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It had been an odd morning. First, Gigi had insisted on having lunch, but then as Elle waited for her in the lobby, she’d found a note addressed to her from Gigi propped up near the guest book at the front desk. The note said that Kate had been able to work Gigi in for a hair appointment at the salon. Gigi said she was taking the appointment and would meet her at the restaurant at 1:30. The note was odd because Gigi had a standing weekly appointment with Kate for a wash and set. Kate always came to the inn after the salon closed to do Gigi’s hair.
Maybe Kate was busy at their usual time this week? Maybe she had a date? Gigi would move mountains to accommodate her granddaughters if a date with a guy was involved.
Elle knew she would find out the rest of the story when Gigi arrived for lunch, but her grandmother was late.
Elle chuckled to herself. Gigi appreciated punctuality in others, but sometimes she lived by her own clock. More so now that she was eyeing retirement. Above everything, Elizabeth admired how she was still so active and independent at almost eighty-five.
She was feisty, that one.
In her younger years, before Gigi had taken over the inn from her own mother, she had trained as a chef. Everyone used to talk about how she had no trepidations about marching into a man’s world and making her mark. She took such pride in the fact that Jane, her oldest granddaughter, had chosen to go to culinary school. Since Gigi had never fulfilled her own dream of opening a restaurant at the Forsyth, she was pinning her hopes on Jane to someday come home and make that unrequited dream come true. She’d loved Zelda’s suggestion of building a tearoom. It had been the common ground they’d reached, which had eventually led to the meeting of the minds. Never mind that Jane was quite content in New York City. Zelda and Gigi had agreed they would work on Jane later.
Elle glanced at her watch—it was 1:38—and then around the restaurant. Lacquered paneling in knotty pine served as a backdrop for old fishing nets hung with replicas of starfish, lobsters and crabs with a few Christmas ornaments tossed in. Santa hat wearing stuffed sailfish lined the upper walls nose to tail, like they were Rusty’s answer to kitschy crown molding.
Why, out of all the places in Savannah, had Gigi chosen The Rusty Gull? As Elle scanned the place. She didn’t see any familiar faces. Did Gigi want to talk about the remodel without the chance of running into curious neighbors or acquaintances? Not that anything they had to say about the remodel was particularly top secret.
Maybe Gigi wanted a change of pace. Occasionally, it was fun to don tourist hats and do as the visitors did.
The west wall housed a giant saltwater aquarium and the east was made of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered stunning views of the river. The place was tacky in that way touristy seafood restaurants tended to be. It wasn’t exactly fine dining.
Not that she needed a fancy place, but this one looked like it hadn’t been remodeled since they’d opened their doors back in 1972. She knew that date because the menu said so. It also promised good food—mostly fresh seafood caught locally—served in a rustic atmosphere.
Maybe she’d discover what she’d been missing out on all these years, having never given ol’ Rusty a chance.
The server, whose name tag said Billie Jean, greeted her with a bowl of Rusty’s famous blue-crab corn chowder before Elle had even had a chance to look over the menu.
Elle was about to tell her she hadn’t ordered it, when Billie Jean said, “Hey, hon. Your grandmother called and said she’s running late. She wants you to start eating because she knows you’re probably starving. You want me to bring you some sweet tea or something else to drink?”
Billie Jean was tall and thin, with curly black hair flecked with gray streaks. Her face looked weary, but her eyes were kind.
“Unsweet tea is fine, thanks,” Elle said.
“Right away.” She gave a little salute and turned her attention to a man who was signaling her from another table.
Turning her focus to the steaming bowl of chowder, Elle spooned up a bit and gazed out the window.
The sun was shining and sparkling off the water like diamonds. The river, with its sultry air and low-slung horizon, was one of the things she’d missed the most about Savannah. While Atlanta had every material thing a person could possibly want, it lacked the beauty and serenity of the low country.
