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CHAPTER 1
Memories
When Savannah Smith crossed over the Port Island Bridge, sun setting behind her, it wasn't to fall in love, not this time. Still her heart sped up, like always, when she traveled the tall curve connecting the island to the rest of the world. She wanted to go slow and remember.
"Feels like I can reach right up and touch Heaven," something Savannah remembered her grandmother saying whenever they reached the top of the bridge, all of creation spreading out below. It was as though seconds rather than years passed since those days of riding with her grandmother, windows down and sun shining.
Other memories stirred too. She and a boy she used to know also crossed this bridge, as children, stopping to look over into the dark water. Sometimes throwing pennies as far as they could, they would make wishes.
With penny in hand, her toll for a make-believe bridge tender, grantor of wishes, she waited until the last possible second; all the while thinking the gusty wind might bring it back to her or worse to the car behind. Then, she pitched it, making her wish, a wish not as selfish as those she made when she and the boy threw pennies from the bridge.
Sometimes, she and Nicholas would tell the other what they wished; and sometimes they would keep their wishes to themselves. Like their pennies, those wishes had long since disappeared.
The bridge didn't seem so tall anymore, the winding stretch of concrete and steel rose far above the world below, offering up a spectacular view that for a heartbeat seemed endless.
As late as it was, plenty of sunshine remained in the evening sky. Cloudless, a blanket of the softest blue spread itself in every direction and lay seamlessly on a sea of emerald. Rays of light danced their happy dance for those sunning themselves. Savannah could already feel the sand gathering between the toes of her bare feet and the warm ocean waves that danced in the distance.
As Savannah reached the end of the bridge, she was greeted by a traffic light. The light was new; everything else on the island looked unchanged: the beach road, service station, church, and the grocery store. It was like driving into a photograph.
Savannah would only be here a few weeks, long enough to put her grandmother's house on the market and then say goodbye to the island of her childhood memories.
Her grandmother's house wouldn't be hard to sell. Someone would buy it for the land. Too old fashioned, the house her grandmother loved so much, porch complete with rockers and swing, would be replaced by something modern.
Painted white, the sweet old home glowed in the evening sunlight as Savannah pulled into the driveway and parked under the live oaks she climbed as a child.
Three weeks in Port Island, with only memories to keep her company, was beginning to seem like a long time, even before Savannah pushed open the door of the lonely house.
"Closure," her friend and roommate Cindy said at dinner the night before. Cindy stayed behind to teach summer school, when Savannah waved goodbye leaving Asheville that morning and pretending to be excited.
The grass neatly trimmed and her grandmother's azaleas with lingering blooms, looked just as she remembered, as did the gardenias, camellias, and the hydrangeas, puffs of lavender and pink, a perfect backdrop for her grandmother's roses. From their thorny stems, bursting with color, roses of crimson and scarlet reached for the late afternoon sunshine.
Inside the house was just as Savannah remembered too, minus her grandmother. She prepared herself for this before making her way from room to room past watchful eyes in picture frames.
In the kitchen, her grandmother's apron hung like a memory on the knob of the broom closet. Savannah brushed away the first tear she cried in a long time, as through the kitchen window she watched tall grass dancing on the dunes. She could hear the hum of the old refrigerator which guarded the doorway leading to the side porch. In her grandmother's bedroom, an ancient clock radio filled the air with soft music, the kind Savannah remembered the two of them dancing to, her and her grandmother. She wondered if her grandmother ever danced when she was not there to take her hand and be swirled around.
"McBroom is not much of a dance partner," her grandmother told her once when she asked. Savannah supposed not, seeing the old broom leaning against the wall by the kitchen door.
Everything in the house worked: lights, water; everything but the air conditioner. It only clicked when Savannah switched it on, no cool air. It clicked again when she tried it a second time.
After a raspy voiced repairman told her he would get there as soon as possible, Savannah put away her phone and went about opening the windows, upstairs and down.
"Lord, doesn't that breeze feel good?" her grandmother would always say when the two of them took their places on the front porch. Now alone, Savannah sat watching curtains dance in the windows, like ghosts. In the late evening sunshine, a soft breeze was sweeping in from the ocean, across the dunes, and dressing itself in the fragrances of her grandmother's lilacs and gardenias, and her roses.
With the gentle breeze, came memories of those yesterdays and all the peas she shelled, beans she snapped, and corn she shucked sitting beside her grandmother in the porch swing.
The swing, hanging empty for so long, welcomed her like an old friend, creaking out a little hello as she began to push herself, barefooted, against the time smoothed floorboards of the porch.
In the distance the ocean rolling, called out as a lone egret spread its wings on its way across the evening sky. Lightning bugs, glowing little winged creatures, began dancing in the cool dusk air to the sound of cicadas.
Memories of stories her grandmother told her played themselves out as Savannah sipped iced tea, store bought, and not as good as her grandmother's.
CHAPTER 2
Therapy
As much as Savannah loved her grandmother's house, it too, would soon be a memory. Her life was somewhere else. This is only a visit, her last, she told herself as she slipped between the dunes.
The ocean and sky graying under the wings of a gull in the setting sun brought it all back, like rolling waves making their way toward land.
Beaches, like people, are not all that different from one another; strands of sand and sea, locked in the eternal dance of tides and listening only to the whispers of the moon.
After finishing her supper, something she picked up on the way in, Savannah switched on the porch light and followed the sound of the ocean. The beach lay empty. If not for her, the sun would go down alone. Shadows growing long were beginning to fade into the sand and the night, as she walked along the water's edge.
In cutoffs and her favorite t-shirt, Savannah reminded herself of the girl she used to be, cool foam swirling about her feet.
With the tall and bright colored houses watching over, she spread her towel on the soft, warm sand.
"Therapy," Savannah told herself, which must be working, not having many tears to dry.
Under the spell of night waves picking up the last bit of light as they spent themselves on the waiting shore, she remembered. Another lonely gull passed over and not having gone too far, banked itself against the wind as if to return, but it didn't. It disappeared. Sandpipers dotted the wet sand and after a while, disappeared too.
Music from a radio made its way from somewhere behind her, from one of the tall houses across the dunes. With the music, also came the sound of voices, laughter, and the smell of a charcoal grill mingling in the night breeze.
She would go for a swim in the ocean in the morning she decided, before making her way toward the porch light which began reaching out for her.
Sometime in the night, through the opened window of her bedroom, she heard the opening and closing of a door. She imagined it might be the neighbor man who waved at her earlier, on his way out of his driveway.
With the swaying sound of the ocean roll as company, her mind wandered backwards in time. She wondered who lived there now, next door, under the same live oaks which shadowed her bedroom from the moonlight now spilling through the curtains.
Wrapped in warm memories, Savannah smiled, thinking about the boy next door. She wondered what became of him; and what became of the girl she had been, the girl who used to lay in that bed waiting to slip out into moonlit nights?
Nicholas Jackson, no doubt, was long since gone from the little island and couldn't be the man who waved at her from the pickup, no way. Still, the thought of it being him passing by her grandmother's house that afternoon, made her heart skip a beat.
"Not in a million years," she sighed to the darkness and falling asleep before hearing its reply.
CHAPTER 3
Frozen Foods
The next morning, Savannah went for a swim in the ocean and it felt wonderful, warm ocean water and the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon. With the house already warm when she woke, she slipped into a swim suit and headed for the beach on the end of the island, by the pier. There were people there. The stretch of beach behind her grandmother's house could be lonely. Today, Savannah wanted people, and she wanted to be close to the waves and sunshine she remembered.
It was a beautiful day that lasted forever, the sun taking its time to cross the sky. Sandcastles and umbrellas and the smell of sunscreen and sea air stirred Savannah, as she watched, and remembered. Then, as sunset hinted its arrival, Savannah gathered her things and in the warm breeze made her way to the car. Thinking about supper, she wondered what she might find at the island's little grocery store.
The store looked just as she remembered with its electric doors that swung open like always. The shopping carts were in the same place too, only older and more stubborn.
Just another tourist, Savannah got the usual greeting from the lady behind the cash register. Shopping carts to the right, bread rack to the left, Savannah knew her way around. The place seemed smaller though, as she pushed back her sun glasses. This shouldn't take long, Savannah told herself before beginning to make her way up and down each aisle.
Just as she was beginning to make her way up the frozen food aisle, a voice reached out and grabbed her.
"Guess who?"
Soft and low, the voice behind her sounded vaguely familiar. Caught off guard and standing still, like she learned to do in self-defense class, her mind raced to remember. Then she smiled, eyes closed and her heart beating fast.
"I don't want you messing around with that Nicholas Jackson," the voice whispered again, this time closer to Savannah's ear.
"Hmmm," she managed smiling.
"Do you understand what I'm saying, young lady?"
"Yes ma'am, but he's so cute," Savannah demurred.
The voice behind her, now sounding grandmotherly, made Savannah's smile grow. She didn't want it to stop.
"Cute or not, you stay away from him. Jacksons and Smiths don't mix; never have and never will."
"But Grandma, Nicholas loves me."
"Those Jacksons will tell you anything, and he's a kid. What does he know about love?"
"Grandma, Nicholas says he wants to marry me, so we can make a house full of Jackson Smith babies and make you a great-grandma."
"Talk like that, young lady, and you'll be on the next bus for home," the voice said, slipping into the lower warm baritone.
"Does this mean I can't meet him tonight under the mimosa tree like we used to before you found out about us sparkin'?" Savannah pleaded.
"Absolutely not!"
Savannah opened her eyes not wanting this little charade to end. But it would. A very pregnant mother was pushing a shopping cart her way with a child following. Soon, Savannah would have to share the aisle.
Eyes closed again, Savannah remembered herself back dozens of summers.
"Not at eight o'clock tonight, when everyone's asleep?" Savannah wondered out loud, now playing along.
"No," the voice answered. This surprised Savannah, making her heart drop.
The pregnant mother with the shopping cart and child, now closer, watched as this little drama unfolded between the frozen peas and fish sticks.
"How about nine?" the warm southern voice behind her asked, the smile returning to Savannah's face. She turned around already knowing to whom the voice belonged, somehow expecting him to still be the skinny, freckle-faced, twelve-year-old she remembered. He wasn't; and here she stood fresh off the beach, wearing a cover up, flip-flops, and no makeup. Not knowing exactly what to do, she hugged him. He hugged her in return, a friendly hug.
"I prefer Manly Man frozen dinners," Nicholas Jackson grinned, holding up a frozen dinner. Savannah tried to smile.
He was in a hurry and she was glad, feeling frizzy haired and under dressed. Had she shaved her legs this morning? She couldn't remember. Wearing sunglasses, a baseball cap, and with a tape measure clipped on his belt, he looked like a construction worker. Not the Nicholas Jackson she remembered.
"Nine clock?"
"Yes. See you then," he said welcoming her back to the neighborhood before vanishing up the aisle.
Savannah, heart fluttering from her little encounter, continued making her way past the frozen food, taking her time. The mother and child pushed past her, disappearing too.
"I don't want you messing around with that Nicholas Jackson," she said to herself, smiling as she continued searching the frozen dinners.
Port Island Grocery, like the rest of the island, didn't like change. It carried the same small selection on the same few shelves she remembered from shopping there with her grandmother.
At least the produce is fresh, Savannah decided, picking out tomatoes, lettuce, mushrooms, peppers, and onions. She needed something healthy to go along with the Slim Lady frozen dinners in her shopping cart.
The bag boy was fresh too, asking her where she was from and about her perfume.
"Perspiration," she told him making it sound a little French. He looked confused.
Tired after a day of sun and waves, and carried away by her run in with Nicholas Jackson, she headed home. The big ball of fire in the sky was falling fast, and she had a date.
CHAPTER 4
Home
Home from the beach and Port Island, the house welcomed Savannah oven hot. After she emptied her shopping bags, she grabbed an ice cube from the freezer and ran it over her forehead, down her face, and around her neck. It melted before she got any farther with its coolness. With more ice cubes wrapped in a wash cloth, she headed for the shower, peeling off her cover-up and swimsuit as she went.
The cold from the ice cubes and the water spraying over her body made her forget the heat. Her grandmother's claw-foot tub sat next to the raised bathroom window. From there, she could see the back yard and the mimosa tree where her late-night rendezvous would take place. She smiled, wondering what she might say and which of them would speak first. For all she knew, he might be married. Not likely, though, not Nicholas Jackson. He would be wearing his ring.
Through the bathroom's opened door, Savannah heard her grandmother's clock radio. The radio scared her awake early that morning, turning on by itself and filling the house with the screeches of a fire and brimstone preacher. Again, like this morning, she followed the soft glow of its clock face, into her grandmother's bedroom and switched it off.
Like everything in her grandmother's house, the clock radio seemed to have a life of its own. The television turned on by itself too; and once it changed channels on its own. Not unusual. That sort of thing happened all the time when Savannah stayed summers with her grandmother.
Now out of the shower, Savannah stood in the darkness of her bedroom letting the warm evening breeze finish drying her. Then wrapped in her towel, she switched on the lamp and searched her suitcase for something to wear for her late-night rendezvous. She settled for a t-shirt and shorts.
CHAPTER 5
Still the Same
Nicholas Jackson lived next door. Over the years, when he crossed her mind, Savannah pictured him as going big places and doing grand things.
Nicholas was the first boy she ever kissed and the first boy she ever loved. He was the reason why, every summer, even before school ended, her bags were packed, ready to go to her grandmother's.
They were two skinny kids, covered in freckles and full of energy, him and her. Never a summer passed that he didn't have a new adventure planned for the two of them. And as hard as getting away from their grandparents was, they managed. It was part of the fun, she supposed, looking back. Grace Smith and Henry Jackson didn't like each other for a long time, a lot of summers.
The two would wave, "Good morning," or "Good evening," if the other one did it first. Otherwise, Henry Jackson stayed on his side of the azaleas and Grace Smith stayed on her side. Both worked in their gardens, going about their daily routines of soap operas, afternoon naps, and baseball games. Savannah and Nicholas watched their grandparents' drama of disdain for the other from under the mimosa tree, peeking from behind fronds that hid their blond hair and freckled faces.
Savannah's grandfather died at a young age leaving behind her grandmother. Nicholas's grandmother died young, too; and his grandfather returned to Port Island after retiring from the military. There, he settled in the house beside Savannah's grandmother. He grew up there, on the island, the same as Savannah's grandmother.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Sound of Heartbeats"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Edward Reed.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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