Saving CeeCee Honeycutt (6 page)

And there they were—Momma’s frayed old pageant dresses and prom gowns, all lined up in a row, arranged by color like a worn-out tattered rainbow.

“Good-bye, Momma,” I whispered, taking her scrapbook and heading for the door.

I don’t know if I actually heard it, or if it was just a memory that played vividly in my mind, but as plain as day my mother’s voice floated through the air: “One day you’ll wear all these beautiful gowns too. I’m saving them for you, darlin’.”

I shook my head. “No, I won’t, Momma. Not ever.”

Silently I closed the door behind me.

S
he was sitting on the weather-worn porch swing. The rusty chains creaked back and forth in a slow, easy rhythm that I knew by heart. Other than my parents, she was the only person I’d known all my life. I purely loved her.

I stood for a moment and watched her, and a sweep of panic stole my breath when I realized that I might never see her again. I jumped from the steps and ran across the lawn as fast as I could go. When Mrs. Odell saw me coming, she stood and opened her arms, and like a baby bird returning to its nest for the final time, I flew right into them.

Neither one of us said anything for a long time. We just stood and hugged each other. “Oh, honey,” she said, easing herself down on the swing and patting the seat next to her, “come sit with me.”

I buried my face against her shoulder, and, like always, she smelled of freshly ironed cotton. She kissed my temple and pulled me close. “Your daddy came by a little bit ago. He told me you’re moving to Savannah. I’ve never seen it, but I hear it’s pretty down there.”

As she began to slowly swing, I nuzzled closer. “Mrs. Odell, couldn’t I live with you?”

“I wish you could,” she said, pressing her cheek to mine. “But that’s not the way it’s written in your Life Book. This is the beginning of a big adventure, and you won’t want to miss it. Your Life Book is about to reveal a brand new chapter, and so is mine.”

I sat up and searched her face. “What do you mean?”

“The winter months are hard on me. A few weeks ago my cousin Adele called and asked me to move down to Florida, to live with her. I knew it would be a nice warm place to spend the rest of my days, but I just wasn’t sure if that’s where I belonged. So I thought about it awhile, and after your daddy told me that you’re moving to Savannah, I decided I’d go ahead and accept Adele’s offer. Life is full of change, honey. That’s how we learn and grow. When we’re born, the Good Lord gives each of us a Life Book. Chapter by chapter, we live and learn.”

“But, Mrs. Odell, I’ve never even heard of a Life Book.”

“It’s not a book you can see or touch. It’s a book that’s held deep within your heart. It’s guarded by your spirit.”

“My spirit?”

“Yes,” she said, smoothing a loose strand of hair from my face. “When a chapter of your Life Book is complete, your spirit knows it’s time to turn the page so a new chapter can begin. Even when you’re scared or think you’re not ready, your spirit knows you are.”

“Really?”

Mrs. Odell nodded and her voice cracked with emotion. “You and I have shared a wonderful chapter, Cecelia. You’ll never know how much joy you’ve brought into my life. I love you more than I can say. When my son James was killed in the war, and then Elmer passed away so unexpectedly, all of a sudden I was a widow with no family close by. There were times I was so sad and lonely I could hardly get out of bed. Those were dark days.

“Then, one summer morning, a page turned in
my
Life Book. I’ll never forget it. I was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to glue the broken handle of a teacup. I was feeling sorry for myself. It seemed like my hopes and dreams got all chewed up like an old moth-eaten sweater. I was thinking life just wasn’t worth living anymore. Right when I had that thought, somebody knocked at the back door. I looked up, and there was your mother holding you in her arms. You were so tiny, only a few months old. She asked if I’d watch you while she went to get her hair cut. Well, of course, I said yes. When I reached out and took hold of you, do you know what happened next?”

“What?”

“My sadness fell away. If you want to know the truth, I think I needed you that day a lot more than you needed me.” Mrs. Odell’s eyes glistened when she said, “Oh, CeeCee, what memories we’ve made, and there will be more to come. Florida isn’t all that far from Savannah. I believe we’ll see each other again. I really do.”

I took my fi nger and traced the blue ropes of veins in her hand.

My first clear memory of Mrs. Odell was on the afternoon of my fourth birthday. The snow had melted, and the sun was shining in a bright blue sky. Mrs. Odell knocked on our back door and asked Momma if she could have me for a while. Momma said yes, and Mrs. Odell took my hand and walked me toward her house. Bobbing from a long string tied to the rail of her porch was a bright red balloon, and when we climbed the steps, I saw two frosted cupcakes sitting on the potting bench by her back door. Stuck in a thick swirl of chocolate frosting on one of he cupcakes were four little candles. Mrs. Odell pulled a pack of matches from the pocket of her sweater, lit them, and grinned. “Now make a wish, honey.”

My wish—which I loudly declared—was that she’d teach me to read storybooks.

“We’ll start this afternoon,” she said with a wink.

After we ate our cupcakes and licked every last crumb from our fingers, Mrs. Odell untied the string of the balloon and offered it to me. “This is fi lled with a special air called helium, so hold on tight,” she said, leading me to the middle of her backyard. “All right, now you get to make another wish. But this time it’s a secret wish. Don’t tell me what it is, just think about it real hard in your mind.”

A sudden gust of wind swirled around me and took hold of the balloon as if to say, “Hurry, follow me for the ride of your life.” The balloon bobbed and tugged in an effort to escape, but I gripped the string tightly and made the secret wish that Mrs. Odell and I would always be together.

“When you’re ready, let go so the balloon can carry your wish into the sky.”

“But where’s it going?”

Mrs. Odell leaned down close and said, “It’s a mystery. We just have to believe.”

I let the string slip through my fingers. The balloon took flight, weaving back and forth as if uncertain where to go. A moment later the wind swept it high in the air, and Mrs. Odell and I stood side by side and watched it disappear.

And now here we were, saying good-bye.

How long we sat on her porch swing I couldn’t say, but when Mrs. Odell pressed her cheek against mine and said, “Write to me, honey, and I’ll write to you too,” I was so sad I couldn’t even speak.

I woke so early the following morning the birds were still asleep. As I pushed back the covers and sat up, I felt a twinge of sadness. This was the last morning I’d ever wake up in my bedroom. And even with the cracked ceiling and the dingy blue walls, I knew I’d miss it. My skin felt tight against my ribs as I slid out of bed and went downstairs. Dad was asleep on the sofa, still wearing the clothes he’d worn to the cemetery. An empty whiskey bottle and an overturned glass were lying on the floor by his side. I looked at him, feeling nothing but cold contempt, then I turned and crept into the kitchen. After pouring a glass of orange juice, I stepped out to the back porch.

While sitting on the steps in the sleepy half-light of dawn, I drank my juice and took mental snapshots of what stood before me. The picnic table, which long ago had surrendered to dry rot and years of neglect, lay in a dilapidated heap of moss-stained boards. From a distance it looked like the ribs of a dinosaur carcass protruding from the earth. And off to the side was the thin shadow of Momma’s clothesline, hanging slack between two maple trees.

I turned and gazed at Mrs. Odell’s house. I wanted to remember her garden, her old porch swing, and the morning-glory trellis that brought the hummingbirds to visit. My eyes followed the path I’d beaten through the grass from our back door to hers, a path that was now a narrow ribbon of smooth brown dirt. The pain of knowing I’d never travel along it again was so unbearable I had to look away.

A cool breeze ruffled the hem of my nightgown, the birds began to chirp and sing, and the first sparks of sunlight brought the dew-drops to life. I took one last look at all that surrounded me and slowly rose from the steps. When my fingers touched the knob of the back door, something inside me shifted—I could actually feel it. I knew Mrs. Odell was right. I felt the flutter of a page turn deep within me as a chapter in my Life Book came to a close.

W
hile I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, braiding my ponytail and chewing the inside of my lip till I tasted blood, Dad called up the stairs, “I put your suitcase and box of books by the front door. I’m going to the hardware store.”

“Who cares?” I mumbled under my breath.

“CeeCee, did you hear me?”

“Okay,” I called back. I spit a mouthful of blood into the sink and rinsed it down the drain. My stomach did a series of flips when I walked across the hall and into my bedroom. I was so nervous the skin at the back of my arms itched. From a stack of books I pulled out an old atlas, sat on the floor, and turned to the map of Georgia. While trying to figure out how many miles away Savannah was, I heard a
beep-beep
from the driveway. I scrambled to my feet and looked out the window as my great-aunt’s car rolled to a stop.

The door opened and she slid from the seat. The skirt of her green-and-white polka-dotted dress moved softly in the breeze, and a small straw hat was perched on her head. After giving her white gloves a quick tug, she headed toward the house. My heart all but pounded clean through my chest when she knocked at the door.

The knock on the door came again, followed by a cheery “Woohoo—anybody home?”

I took a deep breath, pried my feet from the floor, and descended the stairs on rubbery legs. When I opened the door, her grin stretched from ear to ear. “Cecelia Rose, just look at you. You’re as precious as you can be.”

I moved aside. “Please come in.”

She stepped inside and offered me her hand. “I know you couldn’t possibly remember me. We met when you were just a wee little thing. I’m your great-aunt Tallulah Caldwell, but everyone calls me Tootie, and I’d be pleased if you would too.”

I could barely hear my voice when I said, “I’m glad to meet you, Great-aunt Tootie.”

She winked. “That’s quite a mouthful. Let’s forget about the ‘Great’ part, shall we? Why don’t you just call me Aunt Tootie? Would that be all right?”

Feeling tongue-tied and inadequate in every way imaginable, I could do nothing but nod.

She gave me a gentle squeeze. “I know you’ve been through quite an ordeal, and I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. Your daddy and I have had several conversations, and he told me you’d like to come live with me.”

A soft fringe of silver-gray hair framed a gentle face that was lightly etched with fine lines. Her watery brown eyes grew large behind the lenses of her glasses. They were kind eyes.

“Your mind must be swimming right now, but I want you to know that I’ve got a big ole house with plenty of room, and I’d sure love to have you.”

Those six simple words echoed around me and fi lled the room with light:
I’d sure love to have you . . . I’d sure love to have you . . .

My shoulders began to shake, and to my disbelief, hot tears spilled from my eyes and ran down my cheeks. Aunt Tootie wrapped me in her arms and pulled me close. “Oh, honey,” she said, stroking my hair, “everything will be all right. If I’d known about all the problems your momma was having, I’d have come to get the both of you a long time ago.”

Right then and there I felt my life pass fully into her white-gloved hands.

It felt so good to be held that I cried until I got the hiccups. Aunt Tootie led me into the kitchen, sat me down at the table, and got me a glass of water. Through a blur of tears I watched her retrieve a handkerchief from her shiny black handbag. She sat down next to me and pressed it into my palm. “Here, take this and dry your tears. The worst is behind you.”

Her handkerchief smelled as wonderful as she did. Edged in delicate lace with tiny violets embroidered along its edges, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. But after I’d wiped my eyes and blown my nose, it looked like a soggy bouquet lying limp in my hands.

“You go ahead and keep the hankie, honey. I have lots more in my handbag.” She leaned forward and looked into my eyes; her smile was so tender and generous I felt its warmth touch my cheeks. “Cecelia Rose, why don’t you show me your bedroom so we can pack up your things?”

My lips quivered. “I already packed my clothes, and I have a box of books too.”

She stood and offered me her hand. “Well, then, show me what all you’re bringing.”

I led her into the living room, and when I pointed to the suitcase and box of books, she said, “That’s it? I have lots of room in my car, Cecelia. Is there anything else you’d like to bring?”

Though I wanted to ask if I could take all my old books, I shook my head. “No, I don’t need anything else.”

“All right, then, let’s take these things out to the car, shall we?”

As I helped her lift my suitcase into the trunk, she said, “Cecelia, do you have something to remember your momma by—pictures, jewelry?”

I thought of my mother’s scrapbook and nodded. In an effort to move the conversation away from Momma, I said, “This is the prettiest car I’ve ever seen. What kind is it?”

Her eyes shone with pride. “This is a Packard Victoria. I’ve had this car since the day my late husband, Taylor, and I picked it out from the showroom.” She closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “Let’s see. That was the summer of 1948. Almost twenty years ago.”