Free Saving CeeCee Honeycutt by Beth Hoffman

laughter. I listened until the laughter faded away.
    The bedsheets were damp with humidity and sleep, and from the pillowcase I detected a familiar scent: it was just like the lavender sachets Mrs. Odell made every year as Christmas gifts. I rubbed my eyes and tried to sit up, but I was nestled deep in the feather bed, like a baby bird in a nest. Once I freed myself, I sat up and looked around the room. My dented brown suitcase looked out of place on the pretty floral rug, and my scuffed-up penny loafers looked just plain wrong sitting beneath the delicate antique chair with its crisp, eyelet-ruffled seat cushion.
    Thoughts of Momma surfaced. It seemed like she died a long time ago, an event that was now fuzzy and out of focus, from the passage of years instead of days. A terrible ache spread across my chest when I thought of Mrs. Odell. I wondered if she was thinking about me too, and if her chest hurt like mine. My thoughts drifted to the adventure of traveling all those miles to get here, and how only a few hours ago that sign had appeared at the side of the road, spelling out the three words I knew would forever change my life: WELCOME TO SAVANNAH.
    All those thoughts swirled in my mind like confetti in a wind-storm. I actually felt dizzy, flopped back on the pillow, and closed my eyes. I must have dozed off, because I was startled when a voice boomed from above me.
    “You’re sleeping your life away up here. This ain’t no hotel. Time to get up.”
    I bolted upright and blinked. Standing at the end of the bed was a tall, thickly built woman with skin as smooth and brown as a chestnut. A bright yellow-and-blue-striped scarf was coiled around her head, and a white apron hung loosely over her shapeless graydress.
    Her brown eyes narrowed. “I ain’t got time for no lazybones today. You need to get up and get yourself dressed.”
    She propped her hands on her hips and waited for me to say something. But my tongue had turned thick, and all I could do was stare.
    “You got five minutes to get downstairs—that’s all. Understand?”
    A strong breeze pushed through the windows and lifted the edge of her apron like a sail. She smoothed it down and headed toward the door. As she disappeared I heard her grumble, “Lord, next time I climb this many steps it best be on the stairway to heaven. That’s all I gotta say.”
    I listened to the slow thump, thump, thump as she lumbered down the stairs. When the sound of her footsteps faded, I bolted out of bed, brushed my teeth, and got dressed.
    When I descended the stairs and entered the room Aunt Tootie had called the foy-yay, an overwhelming longing to be back in Ohio washed over me. It was so powerful I had to stop for a minute and collect myself. I looked down at my rumpled clothes, and while trying to smooth out my T-shirt, I knew I didn’t belong in this beautiful house.
    Her voice thundered down the hall behind me. “Hello! I’m speakin’ to you.”
    I snapped to attention and turned. Framed in an open doorway at the end of the hall, she stood on a pair of thick legs that sagged into boxy brown shoes. “C’mon, breakfast is ready.”
    My heart raced and my bare feet slapped against the shiny wood floor as I scurried down the hall. I followed her shadow through an arched doorway and into the kitchen.
    “The table’s in there,” she said, tilting her head toward a door. “Miz Tootie went to the beauty parlor, and then she’s goin’ to a board meeting. She won’t be home till after lunch.”
    I nodded, gingerly pushed open the door, and stepped into a sun-splashed room that overlooked a garden. A round table draped in a pink-and-white plaid tablecloth sat in the center of the room. Fancy silverware engraved with swirling initials sat atop a linen napkin, and on the table were two white china plates. Carefully I picked one up and held it to the light. It was so delicate I could almost see right through it.
    The door from the kitchen swung open, and I quickly