The Final Storm, page 4
“It’s a graduation gift, Charlotte. I know how anxious you are to make a new start. Sally and I thought we could help. Not having children of our own, both of us have always thought of you as our surrogate daughter. I thought you knew this.”
Mr. Baker would’ve been the perfect father, too. He wasn’t ordinary-looking like most men she’d been around—teachers, customers. He was tall, with eyes the color of rust, and a headful of hair a shade darker. He was a fine-looking man. Charlotte thought he was distinguished the first time she met him. And Mrs. Baker, too. Petite, with her blond hair shaped in a perfect bob. They didn’t look like the image of small-town business owners. More like hot-shot Miami professionals. From the first, she was slightly in awe of them.
Tears welled in her eyes. Charlotte shook her head. “You don’t need to do this, Mr. Baker. Really. I plan on finding work as soon as I’m in Savannah. I’ve saved enough for a few weeks’ stay in a hotel.” It was a very grungy hotel, but still, it would be a roof over her head.
“I insist, Charlotte. Please,” he pleaded. “It’ll make things easier for you.”
He was right. “I don’t deserve this, Mr. Baker.”
“You do, kiddo. Trust me.”
She did trust him. More than anyone. Knowing this, she nodded. It would be an insult to refuse his gift. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, allowing a single tear to river its way to her cheek and land on her light green T-shirt. He took a hankie from his pants pocket and handed it to her.
Blotting her eyes, Charlotte was unsure if she should keep the handkerchief or give it back to him.
He must’ve read her mind, because he said, “You don’t have to say anything, Charlotte. I’ve put you on the spot, and I apologize. Keep the hankie. I have more.” His eyes twinkled, and he walked away, but before getting into his car, he said, “You’re always welcome to stay with me and Sally when you come back.”
She nodded, knowing she would never accept his offer, because as soon as she left the state of Florida, she had no plans to return. She stayed on the porch until his car was out of sight.
And now here she was in Savannah, Georgia, with a decent room rented courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Baker—along with the check, the card also contained a tiny slip of paper with an address. The Bakers had made arrangements for her to stay at Mrs. Wilkinson’s boardinghouse as long as she needed. Recalling their care and generosity brought on a rush of emotion. She would always remember their gift to her.
Charlotte had researched the boardinghouse and learned that most of the tenants were students. It was the perfect transition to dorm life. She already had her dorm assignment. She would be staying in a building called The Hive. There were tons of rules she would be expected to follow, but they were all fine by her once she’d read through all the details. Freshmen weren’t allowed to have a car their first year, but she was fine with this, as she’d never owned a vehicle. She planned to save enough in her freshman year so she’d have a car by her sophomore year.
The taxi driver stopped in front of a beautiful three-story red-brick home. She took the slip of paper with the address of the boardinghouse.
“Are you sure this is Mrs. Wilkinson’s boardinghouse?” she asked the driver. When he turned to look at her, she saw he was only a few years older than herself. She hadn’t paid him much attention, as she’d looked out the window for most of the drive.
“Yep. Pretty fancy, huh?”
Pretty fancy wasn’t descriptive enough, she thought, as she removed some money from her wallet. “Yes, it’s stunning,” she said. “Thanks for the ride; I appreciate it.” She gave him twenty dollars for the ride and ten for a tip.
“Thanks. If you need a ride in the future,” he said, handing her a small business card, “call me. I’m available twenty-four-seven.”
Charlotte read the name on the card. “Thanks, Tyler. I will,” she said, before opening the car door. Lifting her duffel bag onto her shoulder, she looked at the mansion in front of her.
Located in the historic Oglethorpe Square, the red-brick exterior was surrounded by lush magnolia trees. The three-story house had a wraparound porch with rocking chairs, benches, and several small tables scattered around. Flowers in painted pots, large and small, reminded her of an English garden. As soon as she stepped inside the house, the smell of gardenias overpowered her.
Expecting the inside to be the equivalent of a male locker room, she was surprised that the front room was filled with modern furniture, brightly colored pillows on beige leather sofas and chairs. Standing there in the middle of such luxury—at least, this was luxurious to her—she felt overwhelmed; the old hotel she’d found on the Internet was more suitable for her. This was too much.
“Hello, you must be Charlotte,” a woman with a true Southern accent said. Charlotte looked up and saw a striking woman, smiling and coming down the grand staircase. “I’m Lynette Buckley. Sally told me you’d be here today.” So, this woman knows Mrs. Baker? When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she practically glided across the shiny oak floor. She wore a long white skirt with a slit up the side and a pink top. Silk, Charlotte knew, from her knowledge of textiles and her artistic eye. The woman had thick white hair cut into a shapely short style that suited her, although Charlotte didn’t think she was old enough to have white hair. Still, this made her even more beautiful, contrasting with her thick black eyelashes and hazel eyes. Charlotte had the sudden desire to paint her. Painting wasn’t even her thing. She knew Lynette Buckley would also photograph beautifully.
Charlotte felt so out of her depth that words and proper manners escaped her. “Uh, yes. It’s great to be here,” she stammered. How freaking lame, she thought, as the elegant woman held out her hand. Charlotte shook the proffered hand, noticing how perfectly Lynette Buckley’s nails were polished in a pale pink that matched her blouse.
“I’ve just made iced tea; I hope you’ll join me. It’s so darn hot today. Makes me wish I was a nudist on days like this”—Lynette laughed—“but don’t tell Sally. She’d have a fit.” How exactly did Lynette and Mrs. Baker know each other?
Other than Mrs. Baker, Lynette Buckley was the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen. Visions of her mother, with her tacky purple blouse and her foul perfume, were so opposite of this woman, she couldn’t help making the comparison.
Certainly, the boardinghouse was a stark contrast to what she had imagined. Lynette Buckley, the owner (or host—Charlotte wasn’t quite sure), had decorated the place with paintings and pottery, giving it a charming and elegant atmosphere. As Charlotte looked around in awe, she noticed how well-maintained everything was, from the shiny oak floors to the carefully cared-for leather furniture. But what captivated her most was Lynette herself—kind, gracious, and undeniably beautiful. For the next six weeks, this would be Charlotte’s home.
“You must be shy,” Lynette said.
Charlotte didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t shy, just out of her league. She smiled. “I’m not bashful, just new to all of this,” she told Lynette. “It’s perfect.”
Lynette laughed, a deep throaty laugh, sounding like someone who’d smoked her entire life. “I try to keep this place decorated with artwork from the students. I think it’s nice, too. Let’s go have tea; then you can tell me all about yourself.”
Charlotte trailed behind Lynette, her eyes widening as she stepped into the kitchen. The room was a modern marvel, with sleek cabinetry and state-of-the-art appliances. She felt a pang of envy, considering the dilapidated state of the house she grew up in.
“Here, you can keep your duffel bag in this corner for now,” Lynette said, gesturing to a space near the door.
“Thanks,” Charlotte replied, setting her bag down before turning her attention back to the room. “This is stunning,” she murmured, feeling a mixture of admiration and longing well up inside her. One day she’d have her own home, and it would be as beautiful as Lynette’s.
Lynette took a pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator, along with two glasses, which surprised Charlotte.
As if she’d read her mind, Lynette said, “It’s a Southern thing here in Savannah. Cooling the glasses keeps the tea cold longer. It gets so hot and humid in the summer; we do whatever we can to stay cool,” Lynette explained.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Charlotte said, and she would do this, too, when she had a home of her own. She took a drink of the sweet tea and started to cough. She’d never had tea this sweet.
Lynette grinned. “Too sweet?”
Not wanting to be rude, Charlotte fibbed, “No, I’ve just had a bit of a sore throat. I’ve been drinking lots of hot drinks.” She didn’t want to hurt Lynette’s feelings.
For the next hour, Charlotte and Lynette went over the rules, which were minimal for a bunch of college students. Lynette also shared a bit about the boardinghouse’s history. She told Charlotte the home had been in her mother’s family for over a hundred years. She’d inherited it several years ago, but knowing that many generations ago her ancestors were slave owners, and slaves built the place, she decided to do something to give back to the community. She was torn between turning the house into a bed and breakfast or a boardinghouse. She chose the latter. “This place was always called the Wilkinson’s house; that was my mother’s family name. I kept it because I honestly didn’t want my married name associated with the terrible history when folks bought and sold people like it was nothing.”
Charlotte didn’t know she was married. “Does your husband work here, too?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Almost instantly, Lynette’s hazel eyes teared up. “I lost my husband three years ago. I get weepy now and then.”
“I’m so sorry,” was all Charlotte could say.
“Thank you, sweetie; it’s hard sometimes. I get carried away, as you’ll soon discover while you’re here. Now, enough of my babbling. Let me show you your room. You can unpack, and if you want, you can join us in the dining room later this evening. We serve supper promptly at seven o’clock every day except Sunday. You can meet the other students if they decide to show up for dinner, which they always do.”
Charlotte was surprised. “You cook for everyone?” she asked.
Lynette laughed, sounding like one of those actresses in the old black-and-white movies Charlotte watched late at night when she was bored. “Not hardly, but I enjoy puttering around the kitchen. We have a catering service. It’s included in with the room.”
“That’s so kind,” Charlotte said. At home, she usually tossed a frozen pot pie in the oven or grabbed a hot dog from the convenience store. Her mother rarely shopped for groceries, let alone prepared a meal. She’d grown up on processed food. Feeling like she was entering a new world, a new beginning, she smiled to herself.
Following Lynette’s graceful stride, Charlotte entered the dining room. The room was adorned with elegant furniture, including a grand antique table that could easily seat twenty people. A matching sideboard, intricately carved with designs of leaves and flowers, stretched across the entire wall behind the table. “This is where we set up for supper,” Lynette said, gesturing toward the sideboard. “It’s like a buffet, though I like to think the food is much better than just any old buffet.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but grin. She had frequented Lo’s China Buffet with Rhonda and knew that even the most mediocre meal would be an improvement from their usual fare of deep-fried wontons and fake crab meat. Hunger didn’t discriminate.
“I’m sure it’s perfect, like everything else here,” she said sincerely. This boardinghouse exuded luxury, and she could already feel herself becoming attached to it. It would be bittersweet when it was time to move into her dorm.
“Let me show you to your room. You probably want to freshen up, unpack, and get acquainted with everyone,” Lynette suggested, then laughed and said, “Or not.”
Charlotte grinned again and followed Lynette up the grand staircase to the third floor. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, and the steps creaked under their weight. At the top, they were met with two hallways, each branching off in the opposite direction. “I saved the best room available as soon as Sally called,” Lynette explained, as she delicately retrieved a set of keys from her skirt pocket. “So far, I only have four students, five counting you. I just knew there was a reason for me saving the best for last.”
She began to feel self-conscious, knowing she’d been the topic of their conversation. She felt her cheeks flush, but quickly composed herself and remembered her manners. “Thank you, that’s incredibly kind,” she said sincerely.
With a gentle push, Lynette opened the door to reveal Charlotte’s new room. As Charlotte stepped inside, she was struck by its immense size; she was certain that at least half of her former house in Bonita Springs would fit comfortably within its walls. She eagerly took in every detail while Lynette stood by the door—waiting for her to comment, Charlotte presumed.
“I’ve never seen a room quite like this before,” Charlotte exclaimed in awe and truly meant it. The elegant furnishings and ornate decorations displayed opulence and sophistication. It was a far cry from her humble upbringing and current financial struggles. For a minute, she wished she’d stayed at the grungy hotel. If she broke something here, she was sure Mrs. Baker would be responsible for its replacement.
“That’s a true statement, Charlotte. When I lived here as a young girl, this was my room. Same furniture, although I replaced the mattress a few weeks ago. I use a private linen service, so once a week you’ll have to strip the bed and leave your sheets in the hall. If Marlene has time, she’ll make your bed, but if not, the job is yours.”
“Of course,” she said, wondering exactly who Marlene was. This old home with its history made her think of a scullery maid from one of Rhonda’s romance novels, or possibly that old black-and-white TV show Hazel that she’d watched on late-night television.
Lynette read her mind. “Marlene is a friend of my mother, who spends three days a week working here, just to stay busy. She’s like family.”
Charlotte thought of Rhonda and Mr. and Mrs. Baker. “Friends are sometimes better than family.” She hoped she wasn’t out of line saying this to Lynette.
“That’s true. Families can be difficult; I’ve had some issues myself. My father was quite the brute, but that’s a story for another time. Just let’s say that I wouldn’t have made it through my childhood without my dear friend, Sally. She’s really more like a sister to me.” Again, Charlotte thought of Rhonda.
“I’m really glad you’re here, Charlotte,” Lynette said sincerely, locking eyes with her new guest. “You’ll love this place once you get settled in.”
As soon as Lynette left, Charlotte explored her new room. She carefully climbed onto the high, four-poster bed and looked around at the beautiful antique furniture. She wondered just how old it was. She wondered if Lynette and Mrs. Baker had sat on this very bed, sharing their childhood secrets. She’d ask Lynette when the timing was right.
Across from the bed, a matching chest of drawers caught her eye. She opened each drawer, imagining how she would organize her limited clothing. It was a relief to have left most of her old clothes behind; she couldn’t wait to explore the thrift stores in town and add some new pieces to her wardrobe. She unpacked her duffel bag, barely filling two of the small drawers. She was surprised to find the bathroom was ultra-modern, just like the kitchen. Obviously, this wasn’t original to the home, but she guessed Lynette couldn’t operate a boardinghouse without up-to-date plumbing.
Once she had settled in, Charlotte planned on finding a job. She had saved up enough money to last a couple of months, but now that she wasn’t paying for a crappy hotel, she figured if she were frugal, her savings could last around four months.
Later that evening during dinner—or supper, as Lynette said—Charlotte met the four others who were staying at the boardinghouse. Michelle, a girl her age, would also be starting as her freshman year at SCAD, though she was studying textiles and painting. They clicked immediately.
Joan, who was at least a couple of years older, was tall and thin. Round wire-framed glasses added dimension to her long face. Not exactly pretty, Charlotte thought, but different.
Annabelle was in her second year of college, another SCAD student. Her dark skin glowed like burnished copper. Her hair was like tiny springs that coiled around her face. She was sweet, and Charlotte was sure they would be friends, too.
Then there was Drake, a giant bull of a guy, muscular and tall, with short brown hair. When he spoke in a soft, almost feminine voice, she knew he was most likely gay. Not that it mattered. He appeared shy, but kind.
For the next thirty minutes, they chatted. All were students of SCAD, so Charlotte felt she was in good company. Compared to her hometown, the energy here felt full of possibilities.
Chapter Six
As she strolled along Savannah’s famed Riverfront, several restaurants with HELP WANTED signs in their windows caught her eye. Charlotte considered stopping in, but without any waitressing experience, she assumed she’d have to keep looking. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try. Plus, this was her reason for waking up early. She needed a job.
Taking a deep breath, she walked into the first restaurant. The delicious aroma of baked bread enveloped her. After chatting with the manager and filling out an application, she left feeling optimistic. At the next restaurant, she went through the same routine.
To her surprise, after reviewing her application, the manager at the third restaurant—Teddy’s Seafood House—said, “You worked at Photo Mart all through high school. Looks like you’re a hard worker. Can you start tomorrow at ten-thirty? We don’t start serving until noon, but there’s a bit of prep work our waitresses take care of. The girls will show you the ropes tomorrow; then you’re on your own if you want the job.”
