Page 14 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
When he grins, I can’t help but smile back. Part of me feels like I’m awakening from a deep sleep, seeing the world with fresh eyes again. After Winston, I’ve been barely living, barely writing, hovering on the edges of existence, and Sebastian makes me want to take part again. To spend less time thinking of Death and far more relishing the present moment—planting a seed deep down in my heart once more, a fallow ground where I swore nothing could grow again.
We arrive at the restaurant and feast on jollof rice, egusi, and spinach stew. I forget myself while conversing with the owner, slipping into Igbo and then French when his wife from Côte d’Ivoire joins us, astounding Sebastian.
He gapes at me as we leave. “You’re a puzzle, Vivian. All the things you know, languages you can speak, and to be so young. How?”
I just smile and grip his hand tighter. “Testament to a life well lived.”
“Up for one more adventure today? Since we both are fans of history?”
I can’t back down from his challenge. This time I don’t hesitate. “Lead the way.”
Before heading to his surprise location, we grab lattes and pastries from Ruby at the café, then traipse along Broughton Street, perusing the stores, stopping to peer into Leopold’s Ice Cream and to finish our coffees under the shade of the SCAD cinema marquee. “Is this what you do every day?” I ask as we continue down the street. “Surely you have classes to prep for.”
He tosses his cup in the trash. “Summer sessions don’t resume until the seventeenth, and I can’t think of a better way to spend the time.” He holds my free hand as we walk across the street. “Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?”
I fight a blush. “No, of course not. Well, not yet,” I tease.
I’m so distracted by how he looks at me that I don’t realize we’ve stopped at the Telfair Museum.
I freeze and drop his hand. Even though the Owens–Thomas House & Slave Quarters are open to visit, repurposed as an educational center sometime after I left for Paris over a century ago, I don’t need reminders of my early life here, especially while I’m with Sebastian. For once, I want to leave the past in the past and live fully in the present.
“Everything okay?” He looks puzzled.
“Fine.” I take a deep breath and enter. I should relax. Maybe, for once, the past can stay in the past.
We tour the other exhibits hand in hand, studying sculptures, displays, and artifacts from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to the present. It’s like viewing history in reverse. I bite my tongue, trying not to share too much, as he watches my every reaction. What is he searching for? And what do I see when I watch him right back?
Sebastian laughs after I get too detailed about World War II photographer Jack Delano recording life in the 1940s, the evidence Ishared with Death in our meeting in 1952. Death pointed to the evil of war and all his work collecting souls, while I pointed to the good that had won in the end. “How can you know all this, Vivian?”
I shrug. “I’m a student of history like you.”
He accepts my answer, but a strange part of me wishes I could tell him the truth. It’s been so long since I’ve said the words out loud.
As an academic, his knowledge of and interest in the past nearly rival my own. His fascination and curiosity excite me. He’s riveted by every part of the exhibit, reading all the descriptions and then using his phone to research more—like it hurts him not to know something. The wonder inside him is infectious.
It’s late afternoon as we finish the main tour. “Why don’t we duck in here,” he says, pointing to a burgundy sign that readsSavannah Collects. “One last exhibit. That is, if you’re up for it.”
I know the museum’s collection is like my own, with bits of history captured for posterity. Paintings, knickknacks spanning from early colonial history to the present, museum-quality items from local homes putting their treasures on display. Any other time, I’d be looking forward to searching, seeing what objects might be interesting for Death, but this time, I’m content to exist with Sebastian at my side. I can’t think about what could happen next. Instead, I’m just glad the moment exists. Besides, I’m not tired in the least. A buzzing runs through me, near electric at his touch.
We’re standing near the entrance, bodies close. No matter what I do, a force keeps drawing me back to Sebastian, back toward the light. He only has to lean down, to adjust his head just so, for his lips to find mine.
“You make me feel up for anything,” I admit softly, gazing up at him, giving him the permission he’s asking for.
He smiles, leaning in those few and final inches. His kiss is as good as I remember—better, even. His lips are warm and taste of chocolate from the croissant we shared earlier, and he cups my left cheek, holding me close. I wish I could hold on to this sensation, the delicious frenzy of wanting someone, a bond deeper than a one-night stand on his office desk.
I forget that I’m in a museum.
I forget we’re not alone.
Nothing exists except for us at this moment.
As he leans away, I realize how much I’ve missed this—all of it.
A coughing fit from an elderly woman brings us back to reality. We break apart, but our fingers remain intertwined. I’m not used to such public shows of affection, but won’t apologize for this surprising, beautiful day.
“Vivian.” I like the way he says my name. The admiration is nearly too much to bear.
“Sebastian.”
