Page 74 of Saving Graces
Coral cackled.
“Sweetpea, I love you, you know that. But there’s a solid limit to Aunty Coral’s love. Just ask my nephew Grayson, who’s been begging me to take him on the road for the last two years. He’s my actual sister’s child, my own flesh and blood, and I would give my life for him. But not a tour spot. His band sucks.”
“Then why?”
“You guys are the real deal. You’re fucking good. And we need a new opener. It doesn’t hurt that I think you want to get out on the road right now, but also, you need the practice.”
“I…” Cassidy wasn’t sure what to make of that. “We practice pretty much every day. I mean, I’m not saying we’re perfect-”
“Practice at being on the road,” Coral corrected her. “It’s not as glamorous as Ms. Savannah Grace might make you think. If you want to do this for a living, you’re going to have to get used to stinky tour buses and crappy roadside motels.”
“Savannah’s the only princess in this family,” Cassidy said hotly and Coral cackled again.
“So you’re in?”
She rang Kinsey, barely getting through the first sentence before Kinsey interrupted.
“I’m in. I’m quitting my job right now and I’m in.”
Before
“Ugh,” said Rosalie, screwing her nose up as she looked at Savannah’s face. Savannah laughed. “You’re hideous,” Rosalies said. “Truly, truly hideous.”
Savannah beamed at her. She’d already seen a mirror today so she knew the truth: she looked stunning. Glowing. Radiant. All the things a bride was supposed to look.
“You too,” she smiled. Her hand reached out and just barely touched a lock of Rosalie’s hair from where it was escaping. “Super gross.”
Rosalie rolled her eyes. Of course Savannah Grace’s bridesmaids dresses would be couture. Rosalie had literally never worn a dress this expensive, this well cut or this ridiculously flattering.
“I’ll totally get laid at the reception tonight, I’m sure of it,” Rosalie argued.
Savannah gave her a disbelieving look. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“Oh shit,” said Rosalie, with a frown. “I do.”
“I think that’s supposed to be my line.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” The words fell out of Rosalie’s mouth before she could stop them. Savannah raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.
“This again? Do you really want to do this right now?” She gestured down at herself in her wedding dress, then at the door she was due to walk out of in approximately five minutes to get to the church.
“It’s just… what’s the hurry, you know?” Rosalie tried.
A soft smile turned up the corner of Savannah’s lip.
“Rosie,” she said, almost under her breath, as if Cole were lurking outside the door listening. “I will literally always love you more.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Rosalie started, but Savannah was already turning away, the door opening as Coral swept in.
“God,” Savannah said as she took Coral in, gleaming in her luscious gown. “Between the two of you I’m going to be upstaged. I knew I should have put you both in potato sacks.”
Coral went first and Rosalie went second. She managed not to trip in front of what seemed like three thousand celebrity guests and did her best not to give Cole the stink eye on her way up the aisle. Then she watched Savannah float down toward them with her heart in her throat. From there, everything seemed to blur, and before Rosalie could blink, Savannah Grace was married. She was twenty-four years old.
Rosalie kept busy. Or, more accurately, she was kept busy. The center took over her entire life. In the months before the wedding she and Savannah had worked together closely, plotting and planning, daydreaming and scheming. They’d found the site together, a big old brick building not far from Music Row, two big wide stories high. Rosalie had researched bank loans but Savannah just looked sheepish and bought it outright for her with a stroke of a pen.
After the wedding though, Savannah disappeared, off on her honeymoon, then back on tour. She was dealing with family stuff, having tentatively tiptoed back into her family’s life to buy the people who’d kicked her out of home a house of their own. She was withdrawn when Rosalie tried to talk to her about it. Savannah didn’t share much but it was clear the interaction had cost her.
So for the first year of the center, Rosalie largely went it alone. She worked out permits and red tape, she battled for insurance and figured out hiring and payroll. She spent Savannah’s money on renovations and fitted out part of the top floor into shelter bedrooms, making it as comfortable and un-institutional as she possibly could. She checked back in with old friends, with Rachel’s friends, with every social worker and queer contact she’d ever had until she’d found a small crew she trusted from the community itself. And then, she went out in search of the kids she knew needed them.
