Louis told me he had answered the phone at their house many times as a child to hear a snarling male voice threaten his father’s life or his mother’s safety.
But those were the glory days. The staff had dwindled to Louis, his longtime receptionist, Miss Iona Williams, a couple of interns from the A.U. Center, and two freelance reporters who covered everything from church news to city hall, and none of it very well. The only reason to pick up the paper at all was to read Louis’s blistering editorials. He was as passionate about politics as his father had been, and as well informed. He had contacts all over the place who fed him information so his columns, which he ran in large type on the front page in a move right out of
Citizen Kane,
were full of unexpected tidbits that made them required reading for anybody who wanted to traverse the labyrinth that is our local political scene. The
Sentinel
was a losing proposition economically, but for Louis it was both a legacy and a labor of love. Imagining Louis without the
Sentinel
was like imagining Louis without his lopsided grin. Impossible.
So a group celebration was out, but I was still full of nervous energy from my meeting with Ezola, and I didn’t feel like getting right back to work. Outside, the sky was an unbroken expanse of blue, and the breeze was blowing cool air from the north Georgia mountains. I opened the back door and stepped outside. As if to banish any lingering doubts that this was a perfect day, an impossibly red-breasted robin was singing itself silly in the middle of my sunflowers.
That’s when I decided to take Amelia up on her standing invitation of a swim. I’d have the pool to myself. Just me and that mermaid and all that sunshine. Maybe it was time for a little reward after surviving my recent trials by fire. We’re always quick to fuss at ourselves when we do it wrong. I want to reward myself when I do it right. My daughter isn’t mad at me anymore, and my best friends are falling in love before my very eyes. Maybe it was standing my ground with Phoebe. Or maybe it was being in the room with Ezola’s strange energy and Bessie’s ghost, or maybe even something in Sam Hall’s shiny bald head, but I felt like I could go Amelia’s fifty laps, and fifty more, without even breathing hard.
Which is, of course, the real test. Not just can you do it, but can you make it look so easy everybody thinks they can do it, too, until they try it and come up winded, gasping for air, and hoping nobody’s watching. That’s not me. I’ve worked hard to get here and I’m ready for my close-up.
Been
ready. Why do you think I bought a new bathing suit, just in case?
11
The next week flew by in a blur of closing out old files, creating new ones, and reading through the mountain of material Sam had sent over to familiarize me with their Mandeville Maids. He was in Miami on business all week, which was fine with me. By the time he got back, I’d have some ideas ready for him to review.
Louis and Amelia had congratulated me on my new client, and on surviving Phoebe’s last visit. I had teased them about their whereabouts when I tried to share my good news. They looked properly sheepish, and their answers were evasive enough to confirm my suspicions. I wondered if Phoebe had noticed it, too? I’d have to remember to ask her next time we talked.
The house had returned to its pre-Phoebe state of calm, and I was getting loads of work done, but the truth was, at the end of the day I really missed her. Our closeness was partly a result of my raising her alone, but more because we enjoyed each other’s company like good friends do. When she first went to Fairfield two years ago, I was a wreck. She wanted to go. It was her idea, so I wasn’t worried about her making the adjustment. What threw me was how quiet the house was. I was so used to her music, her voice, her friends, her radio, her computer, her television shows, her favorite DVDs, her guitar, that
Cyndi Tefft
A. R. Wise
Iris Johansen
Evans Light
Sam Stall
Zev Chafets
Sabrina Garie
Anita Heiss
Tara Lain
Glen Cook