Savannah Breeze by Mary Kay Andrews

left the restaurant, went back to Magnolia Manor to pick up my grandfather, and then over to Memorial Hospital.
    Granddaddy paused outside the door to her room. His face was pale. “She’s bad, isn’t she?” For the first time, he looked really scared.
    â€œNot that bad,” I said. “They’re just being cautious. Just in case. You’ll see. She’s going to be fine. Just make sure you tell her I’m feeding you good, so she doesn’t give me fits about not taking care of you.”
    I waited outside in the hallway to give them some privacy. After fifteen minutes, I went inside. Grandmama had a clear plastic mask over her face, with a hose hooked up to a humming machine. Granddaddy was sitting on a chair beside her hospital bed, holding his wife’s hand in his, staring raptly up at the television, watching what looked like a thirty-year-old rerun of Hollywood Squares.
    He looked up when I came in, and pointed at the television. “They got the Game Show Channel. Paul Lynde! We don’t get that at our place.”
    Grandmama pushed her mask aside. “I told this old fool to cut it off. I’m not paying for deluxe cable. They probably charge you double in a place like this.” She would have said more too, but her tirade was interrupted by a fit of coughing.
    A nurse came in then, looked at one of the monitors at her bedside, and shooed us back out into the hallway.
    My cell phone rang, and I walked rapidly to the visitors’ waiting area to take the call.
    It was Reddy. “Hey, BeBe,” he said. “How’s it going at your end?”
    I sighed. “Not so good. They’ve moved my grandmother over to Memorial Hospital, and they’re running a bunch of tests. I don’t really understand any of it.”
    â€œHang in there,” Reddy said. “Who’s her doctor?”
    â€œRobert Walker,” I said.
    â€œI know Robert,” Reddy said. “One of my sisters was in his class at Emory. He’s the best.”
    â€œHope so,” I said fervently. “Did you see the insurance adjuster?”
    â€œIt’s all taken care of,” Reddy said. “They’re cutting you a check for $18,000 today. I called a floor guy I know, and he says he can do the job for a lot less than that. And the bug guy was here. He sprayed the attic, like you asked. I gave him a check, and he said to tell you he’ll see you next month.”
    â€œYou’re the best,” I said, meaning it. “But you didn’t need to pay him. He usually just sends a bill.”
    â€œIt was a new guy,” Reddy said. “Your regular guy is on vacation or something. Don’t worry about it, I took care of it.”
    â€œAll right,” I said
    At eleven that night, I was finally able to ferry Granddaddy home. We were both exhausted. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep.
    I got a blanket and pillow of my own, and tried to make myself comfortable on the sofa bed, which felt as if it had been designed specifically as an instrument of torture. I closed my eyes and waited for sleep. Which never came.
    What did come was waves of anxiety. My grandmother was ill, her diagnosis uncertain. Granddaddy’s snores reverberated off the walls of the small apartment. He’d been worried about Lorena’s condition, but on the trip home he’d blithely assured me that the pills she’d been given would make her “right as rain.”
    Rain. Once it started, it never seemed to let up.

9
    â€œBeBe?”
    â€œHmm?”
    I was right on the edge of sleep. Not awake really, not asleep, just in that delicious twilight place between the two.
    We were aboard the Blue Moon, in the stateroom. I’d arrived late, and exhausted after a long night at Guale, and two glasses of Reddy’s champagne, along with the gentle rocking of the boat at its moorings, had the combined effect of knocking me out almost