This was why I loved Leah. She got me. “Yes!” I said excitedly. “It’s never going to be a grand home, no matter what we do, so I say we mix key antiques with new upholstery and some unexpected accessories.”
Leah nodded and handed me the mood board she’d been working on. “Faye loves gold, so what about these?”
The Barbara Cosgrove jar lamps with gold stripes and gold shades would be a perfect, fun touch on the pair of antique demilune commodes we were using underneath a pair of windows in the living room.
“Let’s mix natural fiber rugs with those great antique Persian ones they have.”
Leah nodded and made a note. “The ones with the blues, right? The greens aren’t going to work.”
“Exactly,” I said, walking toward the back of the store to check out the boxes waiting there for me. This was the best thing about having a store. You got presents every day.
“Oh, and Leah,” I called. “I want one of us to be there every day during construction. We need to make sure the original floors, moldings, window casings, and those amazing pocket doors are properly restored.”
She nodded, standing beside me now. “Do you want them burned back to the original?”
I thought for a second. “Only in the rooms with the egg and dart.”
The bell on the door tinkled, and my mouth started watering before I even turned around.
“As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Ansley Murphy in her store.”
I turned to smile at Kyle, with his tanned limbs, sun-kissed hair, and perfectly chiseled jawline. To be clear, I was drooling over the coffee he was delivering. I’d leave the drooling over Kyle to the younger generation. “Can you even believe it?” I asked.
Kyle was beside me now. I turned, and he kissed me on the cheek. “Our girl looks a little better,” he said.
I smiled. “She’s a mess, but she’s out of bed.” I shrugged. “I’ll take it.”
He handed me my cup. “What is it?” I asked.
“I felt like you needed comfort and stability, so I went back to your old favorite: skinny vanilla soy latte.”
I was a little hurt when he didn’t add, “But you don’t need the skinny,” like he usually did.
“I know Sloane loves chocolate milk,” Kyle continued, “so I made her some with a bit of ashwagandha to relieve her stress. It’s amazing if I do say so myself.”
I held my breath as I asked, “Did she drink it?”
He smiled and nodded, satisfied. “Leah,” he said as she panted over. “Iced coconut chai latte for you, my friend.”
“Thanks, Kyle,” she said breathlessly. She took a sip. “It’s so good.”
Kyle turned back to me and winked. He knew what he did to these poor girls. To my knowledge, he hadn’t been romantically connected to anyone in at least six months. That seemed unusual for him.
The door tinkled again and, to my surprise, it was Kimmy, Peachtree Bluff’s resident produce girl. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks, and she looked different. Her previously spiky half-blue hair was longer and all black again. It was softer, cute. Cuffs with diamonds traveled up her ears, and a tiny diamond stud twinkled in her nose. “Oh, good,” Kyle said. “You’re here.”
I looked from one to the other, trying to assess what they were up to.
“We’re making you dinner tomorrow night,” Kimmy said.
I put my hand to my heart. “What?”
Kyle nodded. “Yes. Chef Kimmy and I are making dinner for all the Murphy women.”
“And the two tiny men,” Kimmy added.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, flattered.
“Of course we do,” Kimmy said.
“We love you, Ansley,” Kyle agreed. “Now that Sloane is out of bed, let’s give her a reason to stay out. Let’s celebrate a little.”
“You sweet, darling children. I accept your very kind offer.”
Kimmy grabbed a cup out of the insulated Coke crate–turned–coffee carrier that was hanging by a leather guitar strap around Kyle’s neck. She tapped her cup to mine. “It wasn’t an offer,” she said. “We were doing it whether you liked it or not.”
It was one of those times that made me remember why I lived in Peachtree Bluff, why this town meant so much to me. These small kindnesses might not have seemed like much. But at times like these, small kindnesses were actually everything.
* * *
WHEN I GOT BACK home that afternoon, Mom and Caroline were chatting on the white linen living room couch while Caroline fed Preston a bottle. The house seemed quiet. Too quiet.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Emerson convinced Sloane to take the boys out in the wagon,” Caroline said, adjusting the swaddle blanket on her shoulder that covered part of the sleeveless white blouse she had paired with perfectly fitted black shorts. It was simple, but on Caroline, impossibly chic. “Vivi is riding her bike with them.”
My eyes widened. I was impressed. “That’s major.”
Mom exhaled and put a hand up to the opera-length pearls that hung over a simple pink, long-sleeved shift. Looking at the two of them side by side, it was easy to see where Caroline got her style. “Y’all need to stop babying her. If you keep doing everything for her, you’re just going to make her worse.”
Caroline smiled down at Preston as she said, “I feel so sorry for her. Even I’m having a hard time doling out the tough love.”
I sat down in one of the club chairs across from Mom and Caroline. “I think we’re even more sympathetic because we’ve all lived what she’s living, not being sure if someone you love more than life is dead.”
“Oh, I don’t think she thinks he’s dead,” Mom said.
“Well, she knows he’s in a horrible situation.”
“Right,” Mom said. “She’s in a horrible situation, he’s in a horrible situation, and you’re all complicit in letting her wallow in it.”
Caroline sat Preston up on her lap, leaning his chin into her hand, and patted his back to coax out a burp. “No, we’re not,” she said. “Not anymore.”
“And it worked, didn’t it?” Mom asked.
This conversation was making me uncomfortable and a little bit angry. Sure, Mom hadn’t let me come home or helped me in any way after my husband, Carter, died. And, yes, it turned out OK. But that didn’t mean that’s what I needed to do with Sloane. I loved my mother and I respected her, but freezing me out like that when I needed someone to lean on had nearly killed me. I wasn’t going to put my daughter through that.
“Kimmy and Kyle are making dinner for us tomorrow night,” I said, changing the subject as the door slammed.
“They are?” Emerson asked. “That’s so nice.”
Sloane trailed in behind her, Taylor on her hip. His head was resting on her shoulder, and I could almost feel his bliss at having his mother back. Sloane was so thin that her little shorts were hanging off her hips. Her light brown hair was ratty and pulled back into a slouchy ponytail. The circles under her doe eyes had circles. Usually Sloane had rosy cheeks, clear skin, and that sort of natural, effortless beauty reserved for Neutrogena commercials. Now, she was so pale and sallow, her normally full cheeks sunken in. I hardly recognized her. I wished I could hold her and make it better like she was doing for Taylor.
“I want some more of that chocolate milk,” Sloane said, exhausted.
“If you want chocolate milk, then you shall have chocolate milk.”
I could hear Vivi and AJ laughing and yelling out on the lawn.
“Is this dinner a family thing?” Emerson asked. She leaned casually against the wall, her leggings and tank accentuating her lithe body. She was eating well again, off that dreadful juice cleanse she had been on when she got to Peachtree Bluff, but her legs and arms still looked too thin to me. And she was a bit pale, too, which was odd, considering she was getting plenty of June sunshine.
I cocked my head to the side. “Well, no. I suppose not. Did you want to invite some friends?”
&nbs
p; She took a sip out of the water bottle in her hand as she strode across the room and said, “No friends. I just thought I’d ask Mark.”
She was gone before we could ask her any questions, that smart girl.
“Well, that’s new,” I said.
“Not as new as you might think,” Caroline said. “You know, Mom, you should really get better control over your household.”
Mom laughed heartily. I looked at Sloane, hoping for a smile, but her face was as stone cold as ever.
“I’ve always liked Mark,” Mom said. “And it’s time for Emerson to settle down.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mom,” I said. “It’s just dinner.”
“Dinner with the entire family,” Sloane pointed out, sharing a look with her sister.
That was true. I liked Mark, and I loved the idea of Emerson settling down. I didn’t disapprove of her laser focus on her career, but I wanted her to have other things, too. I wanted her to have more.
“Mommy, I sirsty,” Taylor said.
“I can get him something to drink,” Caroline said, though she was still burping Preston.
“It’s OK,” Sloane said, walking toward the kitchen.
“See, coddling,” Mom said.
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t do this with her. Not today.
“Hey, Mom,” Caroline said. “I’m going to put Preston down for his nap. Do you mind listening for him? I’m going to take Grammy out to lunch.” Caroline winked at Mom, and she winked back. Those two were always up to something. I wished Mom could be a tiny bit better at disguising the fact that Caroline was her favorite.
“That’s fine,” I said, my mind still on Sloane. “I’m going to go make some tea,” I said, getting up and heading to the kitchen. It was terribly transparent, but if I wanted to help my daughter, then that was my prerogative.
As I reached my arms out to take Taylor from Sloane—as exhausted as I had been, I missed the boys like crazy while I was at work—I glanced out the window at the house next door that once belonged to Mr. Solomon, my crazy neighbor whom I had fought with for years over the fence that separated our yards. Happily, we made up in the weeks before his death, thanks to Caroline, of all people. Now it sat empty and alone, almost sullen, as if it were reaching out to me.
It wasn’t as large or grand as this house, but it had a charm that had always drawn me in. I wondered for the millionth time who would scoop it up when it went on the market and how I would convince the buyers to let me decorate it. And, for a split second, Jack, the first boy I had ever told how much I loved that house, crossed my mind. But he was gone, I remembered. And so were those sunny, carefree summer days.
FIVE
enlisted
sloane
June 18, 2013
Dear Sloane,
I can’t express how painful it was to leave you and AJ today. There’s a huge hole in my heart, a piece of me missing without the two of you. I felt like I couldn’t breathe as I walked away from you, and now, as I sit here, awake in the middle of the night, writing to you, I feel that pain again. Thank you for being the mother and woman you are, for taking care of our son when I can’t, for loving both of us in the way you do. Already counting down the days until you are both in my arms again.
All my love,
Adam
THERE’S NOTHING LIKE WATCHING your husband board a plane to the Middle East to make you realize that you have absolutely no idea how to be a mother. The first three weeks with AJ had been tough, sure, but Mom had been there the first week and Adam had been so hands-on the second two that I hadn’t truly realized how difficult it would be. Mom was in New York because it was grandparents’ day at Vivi’s school. Caroline was having such a tough time, her life revolving around hormone injections and IVF, that I felt almost guilty breathing in the sweet-smelling, perfectly pink head of my brand-new baby boy. Emerson was in LA, Grammy was in Florida, my mother-in-law had just had a knee replacement, and my best and only real friend on post in North Carolina had just been stationed in California.
That night with AJ had been the worst one by far. He wanted to feed every hour and a half and screamed in between. My nipples were raw and bleeding, and I was pretty sure I had a UTI, but my doctor didn’t want me to take an antibiotic. Every square inch of my house was filled with some sort of baby apparatus, and the trash cans were filled with dirty diapers that I hadn’t yet found the time or energy to take out. AJ was screaming, and to keep from throwing him out the window, I did the unthinkable, the thing my pediatrician had harped on like it was life or death: I turned on the TV. I was sure social services would sense I had broken the primary rule of parenting and arrive at my door any minute. But almost instantly, AJ quit crying.
I was so tired I couldn’t even feel the overwhelming mom guilt. I lay down on the floor right beside his bouncy seat and closed my eyes. If I couldn’t nap, just for a few minutes, I was sure I would die.
I was roused from my sleep by the feeling that someone was watching me. When I drowsily opened my eyes, I saw a protruding, pregnant belly—and then I saw the woman it belonged to. I screamed and lunged for AJ, who looked at me curiously.
All she said was, “First baby, huh?”
I didn’t respond. I looked up at her face, her mousy brown hair cut to her chin, a Cindy Crawford mole above her lip. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and had on a simple hot-pink cotton maternity dress that tied in the back. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was cute—probably not a murderer or kidnapper. But better safe than sorry.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m Maryanne. I’m your new neighbor. Your back door was standing open, and I just wanted to make sure you were OK.”
My breathing slowed, and I felt my pulse return to normal. “Oh gosh,” I said, finally waking up enough to figure out what was happening. I looked around, mortified. “I’m so embarrassed. Please forgive the mess. I promise I’m not usually like this.”
She held out her hand, and I let her pull me up.
“You don’t have to apologize to me, honey. I feel your pain.” She pointed to her belly. “This is number two. Tom was deployed when number one was three months old, and I thought I would die then. I can’t imagine if he had left when he was as little as your guy.”
Anger, sadness, fear, and self-pity welled up in me all at once, and I burst into tears.
Maryanne hugged me, which only made me cry harder.
“Listen, sister,” she said, “you’re going to make it. It’s going to be fine. I’m going to teach you how to do this without losing your ever-loving mind.”
I nodded, wiping my eyes. Maryanne looked around, and I felt self-conscious again about my mess. But she said, “Wow. This place is incredible.”
I appraised the room as well, noticing for the first time in a while the custom-made couch, stylish art, mirrored gold end tables, and antique dining table with the beautiful oyster-shell chandelier over top. Admittedly, that was a little odd, but my mom had thought being stationed in North Carolina meant we would be living on the coast. I loved it anyway. It reminded me of home.
“My mom’s a decorator,” I said, apologetically.
“You don’t say,” Maryanne replied.
From that moment on, we were best friends. We were Army wives. We were in this together. Maryanne taught me that mothering on your own meant getting on a schedule and sticking to it no matter what. It meant Stroller Strides with the other moms on post at 9 a.m.; a trip into town every day, even if it was just to Starbucks; taking advantage of one nap to clean the house and the other to relax. “You’re a single mother now, Sloane,” she said. “You have to preserve yourself at all costs. It doesn’t matter if the laundry gets done, and no one is coming home to eat a five-star dinner.”
In the name of self-preservation, Maryanne and I enlisted two other wives to start a supper club. Once a week, each of us prepared dinner for the entire clan. It wasn’t fancy and our houses weren’t always spic and span, but it gave us adult time, and most impo
rtantly, camaraderie, the thing that we needed to survive almost as much as our husbands did. Those women became my sanity.
Now, all I could think about was them. How could I have done this to my best girlfriends? While they were on post fighting the fight, worrying about me, I was selfishly hiding away in my bed, letting others take care of my children. I felt like a sellout. I couldn’t face them.
I couldn’t count the number of missed calls I had. Maybe my friends weren’t calling only to check on me; maybe their husbands were with Adam. I don’t know how I hadn’t thought of it before. I felt so selfish. These were my friends, the women who saved me, who taught me how to be an Army wife. I sat down at the end of my bed. I had actually made it up that morning. It wasn’t much and it took most of my energy, but it was a start. I glanced at my painting in the corner of the bedroom. I knew I would give it to Maryanne. It was just her style. I searched for her contact and pushed Call.
“Oh, thank God,” Maryanne said, all in one breath. “We were all so afraid that something had happened to you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am. I couldn’t face anyone. I basically lost five weeks of my life.” I paused, my lower lip quivering. With tears in my throat I said, “I’m so sorry, Maryanne. I don’t even know if Tom’s OK.”
When Major Austin, the rear detachment commander, had come to tell me the news, I hadn’t been in the frame of mind to ask. He had said, “Sloane, Adam is DUSTWUN, but we have every reason to believe he is alive. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but finding him is our top priority.”
My blood had run cold when he had said “DUSTWUN.” Duty Status Whereabouts Unknown. It meant he could have been captured. He could simply be missing. He could be AWOL. If I knew my husband, he wouldn’t want to die in the line of duty, but if that’s what he was called to do, he would. Being killed in the line of duty would have been preferable, in fact, to anyone insinuating he was a deserter.
That’s when I said, “You find out who has him, Major. Because you know just as well as I do that Adam would never, ever under any circumstances desert his men.” It was my only moment of strength in all of this. Army wives don’t often take a stand with their husband’s higher-ups. It isn’t our role. But I said, “Major Austin, I don’t want anyone speculating that my husband was in any way at fault here.”
The Secret to Southern Charm Page 3
