“Don’t be silly. Savannah would love to have a visitor. I’m Jeremy. It’s nice to meet you, Ridley,” he said, opening the screen door and holding it wide.
“Come on in.”
With an answering smile, I accepted his invitation. On the surface, it appeared that Jeremy, or Mr. Grant as I would always think of him, was dealing with the loss of his wife and Savannah’s sight in a much more healthful way than my family had dealt with the death of my older sister, Izzy.
“She’s back in her room,” he explained, leading me through the living room.
“Vanna!”
From somewhere toward the back of the house, I heard Savannah respond.
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got company.”
“Be right there.”
Mr. Grant led me into a cozy den that sat just off the kitchen. It was a bright room with sliding patio doors that dominated one wall. The other wall was bricked from floor to ceiling. A wood-burning stove was set into it and above that hung a big flatscreen.
“Have a seat. As you heard, she’ll be right out.”
With a wink, Mr. Grant turned toward the kitchen and resumed what I imagined were supper preparations. He had peeled a mountain of potatoes that sat on the counter beside the sink.
“Would you like to stay for dinner, Ridley? I’m making my famous loaded baked potato soup.”
“Thank you, but my parents are expecting me.”
Though that wasn’t entirely true, it was what came to mind first, so I went with it. I hated to impose on them any more than what I already had.
“His soup is hardly famous anyway, right Dad?”
Savannah appeared at the mouth of the hallway. She walked slowly, but without any assistance other than the fingertips that she trailed along the wall to her right.
“But it will be, o ye of little faith.” Again, Mr. Grant winked at me. I liked him already. I imagined that their household was one of love and laughter and, for that, I envied Savannah.
“Yeah, yeah,” Savannah said, making her way to the couch where I sat.
“What’s up, chickie?” she asked, her smile as bright as ever.
“I’m thinking of ditching school and eavesdropping on you and your tutor until graduation. What do you think?”
Savannah laughed, the same easy tinkle of delight I’d come to expect from her. “That bad, huh?”
“Eh, could be better,” I answered. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s nowhere near as bad as when Trinity was there, but I get the feeling it won’t be long until we’re right back to square one.”
“Why? Who’s the evil dominatrix now?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
“Aisha.”
I thought about her answer. For many reasons, Aisha would’ve been the logical choice. She had the attitude for it. “Actually, it’s Summer.”
“Summer? She’s a mindless freak.”
“Savannah!” her Dad chimed in warningly from the kitchen.
“Fine, she’s a mindless follower. I never would’ve expected her to have the spine for Trinity’s spot.”
“It is weird, isn’t it?” And it was. The more I thought about it, the more I had to admit that it was very surprising.
“I’m so glad you stopped by,” Savannah said suddenly, throwing her arms around my neck with startling accuracy.
My guilt disappeared as if it had never been, replaced by happiness that I hadn’t turned around and gone home.
“Come on,” she said, standing and grabbing my hand. “Let’s go back to my room where nobody will be listening.” She added that last a little louder, directing the words over her shoulder toward her father.
I looked back at Mr. Grant where he stood in the kitchen. He was smiling, shaking his head. Tolerance and affection were virtually dripping off of him. It was plain to see that he loved his daughter very much.
Down the hall, I followed Savannah through the second door on the left. She stopped just inside the doorway to say, “Out, Kitty.”
A second later, a knee-high, ball-of-fur white dog bolted past me.
“Was that a dog?”
I marveled at the stupidity of my question. Of course it was a dog, but…
“Yep. He’s four and he’s a pest.”
“But, it’s a dog.”
The intellectual quotient of the conversation seemed to be going downhill at an alarming rate.
“Right.”
“Did you just call him ‘Kitty’?”
“Yeah. I got him as the subject of an experiment on psychological warfare between mammalian species.”
My mouth dropped open. She’d named the dog “Kitty” as a psych experiment on mammals?
Savannah walked on into her bedroom before stopping in the center of the floor and turning back to me. Then she started giggling.
“Nah, I’m just kidding. I thought it’d be funny to name a dog ‘Kitty’.”
I had to laugh. What else could I do?
Savannah’s room was everything I might’ve expected from someone with her effervescent personality. Her white-framed bed was covered in a black satin comforter that had bright yellow pillows all over it. There was a huge sunflower stenciled on the wall above the bed and in its center was a collage of pictures. Her curtains boasted wide black and yellow stripes, just like a bumble bee, and in the corner there was a desk. It was painted fire engine-red and surrounded on both sides by concert and movie posters.
Looking around, I felt like I would need a sedative if I stayed in there too long. But then I spotted a tranquil island in the midst of the storm that was her room.
It was in the form of an armoire.
Painted plain white, its doors were ajar and inside were dozens of framed pictures, arranged haphazardly on the shelves. The silver, gold and pewter frames gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows and drew me like a soothing mirage.
I walked to the cabinet and looked through the images. There were pictures of Savannah throughout her childhood doing various things, things like holding trophies, swimming in a lake, sitting on a horse and shooting a basketball from the free-throw line. There were pictures of people I assumed were friends and family, people dear to Savannah’s heart. Among the lot, there was even a picture of me and Bo, sitting beneath the big tree at school where we ate lunch sometimes. That one made me ache, made my heart hurt. I missed him so much.
But among the hodge-podge of prints were several images of a woman. She was a recurring theme in many of the pictures. She was quite beautiful, with long wavy red hair and skin like porcelain. Her smile was bright and happy just like Savannah’s. There was no mistaking that she was Savannah’s mother, though she could easily have passed for an older sister now.