Saving Georgia (2 page)

I gasp “No…” mocking her.

I turn on the radio to get the local country radio station and get her to sing with me.

***

It must be around eleven, and I am up painting Annalise, the radio playing in the background for ambient noise. My cat, Muffin, is fast asleep on my bed. I know I should get some rest, because I have to be up with Mrs. Hyde for church tomorrow. Suddenly, my cell phone chimes. It’s a text from Shane.

How are the beautiful people?

I laugh. Somehow he makes me roll my eyes, even at eleven at night. My thumbs quickly respond.

As beautiful as ever.

I put Annalise on the sheet of newspaper on my floor and snuggle in bed with Muffin. It was a perfect ending to a perfect day. Let’s see how many of these I can string together.

***

It must be about three am when Muffin nudges me awake. I realize I am covered in sweat. I must have been having another nightmare. I sit up and tie my hair into a ponytail, and get out of bed. I putter downstairs and get a glass of ice and start eating it on my way back to my room. I must have been louder than I thought I was because that’s when I ran into Jennifer.

“Oh! Georgia! You’re soaking wet! And your hair smells something awful!” she says in a hushed voice.

“Always quick with a compliment,” I mutter under my breath. “No worries. I’m heading to take a shower.” I pad into the bathroom.

“You okay? Having nightmares again?” she asks sweetly.

“Yeah, I am fine. Must have been something I ate.”

“You sure, Georgy?” she says, blinking.

“Positive. Go back to bed. I’m so sorry I woke you.”

“Oh! You didn’t wake me. Harper did. She just broke up with Jason Grimes.”

Jason “dreamboat” Grimes? Single? This is news! No way!

“Oh?” I ask, and I can tell she knows my interest is piqued.

“Ha ha! Someone has a crush? Yeah, I think he is totally delicious, too,” she squeals.

“Delicious indeed. Now, I need to go shower,” I say as I smile and turn on my heel, heading to the bathroom.

In the shower, I run through my diet for the day and I can’t think of anything abnormal. No quantum amounts of sugar, spices or peppers. I start washing my hair and close my eyes, the cool water rinsing my sticky sweat away. I didn’t realize how tense and rigid my body was. The shower is soul cleansing. My worries and despairs run with the beads of the water down the length of my body, circling the drain, and just like that, they are washed away. And suddenly, I can breathe again.

At eight am, my alarm goes off violently. I glare at it like it committed a sin. Begrudgingly, I sit up and wipe the sleep from my eyes.

Hastily, I find my favorite denim shorts and a t-shirt. I top off my ensemble with a belt and cowboy boots. I look like I would fit in with Nashville’s best.

I patter down the stairs to the kitchen where I all but collide with Mrs. Hyde.

“Morning, sunshine,” she sings.

“Morning Mama Hyde,” I reply. In all fairness, this woman has raised me as one of her own. She is a wonderful mother, and I am very lucky that she had taken me in at all, let alone to include me as family.

“Are you ready, princess?” she asks, with a pleased wink from her eye.

“Yes ma’am,” I said, as we started to head to the cars.

The weather is cool and the dew is still in the air, coating the blades of freshly cut grass in such a manner that it looks like the field is cloaked in glitter with the sun beating down on the moist earth. The delicate scent of the freshly cut grass and kudzu fills my lungs.

Mrs. Hyde drives her Cadillac and we leave my car, Elsie, at the house. We drive into town to the church. Some of the parishioners are decked out in their Sunday finest, including Mrs. Hyde and her huge, white church hat.

The Benson First Baptist Church never ceases to amaze me with their sermons. Without fail, I always walk out feeling guilty. We stroll right on in with the rest of the congregation.

I spot Shane and his mom out of the corner of my eye. I give him a smile and a wave, while making my way to our usual spot in the pews. Shane nods in reply. Harper Kelly is here with her family as well. I guess her sins need redeeming, I chuckle to myself.

“Something funny, Georgia?” Mrs. Hyde asks me.

I bow my head in shame. “No ma'am... Sorry.”

After everyone exchanges pleasantries, the church sits for service. Now, I am not the most pious person by any means, but I have this deep-seated need to believe in goodness and hope for the off chance that I can see my family again. I need to believe in God, for if there is nothing else in this world to make all the wrong things right, what purpose is there for living? If there is no God, there’s no afterlife, and that means there’s no hope for humanity. All there is, is evil and no reason to live for more than just yourself. There has to be a God. I am infinitely grateful for Grandma Abbey and the Hyde family. They saved me when I was the most bereft, riddled with hopelessness and despair.

During the sermon, my prayers are with my mother and the ghost of a memory of my father that was called up to Glory fifteen years ago.

Th
e
church rises in song and we all belt out hymnal after hymnal. I’m lost in the harmony of it all, floating up and down with the notes and crescendos. My mind’s focus is lost, jumping from pleasantries to sorrows. Suddenly, the handsome face of country singer Luke Bryan interrupts my focus telling me to sit down, and it was then that I realized that I am the only one left standing. The laughter that bellows around me startles me, and makes me flush with discomfort.

“Feeling called to Jesus, Georgia?” Shane calls out across the aisle.

“Maybe I am,” I mutter back. It suddenly hits me how muc
h
Shan
e
looks like Luke Bryan and inside I am shaking my head.

I sit back in my pew and lean against Mrs. Hyde. She smells of soft rose petals, sandalwood and a hint of lavender. I remember my mom used to always smell of Ivory soap and gardenias. A smile crosses my lips. Grandma Abbey says I look like my mom. She says I have her smile and hair.

Before I know it, the congregation rises and starts to exit. I slowly rise to my feet. Shane makes a beeline for me.

“I hope you’re not planning on making a spectacle of yourself every Sunday now,” he chuckles.

“Now that is exactly what I need, more unnecessary attention,” I chide him. I notice Mrs. Hyde is talking to Harper Kelly’s mother.

“Oh no, here comes the princess,” Shane sneers. I mean, I am not Harper Kelly’s biggest fan by any stretch of the imagination, but comments cloaked in blatant disregard are not exactly the foundation of being the better person.

“So I see,” I offer, ignoring his tone.

“Georgia Ashton. Shane Dalton.” Harper Kelly likes to address people with their given names and surnames. How old-fashioned of her.

“Harper Kelly.” I return her greeting as flatly as it was offered to me.

“Where is Jennifer?” she asks, without any more of a ‘how do you do?’.

“Sleeping would be my guess.” I’m still trying to figure out why we are having a conversation here. She knows good and well where Jennifer is.

“I see,” she starts and then turns to face Shane. “And how are you doing, Mr. Dalton?” She smiles sweetly at him.

“I reckon I’m fine, Ms. Kelly,” he spits out after a ten second pause. He looks confused, amused, bewildered and just flat out dumbfounded.

I laugh to myself.
Who does she think she is?
She already stole one of my best friends and claimed her as her own, and now she has the audacity to come after Shane, my only other true friend in the whole wide world? If we weren’t in a church, I swear I might have decked her. No, I wouldn’t. I still would want to be the better person…right?

“We are having a graduation party. I hope you can make it,” she says looking him square in the eye. “Oh, you can bring your little friend Georgia, too, just no dates, okay?” Harper says, batting her Maybelline spackled eyelashes at Shane. Did she seriously just say that?

“I don’t know, Harper. I’ll think about it,” Shane offers noncommittally.

“See you then,” Harper Kelly offers as a goodbye, with a wink. Pretty presumptuous, I think. She turns on her heel and saunters back to Mr. and Mrs. Kelly.

“I think you have an admirer,” I offer to Shane.

“God, I sure hope not,” he spits out, almost acidly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Shane Dalton! Watch your mouth! We are in church for Pete’s sake.”
I
lay the la
w
down on him hard.

“Yes ma’am,” he apologizes with his head down in shame.

Mrs. Dalton called to Shane and Mrs. Hyde started heading my way. I guess it’s time to leave.

After exiting the parish, and wishing good grace to the Pastor, we start our excursion for the day. Mrs. Hyde and I generally head for brunch at the
Shiney Diner
in Clayton. We have the same waitress every Sunday, and she happens to be an old classmate of Mrs. Hyde’s. She greets us with the most jovial voice once we walk in.

“Miranda! Georgia! Coffee’s hot. I’ll bring y’all out a pot. Y'all's table is open. Have a seat and I’ll be right over!” she shouts, and Mrs. Hyde and I make our way to our usual spot.

“Some powerful word today, Georgia, wouldn’t you say?” Mrs. Hyde asks as she puts her napkin on her lap, removing her Sunday hat.

“Yes ma'am,” I offer. Somehow, Pastor Rick always knows what to feed my soul.

“What are you going to have for breakfast this morning?” Mrs. Hyde asks me. She never falters from routine and tradition. She will, without a shadow of a doubt, get her same order of garden egg white omelet. I, however, faithful as always, border on the edge of adventurous, and mix it up a bit.

“Some Greek yogurt—parfait style—and a muffin sounds appealing,” I reply while hugging my cup of coffee to my parched and waiting lips.

Our waitress takes our orders, well, more like my order since she already knows Mrs. Hyde’
s
uncompromisin
g
routine. The two exchange gossip about other small town affairs, such as who’s running around on whom, who’s suddenly a widow, how other people’s kids are a train wreck and the like. From time to time, they boast and compete on whose kids are better than the others. Somehow, I always space out, wondering who has talked about me.

Grandma Abbey once told me, “If someone can’t say nothing nice about someone else – what do you think they’re sayin’ about you?”

Everyone has an idea about what happened when I lived with Cecil, and why I was taken away, and why he is behind bars. I have heard a few rumors from the rumor mill, but the thought of what they think and the stares I get are more than I can handle. Once, I was sitting on the top of the stairs one night when I was little. Mrs. Hyde was hosting bridge that night. And you know how the women’s church groups can get to talking, and I somehow came up in conversation.

“I don’t know how you do it Miranda,” Carolyn Asbury snickered, “taking in that broken girl. The devil’s already staked his claim on that child.”

“Carolyn Asbury, you need to watch that mouth of yours.” Mrs. Hyde warned her.

“Miranda, you know we know what that devil man did to that poor girl. You know the damage is rooted in that girl now. Later on she is going to be hell on wheels, Miranda, watch my words.” Mrs. Asbury rambled on so matter-of-factly. Five minutes later, Mrs. Hyde let her know that nobody outside her family knows anything about what had happened to me, or what happened with Cecil, and it will forever be that way. In her polite southern mouth, where an insult sounds as kind as it can be, she asked Carolyn to leave her home. Till this day, that woman hasn’t crossed our threshold.

Mrs. Hyde and the waitress are finishing up their conversations when I get a text. It was Shane.

Going to be doing any other standing ovations?

I laugh to myself. That boy is so impossible, but hilarious, and a welcome distraction from small town gossip and banter.

Maybe in 3 minutes. This muffin is pretty darn good!

The car ride back to Benson is equally uneventful. Once I get home, I finish up what little I had left for homework. Jennifer is nowhere to be seen. Annalise is dry, and looking mighty fine. I did a darn good job! Shoot yeah! I decide to finish some chores around the farm for Mr. Hyde when the sun starts to look like it’s going down. Where has the day gone?

The front porch light is on, and the screen door is shut
. I hea
r
Misty’
s
unmistakable, dictatorially-toned voice, which makes me look over my shoulder. There, parked between the large oak and willow tree, is the F-150. She is arguing w
i
th Mr. & Mrs. Hyde about needing to practice for graduation.

“I know, you’d think we were singing the National Anthem at the super bowl or NASCAR or something,” Shane said with just as much reverence in his voice as in my mind.