The Prettiest Street in Savannah: A Coming of Age Novel

By Jack Cawthon

Set against the backdrop of one of America's most beautiful and historically rich cities, The Prettiest Street in Savannah is a story of great loss and renewal, of high stakes and devastating secrets, of unrelenting values in the face of adversity. At its heart a coming-of-age tale, the novel sets its sights on an unlikely hero, Billy R

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack R Cawthon
• Release date: Jan 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218129873

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The loud bang of that dang screen door lit up my anger.

Jeb, no! I spun around to glare at my six-year-old brother. You gotta be careful. You’ll wake up Momma.

He hung his head, sending a mass of overgrown red hair flopping into his face. Sorry, Billy Ray, he mumbled. A second later, his head came up, the sparkle back in his big blue eyes. He tugged at my sleeve. Can we go now?

Together we stepped down from the covered concrete porch of Side B of Building 12—one of forty-seven identical brick duplexes in the Chatham County public housing complex of Hartley Place—and merged into the crowd of kids and their mommas wandering the sidewalks at dusk.

Can we trick-or-treat around the square? Jeb asked. Daddy always says that’s where all the good stuff’s at.

I stared off in the direction of the square as if this might give me the answer. Not so sure that’s a good idea, buddy.

Why not?

Well, Daddy’s not here.

Jeb’s face fell, causing my gut to churn.

Let’s make the rounds here first, I said, grasping his hand. Then we’ll see. Okay?

This made him happy, but my tension lingered. Jeb had been asking me every day about Daddy. But what could I tell him? I didn’t know any more than he did. Already I could see the weight of stress in my little brother’s eyes, especially now that we were seeing less and less of Momma, who only had the energy to get out of bed about once a week anymore.

Halloween was a big deal to most in Savannah, with its reputation as one of the most haunted cities in the country, but it was more so for Jeb and me because of what the day had meant to Daddy. Year after year, Daddy had marched us through the neighborhood while hamming it up in some goofy costume. A few weeks ago, when Styrofoam gravestones and plastic skeletons had begun appearing in people’s yards, Jeb asked if Daddy would be home in time to take him trick-or-treating.

Momma’s telling me no, I’d told him.

Jeb had clung to me then and cried, while I just stood there, numb and unsure about what to do.

Don’t worry, buddy, I said. I’ll take you.

It was only when I agreed to wear a costume that Jeb’s tears let up. I was sixteen and a little too old to dress up for Halloween, and then there was the matter of money. I only had about three dollars, but I could think of no other way to smooth the rough edge of Daddy up and leaving three months ago without so much as a word to either of us.

So I dug out from the closet Daddy’s black felt Laredo hat—part of the getup he’d worn the year he dressed up as the guy he called Arlo, the cowboy from Bug Tussle, Texas. Along with the hat, I threw on a pair of his raggedy old Levi overalls and grabbed the rusty garden shovel from our patio junk closet.

What’re you again? Jeb had asked as we were getting ready.

He fidgeted as I helped him with his costume, a cardboard box we’d spray-painted red and covered in raised round pegs made from used applesauce cups that I’d dug out of the trash outside the school cafeteria.

I’m a gravedigger. I straightened and hooked my thumbs through the straps of my overalls. Old-timey style.

Why not new timey? Jeb asked.

I laughed. Because, silly, people don’t dig graves anymore. Machines do that. You know, like the ones at the construction site down the street.

I love tractors! Jeb’s expression grew suddenly serious. When people go in graves, they don’t come out.

That’s the idea. I thought better of telling him the story of my costume, which was based on one of the actors Daddy and I had seen on the trolley three years ago while taking one of the haunted tours here in town. The ghost had told us a story about killing his illtempered, drunken daddy, who had also been a gravedigger. The shovel he carried with him had been splattered with fake blood, which was why I’d worked so hard to convince Jeb that a red Lego was way cooler than a yellow one; the half can of red was the only one I could find in our storage space.

Like most other years, Halloween at Hartley Place offered the usual round of low-priced bulk candy, doled out stingily to the trick-or-treaters, most of whom scurried door to door in homemade costumes like ours, with the occasional tired-looking Superman or Wonder Woman getup purchased from the thrift-store. With less than half the residents giving out treats at all this year, it was barely past dark when Jeb and I came full circle, having made our way through the entire complex.

As we neared our front porch, Jeb peered down into his cartoon-dinosaur pillowcase and frowned.

Aw, it’s not that bad, I said. Besides, too much sugar’ll ruin your teeth. Great, now I sound like Aunt Becky.

Please, Billy Ray? Jeb whined. There ain’t nothin’ here but flat suckers, hard bubble gum, and Smarties. He looked up. Daddy always says it ain’t Halloween unless you come home with chocolate.

I stared down at him and sighed. Okay, fine. We’ll head for the gold mine.

Jeb practically skipped as we returned to the sidewalk.

The gold mine, which was what Daddy had always called it, was code for the rich folks who lived on the other side of East Broad Street, which Momma had always referred to as the unofficial dividing line between the haves and the have-nots in this part of Savannah. Most hours of the day, cars, trucks, and motorcycles zipped by in both directions along the bumpy four-lane roadway, always at speeds way above the limit. In Momma’s words, East Broad was a good place to get smushed.

Several blocks later, Jeb and I stood side by side on the curb, waiting for our chance—with me wishing I’d left the growing-heavier-by-the-minute shovel back at the house.

Now, Billy Ray? Jeb sounded off for the third time.

I glanced left, then right. Not yet, lil’ buddy.

The toxic smell of exhaust filled the air around us, car after car zooming by with no break in sight. I’d crossed this street plenty of times by myself, starting when I was around twelve or so, but never with Jeb along. Unable to contain his excitement, he was jumping up and down beside me.

Settle down, I snapped, tightening my grip on his hand. We gotta be careful.

Momma’s old flip phone buzzed in my pocket. I laid down the shovel behind me to fish it out.

Hello?

Hi, honey, Aunt Becky said on the other end of the line. I tried the landline, but your mom didn’t pick up. Is everything okay over there?

It’s fine, as far as I know. I’m out trick-or-treating with Jeb. Momma was resting when we left.

Oh, of course, she said. Where are you? It’s awfully loud.

I released my brother’s hand and stepped back away from the road noise. If Aunt Becky knew I was fixin’ to cross East Broad with Jeb in tow, I’d be in for a lecture, for sure.

Just a loud car went by in the neighborhood, that’s all, I lied, my gaze set on Jeb. I’d better get goin’, though. It’s gettin’ late, and we still have more houses to hit.

Okay, she said. I’ll go check in on Jolene in the meantime.

Thanks, Aunt Becky.

I snapped the phone closed, returned it to the front pocket of my overalls, and started back toward Jeb, who had resumed his hopping.

I think it’s almost clear, Billy Ray! he shouted behind him. Hurry! Hurry!

It was like I saw it coming before it happened. Jeb hopped once more, higher this time. When he came down, he teetered awkwardly in his Lego costume as a section of the old concrete curb crumbled out from under him. He stumbled, his momentum carrying him forward, and landed with both feet on the roadway.

Jeb! The shovel clattered to the pavement.

Time seemed to slow as the glare of streetlights collided with the headlights of the oncoming cars and bathed us in white. I screamed and reached blindly for my brother, my mind flipping through every possible horrifying outcome. All I could see was the light. The noise of the engines and tires screeching filled my head. Blindly, I reached into the street.

A miracle delivered my hand to his skinny little wrist, and I yanked him back in the split second before a silver Ford F-250 rumbled past at full speed, horn blaring, and then fading rapidly as it continued down the road.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I pulled Jeb into an embrace, my mind spinning with two surprisingly well-formed thoughts. How could I have been so stupid? And, If Daddy were here, this wouldn’t have happened.

You’re crushing my costume, Billy Ray. Jeb wriggled out of my grasp and bent to dust off the knees of his too-short red corduroy pants. We can still go, right?

What? I stared down at him, speechless. It seemed that Jeb’s near-death experience was, to him, just another day in the life of a six-year-old. Meanwhile, the rush and drain of adrenaline had left me wasted. It was all I could do not to think about how different the world would look right now if . . .

I wanted to say no. Instead, I took his hand, gripped it tightly in my own, and after a pause to collect myself, I grabbed the shovel lying on the ground behind me. You ready?

He smiled up at me and nodded.

I looked left, then right. Now!

Hand in hand, Jeb and I shot across the first two lanes, paused in the median as a single white compact car rolled by in the far lane, going the opposite direction, then bolted again. By the time we cleared the curb on the other side, my energy had returned.

All right! We’re good, I said. Crawford Square, here we come! Just like Daddy used to say.

Surrounding the square were large and stately old homes offering all kinds of high-quality treats—full-sized Snickers and KitKats, and other great goodies. We hurried door to door as fast as little Jeb’s legs would go. After Crawford Square, we hit more streets than I’d planned to, right up to the eight o’clock cutoff, with Jeb bringing in a nice-sized haul.

The last house we came to was a tall, cream-colored Greek revival with black shutters and, like many of the homes on Jones Street, a long, side-positioned staircase that landed on a warmly lit front porch.

What would it be like, I wondered, to live in a place like this?

I waited down below as Jeb climbed the steps and knocked on the door, which opened almost immediately.

Trick-or-treat!

A girl about my age, wearing a pair of fuzzy cat ears over her shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, stepped out of the house, crouched down, and meowed.

Jeb giggled. Our neighbor has a black-and-white cat named Ricky, he blurted.

Is Ricky a nice cat?

Yes, he is, and he likes me. He lets me pet him.

Oh, well that’s nice, the girl said with a nod. That’s a clever costume you’ve got there. Want to know a secret?

Jeb nodded.

I still like playing with Legos.

When Jeb glanced my way, flashing a giant smile, the girl turned her head and squinted down the steps into the dark. On her face—her very pretty face, I couldn’t help notice—she had drawn on whiskers and a little cat nose.

She dug into the wicker basket she held and came up with a stack of what looked to be homemade cookies wrapped in clear plastic and tied with a shiny orange ribbon. She gently placed them in Jeb’s pillowcase, and then drew out another package and held it out to him. And here’s one to give to your daddy down there.

Daddy. A lump formed in my throat. If only.

CHAPTER 2

The brisk fall morning air bit at my cheeks.

I zipped Daddy’s faded blue hoodie up to my chin, then, with a jump, pitched the ball upward and watched it soar. Out of my hand, it looked like a near-perfect shot, but then it fell short and hit the rim, bouncing back hard to the other end of the basketball court.

Use your wrist, Billy Ray! It’s all in the wrist!

My gut twisted in a knot as the familiar voice played in my head.

Fighting back tears, I hustled to scoop up the ball, pivoted, and in my best Kobe Bryant impression, launched it from the other side of the court. To my surprise, the ball hit the rim, bounced up straight, and slipped through the net.

Nice shot!

I turned to a familiar-looking kid standing at the edge of the court. I didn’t know much about him, only that his family had moved into Hartley early last week—Building 9.

It had started to drizzle, thankfully, the drops masking the tears that had managed to escape and trickle down my face.

I swiped at my cheeks. Thanks, man.

As the rain turned to a shower, I snatched up the ball and hurried for the cover of the gazebo.

The new kid made his way over and leisurely climbed the steps.

You go any slower, I said, you’re going to drown before you get up here.

When he landed on the deck, he didn’t lift his head or even say anything—just bobbed about, staring at his feet while rain dripped from his head of unkempt dirty-blond hair. He was about my size—neither tall nor short. Same age as me, I guessed. When finally he looked up, I tried not to notice the jumbo-sized zit on the left side of his nose.

I’m Frankie. He jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, which hung loosely from his scrawny frame.

Billy Ray. I saw you guys move in last week. Where you from?

Jasper County, he said. South Carolina. We moved here to be closer to my mom’s family—my uncle, mainly. You live here a long time?

Born here.

You like it? Frankie’s eyes almost met mine, but not quite.

Um, sure. But then, it’s the only place I’ve ever lived.

I really didn’t want to move. I don’t know anybody here.

Well, now you know me.

Yeah. He cracked a smile. S’pose that’s right.

A short whistling sound sent Frankie to his back pocket. Eh, it’s just my mom, he said, coming up with a smartphone. Better text her back. Let her know I haven’t gotten lost or anything.

As I watched him tap away at the screen, I had a moment of envy before it was replaced with embarrassment about the flip phone in my pocket. When I turned sixteen back in March, I got an after-school job stocking and rounding up carts at Kroger, and had been saving up for a phone, but had to quit last month when it was clear Momma was no longer capable of taking care of Jeb on her own. Aunt Becky had been pitching in to help where and when she could, but there was only so much she could do between her health problems and her jerk of a husband. The way things were going now, I wondered if I should have quit school instead of the job, but Momma would never be havin’ any of that.

Hopefully Momma’s ancient flip phone wouldn’t have Frankie thinking I was some sort of freak. I had a couple of sort-of friends at school, but it would be nice having a friend that lived close by. Most of the folks in our complex were either too old or had kids closer to Jeb’s age.

Gotta admit, Frankie said, replacing the phone in his pocket, this place sure beats the swamp I come from. What y’all call this place?

Crawford Square, I said. It’s named after some old senator. I pointed toward the main walkway. There’s a plaque over there that tells about it.

Sure are a lotta parks around here.

It’s a Savannah thing. My daddy was raised here. Told me the story of every single one of them—more than once. I laughed, then shrugged. Actually, they’re pretty cool stories. You can find ’em online, I think.

A stab of pain hit my chest, thinking about how I used to roll my eyes every time Daddy would launch into the whys of the squares. Thing was, secretly, I always enjoyed those moments with him, and I think he knew it. At least I hoped he did. That can’t be why he left, can it?

What’s that weird thing out there?

I followed Frankie’s gaze to the long gray hump sticking out of the lawn below this side of the gazebo.

The old cistern? It’s basically a big well. Daddy told me it used to be the water source for most of the homes around here. And was sometimes used to fight fires.

The rain let up as quickly as it had started, with a bit of sun trying to break through the clouds.

I held up the ball. You play?

Yeah. Not very well, though.

Works for me. I started down the stairs.

Your dad sounds cool, Frankie said, following on my heels. He ever come and shoot hoops with you?

The knot in my gut returned suddenly and caught fire.

He’s not coming back, Billy Ray! Don’t ask me again!

Now it was Momma’s voice in my head, from a few weeks ago when I’d dared to ask her about Daddy. The sound of it filled me with a white-hot rage.

I balled my fists at my side and spun to face Frankie, eyes ablaze.

He bumped into me and stumbled backward. What? Why are you looking at me like that?

Before I knew what was happening, I knocked Frankie to the ground and sunk to my knees, straddling his middle.

What the—

My hands clutched his throat. My daddy ain’t none of your business. You understand?

Frankie’s terrified eyes met mine, and his hot breath hit my face as he gasped for air.

Do . . . you . . . understand? I said through gritted teeth.

When Frankie did his best to nod, I released my grip and moved off him.

He rolled, coughing, onto his side and then staggered to his feet. What’s your problem, man? he asked, backing away. You crazy or something?

The anger drained from my body as quickly as it had come on, and I stared down at my hands—the same hands that had just been wrapped around Frankie’s throat. What was wrong with me? Why did I want to hurt this kid I barely knew?

I looked up. I . . . I’m sorry. I . . .

Frankie turned and trotted off. When he reached the edge of the square, he sneered at me over his shoulder before disappearing behind a row of azaleas.

I dropped my face into my hands, tasting the salt of a fresh round of tears.

"We’re not animals, son. Violence is no way to solve a problem."

I could almost feel Daddy beside me, giving me a squeeze, telling me everything was going to be okay.

Only Daddy wasn’t there. And things were not okay.

CHAPTER 3

The sun starting to dip behind the trees meant it was time to head home.

Before I’d left that morning, Jeb was up and already digging through his Halloween candy, while refusing to eat the breakfast of eggs and toast that Aunt Becky had made for him. She shooed me out of the house anyway, assuring me she could handle things, and that with all I’d done for Jeb lately, I deserved to have a day off.

If she only knew what happened last night.

I slowed my pace as I neared the entrance of the square. Truth was, I didn’t want to go home. I rarely did anymore. But then, the peace and comfort I’d always found here at Crawford Square, with its stone and brick pathways and lush, well-tended gardens, had now been tainted by my own hand. After what happened with Frankie, I’d wandered the place, basketball in hand, trying to figure how I’d lost control like that. How had I managed to pop off like Uncle Roy, a man I couldn’t stand, just because some kid asked about my daddy? I couldn’t shake the image of Frankie’s eyes, so full of confusion and fear.

Hell, I was scared of me too.

Basketball tucked under my arm, I opted to take a circular route home, passing through neighboring Lafayette Square, and came to a stop in front of the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist. As I stood on the sidewalk of East Harris Street, an out-of-the-blue thought that I hadn’t come here by chance planted itself in my mind. Something, I felt, had led me here.

The tension in my body eased as my gaze climbed the grand steps leading to the doors of the old French Gothic church. I couldn’t remember exactly what Daddy had told me about what made the massive whitewashed structure particularly French, but the Gothic was easy enough to spot, with its lavish gold trim and ornate twin spires reaching toward the heavens.

The clouds above parted, revealing a crack of brilliant blue sky.

As I watched yet another group of tourists climb the steps to view the inside, I wondered what I was missing. I mean, sure, it was a cool building and all, but what would compel a seemingly never-ending stream of people through those doors? Momma always said we weren’t church people, but the more I watched, the more curious I became.

Before long, I found myself leaving the sidewalk and slowly moving up the steps.

The voices around me dropped to a dull hum as I fell in with the current round of tourists filing through the tall wooden doors.

Once inside, I sucked in a breath, overcome by emotion.

The sight was so much to take in at once that I found myself stepping aside to allow the people behind me to pass. Some walked straight ahead to a large vessel of water, dipped in their fingers, and then tapped their forehead, chest, and both shoulders, left then right. Every single one, in that order. I’d seen this before, but what it meant I had no idea.

Other