“No, Roy, I won’t. And besides, you’re wasted. You should get on home to Laura-Beth. Have you ever thought what she must think of you coming down here every night and drinking yourself numb? Maybe you should think about joining AA. I’ve got the number of the folks at the Allenberg County chapter and—”
“Now, Dash,” Dottie said, “don’t you be trying to sign folks up for AA. That’s bad for business. Why don’t you just go on home to Miriam? You should be with her tonight, anyway. The fact is, you don’t belong here anymore. You know that, don’t you?”
“Don’t belong?” Dash’s pulse kicked up. Folks were always telling him he didn’t belong.
Dottie continued in her sweet voice. “Dash, honey, you’re a recovering alcoholic. A bar is a strange place for a person like you. I think you’ve proved to everyone’s satisfaction that you’re tough enough to sit here surrounded by booze and not give in to temptation. So maybe you should start thinking about moving on. I’m sure Hettie would approve if you moved on.”
“Yeah,” Roy said, staggering forward. “And I really don’t like your taste in music.”
“Well, that’s okay, Roy, because I don’t like yours either. In my opinion, Willie Nelson sucks.”
“He does not.” And Roy Burdett, who had once been a member of the Davis High Rebel defensive line, rushed Dash like he was an opposing quarterback.
Dash might have been sober, but he was hampered by a bum knee—the injury that had ended his baseball career. And Roy was still surprisingly fast, even for a drunk.
Dash didn’t see stars when Roy tackled him. In fact, Dash didn’t even remember hitting the floor.
Savannah rested her head on the back of the rocking chair and cuddled a little deeper into her old cashmere sweater. It was almost too cold to be out here on the porch, but she held her ground hoping her summer memories might warm her up. Darn it, South Carolina had always been hot and humid when she came to visit. And that’s the way she wanted it now. Like her most treasured memories.
Still, she wasn’t about to let the late hour or the cold drive her inside. She wanted to sit here and remember Granddaddy.
But instead of finding the happy memories of her childhood, she ended up obsessing over the enormous thing she had done today. She had actually gotten off her fanny and taken Todd across several state lines. If she decided to stay here, there wasn’t much Claire could do about it.
Of course, if Greg decided he was unhappy about the situation, he could cause trouble. Savannah was surprisingly ambivalent about that. In some corner of her heart, she almost hoped that Greg cared enough to cause trouble. But in her head, she knew that wasn’t ever going to happen. Greg was a lot like her own father, who had walked out on her and Mom when Savannah was three.
So Savannah had faced the unhappy truth. And surprisingly, facing it only lent more urgency to her escape plans. Coming here to Last Chance might be her last chance to really take charge of her life.
She could also follow her dream of finally doing something about The Kismet, the movie theater Granddaddy had left to her. She wanted to renovate The Kismet and bring it back to life.
Accomplishing that dream would take a miracle, of course. Nothing had changed since the big chain theaters had driven Granddaddy out of business. A person like Savannah, with no financing and no business experience, had zero chance of succeeding where Granddaddy had failed.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to silence the negative voice inside her head. She wasn’t much for praying, but she winged a little prayer skyward anyway. Help me find the courage.
Just then the sound of crunching gravel alerted her to the arrival of someone in the driveway. She opened her eyes to the glare of headlights. A moment later two backlit silhouettes emerged from the brightness.
“Ma’am,” a voice called out. “Is that you, Miz Miriam?”
“No, it’s Savannah White. I’m Miriam’s niece.”
“That’s the princess I been tellin’ you ’bout, Damian.” Savannah recognized that deep drawl.
An athletic-looking African-American dressed in the buff uniform of the Last Chance Police Department stepped up onto the front porch, followed by Dash, who was pressing an ice pack to his lip. The front of Dash’s shirt was covered in blood.
The officer brushed his fingers along the side of his Stetson. “Ma’am, I’m Chief Damian Easley. Miz Dottie