Last Chance Book Club

Chapter 12


As a child, Savannah had attended the Watermelon Festival, held every year in midsummer. But she was ignorant of the other important celebrations that marked life in Last Chance.

She had never attended the Annual Egg Toss and Frog Jump Jubilee that occurred every year on the Saturday before Easter. And she had most certainly never gone frog hunting before.

But here she stood, clutching a flashlight and wearing a pair of oversized rubber boots that had once belonged to Uncle Harry, trying to keep up with her cousin and her son. They were walking along the trail off Bluff Road that skirted the old derelict Jonquil House, heading toward the swamp.

At night.

And the only reason she was here was because Dash and Todd had dared her to come. And she, like the idiot she often was, had risen to the challenge.

When would she learn? She should be back at home, cooking a casserole or something for the covered-dish Easter brunch that was held annually at the Baptist church after sunrise services. It was attended by every congregation in town. And, in addition to a bean casserole, Savannah wanted to bake an apple pie, just to prove the point that her crust was flakier than Jenny Carpenter’s.

But no. She’d opened her mouth at dinner tonight, and here she was.

“All right, now, son,” Dash said as they tramped along the path. “We’ll need to be quiet and listen to hear a bullfrog.”

“What does a bullfrog sound like?”

“Lord have mercy, boy, you really have been living in the city, haven’t you?”

Todd made no comment.

“It’s all right. I know what a bullfrog sounds like.”

It was at that point that Savannah noticed another light up ahead. “Uh, we’re not alone.”

“Of course we’re not alone. It’s the Friday before the frog jump. Practically every boy in Allenberg County between the ages of five and fifteen is out here with his daddy frog hunting.”

“I see. And you did this as a child?”

“Of course I did. Uncle Earnest brought me out here every year. He was a champion frog hunter. He even won the competition a couple of times, but he never entered any frogs in the national frog jump in Calaveras County. Which reminds me, Todd, you need to read the Mark Twain story.”

“Sure.”

They reached the edge of the swamp. On either side, flashlights were moving through the trees.

“All right now, son, the first thing you need to do is wet down your bag.” Dash aimed a flashlight at the water, and Todd dunked the bag.

“All right. Let’s listen for a minute.”

They fell silent, and sure enough, not more than ten seconds went by before they heard the unmistakable sound of a bull frog serenading the night in search of a mate.

Dash touched Todd’s shoulder and pointed. They circled the water’s edge to the right. The sound got louder.

“All right,” he whispered, “he’s right over yonder. We’ll need to wade into the water. You take the flashlight and kind of shine it along the edge of the water. When you see the frog, you have to be real quiet and move toward him, keeping the light on his eyes. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I’m not going into the water,” Savannah whispered.

Dash laughed. “Princess, I’m surprised you got this far. You stay here. We’ll do the huntin’.”

Dash and Todd slipped into the waist-high water, and all Savannah could think about was gators and water moccasins. She wondered if Dash was a gator wrangler, too.

Of course if a gator decided to eat her, Dash would be too busy frog hunting to notice. On the other hand, it was amazing what was happening to Todd. Everything she had wished for and hoped for was unfolding before her eyes.

And she would be an idiot not to realize that Dash was responsible. Todd was doing his chores, bringing home good marks in school, taking care of the dog, learning to ride a horse, and frog hunting. He was also getting taller and slimming down. He still played video games, but not all the time.

So maybe facing down her fear of snakes and gators was worth it, just to see her son fearlessly wade into dark waters intent on catching a frog for the big jump tomorrow.

The undergrowth rustled behind her, and her own fears sent a shiver right up her backbone. She turned to find a man-shaped shadow standing on the path behind her. Her skin went cold as scenes from The Creature from the Black Lagoon spooled through her mind.

She aimed her flashlight at it.

And it turned out to be only a man. Carrying a cat. Which seemed kind of strange here in the middle of what was turning into a community frog hunt.

“Ma’am,” he said.

“Hello.”

“I’m Zeph. I think Mr. Dash must have told you about me.”

“Oh. Yes.”

He took another step forward. “This here is Maverick.” He held out a very large, black cat. “He’s the best mouser I’ve got. He don’t need much attention either.”

Savannah didn’t want the cat. But she could hardly say no, standing there alone in the middle of a swamp. So she took the cat into her arms. It was heavier than she expected. It started to purr.

Suddenly she was ten years old, hanging out in the small apartment above the theater playing with Bogey, the black cat who lived at The Kismet. She hadn’t thought about that cat in years. Mom didn’t allow pets at home, so Bogey was the first cat she’d ever known. She had loved that cat.

This one settled right into her arms as if he belonged there.

She looked up at Zeph. He stood in the darkness now. “Thank you,” she said.

“I knew you and Maverick were going to be friends. He’s been waiting a long time to find a home.”

And with that, Zeph turned and walked into the darkness as if he knew the path so well he didn’t need a flashlight.

And that raised an interesting question: How had he found her out here in the dark? The answers that came to her were a little bit creepy.

Dash stood at the edge of the City Hall Park. The egg hunt was in full swing. Little kids with Easter baskets ran all over the place looking for plastic eggs, while the members of the sixth-grade Sunday Schools for five different churches ran after them providing hints.

The older kids had hidden the eggs this morning at o-dark-thirty, which had been kind of a challenge since most of them had spent the previous night frog hunting. It had practically taken dynamite to get Todd out of bed this morning. The kid thought frog hunting was “tight,” but Easter egg hunting not so much.

Dash and Todd had done okay last night. They’d caught three frogs, and a few hours of sleep, while Savannah had caught a big fat monster of a cat.

He smiled. Zeph was a piece of work.

He cast his gaze over the people in the park, searching for her. Savannah looked good enough to eat in her little blue dress. She stood behind a card table festooned with helium-filled balloons, handing out brownies and Rice Krispie squares. Her blond ponytail bounced as she talked.

She was cute. And built. And she believed in him, when everyone else seemed to be thinking he’d staged the whole snake rescue for some nefarious reason.

And that was a big breakthrough. Maybe what he was feeling for her was more than just an addiction. More than just lust.

And every time he allowed himself to think that way, it scared him silly. He could see that Savannah wasn’t like the blond bimbos he’d hung around with when he was playing in the majors. Those women were trouble. They were looking to party, and he’d been the original party animal. He couldn’t remember one of their names.

Savannah wasn’t a party girl. She was wholesome. She was a terrific mother, a dedicated niece, and a member in good standing of the Last Chance Book Club.

She was exactly like Hettie. Hettie was the Queen Bee, and Savannah was the princess. Dash had a weakness for royalty, evidently. Because he was falling in love with Savannah.

And love was the worst kind of addiction a man could have. Especially when the woman in question was destined for someone else.

He needed to keep his distance. It was the right thing to do, even if it was harder than staying away from Dot’s Spot.

He shifted his gaze, looking for the kid. As usual, Todd had disengaged. He stood by one of the big oaks at the back of the park. Watching.

Dash’s phone rang as he headed across the park toward the kid. One look at the caller ID had him tumbling right into the past. Condy Dombrowski, his erstwhile agent, hadn’t called in at least nine months.

He pressed the talk button. “Hey, Condy.”

“Dash. I’m happy to see you’re recovering.”

“How would you know that? We haven’t seen each other in more than a year.”

“Since yesterday when Sal Rizzo sent me an e-mail with a link to a YouTube video of you charming snakes.”

Oh, brother. “Yeah, well, I sure do wish Bubba Lockheart hadn’t posted that video. Or sent it to the local TV station. I had reporters from Columbia all over me for a solid day, asking a lot of embarrassing questions about my so-called career. And there are people who think I put those snakes in that theater just so I could be the hero.”

“I know. I saw the interviews. You’ve been sober for eighteen months, and your knee looks like it’s okay.”

“No, Condy, it’s not.”

“Oh.” Dash could hear the disappointment in Condy’s voice.

“What is it?” Dash asked, suddenly intrigued more than he wanted to be. His addictions took so many forms.

“Cincinnati might be looking for an experienced catcher for their single-A farm team.”

Single-A? Dash had never played single-A ball. He’d been drafted right out of high school, and the Astros had put him directly into their triple-A ball club. He’d only spent a year in the minors. Being told that there might be a spot for him in single-A was almost an insult. Condy was like a drug dealer, trying to gauge Dash’s desperation.

“I’m not biting, Condy, sorry.”

“Listen, Dash, I know it’s single-A, but Sal wants someone to bring the kid along.”

“The kid?”

“Jeez, Dash, don’t you read the sports pages? Dillon Taylor needs someone to teach him the finer points of the game.”

“Dillon Taylor has a ninety-nine-mile-an-hour fastball. He doesn’t need much more.”

“Yes, he does. Cincinnati wants an experienced catcher to work with him. It’s a way back in, Dash. Rizzo thinks highly of you. He knows you can manage a young pitcher, and the organization thinks you could teach a couple of their young catchers, too.”

“I see. Why don’t they hire me as a coach?”

Silence greeted him. Dash knew the reasons why. He would need to prove himself first. And from what he’d read, Dillon Taylor was a hothead with a big ego. This was probably the worst job anyone in baseball could offer him.

And the sad thing was that he wanted it. He wanted it the way he wanted a drink sometimes. “I’m not interested,” he said.

“Dash, come on, this is a great opportunity. You take on this kid, and you can prove to them that you’ve changed. This is a road map that might get you a coaching job. Sal told me he thought you could be a great teacher if you got your life together. He wants to give you a chance. He told me he’s a great fan of yours.”

Dash stopped and gazed at Todd. There was another kid who needed him. A kid who needed him more than some single-A ballplayer with a million-dollar arm. And even though Dash was trying hard to stay away from Todd’s mother, he was still coming to feel like God had put Todd in his way for a reason. Dash had something important to give that boy. The truth hit him hard, and something cracked inside his chest.

“Sorry, Condy, I can’t do it.” He pulled the phone from his ear and hit the disconnect button. And in that moment, a weight lifted off his shoulders.

Savannah stood in one of the large party tents set up in the parking lot of the First Baptist Church. The Annual Allenberg County Frog Jump was in full swing. Contestants bearing Tupperware containers filled with bullfrogs large and small were gathering and getting their competitor numbers.

Todd was set to jump his frog in the next group—the twelve-to fifteen-year-olds. Dash was giving him last-minute pointers.

“All right now, son, there’s a trick to handling a frog.” He picked up the slimy green amphibian in his gigantic hand while Todd watched. “See, you hold him with your thumb and middle finger, and you put your trigger finger right between his eyes. That kind of hypnotizes him or something.”

Sure enough, the frog hung there in Dash’s hand without wiggling or squirming.

“Tight,” Todd said, obviously impressed by Dash’s frog-toting knowledge.

Dash turned the amphibian over and massaged its stomach. The frog closed its eyes. Todd looked up into Dash’s craggy face with utter devotion.

Savannah didn’t know how to feel about this turn of events. Her boy was falling in love with Dash. And she could understand why. Dash went out of his way to spend time with Todd—whether it was playing Frisbee, or catching frogs, or playing with an iPhone fart app. And Todd behaved, just to please him. More than that, Dash had made himself a model that Todd wanted to emulate. Where on earth had this man come from?

“Okay, lemme try.” Todd reached into the Tupperware container and pulled out a great big, slimy frog. But he’d used perfect technique because the frog just hung there in his hand.

“That’s the way,” Dash said. “Now, when it’s your turn to jockey the frog, you have to drop him on the little starting circle and then you slap the ground behind him to make him jump. If you keep your left hand over his eyes until you drop him on the starting circle, the extra light will startle him, and he’s likely to jump further on his first hop.”

Todd nodded as Dash spoke, as if the man were sending him out to do something truly important. And maybe he was.

She stood stock-still. In that moment, Dash reminded her of Granddaddy. The way he was teaching Todd was just the way Granddaddy used to go about things. And then the truth registered in her head. Granddaddy had tried to do his best for two fatherless children. It had probably broken his heart to see the way Savannah and Dash had squabbled.

“Dash.” She said his name very softly.

He looked over his shoulder again. “What, princess?”

“I am truly, deeply, honestly sorry for the things I said back when I was ten. I was mean to you, and I think I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.”

He cocked his head. “Darlin’, you’ve already apologized, a couple of times. And I believe I have accepted your apology. So why don’t we just move on, okay?”

She nodded, only because her throat felt too thick to speak. If she could have spoken, she would have told him that this time her apology came from deep inside her heart. In the place where true forgiveness lives.

But she couldn’t quite say those words without breaking into tears. So she turned and walked away. Todd was in good hands. She’d go check on Miriam, who was hanging with her generation in the spectator tent.

She should have known that Bill would be hanging with a bunch of church ladies. He stood up from the lawn chair he’d been using when she reached the tent’s shade.

“Savannah, I was wondering where you were,” he said.

It was almost eighty degrees today, and Bill looked a little warm in his Roman-collared shirt and gray slacks. He presented a stark contrast to Pastor Mike of the Baptists, who had shown up to the frog jump wearing a green Kermit T-shirt and a pair of shorts. In fact, all the other ministers had shown up in shorts and golf shirts. Bill’s was the only backward collar in sight.

And there was the problem, right there.

Bill had been hanging out with the old church ladies, while the real men had been coaching a bunch of kids on the right way to pick up a bullfrog.

“Bill, have you ever touched a frog?” she asked.

His eyes widened. “Uh, yes, in biology.”

“I’m not talking about the dead, formaldehyde-soaked frogs we dissected when we were kids. I’m talking about a live frog. Have you ever participated in the frog jump?”

His cheeks were already kind of pink from the heat, so she couldn’t tell if her question had caused his blush to deepen. “Um, I can’t say as I have. Why?”

Savannah thought about the look on Todd’s face as Dash explained things. She thought about the Ultimate Frisbee games in the side yard. She thought about that fart app.

“I like you, Bill, but—”

“I like you, too, Savannah. In fact—” He reached into his pocket, and a moment later, he had a little black ring box in his hands.

“Uh, Bill,” Savannah said as her pulse spiked. The man was not going to propose to her here in public, with Lillian Bray looking on. Was he? “Maybe this is not—”

He popped the top on the box. A diamond ring winked at her from the black velvet lining. “You can hardly doubt that I’ve been working myself up to this,” he said. “You’ve truly captured my heart and my feelings.”

The idea that he had any deep feelings at all was kind of laughable. He was proposing publicly at a frog jump?

“And,” he continued, “as you can imagine, I’ve heard what your aunt has said, and I can see that you are truly the one that God has sent to me.”

Okay, she couldn’t let him go on any longer. As much as she loved Aunt Miriam, anyone in their right mind—especially the pastor of Christ Church—should realize that Miriam was suffering from some kind of dementia.

“Uh, Bill, you’re going way too fast. I appreciate the offer, but I’m not ready to get married again.”

Bill smiled, apparently undeterred. “I understand, perfectly. I know how it can be with someone who is divorced. But I am sure that eventually you will come around.”

Oh, boy. He was denser than lead, wasn’t he? “Bill, really, I’m absolutely sure that I’m not going to come around on this.”

There was a collective in-drawing of breath from the peanut gallery. Savannah suddenly felt like she was in one of those horrible dreams where you’re standing completely naked on a stage and everyone you know is in the audience judging you. A dozen blue-haired church ladies in lawn chairs had their mouths hanging open. Aunt Miriam, however, seemed to be looking off in the distance with a frown on her face.

“Uh-oh,” Miriam said.

The line of blue-haired ladies turned in Miriam’s direction. “Uh-oh?” Lillian Bray said. “Your niece declines our minister’s marriage proposal and all you can say is uh-oh?”

Miriam stood up. “Good Lord, Savannah, who let Champ out?”

At just that moment, screams came from the tent where the kids (mostly girls) who didn’t want to jockey frogs were decorating Easter eggs. Everyone turned in time to see a smallish dog jump up on the table, upsetting various pots of paint and dye. He barked happily as children screamed and bolted.

The dog apparently thought this was a wonderful game. So he hopped down from the table, upsetting it in the process and splashing dye and eggs in all directions. He raced after one cute little girl with her hair all in cornrows who led him right to the frog jump tent where her daddy was coaching her older brother.

Champ, it turned out, was going to grow up into a champion frog catcher. He made a beeline to the five-gallon buckets where the community frogs were staying cool. His tail wagged with joy as he nosed into each of the buckets. He barked happily and then upset three of them.

The suddenly freed frogs set about making a quick escape. They were real good jumpers.

The humans ran after them. They were not such good jumpers, and it has to be said that some of the adults in the crowd started cursing and swearing in a way that had the old ladies tittering like hens.

And Champion was having a heck of a time until Todd screamed at him and told him he was a big screwup. Suddenly aware that he’d misbehaved, Champ took off down Palmetto Avenue with his tail between his legs.

It looked like the excitement had exited along with the dog until one of the frog jockeys—a kid bigger than Todd—turned toward Savannah’s darling son and asked in a bellicose tone, “Was that your no-account dog?”

“Yeah. You wanna make something of it?”

The big kid apparently did because he hauled off and socked Todd square in the face. But Savannah’s boy didn’t go down. Much to Savannah’s surprise, Todd absorbed the blow, then tackled the larger kid and drove him right to the ground. Todd landed a pretty good punch to the kid’s face, and his assailant cried uncle.

Todd didn’t hang around after that. He stood up and took off down Palmetto Avenue in the same general direction as his dog. The bigger boy didn’t give chase; he was too busy nursing a bloody nose and crying.

That left Dash to do the job. And despite his knee injury, the man could still run pretty good.

“Savannah, I think this episode confirms that your son needs discipline,” Bill said.

Savannah’s hands formed into fists, and she might have coldcocked the minister if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of Claire White, dressed, as always, in a designer suit and a pair of pointy-toed pumps. She was accompanied by Mom, who wasn’t dressed nearly so well, but that hardly mattered, given the look on Katie Lynne Brooks’s face. Savannah’s mother and ex-mother-in-law had apparently joined forces.

“The reverend is correct,” Claire said in that imperious tone of hers. “Your son is out of control. And who’s to blame for that?” Claire didn’t stamp her foot. She didn’t have to. The little temper tantrum in her voice was sufficient.

Mom would have done well to keep her mouth closed. But she didn’t, as usual. “Good Lord, Savannah, didn’t I tell you it was a mistake to let Todd spend time with that man?”

“What are you two doing here?” Savannah said.

“We’ve come to take you back to Baltimore,” Claire said. “It’s clear we’ve arrived just in the nick of time.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Bill said, moving to Savannah’s side as if he were her knight in shining armor, ready to do battle with out-of-line grandmothers at a moment’s notice.

“I beg to differ,” Claire said.

“She’s going to be my wife, and I say she’s not moving to Baltimore.”

The church ladies erupted into applause with a few soulful “amens” supplied by the AME church matrons. Lillian said, “Atta boy, Bill. You tell her the way it’s going to be.”

Mom straightened her shoulders, her gaze shifting from Bill to Savannah and back again. “Is this true?”

There was no good answer to this question that wouldn’t leave Savannah torn and bloody. So she did the only sensible thing she could think of.

She took off at a run, heading down Palmetto Avenue in the same direction as Champion, Todd, and Dash. She hoped like hell that Todd’s grannies couldn’t run very far in their high heels. Bill, she figured, she could handle.

Maybe.