10. Pearl
TEN
PEARL
Six months! That's how long it had been since I returned to Savannah.
I'd never thought I'd have the courage to come back.
I never thought I'd want to. For me, it was a reminder of trauma—but now, as the days passed, that had changed. I was adapting to my new reality. Savannah wasn’t just a ghost town of memories anymore.
I could now exist without constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the past to ambush me.
But old insecurities clung to me like Spanish moss. Even now, sometimes, I'd find myself looking at a dress in a shop window, and I was, once again, the fat girl who hated to buy clothes because nothing looked good on me—and when I did find the one thing I could stand to wear, I was made fun of.
As a teenager, I’d stopped socializing, afraid of being ridiculed. It was no wonder I preferred reading a book rather than going to a party.
Now, as I stood under the shade of a tree in Aunt Hattie's garden in a dark blue sundress, my hands were itching to smooth my dress over my hips, my belly, to feel that I had less flesh, there was less of me, less of teenage Pearl.
I felt so out of place, but when the party was taking place at my doorstep, I couldn’t hide.
Aunt Hattie’s estate was old Savannah grandeur at its finest. It was a sprawling plantation-style home with a wide, white-columned porch that wrapped around the house.
The well-maintained lawns stretched for acres, dotted with vibrant gardens and a shimmering pond in the distance.
That same pond greeted me every morning, its glassy surface visible from the porch and windows of the cottage where I lived.
When I first considered moving to Savannah, I assumed that staying in a cottage in the Odom Estate would be temporary. However, I liked it a lot, and so did Aunt Hattie, so we decided to make it semi-permanent.
We ate dinner several days a week together at her place, and her housekeeper, Missy, also took care of my cottage. It was like I finally had a family member who loved me unconditionally for who I was, not who I could be if I lost weight, became more outgoing, or?—
"Some party," Diego Perez broke my reverie.
He worked with Anson Larue, a real estate developer who worked with Savannah Lace and shared office space with us.
Diego, like me, had been born and raised in Savannah and, like me, had left.
He'd moved back when his friend Anson offered him a job. Now, he commuted between Sentinel, where Larue Constructions’ headquarters were, and Savannah, where he lived.
We'd become friendly as our offices were close to one another.
"Aunt Hattie knows how to throw a party," I agreed.
Harriet Odom never did anything halfway, which is why red, white, and blue bunting draped the verandah rails, enormous floral arrangements spilling over with roses and hydrangeas sat on nearly every surface, and strings of fairy lights zigzagged between the oaks, ready to come alive as soon as the sun set.
On the porch, a live jazz band played a slow, sultry tune, their brass notes mingling with the chatter and laughter of the gathered crowd.
The BBQ was what you’d picture when you thought of July Fourth cookouts—luxury edition.
There were grills out back, manned by chefs in crisp white aprons, but they were flipping steaks and salmon instead of burgers and hot dogs.
Lobster rolls sat next to artfully plated slaw, and a long buffet table covered in white linen held everything from truffle mac and cheese to caviar-topped deviled eggs.
Even the iced tea had been fancied up, served in delicate glasses garnished with sprigs of mint and lemon slices cut into perfect stars.
Diego raised his glass of Hattie's special punch, and we toasted.
"What's in this?" he mused after a sip.
"Ninety percent champagne and ten percent…who knows," I told him.
"It should be too sweet for my liking, but I can't stop drinking the damn thing," Diego complained good-naturedly.
"It's Aunt Hattie's secret recipe. I think the mystery ingredient might be honey-soaked bourbon," I stage whispered.
Diego looked at me with narrowed eyes. “So, I’m getting drunk on champagne?”
“Mixed with bourbon, yeah.”
Diego was a handsome man, and I had a slight crush on him—well, me and the entire female population of Savannah Lace.
No matter how we all lusted after him, Diego was very respectful and didn't flirt with anyone, well, except, incongruously, Nina Davenport.
Now, no one flirted with that woman because she was indomitable, but that didn't seem to deter Diego.
"Are you hiding here?" Diego asked.
I sighed. "Yep! I needed a break from navigating the endless stream of Savannah's elite."
"You and me both, querida,” he agreed.
I thought I'd be fine, and I had been for the most part, but every time I turned, I felt like I was being assaulted with saccharine politeness that barely masked the sharp edge of people's curiosity—it was becoming exhausting.
“Oh, you’re Cash’s sister, aren’t you?”
"Did you hear about Rhett and Josie's engagement? Are you okay about it?"
"Don't Rhett and Josie look lovely together? Just look at them. So, is it true that you and he were…well…together all those years ago?"
"Well, women work until they get married, darlin'. So, are you in the market? 'Cause I have a brother/friend/uncle/cousin/someone single and ready to mingle."
"You're so brave to have come back to Savannah. If what happened to you happened to me, I'd never be able to show my face here."
I'd plastered on the polite smile I’d perfected over the years, nodding and responding with noncommittal pleasantries, while mentally calculating the distance between the hub of the party and the pond by my cottage.
"I better get to Nina before her dance card fills up," Diego murmured when the music became louder and people started to dance.
“Good luck.” My gaze followed him as he approached Nina. In the blink of an eye, he had wrapped his arms around Nina and gotten her onto the dance floor. He was a smooth operator, I had to give him that.
Speaking of smooth operators, I saw Rhett and Josie dancing and smiling at one another.
Of course, that didn't mean anything because, in Savannah society, couples kept up appearances.
You'd see them together and think, "Oh, they're in love,” and a minute later, you’d find out the husband had a mistress ensconced in a house a respectable distance from Savannah.
“Pearl Beaumont,” came a voice to my left, almost playful.
I turned to see Raphael “Rafe” Rhodes, his smile as disarming as the red, white, and blue bowtie he wore with a linen blazer.
Rafe was not what one expected from the Rhodes family.
Where his brother Gabe was buttoned-up and serious, Rafe looked like he belonged at an art gallery opening.
He had the kind of charm that didn’t feel rehearsed, paired with an intelligence that made you want to lean in closer to hear what he’d say next.
The fact that he was handsome as sin didn’t hurt at all.
I gave Rafe a quick hug. "Enjoying the spectacle?"
Rafe chuckled. He was a tenured professor of quantitative economics at Emory University.
He was a few years older than me, so we didn't know each other in high school.
However, we had gotten to know one another by accident in LA, where he'd been living for a semester, working on a project at USC.
I'd met him through a friend, and as was the case with transplants, we connected over our joint hate for Savannah society.
“Immensely." His grin widened. "It’s not every day you get to eat a steak grilled by a Michelin-star chef while listening to a jazz version of the national anthem. It’s good to see you here."
"Well, I live here." I tilted my chin toward my cottage.
"I heard," Rafe remarked. "How're you holding up?"
In LA, we’d talked a little about my life in Savannah, and he had the Cliff’s Notes version.
“It’s been going well overall,” I said, “but right now, my ecosystem’s feeling a little murky, thanks to all the Savannah elitism.
And since I’ve eaten, drunk, and been polite well past my limit, I think it’s time I leave and clear the air around me. ”
Rafe draped an arm around me and kissed my cheek. "You are, darlin' Pearl, as always, a delight."
There was a short time when I'd hoped that I could be attracted to Rafe. He was straightforward, accessible, handsome, intelligent…everything a girl could want. But we had no chemistry, which was such a pity.
"Well, well," Rafe remarked.
"Well, what?" I looked around to see what he was talking about when my eyes fell on Rhett, who was looking straight at us.
"Yeah, I've heard every variation of ‘Aren't Rhett and Josie a great couple?’ and ‘Are you doing okay about their engagement?’ Why does everyone assume I'd have a problem?" There was an edge to my voice. Rhett Vanderbilt was rattling me again.
"He's not helping by staring at us." Rafe was amused. "The rumor is that he's not happy with Josie."
"Rafe, I'm appalled that you're indulging in gossip." I gently slapped my hand on his chest.
He grabbed the offending hand and kissed my fist. "When in Savannah, you know you must partake in the official sport." He then winked at me. "He's pretty pissed about seeing you with me.”
"Is that why you're being so physically affectionate?" I demanded.
"Absolutely," he replied silkily and drew me close to him.
I leaned into Rafe. He smelled of sexy cologne and man. "Why couldn't you and I have clicked?"
"Yeah, a pity that we didn't."
"In any case, you sleep with girls who're way too young, like Leonardo DiCaprio.”
"The young women I date are very mature," he protested.
"Please, they’re young and your students," I shot back.
"I usually wait until they're not my students," he corrected.