“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.
Five
While 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.
What should I do? What will I say to her?
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, h
ot 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.”
“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.”
Not coming to say good-bye?
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.
Dear Cecelia,
I’m sorry for everything that has happened.
But I know you’ll be happy in Savannah.
Love,
Dad
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 ro
ad, 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.”