The Sassy Belles. Beth Albright

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      6

      The next morning, a ringing woke me from the depths of sleep. It was one of those heavy slumbers that, when you wake, it takes you a few seconds to realize where you are and what’s going on, and the night before is still clinging to you and leaving its essence in all the wrong places. The tired was still stinging all over.

      It took another second for me to figure out that the ringing was the phone and not the alarm clock. With my eyes still closed, I moved to reach across Harry and answer when I realized that he wasn’t there.

      The digital clocked glowed 6:47 a.m. in the dim morning light.

      “Blake?” It was Vivi.

      “Vivi? Hi, honey.”

      “I am just crazy.” She thought I needed a phone call to confirm this? She continued, “Oh, my God. I am so sorry about last night.” An apology bathed in embarrassment. “I was so tired I don’t even remember getting up the stairs.”

      “Don’t you worry, it was a long day for all of us. Are you okay this morning?”

      “Oh, yeah, honey, I’m always okay…you know, just nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs, that’s all. I don’t know what to do next. Just pacing everywhere…waitin’ for the other shoe to drop. Any word?”

      I was still on my stomach with the phone tucked under me, pushed into my pillow, eyes still closed.

      “No word yet. I’m going to get up and I’ll meet you at Mother’s at eight-thirty. Okay?”

      “Is Harry there?” she asked.

      “No, he must’ve left early.”

      “Oh…do you think there might be some news?”

      “He would let us know right away if there was. Try not to worry. I’ll see you in a few.”

      We hung up and I lay there, clutching the phone to my chest and breathing in the morning air. I tried to exhale, pushing away the events that were about to play out.

      I turned over in my bed and stared at the double crown molding. I loved this old house. It was built in the 1800s. You know…one of those huge old Southern homes with the sweeping, wraparound front porch. The ceiling fans turned in slow motion all the time. I never turned them off. Slow-turning ceiling fans were so inviting. To me they meant someone was home, cooking something, the down pillows were all fluffed and waiting for you to rest your weary head, iced tea and fresh chocolate cake were waiting somewhere in the kitchen. The fans welcomed me home every night, even if the house was empty. Somehow I believed they made the place feel full, awake and alive.

      Harry and I bought this house five years ago as a gift to each other. It was for our fifth anniversary. We had lived in a little town house near the campus up until then. We both loved this house from the minute we found it that evening in November. It needed a little love, but it felt like home the second we walked in the door. Harry and I didn’t say a word to each other…just a glance and we knew. We could love this house into our home. Of course we walked the whole house, holding hands, almost giddy with the rush of the future and all it held tingling between us.

      There was a sweeping, curved front staircase, a wide and airy front hall, two large parlors on each side, creaking wood floors and brick fireplaces in nearly every room creating a fairy-tale ambience that I had never felt anywhere before. Sleeping many nights with the dance of the firelight on the walls was a comfort that is indescribable.