Chapter 9: Going ‘Home’ to Cleveland

A stuffed animal, worn threadbare, might have been the most treasured item in the world, but without the owner to give it value, it was either Goodwill or garbage.

A life in boxes

After my visit with Clarice yesterday, I scoured Georgia’s room for any kind of evidence that she had been as wild as Clarice suggested. Nothing. No sign of that necklace either. I finished packing the room into boxes about eight o’clock, after Grover ordered in some Chinese food. It’s sad to see a room that held so much of a woman’s life all put into boxes. They were labeled neatly with either ‘Goodwill’ or ‘Attic.’ Anything that had no market or sentimental value was already sitting in the alley in black plastic garbage bags. The boxes labeled ‘Attic’ contained photographs, awards, and keepsakes that had specific, identifiable meaning, like a high school achievement award. If it was just a stuffed animal, it either went in Goodwill or garbage. It could have been the single favorite item Georgia owned, but without its owner it was meaningless. It reminded me of how much stuff of Dag’s I still needed to go through. That depressed me even more. I’ll be spending the next couple of weeks putting Georgia’s soul to rest and still need to find peace myself.

In a way, though, I understand Lars’s insistence that I come to Savannah and put on Peg Chester’s persona. Savannah is one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever seen. After I left Grover last night, I took a cab down to River Street. Wow! I wandered through Emmet Park and stopped at a rib joint to eat real food. I could only choke down a few bites of Grover’s Chinese takeout. I don’t think he minded because I expect he’ll be eating from those cardboard boxes for the next three days. Along the waterfront I saw the Olympic Torch. Yes, Savannah hosted the 1996 Olympic Yachting events. Again—who knew?

I went on the ghost tour at eleven that night, meeting a guide dressed like a ghoul in a cemetery. If there hadn’t been ten others in the tour group, I would have run away in the first five minutes. As it was, when I got back to the B&B, I kept imagining people coming into my room and marching through to the bathroom all night long. Mrs. Teasley told me in the morning that she was surprised I hadn’t noticed it earlier. My bathroom is where the stairway to the servants’ quarters used to be. Apparently, every house and hotel in Savannah—at least in the historic district—is haunted. I know I looked carefully before I went into the bathroom in the morning. My face in the mirror looked a little more tired. I’m keeping that look as I head for the airport.

Grover was genuinely sad to see me leave. He wanted to drive me to the airport but I told him I already called Uber. I’m not getting into a car with him again. I’m feeling pretty comfortable in my body, so we’ll see how it goes at the airport. Then I’m off to Cleveland.

Where do you go when you die?

No one even saw me at the airport in Savannah. I walked through the checkpoints and the security scan without even being spoken to. Just waved along.

I caught a cab and paid $40 for a ride to my apartment in Cleveland. I can’t wait to get back to Seattle where I can drive a car. That reminds me, I need to make a rental reservation tonight.

I’ve never actually been here. I stood at the apartment door with the key in my hand and decided to be polite and knock. I waited a moment and a woman about my age—real age—answered the door.

“May I help you?” I stood there silent for a moment and let her look into my eyes. I saw the dawning revelation. “Peg? Is that you?” I smiled and said ‘Hi.’

“How’s my favorite niece doing?” She laughed and ushered me into the little apartment.

When I first developed the Peg Chester alias, Lars was looking over my shoulder. He insisted we figure out how to verify where our personas lived. Peg has to have an address, and if someone sends a letter there, it can’t come back ‘Address Unknown.’ What’s more, if someone shows up at the door and asks for Peg, the person who answers the door can’t say ‘Who?’ Enter Joan Redford. I roomed with Joan at the U during my undergrad days and we got along well. She lived in Indianapolis with her parents and came out to Seattle to get as far out of their house as she could. But she wanted to go back to the Midwest.