Saving CeeCee Honeycutt (7 page)

“Does that mean it’s an antique?”

She laughed. “Well, I guess so. I suppose we’re both antiques.”

“Where did you get her?” I asked, walking to the front of the car and running my fingers over the silver angel’s wings. They were warm from the sun and as smooth as glass.

Aunt Tootie came and stood next to me. “That’s Delilah. Taylor had her made for me. He wanted me to have a guardian angel to take care of me on the highway. And so far she’s done a fine job. Delilah will get us back to Savannah safe and sound.”

We stood, looking at each other, and everything went quiet. Time caved in around me. This was it. I was leaving Willoughby, Mrs. Odell, and my books.

Aunt Tootie reached out and touched my shoulder. “Cecelia Rose, are you ready to go?”

“But what about Dad? Aren’t we going to wait for him?”

The lines beneath her eyes deepened. “Your father isn’t coming to say good-bye. He thought it would be easier this way—less painful. I’m sorry.”

She opened her handbag, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me. “He wanted me to give this to you.”

I stared at the envelope in her outstretched hand, and something went flat inside me.

My aunt’s words were so soft I barely heard them. “Shall I save it for later?”

I shook my head, took the envelope, and pulled out a note.

Nineteen words. I counted them. That’s all he had to say to me. Nineteen meaningless little words.

And that’s when my father died to me—right there in the driveway. I was, as of that very moment, an orphan. Both my parents were dead, and if I was to be honest with myself, they’d been dead for a long time. It just took me awhile to figure it out.

I shoved the note back into the envelope and stuffed it deep in my pocket. Though I could feel Aunt Tootie’s eyes on me, I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I turned and took one last look at Mrs. Odell’s little house, and my throat tightened when I saw her peek through the slats of the venetian blind in her front window. That did it. I took off running toward her house. She opened the door, stepped onto the porch, and threw her arms around me. Neither one of us said a word; we just clung to each other like it was the end of the world. And in many ways it was.

“Oh, Cecelia,” she whispered into my hair, “this is so hard.”

I burrowed my face into her shoulder. “I love you, Mrs. Odell.”

She leaned close to my ear. “And I love you. Don’t be scared, honey. Remember what I told you about your Life Book?”

I looked into her eyes. “Yes.”

She kissed my forehead. “This is a wonderful new chapter for you. Everything will be fine. I promise it will. You’ll see.”

I took a deep breath and turned to see Aunt Tootie standing at the bottom of the steps.

“I’m ready,” I said, not believing it but saying it just the same.

Aunt Tootie winked at Mrs. Odell. “I’ll call you when we reach Savannah, Gertrude. I’ll take good care of Cecelia. I promise.”

Mrs. Odell nodded, lowered her head, and walked inside her house. A part of me went right through the door with her.

Aunt Tootie took hold of my hand, and we walked toward the car. “How do you know Mrs. Odell?” I asked.

“Your father told me how close the two of you are, so I stopped by to see her earlier this morning before I came to get you. She’s a lovely lady, and she sure thinks the world of you.”

Aunt Tootie opened the driver’s side door and looked at me. “Cecelia, let’s go home. Delilah will lead the way.”

I walked to the passenger side, took a deep breath, and climbed in. I’d never been in such a fancy car. It had tan leather seats as plush as sofas, and sprouting from the dashboard were all sorts of knobs and gizmos. In the backseat were three round floral boxes tied with silk ribbons.

“Those boxes are pretty,” I said, wiping a tear from my cheek. “What’s in them?”

“Hats,” she said, adjusting herself on the seat. “I started collecting them when I was in my twenties and haven’t stopped since. Would you like to wear one?”

“Okay.”

She reached over the seat and pulled one from its box. “I think this one will suit you just fine,” she said, handing me a white straw hat with a red flower pinned to its wide yellow band.

I pulled it on and tucked in my bangs.

Aunt Tootie tilted her head and smiled. “You know what, Cecelia? That hat looks better on you than it ever did on me. I think it’s time it moved on. If you’d like to have it, I’d be pleased to give it to you.”

I learned over and looked at myself in the rearview mirror. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sugar. All right,” she said, pushing her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, “we’re on our way.” She revved the engine and put the car in reverse, but the car lunged backward and knocked over a reflector at the end of the driveway.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a laugh. “I do a whole lot better when the road is in front of me.” She put the car in drive and roared down the street.

As we left the town of Willoughby behind, I turned and rested my chin on the back of the seat. From the rear window I watched the only town I’d ever known disappear behind us. I don’t think I could have spoken if I’d tried, which turned out to be just fine. As she zoomed down the road, the sunlight dotting and splashing across the windshield, Aunt Tootie twittered on about everything from the herb garden she’d just planted to how much she loved old houses, antique clocks, and Boston cream pie. The farther we traveled, the more I calmed down, and after we had stopped for lunch, I found my voice and was able to share a little bit in the conversation. I told her how much I loved to read, and how I’d learned about flowers from Mrs. Odell.

“So you like working in the garden?”

“Yes. I even like to pull weeds.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Maybe you’d like to help me with my gardens too. Now, let me tell you about the things I planted on the north side of the house . . .”

I’d never met anyone who could talk as much as Aunt Tootie. She kept right on talking until the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, pulling wispy violet-blue clouds behind it. It wasn’t until the moon rolled over the tops of the trees that she wound down her storytelling and asked me to help her watch for a place to stay for the night.

“When Taylor and I traveled, it was my job to find a motel. As soon as it started to get dark, he’d say, ‘Tootie-girl, it’s time for you to be the scout,’ and then I’d watch for a place to stay.”

“Where did the name Tootie come from?”

Her eyes lit up and she let out a little laugh. “When I met Taylor I’d never driven a car. In fact, I’d always been scared to death at the thought of it. Taylor said it was imperative that I learn to drive; he said all women should savor their independence. So, despite my protests, which I can assure you were many, he taught me. But when I got behind the wheel, I was so nervous I could hardly think straight. Every time a car got close, I’d wave my arms and toot the horn like crazy to warn everyone to keep clear. Taylor laughed and laughed. He thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. That’s when he nicknamed me Tootie. All my friends picked up on it, and pretty soon nobody called me Tallulah anymore.”

As the wind whistled through the open windows and the scenery flew by in blurry smears of gray, I got a pretty good idea why Aunt Tootie’s husband had a guardian angel made for the hood of her car. I looked at my aunt and said, “Looks like you’re not afraid to drive anymore.”

Oh, how she laughed.

I watched out the window and read every sign we passed. Finally I saw one that advertised a motel. “Look,” I said, pointing to a dimly lit sign at the side of the road. “Mountain View Travel Lodge—ten point five miles.”

“Good job, sugar. We’ll be relaxing in bed in no time.”

The headlights carved a hole through the foggy darkness as she zoomed down the highway. I felt like she was driving me straight into a silver-edged dream. I had no idea where we were, and to be honest, I don’t think Aunt Tootie did, either. All I knew was that I was flying through the night in a fancy car with a woman who showed up out of nowhere and offered to take me, messed-up life and all, to a place called Savannah.

It was nearly five o’clock the following evening when we approached a narrow, vine-covered bridge. Three words were written on a sign at the side of the road, and as we roared by, I whispered them to myself: “Welcome to Savannah.”

The biggest trees I’d ever seen reached out to one another as if trying to hold hands over wide, brick-paved streets, and grand old houses stood tall and proud on smooth shade-dappled lawns. Like a curious spaniel, I leaned my head out the window and breathed in. The air was warm and sweet with the scent of freshly cut grass.

Aunt Tootie slowed and turned onto a shady street called West Gaston. “Well, here we are,” she said, pulling to a stop at the curb. “Welcome to your new home, sugar.” She gestured to a house surrounded by lush gardens and an iron fence that looked like countless yards of black lace. The house, which was made of stucco and painted the color of lemonade, was three stories tall and had lots of arched windows. Wide stone steps stretched high above the street and ended at double front doors.

“We’ll leave the car here. After we unload the trunk, I’ll pull it around back to the garage.” She grabbed her handbag and we climbed out of the car. While she headed up the steps, I lagged behind and craned my neck to see all that surrounded me. I had the sensation that an unseen hand had plunked me into a giant slingshot, pulled back, and let go. I was catapulting into a new world and nothing could have prepared me for it.

The front hall—which Aunt Tootie called the foy-yay—was, to my way of thinking, a room unto itself. An alabaster chandelier sent a wash of mellow light over walls the color of peach sherbet. The ceiling soared over my head and was framed by elaborately carved moldings, and to the left was a stairway that had a wide ribbon of flowery carpet running down its center.

My aunt chattered like a sparrow as she flitted from room to room. “This is your home now, honey, and I want you to know where everything is so you feel comfortable. You have no idea how much I love this old house. It was built back in 1858. Thanks to General Sherman, Savannah was spared the ravages of the Civil War . . .”

I tried to listen to all she said, but her voice faded into the plump upholstery and richly patterned carpets. Each room was a vision of beauty, and each had vases overflowing with all sorts of fresh flowers.

“Oh, look what Oletta did,” Aunt Tootie said, stopping to smell a vase full of yellow roses. “Aren’t they pretty? She went out to the garden and cut all these flowers while I was gone. I love coming home to a house full of bouquets—it makes me feel happy.”

I studied the face of a tall grandfather clock and lightly touched its beveled-glass door. “Who’s Oletta?”

“She runs my house, and she’s the finest cook I’ve ever known. Just wait, you’ll think you went straight to heaven when you taste her chocolate cream pie.”

“But if you live alone, why do you need a cook?”

Aunt Tootie pulled off her gloves and dropped them on a marble-topped chest. “Oletta has been with me for years and years,” she said, removing her hat and scratching her scalp. “Lord knows I tried, but I never was much of a cook. Taylor just loved good food—eating was one of the greatest joys in his life. We needed Oletta back then. When Taylor passed away, I kept her on. She’s family to me. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.”

When we climbed the steps to the second floor, I was weak-kneed from sensory overload. A pair of blue-and-white vases, as tall as I was and fi lled with flowers the size of basketballs, flanked the arched corridor at the top of the staircase. I all but got drunk on the perfumed air as we headed down the hall.

“There are four guest bedrooms up here. This one faces the front of the house,” she said, stepping into a room and turning on the overhead light. The bed had four carved posts and was so high off the floor there were little wooden steps to reach it. Long ivory-colored draperies were covered with acres of embroidery and tied back with huge green tassels. Between two windows sat a chest of drawers the size of a refrigerator.

“It’s yours if you want it, Cecelia, but we’ll take a look at all the others before you decide.”

The other bedrooms were much the same as the first—big and fancy—all with their own private bathrooms that had shiny white tubs supported by golden feet that looked like the claws of giant birds.

My aunt chattered away as she continued her tour. I followed, keeping my arms glued to my sides so I wouldn’t bump into anything. As breathtaking as the house was, Aunt Tootie wasn’t even the slightest bit show-offy. In fact, she seemed tethered to the earth and as homey as a comfortable chair.

At the far left side of the upstairs hallway was an alcove with an arched door. “What’s in there?” I asked.

“I’ll show you.” She opened the door, flicked on a light, and led me up a narrow stairway. “There are two bedrooms and a storage room at the end of the hall. And this,” she said, dramatically opening a door, “is the sleeping porch. Isn’t it the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?”

She walked around the room and flung open tall moss-green shutters to reveal floor-to-ceiling screens. A light breeze rolled in and my aunt took a deep breath. “It smells divine up here, doesn’t it?”

The wooden floor was painted a soft robin’s-egg blue, and the ceiling was pale yellow. An iron bed shaped like a sleigh was smothered with colorful pillows, and when I touched the white comforter, my fingers disappeared as if I’d plunged them into a mound of whipped cream. The room was like a happy tree house made just for girls.