Death by Chocolate

smelled good...
like him. Insensitive but dependable ol’ Dirk.
    “Eleanor hired her to
protect her,” Tammy explained, as if he were a mentally retarded cocker
spaniel. “Eleanor died. Savannah feels responsible.”
    “Ah, hell... you didn’t
kill her,” he said. “And if you could’ve stopped it, you would’ve. That’s all
there is to it.” Savannah pushed herself away, out of his arms. “It’s not that
simple.”
    “I hate to admit it,” Tammy
intetjected, “but it really is that simple. Dirk’s right this time.”
    “What do you mean this
time?” he wanted to know. “Oh, get over yourself, Dirk.” Tammy squeezed
Savannah around the waist. “Come on. Let’s take you home. I’ll draw you a
bubble bath, and Dirk can pour you a stiff drink.”
    Savannah pulled some
tissues out of her pants pocket and blew into them. “As tempting as that offer
is, I’ll have to take a rain check.” She looked up at the gatekeeper’s cottage,
where she had seen Louise go, moments after Kaitlin Dover had told her the news
about her mother. “There’s something I have to do first.”
    “Are you sure?” Dirk said.
“Are you all right?”
    “Yeah, I’m all right. And
yes, I’m very sure.”
     
     
    “So, is that supposed to
make me feel better?” Louise Maxwell lit up a cigarette and tossed her pack and
lighter onto the glass-topped coffee table. She was sitting on a leather sofa
that had seen better days in a room that was cluttered with magazines, empty
pizza boxes, and plastic soda bottles.
    Gilly sat, crying softly,
on the sofa beside her mother.
    Savannah was standing. She
hadn’t been invited to take a seat.
    “I was hoping it might make
you feel a little better,” Savannah said, “both of you.”
    Louise tapped her cigarette
tip on an overflowing tray and ran her fingers through her blond hair. “Sorry,
but it’s much too little too late. My mother waits until she’s friggin’ dying
to tell me that she loves me? How messed up is that?”
    For just a moment, Savannah
allowed herself to reflect on the fact that she had never heard her own mother
speak any words of affection or praise. Did it hurt? Sure. Did she let herself
dwell on it? Not anymore. She didn’t have time to hate. Or the energy either,
for that matter. Life was too short.
    “I believe she really meant
it” Savannah turned to Gilly, who seemed to be absorbing her words more than
her mother. ‘They say that the words of a person who’s.... dying.... Eire
always true. She asked me twice to tell you both that she really loved you. I’m
sure she did, in her own way.”
    “That’s why she had tea
parties with me,” Gilly offered.
    “That’s exactly right. And
that’s why she made sure that Marie put roses on your petit fours.”
    Louise stood, walked over
to the cottage door, and opened it wide. “I think I’ve heard about all the
comforting words I want to hear from you tonight. If you’ll just leave me and
my daughter to grieve in peace.” Savannah looked over at Gilly. “Are you going
to be all right, sweetpea?”
    The girl nodded. Savannah
could see in her eyes, sad though they were, that the child was strong. She’d
make it, in spite of her circumstances.
    Some kids grew and thrived
in the rockiest of gardens. Savannah had grown into a pretty sturdy weed
herself in some less than perfect soil.
    “Good night,” she told them
both as she left. “And I’m very sorry for your loss.”
    She walked out of the
cottage and found Dirk and Tammy waiting for her, ready to take her home. God
bless good friends, she thought. God, bless ‘em good.
     
     
    An hour later, Savannah
emerged from her steamy, rose-scented bathroom wearing her blue robe and a more
relaxed look on her face.
    “Well, you look better....
red nose and all,” Tammy told her when she came down the stairs and entered the
living room.
    Tammy was sitting on the
sofa, a serving tray on the coffee table in front of her. Savannah eyed the steaming
mug on the tray with a mixture of anticipation and suspicion.
    “You didn’t make me an
herbal something or the other, did you?” she asked. “Not that I don’t love your
cooking but...”
    “Oh, please. You hate my
cooking.”
    “That’s not true. Except
for when you try to sneak that carob-wannabe-chocolate crap into my chocolate
chip cookies. And I’m not big on your miso soup or your celery soy shakes.” She
sighed and collapsed onto the sofa next to Tammy. “Come to think of it,