Chapter Five
After almost twenty-four hours on the road, Charlotte arrived in Savannah. As she stepped off the bus, she took a deep breath of diesel-filled humid air. She hoisted her duffel bag over her shoulder before spotting several taxis parked at the curbside.
SCAD had a transportation system for all the students, but she couldn’t make use of it until the first semester.
A rented room in a boardinghouse would be her home for now, as the dorms weren’t open until two weeks before classes began.
Had it not been for Mr. Baker’s generous gift, she probably would’ve stayed with Rhonda or at the crap hotel she’d checked out online.
Remembering his kindness made her smile, something she didn’t do much.
Mr. Baker had known about her plans to leave town, and on her last day of work, he handed her an envelope.
Thinking it was just a graduation card, she’d stuffed it inside her book bag.
Later that evening, he stopped by the house.
It was the first time he’d ever come to her home.
She had never invited him; she’d been embarrassed for him to see where she lived.
So why was he here now? she had thought.
Did I do something wrong? Thankful her mother wasn’t home, Charlotte had stepped outside, closing the door quickly so he couldn’t see inside.
Fearing the worst, she asked, “Did I mess up?” Her first thought was she’d screwed up on the last bit of orders yesterday. She’d always been careful not to mix up the photos and negatives and give the prints to the wrong customer.
“Of course not,” Mr. Baker replied, smiling. Then he paused, looking down at his shiny brown loafers. “Charlotte, if you need more money, just ask, okay? I’m not a wealthy man, but I’m not poor, either.”
Flabbergasted, she didn’t know what to say. “I don’t understand,” was all she could come up with.
“The card, the check,” he stated. “Was it enough? Sally insisted I come over and ask you in person.”
Before he could say another word, Charlotte held up her hand. “Be right back.” She hurried inside and found the card in her book bag. She raced back to the porch and explained herself. “I haven’t opened your card. I’m sorry.”
Charlotte gently peeled away the gummed edge of the envelope with her fingernail.
Inside was a card. Carefully removing it, then slowly opening it, she saw there was a check inside made out to her.
The amount truly shocked her. “I can’t accept this, Mr. Baker.
I didn’t earn it.” She held the check out for him to take.
“It’s a graduation gift, Charlotte. I know how anxious you are to make a new start. Sally and I thought we could help. Not having children of our own, both of us have always thought of you as our surrogate daughter. I thought you knew this.”
Mr. Baker would’ve been the perfect father, too.
He wasn’t ordinary-looking like most men she’d been around—teachers, customers.
He was tall, with eyes the color of rust, and a headful of hair a shade darker.
He was a fine-looking man. Charlotte thought he was distinguished the first time she met him.
And Mrs. Baker, too. Petite, with her blond hair shaped in a perfect bob.
They didn’t look like the image of small-town business owners.
More like hot-shot Miami professionals. From the first, she was slightly in awe of them.
Tears welled in her eyes. Charlotte shook her head. “You don’t need to do this, Mr. Baker. Really. I plan on finding work as soon as I’m in Savannah. I’ve saved enough for a few weeks’ stay in a hotel.” It was a very grungy hotel, but still, it would be a roof over her head.
“I insist, Charlotte. Please,” he pleaded. “It’ll make things easier for you.”
He was right. “I don’t deserve this, Mr. Baker.”
“You do, kiddo. Trust me.”
She did trust him. More than anyone. Knowing this, she nodded. It would be an insult to refuse his gift. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, allowing a single tear to river its way to her cheek and land on her light green T-shirt. He took a hankie from his pants pocket and handed it to her.
Blotting her eyes, Charlotte was unsure if she should keep the handkerchief or give it back to him.
He must’ve read her mind, because he said, “You don’t have to say anything, Charlotte.
I’ve put you on the spot, and I apologize.
Keep the hankie. I have more.” His eyes twinkled, and he walked away, but before getting into his car, he said, “You’re always welcome to stay with me and Sally when you come back. ”
She nodded, knowing she would never accept his offer, because as soon as she left the state of Florida, she had no plans to return. She stayed on the porch until his car was out of sight.
And now here she was in Savannah, Georgia, with a decent room rented courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Baker—along with the check, the card also contained a tiny slip of paper with an address.
The Bakers had made arrangements for her to stay at Mrs. Wilkinson’s boardinghouse as long as she needed.
Recalling their care and generosity brought on a rush of emotion.
She would always remember their gift to her.
Charlotte had researched the boardinghouse and learned that most of the tenants were students.
It was the perfect transition to dorm life.
She already had her dorm assignment. She would be staying in a building called The Hive.
There were tons of rules she would be expected to follow, but they were all fine by her once she’d read through all the details.
Freshmen weren’t allowed to have a car their first year, but she was fine with this, as she’d never owned a vehicle.
She planned to save enough in her freshman year so she’d have a car by her sophomore year.
The taxi driver stopped in front of a beautiful three-story red-brick home. She took the slip of paper with the address of the boardinghouse.
“Are you sure this is Mrs. Wilkinson’s boardinghouse?” she asked the driver. When he turned to look at her, she saw he was only a few years older than herself. She hadn’t paid him much attention, as she’d looked out the window for most of the drive.
“Yep. Pretty fancy, huh?”
Pretty fancy wasn’t descriptive enough, she thought, as she removed some money from her wallet. “Yes, it’s stunning,” she said. “Thanks for the ride; I appreciate it.” She gave him twenty dollars for the ride and ten for a tip.
“Thanks. If you need a ride in the future,” he said, handing her a small business card, “call me. I’m available twenty-four-seven.”
Charlotte read the name on the card. “Thanks, Tyler. I will,” she said, before opening the car door. Lifting her duffel bag onto her shoulder, she looked at the mansion in front of her.
Located in the historic Oglethorpe Square, the red-brick exterior was surrounded by lush magnolia trees.
The three-story house had a wraparound porch with rocking chairs, benches, and several small tables scattered around.
Flowers in painted pots, large and small, reminded her of an English garden.
As soon as she stepped inside the house, the smell of gardenias overpowered her.
Expecting the inside to be the equivalent of a male locker room, she was surprised that the front room was filled with modern furniture, brightly colored pillows on beige leather sofas and chairs.
Standing there in the middle of such luxury—at least, this was luxurious to her—she felt overwhelmed; the old hotel she’d found on the Internet was more suitable for her. This was too much.
“Hello, you must be Charlotte,” a woman with a true Southern accent said.
Charlotte looked up and saw a striking woman, smiling and coming down the grand staircase.
“I’m Lynette Buckley. Sally told me you’d be here today.
” So, this woman knows Mrs. Baker? When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she practically glided across the shiny oak floor.
She wore a long white skirt with a slit up the side and a pink top.
Silk, Charlotte knew, from her knowledge of textiles and her artistic eye.
The woman had thick white hair cut into a shapely short style that suited her, although Charlotte didn’t think she was old enough to have white hair.
Still, this made her even more beautiful, contrasting with her thick black eyelashes and hazel eyes.
Charlotte had the sudden desire to paint her.
Painting wasn’t even her thing. She knew Lynette Buckley would also photograph beautifully.
Charlotte felt so out of her depth that words and proper manners escaped her.
“Uh, yes. It’s great to be here,” she stammered.
How freaking lame, she thought, as the elegant woman held out her hand.
Charlotte shook the proffered hand, noticing how perfectly Lynette Buckley’s nails were polished in a pale pink that matched her blouse.
“I’ve just made iced tea; I hope you’ll join me. It’s so darn hot today. Makes me wish I was a nudist on days like this”—Lynette laughed—“but don’t tell Sally. She’d have a fit.” How exactly did Lynette and Mrs. Baker know each other?
Other than Mrs. Baker, Lynette Buckley was the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen. Visions of her mother, with her tacky purple blouse and her foul perfume, were so opposite of this woman, she couldn’t help making the comparison.