“On her own?” The women are more concerned now. Things are different outside the safe boundaries of Savannah.
“I believe so. Her backpack is gone, and she bought a one-way airline ticket to California with the credit card I gave her.”
“Are you going to get her?” Sybil asks. “You can use Tom’s plane…. We’ll just lump it in with the other non-state-business flying he’s in trouble for.”
“That’s the question,” Miss Lee says, obviously frazzled. She takes a sip and closes her eyes. Sybil and Mary wait for the brew to take effect. After a moment, a visible sense of calm comes over their leader’s lovely face. “I’m thinking of just letting her go.”
Sybil puts her hand over her face, but it’s impossible not to see that she is pleased.
“Why are you so smiley about this?” Miss Lee snarls. “Anxious to get the heir out of the way?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sybil replies. “I simply know that it will make her happy. Hayes is concerned about Alex’s happiness.”
Miss Lee gives Sybil a long, distrustful stare.
“Why does she get to go?” Khaki asks. “What about the Blue Root?”
“She’s got a buzzard’s rock,” Miss Lee says. “She can do anything she wants.”
“How did she get that?” Sybil demands.
“It fell off my daughter’s neck,” Miss Lee says quietly.
“You mean before…”
“Yes.”
A hush falls over the room.
“I’m so very sorry, Dorothy,” Mary says.
“I’m not!” Khaki shouts, suddenly rabidly furious. “This is what you get for ruining my life!”
“Khaki,” Miss Lee says, “you were in danger of ruining us all. Everything. I couldn’t just let you tell all of New York society our secrets. I had to do something.”
Sybil remains cautiously silent. Miss Lee looks at her friends coldly and purses her lips for a moment. “I made all the wrong choices with Louisa,” she says finally. “So this time I’m letting Alexandria do what she wants.”
“Then who gets the mantle?” Sybil asks.
“Careful, Sybil,” Miss Lee says. “Your eagerness is not entirely ladylike.”
Khaki and Mary giggle as Sybil’s face turns red.
“The truth is, honey, I still believe she’s the one,” Miss Lee says. “This will be the test, I suppose. If Alex is a real Magnolia, she’ll be back.”
17
So, the bus ride from San Francisco to Mendocino? Totally brutal. The scenery is breathtaking, of course, especially if you choose to take the coastal route, as I did. It adds a few hours, but I figure I have the time. Still, I forgot how gut-churning those hairpin curves on Route 1 can be. I press my nose against the glass, staring at the ocean thousands of feet below, trying to concentrate on not throwing up.
I haven’t told anyone yet that I’m coming. For one thing, it’s impossible to get a hold of anyone at the RC. If you call the pay phone, usually no one answers it, and if someone does pick up, good luck getting that person to find the one you’re trying to reach.
The other reason is my grandmother. I’m sure the RC is the first place she’ll contact when she finds out I’m gone. (In fact, she probably already has checked.) If she gets on the phone with Big Jon and he doesn’t know I’m coming, well… there’s nothing to lie about, is there? Besides, I’m kind of liking this element of surprise. I mean, if Reggie showed up suddenly on the steps of my grandmother’s spooky Gothic mansion, I’d be so totally stoked.
I look at my watch. Eleven a.m., California time. Yup, she must definitely know by now. Yesterday, after buying my ticket, I grabbed my backpack, sneaked out of the house, and rode the seven miles to the airport on my bike. I didn’t take my phone; I’d never had one before I got to Savannah, so why bring it now? I boarded my $1,029, last-minute flight to California, and now I’ve spent five hours on this Willy Wonka joyride bus. When the driver pulls into Bodega Bay for a pit stop, I’m so thankful that I’m ready to hug him.
The other passengers file out into the parking lot, some lighting up cigarettes, others taking pictures of the coast and the elephant seals. Most of the people on the bus are retirees on vacation. We’re used to them in this part of California. They come in white-haired, plastic-visored herds, emerging from the cars and tour buses to get the views and spend money on postcards and T-shirts for their beloved grandkids. No rules, no ultimatums, no weird debutante societies. Just