by taking handyman jobs, to complete it. Jim had promised to have the retail shop ready to open by Memorial Day.
“The workshop out back was converted from a carriage house,” she said, speaking aloud as if her grandmother sat with her, sharing lunch. “It’s a great place to work. The window above my workbench has a beautiful view. It’s roomy and well ventilated, and the natural light is lovely. A friend has offered to build me shelves as a housewarming gift.”
A friend? A special friend?
“No, Grams. Not that kind of friend. He’s married. Besides, I don’t want that kind of friend. I’m done with men. I learned my lesson.”
Now, Savannah …
She raised her voice to drown out the one in her head. “Everyone in town calls my house the Golightly place, after the man who built it back in the 1800s. I considered keeping the name for the shop, but it just doesn’t feel right. I had intended to call my store Fresh, but believe it or not, Eternity Springs already has a business called Fresh—Sarah Murphy’s bakery. She makes the most spectacular cinnamon rolls. Anyway, what do you think of Heavenly Scents, Grams? Or maybe Heavenscents? Heavenscents, featuring Savannah Soap Company hand-crafted products?”
Her grandmother’s voice whispered on the wind. Why, Savannah Sophia, I think that would be right fine.
Hearing voices in her head wasn’t unusual for Savannah. She’d conversed with an imaginary friend, Melody, when she was a child. When she first arrived at Emmanuel, she’d resurrected Melody, fully aware that doing so was a defense mechanism.
Melody’s voice had morphed into Grams’ in the weeks after her grandmother had passed away. Now, if pressed, Savannah wouldn’t swear that Grams’ spirit wasn’t actually speaking to her from beyond the grave.
Ordinarily they didn’t share meals, but then this was a special event. The final event.
“Will I quit hearing you, Grams, once we do this?”
That depends.
“On what? Just how crazy those six years at Emmanuel made me?”
Now, Savannah …
Savannah sighed and polished off her half of the sandwich. Eyeing the other plate, she said, “Grams, you still eat like a bird. Shall I help?”
Another time, she would have been embarrassed by her playacting, but not today. She’d been on her way home to have lunch with her grandmother the day her world fell apart. During the awful weeks and months and years that followed, she’d promised herself that someday she would pick up her life where she’d left off. This was the best she could do.
With her meal over, she moved to the next item on the agenda by opening the Mason jar. She sniffed its contents and her eyes watered. “Whoa.”
Savannah poured a splash of moonshine into each shot glass. Lifting one of them, she repeated the line her father had always said as he loaded filled jars into the wooden cases he’d built to transport his product to his customers: “Making family proud, one Mason jar at a time.”
Saying it made her smile. Her grief for her father had eased in the nine years since his death, but she would always miss him. Despite his faults, the man had loved her.
The liquor burned like fire going down, causing Savannah to shudder. “Grams, I cannot believe you drank this every day and lived to see eighty-five.”
All natural ingredients, my dear. And your father had a talent for making it.
Savannah laughed, then secured Inny’s leash to the picnic table so that the dog wouldn’t wander too close to the edge while Savannah was busy. Picking up the button box, she carried it and the second shot of moonshine toward the overlook, where a large flat rock stretched out over the valley like a plank on a pirate ship. She stood at the protective railing for a long time, her thoughts spinning back through the years, and she mourned.
When the time felt right, she held her glass high. “Here’s to you, Grams.”
She quoted the Irish blessing that her grandmother had cross-stitched in green thread against a cream linen background and hung in her parlor:
“May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
May the rains fall soft upon your fields,
And, until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.”
She tossed back the drink, swallowed, shuddered, then drew back her arm and sent the empty glass flying. She watched it until it dropped out of sight, listening for the crash of glass against rock, but heard only the wind.