‘Probably Charleston,’ Lydia said with a scowl.
Jackson laughed, nodded in agreement and the twins walked on, their fragile truce restored. But I didn’t follow. I was far too busy watching the little girl in the white frilly dress and ringlets press her nose up against the glass of the top-floor window and wave again before slowly but surely fading away.
‘Welcome to Forsyth Park,’ Lydia said before spinning around in a huge circle with her arms outstretched. ‘My favourite place in all Savannah.’
The park was beautiful, lots of people and wide open footpaths, the sound of happy voices in the air. It was just what I needed to shake off Lydia’s ghost stories. The twins were both wrong, I decided, after prising myself away from the Benjamin Wilson House. Someone had to be living there. Just because they hadn’t seen the girl in the window, didn’t mean she didn’t exist.
Like the rest of the city, Forsyth Park had more than its fair share of trees and the trees had more than their fair share of Spanish moss, but it was less hemmed in than the carefully planned-out squares, sprawling on and on and on. In front of us was an enormous fountain with cool streams of water arcingout from the sides. If it weren’t for all the people lined up to pose in front of it for photos, I’d have been tempted to jump in. There were so many people in the park, seniors taking a stroll, teenagers moving in packs or sunbathing on blankets, and harried-looking parents chasing after little kids, high on the thrill of being outdoors. A little girl with her hair in pigtails ran past us and I felt an involuntary shudder, thinking of Benjamin Wilson’s daughter.
‘The buildings around the park are some of the best examples of Savannah’s classic architecture,’ Jackson said, pointing across to a large building with a lot of windows and what looked like even more columns. ‘That was Savannah’s first hospital. It’s part of SCAD now.’
Was that where my parents had met? Or where Wyn was taking his classes? I hadn’t mentioned him to the twins. I could tell Lydia maybe but not Jackson. I was still building up my immunity to his charisma.
‘But the best thing about Forsyth Park,’ Lydia said, ‘is our grandmothers don’t come to Forsyth Park.’
‘Why not?’
Lydia answered first. ‘They don’t leave the historical district.’
‘NOGS,’ Jackson added. ‘They are strictly North of Gaston Street only and they’re the last of a dying breed. I swear, they’d both be happier if they could turn back time and live in the nineteen hundreds. Our grandmother gets worse every day, last week she asked me if I was courting anyone.’
‘I’m surprised she hasn’t gone full Scarlett O’Hara and made me a gown out of the drapes,’ Lydia mimed a swoon, hand pressed to her head. ‘It’s the twenty-first century and she still looks like she’s going to faint clean away every time she sees me in jeans. At least Catherine dresses pretty cool. For an old person.’
‘I’m pretty sure Catherine’s only in her late fifties,’ I replied.
‘Ancient.’ Lydia paused and reached for a strand of my hair. ‘Hey, did you get streaks?’
‘No?’ I replied, checking the same strand myself. She wasn’t wrong, there was definitely a red tint. ‘Must be the sun.’
Jackson led us across the grass and safely out of the way of a runaway toddler on a tricycle. ‘It suits you. Like that accent of yours. Half the time you sound like you’re Savannah born and raised and the rest of the time it’s full-on Downton Abbey. So cute.’
‘What? No, it’s not cute,’ I rambled, quickly falling back into old, awkward habits at the first sign of a compliment. ‘My dad never lost his southern accent but I picked up bits and pieces everywhere I went. You two have the best accents, mine is a mess.’
‘You like my accent?’ he asked, hitting me with another sleepy-eyed smile.
‘Jackson Charles David Powell, we have talked about this.’ Lydia swatted at the back of her brother’s head then slid her arm protectively through mine. ‘You do not have permission to make a move on my new friend.’
‘She’s my new friend too,’ he said, trying to smother a guilty chuckle. ‘I can’t help it. Supposedly, I get the rizz from our bio-dad.’
It was tough for me, knowing I had two parents who were both gone but I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to know your father was out there somewhere, still alive, but not part of your life.
‘Have you ever tried to find him?’ I asked.
Jackson shook his head. ‘Why would we? He never came back to look in on our mom.’
‘Hit it and quit it,’ Lydia confirmed. ‘I don’t need that kind of energy in my life.’
‘All we know is he was a charming Black artist who camethrough Savannah seventeen years ago,’ her brother added. ‘We don’t know his date of birth, he lied about his name and the number he gave Mom was for a burner. Even if we did want to find him, we don’t have anything to go on.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘Don’t be, I’m happy with what I have.’ He looked over at his sister and rolled his eyes as she flipped effortlessly into a handstand and walked across the grass on her hands. ‘Most of the time.’
‘This is the best part of the park,’ Lydia announced as we passed a noisy playground and approached a quieter, white-walled structure. Behind tall plaster columns and wrought-iron railings was a park within a park. The same looping footpath in miniature and dozens of different flowers and plants. There was even a tiny fountain in the middle.
‘It’s a fragrance garden,’ she said, running her hand over the railings. ‘The people who take care of the park planted all these cool flowers that smell good and have interesting textures, and all the signs are in braille so everyone can enjoy it.’
‘I don’t know if enjoy is the right word,’ I said, almost choking on the overpoweringly sweet scent of the garden. It was like walking into the perfume department of ten different department stores at once. ‘It’s a little intense.’
