Golden Girl(30)
People laugh, though Vivi knows this is a sore spot with Savannah.
“That changed my first week at Duke University, in the Craven Quad dorm, when I met a girl from down the hall, Vivian Howe. We were in the bathroom; Vivi asked to borrow shampoo. She had arrived at college woefully under-provisioned, whereas I had an entire CVS stuffed beneath my extra-long twin bed. Vivi was from a town called Parma, Ohio. She was a tiny thing with long straight coal-black hair and cute freckles across her nose, and she had a thin silver hoop pierced through the top of her ear that I was jealous of. The second Vivi accepted the bottle of Breck from me, I felt a recognition: here was the best friend I’d been looking for.
“In the summers during college, Vivi stayed in Durham and waitressed at the Flying Burrito in order to save money for the following school year. I didn’t get her to Nantucket until we’d both graduated. My parents had a rule at our Nantucket house: houseguests stayed one week, not a minute longer. I had other ideas about Vivi; I thought she might be allowed to live in my room for the entire summer. She wasn’t a houseguest and she wasn’t just a friend, she was a sister.” Savannah stops, takes a breath. “My parents saw things differently, and after a week, they insisted that Vivi had to go. I thought Vivi would head back to Durham to sling chips and salsa, but in the seven days of her visit, she had fallen in love with Nantucket Island. She said she had…found her home.” Deep breath. “So…what happened? She rented a room in a house on Fairgrounds Road and found a job at Fair Isle Dry Cleaning. Anyone who has ever been to Fair Isle Dry Cleaning,” Savannah says, casting her eyes around the church, “which seems to be only half of you”—laughter—“knows how hot it can get in there. So that first summer, Vivi chopped off all her hair and got a pixie cut. She started studying the locals and summer people so she could put you all in her future novels.” Laughter. Uncomfortable? “Oh, you think I’m kidding? Clearly no one here has read The Season of Scandal.” Laughter. She’s got them in the palm of her hand, Vivi thinks. Go, Savannah!
“Vivian Howe has been called a wash-ashore. But she was more of a Nantucketer than people who have lived here their entire lives because of how deeply, how profoundly, and how unconditionally she loved this island and our way of life.” Savannah is stabbing the podium with her finger. “She wrote thirteen novels, and each one is a love letter to Nantucket. It is a small but real comfort to know that although Vivi is gone, her words remain.”
Vivi smiles at Martha, who rolls her eyes. “Modesty, Vivian,” she whispers.
“However, the most important works that Vivi has left behind are…her three beautiful children—her daughter Willa, her daughter Carson, and her son, Leo.” Savannah turns her focus to the front pew. “Kids, your mom was a busy lady. She was writing or she was running or she was making chicken salad or she was swimming at Ram Pasture. The woman didn’t have five minutes in her day that wasn’t accounted for. Sometimes even while we were talking, I knew she was working out a plot point in her head or wondering how she would ever persuade her publisher to send her to Winnipeg on tour because her Canadian readers deserved a visit. However, I’m here to tell you that, at the end of the day, the only thing that mattered to your mom was the three of you. She was so, so proud of you and she loved you so, so much.”
Yes, Vivi thinks.
People are openly crying.
“My job, as your mom’s best friend, is not to make this loss easier. Nobody can do that. My job is to talk to you every day about your mom, to share my memories, and not only the good memories. Nobody wants to hear about a sainted, squeaky-clean Vivi. Has anyone here seen Vivian Howe get angry? Has anyone here seen Vivian Howe get angry after drinking tequila? Not pretty. But real.”
Martha chuckles again.
“Glad you find that funny,” Vivi says.
“I promise you, Willa, Carson, and Leo, that for as long as I live, I will talk to you about your mom. I will text you or call you when I have a vivid memory; I will advise you the way I think Vivi would have advised you; I will always, always remind you that wherever she is, she loves you. The love never goes away. Your mom is watching you right now. There is no way she would ever leave you.”
Vivi gasps. “Does she know?”
“Of course not,” Martha says.
There are soft sobs, sniffling.
Savannah looks up into the soaring rafters of the church. “Vivi, I’m talking to you now. I have given a lot of thought over the past few days to what we, as humans, can be to one another. Can we cross boundaries to fully understand—or even become—another person? I decided the answer is no, we can’t. I’m here, alive, and you are somewhere else. But of all the people I have known in this life, I felt the closest to you. You were and are and always will be my best. Friend. Forever. Thank you.”
“Wow,” Vivi says.
“That’s the best one I’ve heard so far this year,” Martha says.
Only this year? Vivi thinks. Inside, she’s cheering like Savannah just caught Cam Newton’s touchdown pass in the end zone to win the Super Bowl in overtime!
The priest takes the pulpit, lifts his hands, and says, “Let us pray.”
Nantucket
The service, we agreed, was lovely. Savannah Hamilton had done such a good job that we all looked around and wondered who in our own lives might represent us half as well.