“DeWayne is happy to be here with them,” Coleman assured me. “We’re only a few hours away, Sarah Booth. It’s not like we’re blasting off to the moon.” True enough. It was only a three-hour drive to Columbus, at most.
DeWayne came out of the house with Sweetie Pie and Pluto at his side and Chablis in his arms. They waved goodbye, and we were off.
Tinkie had supplied the limo with champagne, strawberries, and snacks. We were a loud and lively group as we sped through the Delta toward the river town of Columbus. Tinkie and I had gone to the University of Mississippi, better known as Ole Miss, which was northeast of Zinnia. Columbus was slightly southeast, right on the Alabama line. It was an old city with a fascinating history located at the junction of the Tombigbee and Buttahatchee Rivers and Luxapalila Creek. The Tombigbee Waterway was a vital navigation path in current times, and historically it had been a lifeline for supplies to Southern troops during the Civil War. Before that, the original settlers, Native Americans, had also used the river to move people and goods.
“We have something planned for each evening,” Tinkie said, listing on her fingers the events she’d arranged for us.
Tinkie was wearing her cruise captain hat, and she had our holiday organized to a fare-thee-well. While I admired and appreciated her wrangling of our schedule, I had hopes of sneaking away from the others for some very private time with Coleman. I had a few Christmas games up my sleeve.
“Sarah Booth isn’t thinking about decorating the tree at the Columbus Riverwalk or tossing trinkets on the flotilla on the river.” Millie grinned wickedly. “She’s got her mind on wrapping holiday garlands around Coleman.”
“Guilty as charged,” I said as I snuggled closer to Coleman. His hand brushed down my rib cage and I feared electricity would spark across the car. We had a mutual attraction that might ignite.
“So as soon as we get to town, we’ll take a little walking tour,” Tinkie said.
“I do want to see Tennessee Williams’s home.” I was a huge fan of the Southern playwright. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Suddenly Last Summer. The Glass Menagerie. All were plays that spoke to the many varied elements of being a Southerner. Not all were pretty or pleasant.
“Can we tour the W?” Millie asked about the Mississippi University for Women. Once a female-only university, it was now coeducational but still known as the W. “I’ve always adored Eudora Welty’s writing. I want to picture her walking around the campus.”
“And that we can do,” Tinkie said. “We’re keeping the limo the whole week so we can tour wherever we want to go and those who aren’t pregnant can sip a little bubbly.”
Tinkie was a serious party girl when it came to Christmas and exploring her beloved Mississippi, but impending motherhood had her focused on a healthy baby.
“What a relief not to have to drive,” Coleman said as he leaned back. He deftly slid his hand down my thigh and gave a wicked little pinch. To thwart him, I didn’t react.
“The Bissonnette House is a boutique B and B on the outskirts of Columbus, and right on the river,” Tinkie said. “I’ve booked all six rooms, so you can spread out any way you like. The owner is something of an authority on Columbus and was very helpful in planning our itinerary. She’s something of a character, too. She serves a full breakfast each morning, lunch, and dinner if we make arrangements. Breakfast is the specialty, though. I told her we’d be up and about by eight.”
Oscar, Coleman, and Harold groaned loudly. “You don’t have to get up every morning and go to work,” Oscar pointed out to his wife. “This is a holiday vacation. Operative word is vacation! We might want to sleep in.”
“Fine. You’ll just miss breakfast,” Tinkie said, not the least bit perturbed.
Millie only laughed. “I can rustle up anything you need from the kitchen at any time,” she said. “I’m just thrilled to have a whole week off. Now no more groaning and complaining.”
Harold popped another cork and poured champagne all around. For Tinkie he poured sparkling water.
By the time we got to Columbus, it was time for lunch. We found our rooms—mine and Coleman’s was a beautiful suite with a balcony that looked out over the river. I wasn’t prepared for the steep bluff, but I should have been. River towns that weren’t on a high bluff often didn’t last.
I took a moment to watch a few smaller boats and a tug churning down the river. Harold had once owned a sailboat, but Coleman and I were landlubbers. Still, a flotilla would be fun. Tinkie had planned a full itinerary for us, and I was going to enjoy every second of it.
“What are you thinking?” Coleman came up behind me and put his arms around me, pulling me back against him. His chest and abdomen gave me a sense of solidness and security.
“We need to travel to the Gulf and try sailing.” Watching the river made me think of traveling slowly on the current. Huck Finn. My childhood obsession had been building a raft, much to my father’s amusement, especially since we didn’t even have a pond to float it on.
“Really?”
I laughed. Coleman wasn’t prepared for my wanderlust. “Maybe not. Riding horses is plenty of work. That’s what they say, you know. The two most expensive hobbies in the world are boats and horses.”
“I’m good with the horses. Boats just aren’t my thing.”
“I do love a naughty pirate.” I leaned back and tilted my face up so that he
