There was complete silence as each of them stared at me, their expressions impossible to read. Then, almost in unison, they laughed.
All but Whit.
“Oh, honey,” June said, patting my hand. “It’s Savannah.Everywhereis haunted.”
“Lord,”Chase added. “I thought you meant we had rats or something. I was about to be worried.”
They chuckled again and returned to their food.
I scanned their faces. Not a single one of them looked surprised or even concerned. Did they already know about the women? About David? When I’d asked Pearlie and June about him before, they’d waved me off like Henry had imagined his new friend.
Sensing my bafflement, Merilee leaned over and gave me a hug with one arm. “Don’t worry, Zellie-girl. We’ve all seen a ghost or two in our time.”
I glanced at Whit. His gaze locked with mine again, steady and unflinching, as if silently assuring me in his quiet, attentive way, that he understood my concerns, that he could feel the panic just under my skin even from several feet away and wasn’t about to dismiss it so easily.
Of course, unlike the others, he’d witnessed an incident first-hand. He’d seen the kitchen after David had torn it apart.
So then why didn’t he say anything? Make them understand that this wasn’t something I could laugh off like they did?
Then I realized—maybe because I hadn’t been completely honest withhimabout the seriousness of the situation. I’d waved it off, downplayed what had been going on because I didn’t want him to think I was crazy.
I dutifully ate my dinner and tried to pay attention to and enjoy the after-dinner conversation as we moved out to the patio so Henry and Addie could play and so Junior and Earl could enjoy the cigars that their wives refused to allow them to smoke indoors. Merilee made her excuses after a while and left with a plate of food for Ms. Netty, with Chase in tow with food for Billy Wayne and Kitty.
“I’m surprised not to see Billy Wayne and Kitty here,” I told Pearlie. “And I haven’t seen Mr. Dean since his party.”
“Mmhmm,” Pearlie replied, nodding. “Kitty’s having some complications, so she’s keeping mostly to her bed. And Billy Wayne is working extra shifts at the docks, from what I understand from Iris.”
So maybe I wasn’t the only one at Dawes House who wasn’t living comfortably. It seemed odd that Iris would be privy to the Wrights’ financial situation, but I supposed it made sense for Iris to know everyone’s comings and goings since she ran the apartment building. But there was still something odd about what Pearlie shared that nagged at me.
“And, well,” Pearlie continued, “Mr. Dean has never been particularly social in his old age. He was quite the catch back in the day, but he didn’t handle aging very well. Some people don’t, I suppose. Vanity knows no boundaries.”
“Here you go, y’all,” Earl called, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Bringing out the good stuff for a little after-dinner digestif tonight, Junior?”
Junior chuckled and held up a decanter of a deep purple wine. “You’re gonna have to try this elderberry wine, Zellie,” he said. “It’s my own recipe.”
“You shouldn’t force it on her, Junior,” Whit said, his tone taut with disapproval.
I cast him a confused look but then smiled at Junior. “I’d be happy to try it!” I told him. “I’ve never had elderberry wine.”
“There you go!” Junior said to Whit.
I politely accepted the glass of wine he handed to me and took a sip, letting the delicious liquid flow down my throat.
“You might want to let that breathe,” Whit said softly near my ear. The nearness of him, the warmth of his breath, brought goosebumps to my skin.
I took another sip to divert my attention from the effect he had on me. “This is unbelievable,” I said, licking an errant drop from my lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything like it.”
Something flared in his eyes, but he dropped his gaze before I could catch more than a glimpse. “Yes,” he said, savoring a sip from his own glass. “Junior is quitethe artiste. But don’t overdo it. His wines are particularly strong if you’re not used to them.”
Despite Whit’s warning, I somehow found my glass refilled time and again and finally had to set it aside to keep from being tempted.
I don’t recall being tipsy. It was more a sense of peaceful euphoria and hyperawareness. The flowers in the garden were brighter and more vibrant than I’d ever seen. The breeze kissed my bare arms, the light caress both sensuous and erotic. I could hear every sound with disorienting clarity—the crickets chirping, the noise of traffic a few blocks away, the tolling of the bells at the Cathedral. No, “tipsy” isn’t the right word for what I experienced. I had never tried drugs, but I imagined this is what it was like to be “tripping balls.”
And through it all, I was acutely aware of Whit—his voice, his warmth, his scent, the way his hand hovered near the small of my back, close enough to make my pulse spike but not touching me until I leaned in the tiniest bit. And then the slight pressure of his fingertips as he curled me into him stole my breath.
“Are you alright?”
I turned toward the voice and had to blink a few times before her face came into focus.
