the time. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Charlotte’s number as I climbed the front stairs, then sat down on the porch swing.
“Hey . . .” She sounded winded.
“You in the mood for a road trip tomorrow?” I could barely believe I was asking.
“Why?”
“Thought I’d check out a band for the tournament.” I pushed my feet against the floorboards to set the swing in motion, as if trying to convince myself that this was a perfectly normal day, a perfectly normal request.
“Kara? Are you sure?”
“Ah, forget it. . . . Where are you?”
“The gym,” Charlotte said. “Let me call you back, okay?”
“Okay.” I hung up the phone, leaned back in the swing, then clicked the phone to off.
The rain awakened me—soft and light, but the air full of humidity, as if it were pregnant and overdue. My head was heavy and I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. And, as I did every morning, I mentally scanned what I had to do that day. I had a PGA TOUR meeting at eight a.m., where I would, once again, have to admit I didn’t have a band. Then there was a full blank space—Savannah. Of course I hadn’t typed it in, barely admitting to myself that if the day opened up, I would go.
Peyton was in Miami, and Charlotte had a full day, since her freelance article for the local paper was late. And I did need a band, didn’t I? I got out of bed, stretched and stared at myself in the full-length mirror across the room. Had I changed much since I was fourteen years old? Since the last time I saw Jack? Completely. Where a scrawny girl once stood, with scabs on her arms and legs from believing she could keep up with the boys while running or riding her bike, now there was a woman with long wavy chestnut hair, rounded knees and elbows, a manicure and pedicure: all the rough edges smoothed.
I walked to the closet and stared at my outfits until I chose a pair of wide-leg, black Donna Karan pants with a fitted white linen button-down top. I’d wear my full-length black toile coat if the weather turned. I slipped the Claddagh ring off my pinkie finger and tucked it back into the jewelry box.
Before I walked out the door I stood in front of the computer with an overwhelming need to see, clearly see, what 1920 Galway Bay would’ve looked like, what Maeve once saw. I searched the Internet until I found an antique postcard on eBay with the inscription The Claddagh, Galway etched on the bottom. It was an old black-and-white photo that had been hand colored. The whitewashed houses with thatched roofs squatted behind a bay wall that was full to overflowing with hookers. The boats had been painted green and red, the sails folded down like children tucked in for the night.
I tried to imagine Maeve living in one of those houses at the edge of the sea, watching out the window for Richard, waiting and waiting. I looked at the postcard again and then clicked on “bid now.” I upped the bid by five dollars, closed down the computer and grabbed a Tiffany-blue cashmere scarf and tossed it around my neck.
By the time I’d left my PGA TOUR meeting, my plans for Savannah were confirmed. When the planning committee had asked me what I’d done about securing a band, I’d told them I was on my way to Savannah to follow up with the Unknown Souls. The committee had been relieved.
Rain hit the windshield in intermittent bursts. I popped the Unknown Souls CD into the player, and sped south on I-95 toward Savannah. The information inside the cover stated that all twelve songs were original. The music coming out of my speakers was haunting, conveying a lovely but lonely ache through both the music and words. The lyrics were written by a man who knew sadness, who understood want.
A raucous, fun song called “Without You” came toward the end of the CD, yet even this song, with its primal drumbeat and guitar solo, offered an exquisite sadness in its comedic take on all the things the singer could do without his lover. I attempted to remember this voice, Jimmy’s voice, in song—but I had never heard him sing. What I did remember about Jimmy was his laughter.
Jack’s lyrics spoke of dreaming and flying, of loss and love. My breath caught in the edges of