Life Without You (17 page)

“And running a restaurant is?” I ventured.

She blushed. “Well, not really a restaurant. I kind of like the idea of a food truck. Keeps things interesting when you can move around, I think, and Vivi thinks it would be successful,” she said.

“I do,” Vivi confirmed, puffing up like a proud mother. “Savannah’s got a great palate, and she knows what things would taste good together, even if they don’t seem like they would make sense. She can get a little crazy with some of her ideas, but that’s what I like about it,” Vivi observed. “It’s not something you’d find everywhere, and that’s what I think would make it a success.”

I looked back at Savannah. “So what kind of food will you serve on your truck?”

Her grin deepened. “Hand pies.”

I blinked.
Hand pies?
Fortunately for me, I knew what she was talking about. I knew that hand pies were, in many areas of the country, generally referred to as turnovers; but still, the idea was taking a few moments to compute in my brain. To look at Savannah, it might seem more logical to expect her to say she wanted to run a restaurant, maybe something along the lines of a breakfast bistro or a little sandwich shop…but a food truck that served hand pies? I narrowed my eyes, trying to imagine her with a rolling pin in her hand, dusted from nose to toes in flour. Okay, I could believe that. She looked like she knew her way around a few church cookbooks, some of which, no doubt, would impart recipes for some very delicious pockets of crust.

Obviously, my face telegraphed my thoughts, because Savannah threw her head back in laughter.

“I know, I know. It’s weird. But not impossible—there have been some pretty odd-sounding food truck concepts, but they can still be successful. Plus, I’m a Southern girl. Who doesn’t
eat up
the idea of a Southern girl baking pies?” Savannah asked, flicking away any hint of protest away with a flap of her hand. “And it may not
exactly
be pie, but it’s basically the same thing…just made into a street-ready version. A little pie-dough pocket of love to hold in your hand…” Savannah trailed off with a happy little sigh. “I know it may not seem like something to build a whole menu around—but give me flour, eggs, and some shortening, and I can come up with something pretty tasty, if I do say so myself.” She sounded confident without being arrogant in the least. More like she really, really wanted to cook for you and prove the hidden potential in her pie dough.

“She wants to call it The HandStand, but I’m trying to convince her otherwise,” Vivi said, shaking her head with a fond smile. “I don’t think it sounds like it has anything to do with food. It’s confusing, and that’s not going to help her get any business.”

“Oh, stop. I think it’s cute,” Savannah protested. “It definitely speaks to the concept, don’t you think?” She looked to me, a hopeful blush suffused on her cheeks.

“Um,” I swallowed, casting about for a good answer. I saw both points, actually. And while I didn’t want Vivi to think I was a complete cheese-ball, I didn’t want to offend Savannah, either. I opted for neutrality.

“I know, I know,” Savannah grumbled, still somehow managing to sound cheerful. “It might be a little bit cheesy, but I think you’d be convinced if you had one of my masterpieces.” She grinned.

I narrowed my eyes at her, extremely curious by this point. What could she possibly do with hand pies that hadn’t already been done?

“Here’s your five-minute elevator pitch, then, Savannah. Sell me on the idea. I don’t know you, so you don’t have to worry that I’m giving you a biased opinion. Tell me—what would bring people to your truck?” I asked, shifting my weight in my seat so I could look her full in the face.

Savannah pulled one of the empty chairs at the table and proceeded to plant herself on the cushion, her movements quick and excited. Her face was flushed with pleasure, and her eyes danced.

“May I?” she asked, almost as an afterthought.

I dipped a quick nod. “Please do,” I replied, not sure she even registered the answer.

“I was pretty broke when I moved here, living in a cramped apartment with a kitchen the size of a litter box—” I raised an eyebrow at the analogy “—and yes, I have a cat,
okay
?” She admitted with a hopeless shrug of her shoulders. “But I only have
one
, so technically, that would make me ‘a woman with a cat,’
not
‘the cat lady.’ Right?” Savannah suddenly looked worried, her eyes ping-ponging between Vivi and me for confirmation.

“Focus, Savannah!” Vivi barked.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, wiggling in her chair. “You have to forgive me, Dellie, I tend to go off on rabbit trails… Mama always said I wasn’t the most focused person in the world, but I’d like to think it’s a sign of my creativity.”

I nodded, hoping she would shift back to our earlier conversation.

“Anyway, Mama sent me a cookbook that was nothing but recipes for pies—sweet pies, savory pies…and at the back of the book were a few for hand pies. They were amazing, and all of them had such inexpensive ingredients that they were perfect for me. Even in my eensie kitchen, making them was pretty quick and easy; and I could make enough of them to eat and freeze for later…” She trailed off to take a breath. “I had so much fun with it and came up with so many recipes of my own, using some of the same ingredients from traditional pies, that pretty soon I was making almost everything into hand pies. I gave Vivi a few to try, and she loved them.” Savannah shrugged. “I don’t know, somehow the idea of opening a food truck happened.”

“And I told her that it was a little off-the-wall, but it was good—and since it was so good, it wouldn’t matter so much that it was kind of crazy.” Vivi smiled at Savannah, nodding confidently. “We need to shake things up a little around here.”

“Have you tested it out at all? Do you think people here will be willing to go to a food truck that serves nothing but hand pies?” I asked. Sure, I totally loved the idea, but I wasn’t the majority of the population.
They
were the ones who would ultimately determine the success or failure of Savannah’s venture, should it ever come to fruition.

Vivi took the liberty of answering. “They will, if the ones she’s made for me are anything to go by—I’ve actually had her make some for me so that I could sell them at Azalea’s sort of as a test run, and they’ve been a huge hit every time.”

Savannah glowed under the praise, savoring the sweetness of Vivi’s obvious confidence in her as though it was a piece of chocolate melting on her tongue.

“Wow. The HandStand, huh?” I looked from one woman to the other, feeling a smile of my own forming. “That’s so exciting! Do you know where your target area would be or when you’re going to get your truck?”

Savannah’s face fell a little bit as she came crashing back to reality. “Not yet, and I don’t have all the money I need yet, either. Still working on that, but I’m not
too
far off.”

“And I know that she’d be able to take out a small business loan,” Vivi added. “She’s got everything a bank would be looking for—good credit, a strong business plan, stable history in the community.” She paused. “And me. I’d be a reference for her in a heartbeat,” Vivi concluded.

Quick as a flash, Savannah pulled Vivi into a tight hug, her cheek mashed up against Vivi’s. “Thanks for that, Vivi. That means a lot.” She was smiling, and her eyes were squeezed shut, but I could tell by the timbre of her voice that Savannah was close to tears.

“Oh, stop making a scene. You know I would—I’ve told you that before,” Vivi replied, neatly extricating herself from Savannah’s embrace. “We just have to find you the perfect spot and set you loose!”

“So what’s your signature pie? Do you have one?” I asked.

“Everybody loves my Love Me Tender Bacon Bender, so that’s definitely going to be on the menu… It’s inspired by Elvis, of course. It’s got a filling of peanut butter, chocolate pudding, banana custard, and chopped bacon that’s been cooked all crispy crunchy… It’s
divine
,” she said, moaning and rolling her eyes. “Oh, that reminds me, Vivi. Have you gotten your present for Tilley’s shower on Saturday?” Savannah asked, once again veering swiftly off topic. I, for one, was completely lost, having absolutely no point of reference that might clue me in to how she had leapt from Elvis-inspired turnovers to a shower for someone named Tilley.

“No, I hadn’t,” Vivi replied, looking sufficiently surprised. “I forgot that’s this week! Have you gotten yours yet?”

Savannah shook her head. “No, that was actually why I came over this way this morning. I need to pick something out before I go shopping for the ingredients for the hand pies the ladies’ committee asked me to make for the shower. Wanna go with me?” she asked, looking hopeful.

“I’d love to. I’ll get my present while we’re at it.” Vivi practically shot up out of her seat. “Come with us, Dellie?” she asked, suddenly remembering that I was there.

I looked at the women in front of me, both watching me expectantly. “Um…” My brain shot through a million different reasons to say no, one of which involved the risk I would run on losing my highly covetable table space. Another reference to the fact that, technically, this was office time; and to be a proper workaholic, I was required to remain chained to the computer until the proverbial whistle blew at the end of the workday.

With pee breaks scattered at necessary intervals throughout, of course.

“Um,” I said again, wanting to say yes, but still feeling unjustified in doing so.

“Come on, Dellie. Come with us,” Savannah urged. “It’ll be fun. Vivi and I have to pick up a bridal shower gift for a friend of ours who’s getting married,” she explained.

“I appreciate the invitation,” I stammered, completely caught off guard by their desire to include me. “But I really should stay here and work.” I realized, even in the limited way that I knew these ladies, that chances ran high they were unlikely to let me off the hook so easily—but still, it was worth a shot.

Savannah’s hand fluttered through the air dismissively. “Oh, pooh. You can work later.” She stopped, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t you? What is it that you do, anyway, Dellie?”

“I’m a freelance writer,” I replied, hoping I wouldn’t get the look I sometimes got from people who obviously didn’t consider writing to be “a real job.”

“Really?” Savannah squealed. “Vivi, she’s a writer!”

Vivi nodded. “I heard. So what do you write?”

“Mostly magazine pieces.”

“Ooh, I bet that’s fun!” Savannah exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I’ve always wished I could write.”

“It’s fun, but it can definitely be stressful sometimes. And it’s not the most lucrative career…but it makes me happy. I finally feel like this is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life.”

Both women nodded. “That’s huge. I think it counts more than the paycheck,” Savannah said sagely. “So were you scared at all when you started doing it?”

“Terrified, if I’m going to be honest. But I felt like
not
doing it would be a mistake I would regret for the rest of my life, you know?”

More nods.

“It’s not easy having to rely on your own resources like that,” Vivi said. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wake up in the morning and wonder if I’m going to make it, if Azalea’s is going to make enough to pay all our bills on time, if I’m being a fool to think I can keep it all going.” She shook her head, looking lost in thought. “Mama was so much better at this than I am.”

The admission of even a shred of self-doubt surprised me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Vivi was surprised at it herself. She was such a tough woman that I could only imagine she didn’t often allow herself to be so vulnerable with people, especially relative strangers like me.

“That’s not true, Vivi,” Savannah protested. “You’ve kept Azalea’s going through some really rough patches, and you’ve made it better, I think. Not to slight your mama in any way, of course, but you’re better at this than you give yourself credit for.” Savannah reached out and squeezed Vivi’s shoulder lightly, trying to offer physical affirmation of her reassuring words.

“Well,” Vivi said, back in tough mode. “Thanks for that, Savannah. Now, what do you ladies say to blowing this joint and doing some shopping?”

I watched Vivi carefully, still trying to figure her out. If I hadn’t witnessed her momentary lapse of confidence for myself, I never would have guessed that, only seconds ago, she had shown so much vulnerability. It seemed so uncharacteristic—at least, from what I had observed so far from her. But I certainly didn’t know everything about her, just as she didn’t know everything about me. Quite the contrary, actually, since I had been able to keep her on a conversational track that was geared more toward her own past than mine.

And what a past hers was. Things could be so much more complicated than anyone ever realized, I marveled. I darted a look at Savannah. What was her story? What kind of history was wrapped up in that bright little bundle of energy?

“I don’t know…” I mumbled, still feeling torn about whether to stay here or take Vivi and Savannah up on the unexpected invitation. They really did seem as though they wanted me to go along with them, and I really
did
want to get to know these two better. But I also
really
did need to work.

Vivi clapped her hands together commandingly. “Come on, girl. Get your gear packed up and go with us. All of this will keep and still be here when we’re done,” she said decisively, rising from her chair.

“I know. It’ll still be here—that’s why I really shouldn’t go,” I mumbled, my rear still firmly planted in place on my seat. Another email popped into my Inbox, seeming to confirm the legitimacy of my unease about leaving my post for awhile. I’d already been off-line for a couple of days, so I was feeling guilty and behind the curve—not that I’d been lazy or remiss, if I was perfectly honest with myself. But still. The little workaholic maniac in my head was screaming with indignation that I was even considering this for a second.

“Maybe you can get an article idea out of this… ‘Shopping Dos and Don’ts for the Modern Bridal Party,’” Savannah suggested helpfully, doing her best to make my butt budge from the chair.