Saving Savannah

My head spun with a thousand upcoming tasks as I shrugged off my robe. I lacked focus. I lacked sleep. The way my brain was working, I wasn’t sure of anything right now. Except for one thing:

I was definitely having pizza for breakfast.

Nine

SAVANNAH

There were two categories of people who came to Salem, Massachusetts. There were those in it for the rich, four-hundred year-old history of the legendary seaport… and those in it purely for the spooky, more Halloween-esque vibes.

As it was, I loved both types equally. Because while it was fun to roam the streets during the busy fall season, it was equally enjoyable to visit the places that made Salem an instantly-recognizable word in the minds of just about everyone. Salem had life. Character. A rich, yet often sad cultural identity that revolved around the famed witch trials of 1692, but even beyond that, a place where Americans could commune with the ghosts of their past.

I thought about these things as I made my way through the heart of the Essex street fair, which was going through the last throes of initial setup. It was still early in the day. Half the booths and most of the shops hadn’t opened yet. In a few hours the brick-lined streets would be teeming with people. But on the upcoming weekend…

Well, at this time of year things would get especially crazy.

I inserted my shining new key into the new lock, and opened the door to my would-be shop. The place was old of course, like everything else in Salem. But it was yet another blank canvas for me. Aside from the few pieces of furniture I’d already had delivered and some giant armoire left behind by the previous owner, I could set things up in any configuration I wanted.

And what I wanted most, I realized, was to replicate the past.

I sighed as I placed my hands on my hips. Maybe this was the one thing I wanted to drag up to Massachusetts with me. The layout was a little different and the windows were in the wrong place, but I could probably make it close. With a little elbow grease and some cr

eative decorating it could at least feel like my old shop, and therefore, seem a little like home.

Home.

I pushed the word away with a short, acrid laugh. Had I ever really had a home?

When it came down it it, probably not.

I moved through a narrow doorway, into the smaller back room where I’d piled my stuff. My little bedroll was still there, staring up at me dutifully. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it had been a good place to crash for the better part of last week, while straightening out my new apartment.

DING!

I whirled at the sound of the tiny bells mounted on the back of the front door. Silently I cursed myself for not locking it. My first potential customer, and I’d have to turn him or her away. Sounded like bad luck to me.

“Savannah?”

The voice was thin and raspy, just like the man it belonged to. I exited the back room to find my landlord standing in the center of the shop floor.

“Right here.”

He was tall, thin, and heavily bearded. Normally I didn’t mind a beard. But Gus had that kind of patchy, untrimmed beard that seemed to crawl haphazardly down a man’s neck. And that was never a good look.

My landlord’s eyes narrowed as he regarded me carefully. Then he reached up and scratched at his chin.

“Are you staying here?” he asked accusingly. “Because you can’t live here. It’s not even remotely residential.”

“Why do you ask?”

“A few of the locals noticed lights blinking on and off in the back of the store,” said Gus. “Late.”

“Just setting stuff up,” I answered smoothly, glad I was already in position to block the back room’s doorway. “That’s all.”

The answer wasn’t good enough for him — I could tell right away. Gus was the type of person who kept pushing. Well beyond normal boundaries.

“You sure?” he asked, taking another step forward. He glanced skeptically around at the empty store, his eyes lingering on the barren shelves. “Because it doesn’t look like you’ve done anything, really.”

“Not in here yet, no.”