Page 126 of Between Never and Forever
“Um, Boss told me to tell you that it is with great regret and pent...penti...um,penitencethat she must skip guitar lessons with you today.”
His words shoot from his mouth like they’ve been rehearsed, and I give him an amused smile. This grown man is running errands and passing messages for a seven-year-old. She really wasn’t kidding when she said she was the boss.
“She say why?”
He shrugs, mouth opening and shutting like he’s surprised I asked. He wasn’t prepared to say more. It’s cute. I’m used to people being tongue-tied around me, but they’re usually not 6’3” construction worker country boys wearing hard hats and American flag t-shirts.
“Something about it being the only time she could video chat with her friend in Connecticut, so she stayed back at the office. She does that sometimes. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Cool. Thanks for the message, Dusty. You did a good job. I’ll make sure to pass it on to the boss.”
His grin is adorable.
“Thanks,” he says, then he just walks away.
What’s he even doing here? The only person in Levi’s crew I’ve seen around since we started filming at the house has been Levi. I think this man really came all the way here just to pass on the message from Brynn. When I turn my smile on Red, he’s smirking too.
“That kid has everyone wrapped,” he says, and I chuckle. She definitely does. “You got another request for materials, by the way. Did you want to approve it?”
“Yeah.” I wave my hand at his change of subject. He knows I’ve approved everything without question. Then I have a thought.
“Hey, we have a longer lunch break today since we’re shooting later. You want to take a ride and check it out?”
Red takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. I know what he’s thinking. It’s not safe. What if someone sees. Blah blah blah blah. But he also knows I’m going to do it anyway, so when he pushes himself to standing, I clap my hands, turn around, and skip out the door.
The drive inland is eerie. My nerves build with every mile marker. I start picking at my nails. My leg starts bouncing. I start craving something to put my body at ease. Some chemical, artificial fix. I start missing my guitar. Even Ziggy snoring in the backseat isn’t calming my nerves.
“We don’t have to do this, kid,” Red says, eyes never leaving the road. “We can turn around and just send the money.”
I shake my head no, but I don’t speak. I need this. I think.
We make the rest of the drive in silence, and when he finally turns down my old street, I’m sitting straight as a board and twice as stiff. The neighborhood comes into view, newer houses popped up in place of the old, beat to shit ones, and a bunch of white work trucks, a van, and some other vehicles are lining the streets. One says something about plumbing, one says something about HVAC, and several say East Coast Contracting.
Red pulls up to the curb and I flip down the visor, double-checking my ball cap and aviators. I’m wigless right now, so my silver hair could give me away, but my sleeve of fake tattoos is still decorating my arm. I guess if someone sees me, though, they see me. Too late to turn back now.
I glance at Red, nod quickly, then open my door and climb out. He cracks the windows, tells my dog to behave, then gets out after me.
I walk into River View and note that sidewalks have been installed. There were never sidewalks when I was growing up. No streetlights, either. I walk up to one of the first houses and stare at it. God, it looks so nice. So unlike anything that was here before the hurricane.
When I’d read about how the neighborhood was decimated after the storm, I went on a seven-day bender. So many people, my old neighbors, dead or injured or displaced. When I finally sobered up, I had Red do a search for my mom’s name, but she wasn’t listed as one of the casualties. I had him search every day for weeks, and the next month, the money I’d been depositing in her account went through without a problem. The deposits have been going through for the last two years, so I’m pretty sure she survived.
I’d felt lost for months following the storm. I followed news articles about clean up and rescue missions, rehoming and rebuilding. When I stumbled on a story mentioning that a contracting company had plans to reconstruct my old neighborhood, it was like I’d finally found a rainbow.
I had Red contact the company and offer to fund the rebuild—materials, labor, everything. We set up a dummy account and hired a lawyer, and we’ve been sending money blindly ever since. I’m as hands-off as possible. Before today, I couldn’t even have told you the company doing the rebuild, but every so often, I’d worry whether the contractors were doing as promised. From the looks of it, my worries were unnecessary. The neighborhood looks amazing. Beautiful, even. I’m almost jealous of any little girl who will grow up here in the years to come.
“How does it compare,” Red asks, stepping up next to me as I gawk.
“It doesn’t,” I answer honestly. “The houses that were here before were shacks in comparison. These are veritable palaces.”
My eyes sting, and I have to reach behind my sunglasses to swipe away the tears that have started falling. I wasn’t expecting to feel so moved by this transformation, but I can’t help but think there’s a sign in here somewhere. Some message from the universe about rising from the wreckage, about extracting beauty from something ugly.
Where I come from has always been a point of tension for me. Even my Wikipedia page lists Miami as my hometown. The only good memories I have from this small North Carolina town involve Levi, and after that summer when I was eighteen, those memories were tainted, too. Coming back here, though, I can’t shake the idea that something is changing. A transition, or a revelation, perhaps.
“This feels significant,” I whisper to Red. “It feels like healing.”
I hear him hum in response, and I blink up at the house until my tears start to dry. I turn and face the rest of the houses, noting there are crews working on a couple unfinished ones toward the back of the neighborhood. I don’t want to disturb them. I’ve seen what I came to see. I’m about to head back to our car when a voice calls my name and stops me in my tracks.
“Savannah,” he says again, closer this time, and I turn around slowly to face him.
