12. Savannah
Twelve
Savannah
The first thing I did after landing was text Ellie.
Landed.
I watched the message deliver.
Then I watched it remain unanswered while Rachel spoke to the driver, collected both our bags, and convinced an airport employee that no, I did not need to be escorted through the private terminal in a golf cart.
“It’s twenty feet,” she said.
The employee looked at my face.
Then at the golf cart.
Then back at my face.
“It’s complimentary.”
Rachel sighed.
Five minutes later, we were being driven twenty feet.
I kept checking my phone.
“No answer?” Rachel asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’ve looked at the screen eleven times.”
“Maybe I enjoy the wallpaper.”
“Your wallpaper is black.”
“It’s calming.”
The golf cart stopped.
Rachel stepped off.
I stayed seated.
“Savannah.”
“I’ve become attached.”
“To the cart?”
“It supported me during a difficult transition.”
The airport employee looked delighted.
Rachel looked tired.
My phone vibrated.
I was standing before the screen fully lit.
Ellie: Good. Captain Pancake remains concerned about your judgment.
Relief moved through me so quickly I nearly laughed.
I typed:
That feels hypocritical. He ate a cupcake wrapper.
Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
Ellie: He had reasons.
I waited.
Nothing else came.
It was not a conversation.
It was two messages and a dog with questionable standards.
It still felt like oxygen.
Rachel lifted my suitcase into the trunk of the waiting car.
“Are you coming?”
“Yes.”
I got in.
She slid into the seat beside me.
“What did Ellie say?”
“Captain Pancake is concerned about my judgment.”
“Captain Pancake and I finally agree on something.”
“You sat on him.”
“He sat on me.”
“It was emotional dominance.”
Rachel looked out the window.
“I miss when your crises involved mechanical bulls.”
“That video does not exist.”
“Sophie has three copies.”
Nashville appeared gradually beyond the glass.
Traffic.
Billboards.
A radio tower.
A giant image of my own face advertising the final dates of the tour.
I looked away before the car passed it.
Rachel noticed.
“You do know you’re famous.”
“Recent evidence suggests that.”
“You’ve never had a problem with the billboard.”
“I’m wearing too much eye makeup.”
“You approved that photograph.”
“I was under pressure.”
“You selected it from forty-two options.”
“Extended pressure.”
My phone buzzed again.
Not Ellie.
Sophie.
Conference room. Twenty minutes. Do not enter through lobby.
I showed Rachel.
“She knows we’re still in the car.”
“She also knows you’ll stop for food if she leaves room in the schedule.”
“I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“You ate half a bag of pretzels on the plane.”
“That was an aviation snack. It does not count on land.”
Rachel opened her tablet.
“There’s food at the office.”
“What kind?”
“Meeting food.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It’s sandwiches.”
“Triangles?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll cooperate.”
The label office occupied four floors of a glass building where every wall contained either a platinum record or a photograph of someone pretending not to notice a platinum record.
Rachel led me through the underground entrance.
A security guard nodded.
Two assistants stopped talking when I passed.
My face appeared on a television mounted near the elevators.
Not the billboard face.
Market face.
The footage showed Ellie grabbing my hand and pulling me between the stalls while someone shouted my name.
The caption beneath it read:
SAVANNAH brOOKS FLEES AFTER SURPRISE FLORIDA SIGHTING
“I didn’t flee,” I said.
Rachel pressed the elevator button.
“You ran.”
“There was a marine emergency.”
The security guard looked over.
Rachel stared straight ahead.
The elevator doors opened.
Sophie was waiting inside the conference room with a laptop, two phones, three folders, and a paper cup she had apparently forgotten to drink from.
Richard Greene stood near the windows speaking quietly to someone on his phone.
He ended the call when I entered.
“There she is.”
I looked at the table.
No sandwiches.
“Sophie promised food.”
“I promised nothing,” Sophie said.
“She texted conference room,” Rachel explained. “Savannah inferred triangles.”
“I have been betrayed repeatedly today.”
Richard gestured toward a chair.
“Sit down.”
“That was not an apology.”
“It wasn’t intended as one.”
I sat.
Rachel took the chair beside me.
Sophie turned her laptop around.
The screen displayed six paused videos, four headlines, and one image of Ellie standing on the seawall.
Someone had added the words:
TURTLE GOVERNMENT SPOKESWOMAN
I leaned closer.
“Why is she wearing a crown?”
“Someone edited it,” Sophie said.
“It’s badly placed.”
“That is your concern?”
“It’s floating above her hair.”
Richard sat at the head of the table.
“This story has moved faster than expected.”
“Because people love marine policy,” I said.
He ignored me.
“The question is how we respond.”
“We don’t,” I said.
Sophie folded her arms.
“That is one option.”
“The best one.”
“It allows other people to define the story.”
“They’re already doing that.”
Sophie clicked to the next slide.
A headline appeared:
WHO IS SAVANNAH’S MYSTERY WOMAN?
Below it was Ellie’s Johnson & Calder headshot.
She looked polished, serious, and deeply suspicious of whoever had asked her to fold her arms.
My stomach tightened.
“Take that down.”
“We don’t own the site,” Sophie said.
“Contact Johnson & Calder.”
“Rachel already did. They removed the original staff page.”
“Then why is it still there?”
“Because the internet is less respectful of filing systems than advertising agencies.”
Richard leaned forward.
“We need a simple statement.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“I’ve heard statements before.”
Sophie opened a folder.
“Savannah was enjoying a private excursion with a local dive instructor during a short break from touring.”
I looked at her.
“Ellie wasn’t taking me on an excursion.”
“It’s neutral.”
“It makes her sound like part of a hotel package.”
“Fine. Savannah was spending time with a friend.”
“No.”
Richard exhaled.
“It’s not inaccurate.”
“It is.”
Three faces turned toward me.
I looked at the frozen image of Ellie on the screen.
She was pulling me through the market with one hand and pointing ahead with the other.
No hesitation.
No calculation.
No idea that within hours, strangers would be searching for her dead sister.
“She isn’t a friend,” I said.
Silence.
Rachel lowered her eyes to the table.
Sophie spoke carefully.
“What language would you prefer?”
“None.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“You understand that silence encourages speculation.”
“People are speculating that Ellie controls a turtle administration.”
“That is not the central problem.”
“It has its own merchandise.”
Sophie clicked to another tab.
A T-shirt displayed a cartoon turtle wearing a mayoral sash.
I stared.
“That was fast.”
“The internet has manufacturing relationships.”
Richard rubbed his forehead.
“Savannah.”
“No statement about Ellie. No clarification. No denial. Nothing about why I was there or what we were doing.”
Sophie studied me.
“Are you asking us to confirm a relationship?”
“No.”
“Deny one?”
“No.”
“Then what are we protecting?”
“Her.”
Richard leaned back.
“From what?”
I looked at him.
“This.”
He did not seem to enjoy being included in the answer.
“We have a tour to manage,” he said. “Your personal life affects the brand.”
“My personal life is not the brand.”
“It becomes part of it when you’re photographed in public.”
“I was buying lemonade.”
“You were holding hands with an unidentified woman.”
“She has a name.”
“I am aware.”
“Then stop calling her unidentified.”
Rachel shifted beside me.
A warning.
I ignored it.
Sophie closed the folder.
“All right. Nothing about Ellie.”
Richard looked at her.
“We need something.”
“We can issue a general request for privacy during Savannah’s scheduled break,” Sophie said. “No names. No explanations.”
“Fine,” I said.
Richard did not agree.
Sophie continued anyway.
“And we do not engage with questions about Ellie’s family, work history, or personal life.”
“Correct.”
“We’ll contact the larger outlets directly.”
“Good.”
Richard stood.
“This is not a sustainable approach.”
“Neither was the golf hat.”
No one laughed.
I looked at Rachel.
“You laughed earlier.”
“I’m pacing myself.”
Richard walked to the door.
“You’re onstage in four hours. I expect this not to affect the show.”
That annoyed me more than everything else he had said.
I stood.
“It won’t.”
He looked at me for a second.
Then left.
Sophie gathered the folders.
“There is one more issue.”
“Of course there is.”
She turned the laptop toward me again.
A video from the market began playing.
Ellie stood on the seawall.
“Savannah has to leave. There’s been a marine emergency.”
The crowd laughed.
Someone asked what kind.
“Turtle government.”
The clip ended.
Sophie clicked the view count.
Three million.
I stared.
“She’s going to hate that.”
“She’s funny,” Sophie said.
“Yes.”
The word came out softer than I intended.
Sophie looked at me.
Then at Rachel.
“I’ll handle the press.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the laptop.
“And Savannah?”
“Yes?”
“Do not wear the bracelet onstage.”
I looked at my wrist.
“No.”
“It will be photographed.”
“I know.”
“People will compare it to Ellie’s.”
“They already have.”
“It keeps the story active.”
“I’m wearing it.”
Sophie held my gaze.
Then looked at Rachel.
Rachel raised both hands.
“I crossed several states. My authority is depleted.”
Sophie left.
I sat back down.
The room was quiet.
Rachel reached for one of the abandoned coffee cups, realized it was Sophie’s, and set it down again.
“You did well.”
“I annoyed Richard.”
“You do that well too.”
“I mean with Ellie.”
Rachel nodded.
“You said nothing.”
“That feels like a low standard.”
“It has not always been your preferred strategy.”
I looked at my phone.
No new messages.
“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me again?”
Rachel waited before answering.
“Then you’ll have to respect that.”
“I don’t like that answer.”
“It remains available.”
I stood.
“I need food.”
“There are sandwiches in the dressing room.”
“Triangles?”
“I asked.”
I looked at her.
“That’s emotional support.”