Last Chance Book Club

Chapter 7


Savannah rolled the dough for an apple strudel. Thank God for Sunday supper. Cooking kept her mind off her problems.

Miriam sat in one of the old vinyl chairs at the kitchen table keeping her company. “Dash knows his way around a kitchen all right for a man, but he doesn’t do roast beef and homemade biscuits and gravy. Not to mention strudel the way Sally used to make it. I tell you, Sally’s strudel was the most delicious thing I ever tasted. I can’t wait.”

Savannah chuckled. “I’m glad you like my cooking.” And she hoped Miriam ate more than a few mouthfuls tonight. Earlier this morning, Savannah had had to help her braid her hair. The old woman was losing it, and Savannah was deeply worried.

“Oh, while it’s on my mind, you’ll need to set an extra place this evening,” Miriam said.

Savannah paused the rolling pin as her stomach flip-flopped. She had this horrible premonition that Miriam might be planning on setting a place for Harry.

“Who’s coming to dinner?” Savannah invested her voice with a casual air that any right-minded person would see through in a New York minute.

“Bill Ellis.”

Savannah turned around to stare at her great-aunt. “Oh, my goodness. You invited the minister to dinner?”

The old woman smiled at her out of a pair of mischievous eyes that looked half a century younger than the woman’s wrinkled face. “I most surely did. Sugar, were you even halfway conscious of the way that man looked at you this morning? I declare I had the feeling he addressed the entire sermon directly to you.”

Savannah started moving the rolling pin again. “Uh-huh, and as I recall, the sermon was heavily laced with admonitions on the wages of sin. Oh, Heaven help me. The last thing I need right now is a preacher bent on saving my immortal soul. I already have a whole legion of folks with notions about how I should live my worldly life.”

“Well, I don’t believe that’s precisely what he has in mind, although his sermon did wax poetic when it came to the sins of the flesh. I reckon the man’s just lonesome for some female companionship.”

“Aunt Miriam!” Savannah rolled her eyes in her aunt’s direction. “I can’t believe you just said that about the preacher.”

“Well, he is a man, and he’s looking for a wife, and I already know that you think he’s cute. The best thing about him is that he has a good appetite. Once Bill tastes that strudel, he’ll be back on a regular basis. The man has women all over Allenberg County cooking for him. But I reckon none of them, not even Jenny Carpenter, has Sally’s strudel recipe.”

Savannah let out a frustrated breath. “Aunt Miriam, we talked about this a few days ago. I’m not looking for a husband. For that matter, I’m not looking for a boyfriend. The last thing I want in my life is some man telling me what to think and what to do and how to be.”

“Is that why you’ve refused Dash’s help with the theater?”

Savannah leaned against the kitchen counter, staring down at the dough on Granny’s marble rolling board. She didn’t have any good answer for Miriam on that score. “I guess so.”

“Well, that’s just silly. Dash loved Earnest as much as you did. Besides, he has the money, and you can cook. It seems like a partnership that might be successful.”

“What does cooking have to do with it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was just thinking that maybe you could turn The Kismet into one of those dinner theaters where people come for a movie and dinner. That way you could cook to your heart’s content, and maybe you’d have something that the big multiplex up in Orangeburg couldn’t compete with. Because, honestly, your biscuits are amazing.”

Savannah turned and stared at her aunt. “That’s a brilliant idea.”

Miriam smiled. “And as for marriage, honey, you need to get to know Bill. A finer, more God-fearing man I have never met. And I have a feeling about you, and when I get one of my feelings, well, it usually means wedding bells in the future.”

“Aunt Miriam, you cannot seriously be trying to match—” The whine of a power saw coming from the general vicinity of the front porch interrupted her.

“Good God, what is that noise?” Aunt Miriam said.

“Stay here, Miriam,” Savannah directed as she sprinted down the hallway. The scene on the other side of the front door both pleased and upset her. There stood Cousin Dash in the unseasonably hot March sunlight, leaning over a table saw. He looked like the God of DIY wearing a pair of faded jeans, a tool belt, and not much more. Sweat darkened the band of his ball cap and the waistband of his jeans. It ran in glistening rivulets down his craggy cheeks and across his shoulders. A more masculine sight Savannah had not seen in many years.

Then she got a good look at her equally naked son, whose pale, and somewhat flabby, white skin was beginning to turn lobster red. Todd was not in his room where he was supposed to be. He was down on his knees with a crowbar, prying up the worn-out porch step. His puppy was there with him. Prancing and wagging and being infernally adorable.

Savannah opened her mouth, but before she could fire the first salvo in the continuing battle over the proper way to discipline a preteen, the screen door squealed, and Miriam shuffled out onto the porch. She scowled at Dash and shook a finger at him. “George Dasher Randall, just what do you think you’re doing to my porch? You know darn well that your Uncle Harry will have your hide for tearing up the step like that.”

“But Aunt Miriam, Uncle Harry is—” Todd started.

“Out helping Bobby Pine with his watermelon harvest,” Dash said before the boy could finish the sentence. Savannah watched the man’s eyes roll around as he cast his mental net to find some expanded explanation for a watermelon harvest in March. “Um, and Uncle Harry told me he wanted me to fix this rotten step before he gets back.”

“He did?” Miriam asked, her dark eyes growing wide. “Do you know what you’re doing? Harry can be mighty particular about work done around the house, you know.”

“Don’t you worry, Aunt Mim. I got a list of instructions written out by Harry. You want to see it?” Dash started in the general direction of the pickup truck in the driveway. He sold his lie like a professional tale teller.

Miriam waved a gnarled hand. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. But I declare, Dash, you nearly ’bout scared me out of my skin. You should have given me some warning before you started all that banging around. Now if y’all don’t mind I’m going to lie down for a spell. Savannah, I told Reverend Ellis that dinner was at six-thirty. Would you call me around five-forty-five so I can get ready?”

Savannah nodded, and the old woman turned and headed back through the doorway.

“Jeez, Mom, she thinks Uncle Harry is still alive,” Todd whispered once the door had closed behind the octogenarian.

The three of them stood there looking at each other, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Is that the first time she’s done that?” Savannah finally asked.

Dash nodded. “Right after Harry died, she kind of checked out for a little while, but she’s never forgotten something that important. She was fine before you got here.”

“She’s hardly okay. She hasn’t been eating well,” Savannah said.

“We need to get her to Doc Cooper’s. She’ll fight us all the way, though.” Dash pressed his lips together. “I think she worries about senility more than anything else, even falling.”

“I’ll see what I can do. She wants me to go to the Cut ’n Curl tomorrow. Maybe I can get the ladies there to put the idea in her head that it’s time for a checkup.”

He nodded.

“You should also know that she invited the minister for dinner. I think she’s got some crazy idea about trying to match me up with him.”

Dash’s eyebrow arched. “She told you directly that you and the minister were a match? Really?”

“Well, kind of.”

He snorted a laugh. “Oh, boy, the old gals at the Cut ’n Curl will be interested to hear that.” He looked at Todd. “We’ll have to be on our good behavior.”

“Dash, why is Todd out here? He’s supposed to be in his room.”

“Well, see, I figured that it would be better for him to make himself useful than for him to be up there.” He smiled.

Savannah wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t pull the trigger when he smiled like that. What was it about his grin that made her own mouth want to curl up? And there was no denying that Todd was helping out for once. He was also getting sunburned, but that was beside the point.

“Todd, did you put on any sunscreen before you took off your shirt?”

She rolled her eyes in Dash’s direction. “You know, he’s pretty fair, so when you encourage him to take off his shirt, in the future you need to make sure he puts on some sunscreen.”

She turned toward Todd. “There’s some sunscreen in the bathroom cabinet,” Savannah told him. “Go on inside and put some on your face and shoulders.”

Todd headed inside, letting the screen door bang behind him with a sharp thwack.

“Okay, I’m braced. You can yell at me now, princess.” Dash said.

“I’m not going to yell.” She took a big breath. “Thanks for fixing the step. And thanks for including Todd in the effort.”

“You’re welcome.”

He picked up his T-shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. “I bought you a present. I guess you could call it a make-up present. I need to apologize for that stupid comment I made about the woodshed. Todd doesn’t need the woodshed. No kid needs that. I figured helping fix the step was a better thing.”

She found herself smiling. “Thank you. And your apology is accepted. But you didn’t need to get me a present.” She paused for a moment, then put her hands on her hips. “This present isn’t like that time you gave me a spider in a box, is it?”

He laughed right out loud, the sound surprisingly sexy. “No, ma’am. I am sorry about that spider thing. That was mean. This is a present I picked up this afternoon at the Allenberg bookstore after I picked up the lumber for the step.” Without waiting for her reaction, he turned on his heel and headed to the 1970s-vintage pickup in the driveway.

The old vehicle had once belonged to Uncle Harry, and the last time Savannah had seen it, it needed a paint job and some new floorboards. Apparently those needs had been seen to because, like Dash’s vintage Eldorado convertible, it sparkled in the Carolina sun.

Dash opened the door and pulled out a plastic bag that bore the name of a bookstore. He jogged back across the lawn and hopped up onto the porch, immediately invading Savannah’s space. He raised his right arm above his head and leaned on the porch column, presenting the bag to her with his left. The pose gave Savannah a bird’s-eye view of the fine hair that grew in the space between his pectorals. She hauled in a big breath and told herself she needed to look someplace else before she embarrassed both of them.

But looking up into his craggy face had absolutely no impact on her suddenly erratic heartbeat or the butterflies that took flight in her stomach. Now, instead of finding his chest hair fascinating, her eyes fixed on the swirl of stubble that grew around the cleft in his chin. She had to curl her fingers into a fist to resist the temptation to reach out and touch his face.

“You gonna take this gift or leave me standing here feeling like a piece of beefcake?” he said.

His words jolted her back to reality just as she felt the blush run up her cheeks. She dropped her gaze and took his peace offering, grateful to have her hands and her vision occupied with something other than Dash. She reached in the bag and drew out a large-format paperback with a yellow cover. The words Business Plans for Dummies in big block letters filled the entire front cover.

Maybe she should be offended, but she was a dummy when it came to writing business plans. And besides, Dash was the first person to give her practical help in realizing her dream. A knot of thick emotion seized her by the throat. Oh, Heaven help her, he made her mad and weepy all at once.

She looked up into his face, now softened by that three-dollar crooked smile and those sparkling eyes. His lip was almost healed now. And the shiner was gone.

“Is this part of the town’s campaign to turn us into partners?”

“I reckon so. Hettie can be mighty persuasive.”

“She was all over me at church about how I should take your money.”

“Folks around here refer to her as the Queen Bee, which means she outranks you, princess.”

“And you were watching every move she made.”

He shrugged. The little rise and fall of his shoulders spoke volumes.

“You have a thing for her, don’t you?”

“A thing? Now, there’s a word.”

She dropped her gaze to the book in her hands. Its title seemed to mock her. “Miriam said the most amazing thing a few minutes ago.”

“Really? What did she say?”

“She suggested that I turn The Kismet into a dinner theater. She said it would give me a chance to cook for a crowd. And I would love to cook for a crowd.”

“Well, you are a good cook,” he said. Then he touched her. Such a small touch—just the pad of his rough index finger under her chin, tilting her head up so she could meet him eye-to-eye. It shouldn’t have unleashed such a tsunami of response. She wanted to fall right into his wide, sturdy chest. She wanted to taste the salt of his sweat and know the texture of his skin.

Instead she clutched the book to her chest like a barrier and closed her eyes. She needed to get a grip. She always fell for good-looking jocks. And they had all disappointed her. Every last one.

“Look at me, Savannah, I have something important to say. And you need to listen.”

She opened her eyes as he retreated a bit.

His smile faded as he spoke. “This morning it occurred to me that you and I have a whole lot in common. Neither one of us has exactly lived up to expectations.

“In my case, all the scouts predicted that I’d make it to the Baseball Hall of Fame. But instead I ended up in the Hall of Shame. And you were the golden girl who could do no wrong. You were expected to be anything that you set your heart to be.”

“Dash, please. Stop.”

He shook his head. “No. You listen. I arrived in Last Chance with a chip a mile high, and I guess I must have left here with the same chip, even though Uncle Earnest tried his best to knock it off some. See, he always expected me to grow up to be more than just a great ball player. He wanted me to be a good, strong, kind man. Uncle Earnest was a man like that. He was the only one in this town who expected anything from me, and I promised myself I would never let that man down. Unfortunately, I ended up doing just that. Many times. And I’m not like him in any way that matters.”

She lost the battle against her emotions the minute Dash started talking about Granddaddy. Her eyes filled up with tears, and her throat felt so tight she didn’t think she could breathe for the longing Dash raised in her. Oh, God in Heaven, she missed Granddaddy. His absence was like a hole in her life; and it seemed like Dash felt the same way.

She looked down at the book. “So this is about Granddaddy, then.”

“No, ma’am, it’s about you.” He took a deep breath and let it out softly. “Savannah, if it’s your dream to run a dinner theater, then you should pursue it like nothing else in this world, no matter what I say, or your momma says, or what anyone else in the world says. That’s what it means to believe in your dreams.”

She looked up, losing the battle with her tears. “But it’s beyond me. What if I fail—”

“Hush now.” His finger brushed over her lips, sealing the doubts inside. “Babe Ruth used to say, ‘Never let the fear of striking out get in your way.’ I believe no truer words were ever said.” He managed a soft smile, so much more intimate than the grin he usually gave her. His thumb rode back over her cheek again, knocking away teardrops. “I declare, Miz Savannah, you look like some kind of refugee from a flour factory. I guess that means there will be pie for dinner?”

Good Lord, what on earth was she doing? His comments about pie pulled her right back into the real world where she had more problems than just a business plan for The Kismet and her growing appreciation for her cousin Dash.

She had a mother who was on the warpath. Ex-in-laws who were unhappy with her. An aunt who was losing her grip on reality. A son who needed discipline and exercise. And if that wasn’t enough to keep her busy, Reverend William Ellis—who seemed like the kind of sane and well-adjusted man any right-minded woman should adore—was coming to dinner in less than two hours.

She took a step back, putting much-needed distance between herself and Dash, breaking the physical connection that had so clouded her senses. She sniffled and wiped the tears away with the palm of her hand. “Look at me. I’m a mess. And I promised myself years ago that I’d never let you make me cry again.”

He leaned his shoulder into the porch column, his gaze narrowing. “I can see you’re never going to forgive me. And I probably deserve your resentment. You and I are like oil and water. We’d make terrible partners. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t follow your dreams. There are lots of ways to raise money. You just need a business plan first.”

And with that, he turned away from her and went back to his table saw. She headed toward the door, opening it and hollering up into the darkness at the head of the stairs. “Todd, where are you? Dash is down here waiting for you. We’ve got company coming, and the porch step needs to be fixed before dinner.”

For some reason, Aunt Mim put Dash at the head of the table. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable place for him.

Bill ended up sitting in Dash’s regular seat. And then Savannah put the bouquet of bright pink flowers that Bill brought right in the middle of the table. Those bright blossoms mocked Dash the way a sixty-mile-an-hour curveball mocks a serious power hitter. Dash felt like the lesser man. Even if he was seated at the head of the table.

He tried to focus on the dinner Savannah had cooked. The food was unbelievably good. But it all turned to ashes in his mouth when Bill took one taste of Savannah’s biscuits, closed his eyes as he chewed, and then pronounced: “This is the bread of angels.”

Savannah blushed to her hairline, lapping up the compliments like a hungry cat laps milk.

Dash took up his knife and attacked his roast. Damn it. Savannah’s biscuits were like manna from Heaven. And for some immature reason, Dash didn’t want to share them with Bill.

Bill started talking about the building committee down at the church, and how Hettie was helping with their fund-raising efforts. The church was in desperate need of more Sunday School space, what with all the new folks moving into the area because of deBracy Ltd.

Bill was a relentless fund-raiser, and Dash had already contributed generously—because Hettie had asked him to. Dash begrudged the time Hettie spent with Bill. And if he were a smart or devious man, he would probably try to encourage this thing between Savannah and the preacher. Maybe if Bill was busy eating Savannah’s sweet buns, Hettie would have more free time. Maybe Dash could screw up his courage and ask Hettie to go out riding with him one afternoon.

He rolled this idea around in his head and decided that it wasn’t going to work. For one thing, he hated the idea of Bill and Savannah being together, even though they probably deserved each other. And for another, the idea of asking Hettie to go riding scared the bejesus out of him.

He chewed his roast and pushed these sour thoughts to the back of his mind. He looked up and turned his attention to Todd, who sat to his right. One glance at the kid told Dash that Todd wasn’t paying any attention to his dinner or the minister. When that boy ignored his mother’s pot roast with gravy and biscuits, it had to be a sign of trouble. The kid was looking down at something in his lap.

At first, Dash thought it might be the dog. But Champ had been left in the mudroom off the kitchen, seeing as the puppy was not quite housebroken.

It was probably the infernal PSP.

Dash speared a bite of potato. He ought to do something about Todd’s behavior, but heck, Bill was so boring Dash understood why the kid had tuned him out.

Just then the biggest, most sustained, practically melodic fart erupted from the kid’s general direction.

Everyone turned to look at Todd. The kid started giggling, tears in his eyes, his cheeks pink.

“What in the world?” Miriam said.

Another fart erupted. This one was high and tight enough to classify as a soprano fart.

“Todd Avery White, what do you have in your hands?” Savannah descended on her child like an avenging angel. She snatched away the iPhone the kid was playing with.

“Did you take this out of my purse?”

Todd shrugged.

She looked down at the phone, and her face got deliciously pink. It was kind of fetching. “What is this?”

“It’s a fart app,” the kid said, barely constraining his mirth.

Dash bit his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. He failed, and Savannah rounded on him. “You. You have a lot of nerve laughing at his bad behavior after what you said this morning. Honestly, this is just the kind of stupid and immature thing you used to do.” She turned toward Bill. “I’m sorry, Reverend. The two of them are incorrigible.”

“The rod and reproof give wisdom: but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame,” the minister intoned. It was truly irritating the way Bill could come up with Bible verses on command.

Savannah turned and glared at the minister. Boy howdy, she was some kind of protective mother.

“I don’t agree with spanking,” she said in a quiet voice. She had told Dash much the same thing this morning. And she’d shamed him with her disapproval. She’d made him think.

And Dash had come to the conclusion that Uncle Earnest’s approach was way better than his grandfather’s approach had ever been.

Right now, she was giving the minister the same evil eye she’d given him this morning. It evened up the score a little bit.

“Contrary to the prevailing opinions at this table, I do believe in discipline,” she said in a strong, tough voice. She turned toward Todd. “You are excused from the table, young man. Go to your room and write a sincere apology to the minister. It had better be at least five hundred words.”

Dash had to give the kid credit. He didn’t argue with his momma. He didn’t complain. He simply got up and sauntered from the room. There was an unmistakable bounce in the kid’s stride. And he gave the minister the stink eye behind his back.

Good for Todd. Dash didn’t much like Bill either.

Savannah watched Todd leave and then turned toward Dash with another royal glower. Dash had no doubt that she would have sent him to his room, too, if she could have gotten away with it. She sat down, offered Bill another biscuit, and asked him to continue his discussion of the church’s expansion plans.

An hour later, Dash found himself sitting in his regular easy chair in the living room trying to read the Sunday sports page while Aunt Mim watched Miss Marple solve another murder on Masterpiece Theater.

Savannah and the preacher were sitting together out on the porch. Every once in a while, the preacher’s high-pitched laughter made its way through the front windows. The preacher had the goofiest laugh Dash had ever heard in his life.

Dash struggled to pay attention to the article he was reading. But he was antsy. He couldn’t shake this terrible feeling that Savannah’s arrival was pushing him out of the only home he’d ever known. And that scared him. Because he loved Miriam. And losing her would hurt.

Todd came clumping down the stairs. He had a piece of paper in his hand. He sidled up to the chair and leaned on the back. “Any news about the Orioles?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be grounded in your room?”

Todd waved the notebook paper in his hand. “I’ve written my apology.”

Dash squashed down the urge to take the note from the boy and read it. “I hope it’s sincere.”

“I guess.”

“You know if you rile up your momma any more, she’s going to blame me.”

“I noticed. In my apology, I made sure the minister knew that you had nothing to do with the fart app.”

Somehow, the boy’s words calmed Dash’s sudden anxiety. What was it about the kid, anyway? Dash apparently had an ally. It was an odd feeling.

“I really appreciate that, Todd,” he said. “And I gotta say, that whole fart app thing was brilliant, if you ask me. I surely do wish they had had something like that when I was a kid. There were a couple of teachers at Davis High I would have loved to have interrupted.”

This earned him a real smile. Something deep inside Dash’s chest let go. He smiled back.

“I’ll have to show it to you sometime,” Todd said. “But for that, I’ll need to borrow Mom’s phone, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to keep it locked up now.”

Dash pulled out his own iPhone. “Here. Load that app up for me. I can think of a whole lot of uses for it.”

Todd moved around the easy chair and sank down onto the ottoman. Four minutes later, the kid handed back the phone. The screen was lit up with the word “Fartmaster” across the top. There were a dozen colored buttons underneath.

“This one is really tight,” Todd said pointing to the fifth button.

“Yeah?”

“It’s bathtub bubbles.”

Dash started to laugh. He put his newspaper aside. “C’mon.” He nodded his head, and he and Todd headed off toward the kitchen. Once they got there, he tested out the aforementioned bathtub bubbles button. He laughed so hard the tears filled his eyes.

Before five minutes were out, they were both giggling like idiots and helping themselves to leftover strudel.

Twenty minutes later, Dash was teaching Todd how to create an armpit fart. And wouldn’t you know it, just as the party was about to get truly rowdy, Bill came sauntering into the kitchen looking for his own second helping of strudel.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t any left. And it was a little disturbing to have the minister of Christ Church staring down his blade of a nose at Dash’s unbuttoned shirt. Dash slowly but deliberately let go of one long, loud armpit fart.

The minister’s mouth thinned.

And that’s when Todd came to Dash’s rescue. Boy, that kid put on the biggest suck-up routine Dash had ever witnessed. He had some mad skills in that department. And by the time Bill left the kitchen, Todd had convinced the preacher that he wanted nothing more in all the world than to help the Sunday School kids put on the egg hunt during the Easter Egg Jubilee.

And all Dash could think was that the parishioners might want to rethink the idea of letting Todd White hide Easter eggs. He was liable to put them down abandoned wells, just to see the little kids fall in.

Which, as it turned out, was exactly what Dash had done the year he’d helped hide eggs.