Fifty-Nine—Ivy
B
onaventure Cemetery is famous thanks to John Berendt and his novel Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil . And because of that, the massive graveyard is annoyingly high on the list of tourist attractions in Savannah. It has been dubbed as hauntingly beautiful, quintessentially Southern gothic, inspiring, and other pretty words—and parts of it are. It sits on an old plantation and is now a hundred acres of dead bones buried beneath live oaks that drip with Spanish moss. I’d always thought it was a very creepy place, and though I hadn’t been here for months, it hadn’t changed. It was still creepy. I parked at the turnabout and headed on foot down aisle K5 to our family lot, a bucket of supplies slung over my shoulder. It was quiet this afternoon, except for the cemetery birds, and it was a pretty end-of-July day, so the creepiness factor wasn’t terrible. In truth, I didn’t mind being here right now; things were a little too deliberate at Geneva’s.
I followed the dirt road until the angel came into view. Like a monarch, she stood regally atop the Talbot Family Arch, six feet tall with carved wings, braided hair, and holding a basket of flowers. She was exquisite and had been commissioned by my great-great-grandparents when their two-year-old daughter, Charlotte, died of yellow fever in 1907. Her brother, Simon, was one of four siblings interred here along with their parents and two spouses. Simon was my great grandfather. Titus Legrand Talbot, TL, was my grandfather and the love of Geneva’s life. They were all buried here on this 12-space plot. My mother would take space number 11, then Geneva. I would have to find other accommodations, which left me both bereft and relieved.
I stepped through the gate onto our designation, which was cordoned off by concrete slabs, and walked to the arch. The angel still had a beautiful face despite being over a century old. She was nestled in an enormous bouquet of Palmetto fronds, and the rich green against the glistening white marble made you forget about the dry and dead things everywhere else. The angel had always seemed a gentle emissary, and I felt certain comfort now standing at her feet.
I looked around. It was shaded in this corner of the cemetery, which Bree would appreciate since she hated the heat. Her marker would resemble the rest of those arranged on this parcel—stark white stone with just her name, dates, and who she belonged to carved in a classic font. It would be undoubtedly lovely, but so… insufficient . The history buried beneath my feet, my mother to be added to it on Tuesday, this space, these simple markers, it all seemed a sadly inadequate honor for the lives lived and the impact made by these people. My people. I looked up at the angel again. Thank goodness Bree—and all of them—would be sheltered by this beautiful effigy. That was something special, anyway.
I had about an hour before the diggers were supposed to be here, so I got to work manicuring around the stone markers and sweeping off the bird droppings. We were fortunate at the top of Aisle K to be in close proximity to a spigot, so I filled my bucket and rinsed off the headstones. Then I got on my knees and started wiping them down with a rag. I was pretty lost in this task, so I was startled to hear my name. And even more so when I turned to see who had spoken it.
He stood there like an apparition, a little rumpled, badly in need of a shave, his untamed hair held back with his sunglasses. He didn’t smile, and his eyes searched me, seemingly looking for open wounds. “Bo? ”
He walked toward me, and I was overcome by where I was and his presence in the same place. “What…?” I got to my feet. “What’s happened? How…what are you doing here?”
“Your grandmother said you’d be here. She gave me directions.”
I stared at him, open-mouthed, and started to cry. “What?”
He stepped close to me. “Ivy…I…I…”
I couldn’t help myself. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close, and when he didn’t resist, when his arms came around me, too, I pulled him closer. I had never been so happy to see anybody in my life, and I prayed I wasn’t dreaming. We fit together perfectly, my wet cheek pressed against his neck, my arms up under his, my hands clinging to his shoulders. I shut my eyes and breathed him in, unable to fathom how empty I had felt without him. And for his part, Bo Sutton held me like he could drown if he loosened his grip. “Are you really here?” I said on a little sob.
“I’m really here.”
I did not want to let go, and it seemed he didn’t either, so we just held tight to one another, our only audience the marble angel.
“Bo…” I whispered into his neck. “How did you get here? Here? To Georgia?”
“I drove.”
I swallowed and pulled back to look at him in surprise. “You drove? Across the country? Why would you do that?”
He shook his head and his eyes got watery. “I let you down, Ivy,” he said with shame. “When you asked me to come with you, I let you down and…and I just couldn’t live with myself until I made that right. So, I’m here…to make it right. If I can. I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m sorry I’m a freak. I should have faced my demons and just gotten on that plane and…”
Tears were rolling and breathing was hard, and I couldn’t really grasp what I was hearing. But then I did, and everything stopped.
“You love me,” I said, surprising both of us. “It sounds like you might love me, Bo Sutton. ”
He didn’t flinch. He just looked at me with sure and unapologetic eyes. He was a little rugged at the moment—nicely rugged—and with such intensity in his expression that I was frankly alarmed.
“Ivy,” he said. “I’m standing here in desperate need of a shower. I’ve peed in public restrooms in six states, I’ve eaten gas station nachos—well, one, and I spit it out, but still. I’ve slept in my car. I’ve slept on towels of dubious cleanliness in the worst motel on the planet. I’ve had these clothes on for so many hours that they need to be burned.”
I stifled a smile.
“I didn’t know I was headed here when I left, but somewhere along the way I realized I had to find you. I had to. Nothing else mattered. I don’t have much experience with love—none, actually—but I don’t think what’s going on with me could be anything else.”
I looked at him, weak in my heart. Was I dreaming? I had to be dreaming! Two minutes ago, I had been cleaning bird poop off my ancestors’ headstones. And two minutes later, this? I studied Bo’s beautiful face without breathing, trying to catch up to what was happening. And then it hit me.
“I’ve been reading the book you gave me about the girl with the harelip. You think I’m her, don’t you? I’m Prudence Sarn.”
He shook his head. “No. I think that you think you’re Prudence Sarn. I see you, Ivy. I see the you that you can’t see yourself. And that girl is impossible not to love.” He pulled back farther and took hold of my hands. Then, very calmly, he said, “But you don’t have to love me back. That’s not what this is. Not only because I’m me and I can’t even imagine it, but because your life is so… wounded right now and I would never…I would not take advantage of that. Never. I’m just sorry, I’m so, so sorry, that when you needed me, I couldn’t…I just want to make that right, if I can.”
“Bo, you’re doing it. My mama’s dead, and you’re here…” I whispered tearfully.
“I am....”
“Can you just hold me? ”
“I can do that,” he said. And then he pulled me back into his arms.
I laid my head on his shoulder like I’d found its true home, and for a long time, we were quiet, except for the noise in my head. I don’t need to love him back? Who was this man?
“When?” I said at length. “When did you see the me I can’t see myself?”
“Oh, Ivy…” he breathed. “I hadn’t known you five minutes, and you were helping me clean the lawn furniture in the middle of the night without thinking I was a fool. The day you talked me through my panic attack. When you brought me tea and tried to make me feel better by comparing my humiliation to your backyard . When my family was in crisis and my nieces were scared and you just…rescued them. When you told me to suck it up, buttercup and dry the dishes…” He chuckled. “I probably knew right then. And when you told me about your parents without any bitterness. And Tim…without any hatred. And you saved my sister from her insane husband. Do you need more? I have more.”
I sniffled. “I think that answers my question. Thank you.”
He hugged me tighter. “You see an imperfect package,” he said softly. “Which is in no way imperfect, Ivy. I see every beautiful, honest thing about you.”
“Oh, goodness, Bo. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“I think I do…I’m not sure if you realize this, Bo, but I am not the only Prudence in our story. I see you, too. And you are really quite somethin’.”
He didn’t say anything, but I felt him shudder. So, for a long minute I just held onto him and this feeling of complete and utter peace.
Finally, I said into his neck, “You really peed in a public restroom?”
“Several, actually,” he said into mine. “And it was absolutely disgusting. But strangely liberating. ”
I laughed, but then I cried because I suddenly realized that where this man— this man —was concerned, there really could not be more powerful proof of his feelings for me.
“You must really love me,” I said softly.
“Oh, Ivy. You have no idea.”