Paper Castles Read online

  “It’s all right, Daddy,” Savannah said.

  “No. It’s not all right. She’s been nothing but a brat and it’s time someone put her in her place.”

  “Jack.” Beverly touched his arm.

  Jack planted a hand on the table and pointed in Angela’s face. “Don’t ever let me hear you speak to my daughter like that again.”

  “Fine. I have no intention of speaking to her again.” Angela pushed her chair from the table and stormed from the room.

  Savannah sat there, mortally wounded by friendly fire. She had to hand it to her daughter, Angela had no trouble speaking the truth. She didn’t hide, didn’t run, didn’t smile and play nice. She confronted the enemy. Even if the enemy’s name was Mom.

  The bullet fired at the dining room table stayed lodged near Savannah’s heart the rest of the evening. When Kip found her on the back porch swing, she was still having a hard time catching her breath.

  “How you holding up, kiddo?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I was doing okay.”

  “No need to lie.”

  “Angela’s right, you know.”

  “Angela’s thirteen and thinks the world revolves around her.”

  “Maybe she’s the only one who sees things clearly.” Savannah leaned forward, elbows on knees, head in hands. “All Neenie did was love me, and I killed her.”

  “What?” He sat up like a bolt and turned her to him, staring her down. “She was seventy-one, Savvy. You had nothing to do with it.”

  “I had everything to do with it. Me. My situation. Angela screaming I’m a murderer on a daily basis. Neenie’s old heart couldn’t take any more of my crap.”

  “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

  SAVANNAH 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 looke
d 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.

  “I know people don’t usually like to hear this line, but I know how you feel,” Beverly said, not looking up from her work.

  Do you? Savannah stared into her cup as if something there might save her.

  “I know how it feels to lose your momma.”

  Beverly had her attention now.

  “When I lost my mother, I lost myself. For a long time.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Still young.”

  “Too young. But you... You’ve lost your mother twice.” Beverly placed her hands on Savannah’s shoulders and their eyes met in the mirror. “I’m so sorry.”

  Beverly was pulling on the handle of a door long closed. The hinges creaked and groaned. If Savannah pushed a little from her side, the door might swing open.

  Neenie’s voice from long ago: Miss Beverly’s not one to barge in.

  No she wasn’t. But here she was, knocking.

  Savannah let the tears run free. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Of course I understand. Neenie was the best momma you could’ve had. We were all lucky to have her in our lives.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do without her.” The avalanche of grief came again, and this time Beverly was there to catch her.

  “It’s all right, honey. Cry all you want.”

  Savannah cried on her mother’s shoulder for the first time she could remember. “I’m sorry,” she said, between sniffling sobs. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “Oh honey, don’t worry. Those are old wounds.”

  “Was it hard for you to watch Neenie and I together?” Savannah asked, putting her toe in the crack of the door.

  “Torture.” The look on Beverly’s face told Savannah the pain was layers deep. “But I took it as my penance.”

  “Penance?”

  “For all I put you through. My penance was to stand on the outside and watch my daughter attach herself to someone else, as if I didn’t exist. And that’s because sometimes I didn’t exist. I abandoned you when you were days old. Then I abandoned you again and again.” A sigh decades old wrapped around her. “And we both know that’s not even the worst of it.”

  The truth now sat on Savannah’s dressing table, among innocent bottles of perfume and lotions. What was she to make of such a revelation all these years later? Words Savannah had rehearsed in a thousand scenarios slipped out the door unnoticed, as she looked at a woman who survived, instead of the mother who failed her.

  “I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Beverly said. “But I want you to know, I loved you then and I love you now. I never intruded on what you and Neenie had because I was happy for you.”

  “But didn’t you ever want something more from me?”

  “Always. Sometimes I wanted to pick you up and run away with you and scream you’re mine. But it was too late. I’d made my bed. I was glad Neenie was there because I couldn’t be.”

  “Sometimes I wanted you to intrude.”

  “I should have. I didn’t know enough then.”

  “But why me, Momma? Why were you able to bond with Kip and Beck? What was it about me?”

  “Oh honey. Is that what you think?” Beverly ran her hand down Savannah’s cheek.

  “Yes.” Savannah looked at the question she’d been carrying around in her back pocket for thirty-nine years. It was faded and tattered, but the question mark was still written with bold strokes.

  Beverly sat back, making room for it in her lap. “I had no idea that’s what you were struggling with. All these years I’ve looked at myself in the mirror, trying to make sense of insanity—I never once thought you blamed yourself.” She winced, old memories still sharp enough to hurt.

  “I know it’s not logical. But—”

  “But you were a child.” Beverly hung her head as if the truth behind Savannah’s eyes was too bright to face dead on. “I’ve caused you so much harm. And I couldn’t help you because I couldn’t help myself.”

  Savannah remembered her own purging only days ago, remembered how Phil sat back without judgment, letting the words find their own way out. She offered the same now to her mother.

  “It kills me to know that you’ve blamed yourself in any way,” Beverly said. “No one knows more about shame than I do. I know what it looks like, how it feels, how it talks to you in the middle of the night.”

  Savannah nodded, her heart’s fingers reaching out to hold onto the conversation a lifetime in the making.

  “And it was my shame that kept me from you all these years. Every time I look in your eyes, I see myself and all my failures. More so you than your brother and sister. Somehow most of my failures fell at your feet. I was strong when I had Kip, then fell apart with you, got better for awhile when I had Rebecca. Then fell I apart again. And again.”

  “Can you tell me about the falling apart?”

  Beverly sucked the air in through her teeth, and Savanna
h recognized the need to flee. Then she saw her mother take the reins in her hand and bring the panic reaction to a slow walk.

  “IT SEEMS like my whole life, I’ve been shaking,” Beverly said, looking Savannah in the eyes with a newfound determination “Quivering. Waiting for the disaster around the corner.”

  “How old were you when it started?”

  “A teenager. Sixteen maybe.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “Sheer panic. Fear in its purest form. Heart racing, palms sweating, unable to breathe. I thought I was having a heart attack. I was sure of it. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with me. They finally decided it was just female hormones.”

  This was the umbilical cord connecting mother and daughter. Savannah’s own panic attacks, mirrored in her mother’s. No matter how many times Neenie told her, you’re not your momma, Savannah sensed the truth. She knew they were joined in this macabre dance of the mind.

  “It continued off and on,” Beverly said. “But then my momma got sick and I tried to shove it in the closet. Tried to hide it from everyone.”

  Savannah cocked her head at her mother. “And how did that work out for you?”

  “You know how it ends.” Beverly managed a weak smile. “Anyway after Momma died, I went off to college. It seemed like I was going to be all right, but it was just the lull before the storm.”

  Savannah kept her eyes on her mother’s face. Watching the memories float in and out.

  “That’s when I met your father. What a dreamboat.”

  Savannah grinned. “Dreamboat?”

  “The sweetest guy I’d ever met. Those eyes. You have his eyes, you know. We were engaged when the floodgate opened and I had my first suicidal episode. I couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness. But it was darker than anything I’d experienced before. I told your father I couldn’t marry him. I was a mess. I couldn’t see a future with him because I couldn’t even believe in tomorrow.”

  Savannah tried to imagine her father, a young man in his twenties, in love with a beautiful girl who lived in a dark cloud. Fighting for love, fighting for the two of them.