always told Neenie that tea and toast could solve almost anything,” Beverly said as she placed the tray on the bedside table. She handed the cup to Savannah. “Chamomile, to help you sleep.”

“Thank you.” Her words were barely a whisper.

“Come sit down over here.” Beverly pointed to the vanity stool, and Savannah did as she was told.

Beverly unwrapped the towel from around Savannah’s hair, picked up the large tooth comb and began combing her hair in long strokes.

“You’ll feel a lot better after that shower and a little sustenance in your tummy.”

“I’m sure.” Savannah sipped her tea.

Beverly placed her hand on Savannah’s head as she combed through the strands of blonde hair. Her eyes focused on her work. Her lips closed, but soft, and red. Strands of silver hair swept back into a short chic cut. A few fine lines at the corners of her eyes, but still beautiful.