Life Without You (16 page)

A puzzled look shot across her face. Naturally enough, she’d been under the assumption that Annabelle had been the bearer of the news.

“He told me that Annabelle and George ran off and got married and that Grammie was hurt for a long time after that,” I continued, wondering what fresh bit of information the woman across from me might provide, what puzzle piece she might contribute.

It seemed, suddenly, as if we were at an impasse, each of us silently assessing the other, waiting to see who might speak first.

To heck with that.

“I have to admit, I really don’t get it. Any of it. Grandpa has no use for Annabelle, and he sure doesn’t mind sharing his opinion,” I said, shaking my head in befuddlement. “But he still won’t tell me much about what actually happened. He says it’s the past and that it doesn’t matter anymore, but he acts like he’s holding a major grudge against Annabelle; and
he
wasn’t even the jilted lover!”

Vivi’s eyebrow shot up. Just the one. The other was fixed firmly in place.

“You
do
realize we’re in the South, right?”

I stared at her. “Yes,” I said slowly.

“And you know as well as I do that Southerners hold a grudge better than anyone else,” Vivi said simply.

“But—”

“And your grandpa might not have been raised in the South, but he’s lived here most of his life.” She paused, her mouth tilting slightly in the barest beginning of a smile. “And he’s a stubborn Swede, which doesn’t help matters any.”

I snorted a laugh. “True,” I admitted. “Can
you
tell me anything, Vivi?” I leaned forward, hoping the weight of my question might be appreciated. “This is important to me. It’s part of a story I’ve never heard, part of what makes up my family’s history. Grandpa’s about as forthcoming as a doorpost; and I have a feeling that Annabelle’s side of things isn’t the most reliable, if I’m hoping to get an accurate picture.” I slumped back into my seat with a heavy sigh. “I want to know. She’s gone, Vivi, and this is part of her I never knew.”

Vivi offered a small, sad smile. “I understand,” she said at last, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “And I’ll tell you, but I want something in return.”

My blood froze. I knew it couldn’t have been so simple.

“I’ll tell you everything I know, but you have to tell me why you’re really here.”

Chapter Fourteen

I blinked at her, feeling both unsurprised and caught off guard all at the same time.

“Why I’m really here?”

Vivi smirked. “You and I both know that you’re not here simply to keep your grandfather company. Knowing Peter, I’d bet he’s hardly had an idle second since your grandmother died. He doesn’t let moss grow under his feet,” she observed.

I pressed my lips together, trying to come up with an answer that might hold her off for a little bit longer. I still wasn’t ready to offer up all the gory details of my life to someone I hardly knew. If I told her, how could I be sure that the news wouldn’t be all over town by the time the nightly news came on? She was, after all, a close personal friend of Annabelle, possessor of minute-by-minute society happenings and self-appointed Hampton news wire. I looked hard at Vivi, searching for even the slightest clue that might suggest she was more discreet than her friend.

She seemed to read my mind.

“Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. Lord knows, I know when to keep my mouth shut. And remember, I might be friends with Annabelle, but I’m hardly blind to her ways.”

“Speaking of which—” I began, abandoning my earlier decision to let Vivi tell me in her own time about what had happened and wondering whether she’d actually answer the question I was about to ask without having received any real response to her own. “She hurt your mama so much, and it seems like you’ve got a really hot and cold relationship with her, as well. Why keep that going, now that your mama’s gone? And why did
she
maintain their friendship? Wasn’t it hard for her to trust Annabelle and forgive her for something like that?”

Vivi grimaced. “Mama was a fan of forgiving, not necessarily of forgetting—which is how she raised me to be. You don’t survive being a single mother without learning things like that, believe me,” she said, confirming my suspicions.

“So you proceed with caution, then?” I couldn’t resist pressing. “Why?”

Vivi shrugged, then reached out a hand to fiddle with the straw in her empty cup. “Mama loved my daddy almost blindly, I think. For her, he was the one that got away, the love of her life,” Vivi said with a small shake of her head. “But when he left and she needed someone to lean on, Annabelle was still there. Even when my mama pushed her away, Annabelle wouldn’t leave her on her own. So as much as Mama always resented Annabelle’s influence in making my father leave, she also recognized how important it was to remember who stayed.”

I realized then, in the momentary silence that followed, that the conversation had naturally worked its focus away from me, a fact for which I was grateful beyond words. It didn’t take any further prompting from me to get Vivi to keep going, either. I sat quietly and let her continue the tale.

“Mama never really got over my father; but she didn’t let not having a husband hold her back, either. She set out to prove she could make it, and that was part of what made her open Sweet Azalea’s. Not that that was easy, either.” Vivi snorted. “Plenty of people in town bad-mouthed her, said no one should ‘encourage’ a woman who obviously had no morals.”

I felt my eyes grow wide. “Seriously? Wow, you’d think that people would want to be a little more supportive of someone who was trying to provide for her child and be self-sufficient. That takes integrity.”

“I know. Not everyone sees things that way, though,” Vivi admitted. “But Mama was determined, and Annabelle was a big enough deterrent to some of the less-encouraging people around here that things eventually got off the ground.” Vivi shifted in her seat. We’d been here awhile now, it seemed, but I wasn’t sure exactly how long. The conversation had grown far more personal than I would have expected, and I wondered how my luck would hold on not having to reveal any of my own details.

“Funnily enough, as much as Annabelle did to blow up relationships—meddling in my mama’s affairs and being the reason George ended things with your grammie—she did just as much to help both of them in ways that only
her
particular influence could bring,” Vivi said, once again picking up her thread of the conversation. She was almost lost in the telling, from what I could see.

I raised a questioning eyebrow, hoping I wouldn’t break the spell.

Vivi caught my look and grinned. “When Mama opened Sweet Azalea’s, she went to your grandmother to see if she would sell her cakes to the restaurant,” she began, the grin faltering ever so slightly at the threat of a grimace. “As good a cook as Mama was, she couldn’t bake to save her life—and she’d tell you that outright. So when Annabelle told her she needed to ask Merry to bake for her, Mama was like a pig after acorns.” Vivi paused a minute, looking thoughtful. When she spoke again, her words came more slowly. “I think, in a way, it was Annabelle’s way of redeeming herself with Mama—
and
Merry—without making things awkward.”

I nodded. “That makes sense.”

I knew it was risky, breaking Vivi’s flow like that by speaking, reminding her that I was there, potentially reigniting her curiosity in me. I had a feeling, though, that she was satisfied to keep her own narrative going. “Did Grammie agree? I don’t think I ever heard her mention baking anywhere or selling her cakes to a restaurant, and I know I would’ve remembered something like that.”

“No, Merry didn’t take the offer. Even when Mama begged her to just make the cakes at home and sell them to her, she wouldn’t do it. I don’t think back then that she felt confident enough. She sold her cakes to society ladies and mothers who wanted them for their children’s birthdays and brides who came to her raving about how much they loved the frosting they’d tasted on a friend’s cake. But I don’t think that Merry ever really, truly understood how good she was,” Vivi sighed. “She thought of it like a hobby; you know that, I’m sure. I think maybe she was afraid that if she sold her cakes to Mama, no one would buy them. No one would go to a real restaurant and buy a piece of cake made by a home-baker.”

“But she baked so many cakes, for so many people,” I protested, feeling a little upended by how much a woman I hardly knew could know so much about my grandmother when I didn’t.

Vivi tipped her head to the side, contemplative. “She did, Dellie. But I don’t think she ever thought that it was important. I don’t think that she realized she was making
more
than cake for people.”

The words hit my ears and my heart with the piercing force of an arrow, ringing with ultimate truth. She didn’t know, and now it was too late to tell her that.

“Does Hal know you’re here?”

Despite the accusatory nature of those words, they were wrapped in the tone of a tease, delivered by a warm voice that sounded somehow like it could glaze a sweet roll. I looked up to see a petite blonde shaking her head at Vivi, her blue eyes wide and mischievous. Her raspberry-glossed mouth formed a mock moue.

“Savannah Leigh, don’t even go there!” Vivi shot back with a laugh, reaching out to swat playfully at the young woman who now stood beside our table.

“Better watch out, or I’ll report you for harassment!” Savannah squeaked, neatly dodging Vivi’s swat.

“That only works for sexual harassment, you goof. Plus, you don’t actually work for me,” Vivi retorted. “And if you tell Hal I was here this morning—not that he should care, since I
am
his boss, and it’s not as though I’m betraying him by eating their food—I’ll tell him that you’ve started going to KFC for their fried chicken.”

Savannah shivered. “Don’t even say the words, Vivi.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He’ll
hear
you.”

“Heaven forbid,” Vivi agreed. “And then you’d forever be blacklisted, never again to taste the crunchy goodness of his buttermilk-basted yardbirds. You’d have to resort to finding someone willing to put their butt on the line and bring them to you on the sly, and I suspect you’d have a better shot at getting an audience with the Pope on that one,” Vivi continued almost cruelly. “Not even
I
would risk it.”

I watched the tag team in silence, marveling at the ease of their banter and mentally comparing it to what I had witnessed between Vivi and Annabelle. The difference was remarkable, refreshing, and fun.

I cleared my throat, hating to break the flow, but I was feeling increasingly awkward as the un-introduced member of the party.

“Oh, Savannah,” Vivi said, shooting me an apologetic look. “I’ve forgotten my manners. This is Dellie Simms—Merry Samuelson’s granddaughter.”

Savannah offered me a bright smile, her teeth the enviable white of a toothpaste ad, yet somehow still managing not to be obnoxious. “Happy to meet you, Dellie,” she said, still in that warm glaze of a voice. “Your grandmother was a good lady, and we all miss her like crazy. And I think everyone in Hampton misses her cakes.”

I smiled back at her. “Thanks. So is that how you knew her, Savannah?” I studied her, trying to gauge her age, wondering if Grammie had made her birthday cakes or delivered a tiered confection on her wedding day. I caught a glimpse of a ring-free hand. That would be a
no
on the wedding cake, then—but that didn’t rule out the possibility of her having tasted one at someone else’s wedding. Or, I remembered with a flash of self-reproach, that she had never been married at all. I was the last person on Earth who should be assuming that the lack of a wedding band definitively meant the lack of a marriage.

Savannah nodded in answer to my question. “Your grandmother made every cake, for every occasion in my family. I’m not half convinced that we didn’t invent a few of our own just so we had an excuse to order a cake from Merry!” Savannah giggled, and I almost giggled back. I couldn’t help it. Everything about this person standing next to me made me want to be her friend, to fill my calendar for the foreseeable future with trips to the nail salon and the craft store and everything else girly and pink that I’d missed out on for so long, despite the best efforts of my mother, my sister, and even Bette.

“So are you here visiting your grandfather, then?” she asked.

“I am. I wish I had been able to make it here for the funeral, but there was a lot going on with work and…” I trailed off, the explanation sounding suddenly weak to my ears. I hadn’t come, hadn’t been able to, and now I felt incredibly guilty. Because, if I was perfectly honest, the biggest roadblock to Hampton had been
me
. My own fears and anxieties had gotten in the way—and the reminder of that came like a sobering slap in the face.

“I understand,” Savannah said kindly, generously. “And plane tickets that last-minute are outrageous!” she exclaimed, her already wide eyes becoming great blue orbs. They reminded me of aquamarines, and I wondered if she was a March baby. It would have only been fitting, with eyes that color.

Vivi nodded in agreement.

“So what do you do, Savannah?” I asked, once again trying to steer the conversation away from any details about myself. “Do you work with Vivi at the restaurant?” Given the earlier exchange, it was a reasonable assumption.

“No, not technically. I come in every once in awhile to lend a hand, but I’m not on the payroll. I guess you could say that they pay me in food,” she said with a wink and a smile. “And it’s fun for me, too, which helps. Especially since I’m trying to learn what it’s like to work in a professional kitchen. I want to open my own place someday, but until I do, I pay the bills by being an office manager. It’s not a bad job, but it’s not something I want to do forever, you know?”

I nodded. I did know. Before I’d become a writer, I’d been in exactly the same position; so I was all too familiar with that feeling of being unfulfilled at work, but not knowing what would really fulfill you. It seemed, though, that Savannah knew just what her true calling might be.