Prologue
MAGNOLIA
“You have to take me with you, Charlie,” I whined, sitting cross-legged on our Uncle Cole’s old, musty couch, playing with the fringe of my cut-off jean shorts. It was another one of those hot and unforgiving days in downtown Savannah, and my brother Charlie had just made his first friend since we moved here.
There’d be hell to pay if he didn’t let me tag along.
“You’re not coming, Magnolia! You’re so embarrassing. You cry all the time and look—gosh, Magnolia, stop crying!” Charlie tossed a box of tissues at me, and I blew my nose so hard my shoulders rattled. I could feel the telltale redness creeping across my eyebrows and nose. It would take all night to calm down.
I pulled out another handful of tissues and sighed dramatically. “I’m only crying because you said I cry all the time! You always have to be so mean to me. For no reason.”
The truth was, though, Charlie wasn’t a very mean big brother. He was actually a very gentle soul. His only fault was that he was moving on faster than I was. From the move to Savannah, from the threshold of childhood to teenager, from our parents dying and leaving us with our one and only surviving family member—a bar owner we barely knew with a smelly old couch and not a clue how to raise a couple of kids.
Charlie watched me closely, pacing back and forth on the dingy carpet of our apartment, and as he always did when I was stressing him out beyond belief, he ruffled his hand through his long, auburn hair. I watched as he let his guard down, relaxing his shoulders a bit as he remembered that he was pretty much all I had left in the world.?
“Alright,” he relented. “You can come.”?
I jumped up from the couch and wrapped my arms around his neck so tight he groaned.?
“But it’ll get scary and you can’t cry, no matter what, alright? I don’t want my only friend here to get scared away by you and your wide range of emotions.”
My wide range of emotions were pubescent angst and dead parents, but I wanted a friend, too, so I nodded in agreement. That evening, Charlie and I strolled through Chippewa Square with the sun setting at our backs. “Who’s this friend you’re so excited about anyway? You’re acting like he’s the pope or something,” I said, letting out a laugh so hard it led to a loud snort that echoed throughout the square.
Charlie rolled his eyes.
We were heading toward Jones Street, lined with nothing but million dollar townhomes. Not the kind of neighborhood Charlie and I lived in. Or belonged in.
“Lee Wilder,” he finally answered, stopping in front of a four-story mansion that was lit up like Christmas morning. The lazy front porch looked over the cobblestoned road, and every window in the house glowed with a faint yellow ember—cozy and inviting.?
“Your friend’s rich, Charlie,” I whispered harshly, plunking my grubby bottom on one of the lazy white rockers on their porch, leaving Charlie to knock on the Wilders’ front door. I figured if I was hidden away, I wouldn’t embarrass him so early on.?
“I think his dad’s a lawyer. His momma is an antique dealer. She’s working on the Mercer House right now.”
I shuddered. The Mercer house was the scariest place in Savannah. Wasn’t too long ago that Jim Williams, who owned the Mercer House, had dropped dead in the very spot where he shot his young lover, Danny Hansford, after an altercation.
“I’d never step foot in that spooky old house! You’d have to be dumb as a one legged possum wandering down a dark highway to go in there.” My voice was high pitched, but I stayed crouched down in my rocker, hiding out of sight.
“Well, I guess we’re pretty dumb then.” A boy no older than Charlie, but taller and more lean, stepped out into the light of the porch. He dangled a set of keys in Charlie’s face quickly before snatching them away, letting out a yelp. His early summer tan had brought out the paleness of his blue eyes and his dark-blond hair was kissed by the sun already. He had a smile stretched wide across his face that flashed straight, white, post-braces teeth flanked by deep, swoony dimples.?
The boy popped a dusty blue baseball cap on backward, letting a few wild curls escape at the sides, and my stomach twisted with that nervous energy you get when you really see a boy for the first time and start wondering what it might feel like to kiss him.
In an instant, I had my very first crush.
He extended a long, tanned arm toward me. “I’m Leland Wilder, but you can call me Lee. I’m dumb as a possum, but very pleased to meet you,” he drawled, throwing a wink at me.
I was helpless to do anything but shake his hand and smile.
We locked eyes, and he studied my face as he took in my freckles and my long, wild red curls. As he moved onto my ratty Salvation Army overall shorts and pink t-shirt, he let out a sigh, accompanied by a slanted smile.
“Well, I’m Magnolia Pruitt, and it was nice to meet you, but I’ll be going now. I’ll be sure to send some nice flowers to your parents when y’all bite the dust tonight.” I hopped off the porch in one leap, foregoing the steps all together, and started down the street as fast as my dirty Chuck Taylors could take me. I didn’t need someone staring at my mangled old clothes, wondering about what kind of life I had.?“See ya at home, Charlie,” I called behind me.?
I was halfway down the block when I heard hurried footsteps closing in on me. “You’re dressed for the occasion, though,” Lee said, breathless. He flashed me a big smile that sent my stomach into a tumble.
“Besides,” Charlie called from behind us, “who else is going to tell the story of the two bravest guys in Savannah taking on old Jim Williams’s ghost?!”
I snickered and moved on down the street, shoving my hands in my pockets. Charlie sauntered ahead of us, and Lee kept by my side. Every now and again, he would start to say something, think better of it, then shut his trap. He kept looking over at me, smiling, then back down to his feet.?
Whatever he was up to, if Momma was still alive, she would have told me to stay far away from it.
