‘Just in case you’re not feeling it,’ I said, holding out a white paper bag, already beginning to turn transparent from the greasy goodness inside. ‘I brought a bribe.’
My best friend’s eyes popped open and she snatched the bag from my hand, sticking her nose in and inhaling deeply.
‘Em, you know I would follow you through the gates of hell for a fried chicken biscuit,’ she declared. ‘But please don’t hold me to that.’
The Colonial Park Cemetery was busy. No matter how high the temperature soared, Savannah’s tourists never failed to ignore the memo about staying out of the heat, continuing to bop around town in their belted chino shorts and slip-on Skechers, damp patches appearing on the back of their popped-collar polos. I had slathered myself in sunscreen and put on a flowing blue slip dress that touched as little of my body as possible, my hair clamped in a claw clip on the top of my head.As with everything else, Lydia managed the sun in her own vibrant way; her fluffy black curls were held back from her face with a stretchy fabric headband that matched her neon pink tube top and bike shorts.
After the incident in my room, I’d spent the rest of the night in the parlour, staring out the window and willing the sun to rise. But even magic as deep as mine couldn’t hasten the dawn. While Ashley dozed on the sofa, insisting she was awake every time her snoring woke her up, I kept my eyes on the sky, impatiently waiting for the hazy pinks and lavenders of dawn. Candles burned out. Electric lights failed. I needed the safety of sunlight to chase away the shadows, and anything or anyone who might be lurking within.
I messaged Lydia before the sun rose and as soon as the two little blue checkmarks appeared next to my message, I was up and out the house, banging on her front door ten minutes later.
‘It is too darn hot,’ she said, turning her face up to the sun to bask in its savage rays. ‘I’m sweating worse than a hooker in church on a Sunday.’
‘Can’t think why my dad never shared such a pretty southern saying with me,’ I said. ‘To think your grandmother wanted you to be a debutante.’
‘My grandmother wanted me to be a lot of things,’ she returned with a dark look. ‘She’s learned to live with the disappointment.’
With the sun directly overhead, we walked across the grass towards an elm tree and Lydia flopped down to the floor, melting under its leaves and branches. I knelt beside her, pressed my palms into the earth and blew a gentle breath out through pursed lips. The softest of breezes sprang up around us, brushing against my skin before ruffling her curls.
‘Does that help?’
She relaxed against the grass and exhaled a blissful sigh.
‘My own portable air conditioner. How did I ever survive without you?’
‘Pretty well, as I recall. One hundred per cent fewer Sleeping Beauty moments in your pre-Emily past.’
Ignoring my comment, she tore into the bag I’d given her, pulling out the wax-paper-wrapped chicken biscuit sandwich. A couple in matching Georgia Tech T-shirts shot us filthy looks as they hurried by, the sounds coming out of Lydia’s mouth not entirely suitable for a public audience.
‘You know it causes me physical pain to say anything nice about your aunt,’ she said, her huge brown eyes rolling in ecstasy. ‘But she should really think about opening a restaurant. This biscuit is even better than Virginia’s.’
It was high praise. Lydia’s grandmother was almost as famous for her baked goods as she was for her old-fashioned southern manners and perpetual state of hypochondria.
‘She’s been trying to teach me how to make them but mine never turn out as good as hers,’ I said as I started on my own sandwich. ‘She says my hands are too hot.’
Lydia clucked in response.
‘Makes sense that hers would be ice-cold. Seriously, Em, you couldn’t find another single soul in this city to save my life? Not that I’m not grateful but she’s going to hold it over me forever, which is, not to exaggerate, almost worse than spending the rest of my days in a catatonic state.’
‘And there I was thinking how well the two of you have been getting along lately.’
She looked at me as though I’d suggested the sun was green.
‘Last time I came calling, she was watching some old movie and I was trying to be nice, so I said she looked just like the leading actress. And she told me that I reminded her of one of the cast ofDune.’
‘That’s hardly an insult.’
‘She meant the worm.’
A piece of chicken caught in my throat as my laughter turned into a coughing fit, Lydia banging me between my shoulder blades as I swallowed it down.
‘I still think it’s a big step up from where you were before,’ I said, swiping at my wet eyes with a napkin. ‘The two of you will be besties by Christmas.’
‘I’d say stranger things have happened but, knowing everything I do, that would be a lie.’ She popped the tab on a can of Coke and settled down with her back against the tree, looking out over the cemetery. ‘You know we were never allowed to hang out here when we were kids. Virginia calls this place “the Devil’s Sandbox”.’
‘Well, that’s not creepy at all. Any specific reason?’
‘It’s haunted.’
