The Secret to Southern Charm

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  He cleared his throat. “I promise you I’ll do everything I can, Sloane.”

  I knew this would have caused a media frenzy. Soldiers didn’t go missing all that often these days. This would be big news. Speculation that my husband was AWOL was more than I could bear.

  Now, I heard the shake in Maryanne’s voice when she said, “Adam, Tom, Brian, Luke, Jeremy, and Thad were all in the helicopter when it went down west of Mosul.”

  Maryanne paused and cleared her throat. I could sense she was trying to gather herself. “So now we have to pray that they’re still alive.”

  My heart sank, but, just like those first days with AJ on post, I didn’t feel quite so alone. I had the fewest children of these wives. And the most family. Things could be far, far worse. Despite my devastation for my friend, knowing we were all in this together bolstered my spirit.

  “How are your kids?”

  She sighed. “The only one who really knows anything is out of the ordinary is Tommy. He asks me every day if they’ve found Daddy.”

  “Oh, Maryanne.”

  “What about AJ?”

  I cleared my throat to keep my voice from cracking. “He asked me if Daddy was dead.”

  I looked out the window at the boats passing by, at the children swimming. It seemed so odd that life could go on and the world could continue to turn when our husbands were in such peril.

  “And what did you tell him?” she asked. I could practically see her sitting on her old brown sofa in the town house beside mine. I could see her bare feet, the piles of laundry she was most certainly folding, and could hear the children running all around her.

  “I told him of course Daddy isn’t dead.” I could tell by the silence on the other end of the phone that Maryanne didn’t agree with what I had done. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. I was so convinced our husbands would come home to us that I couldn’t imagine another outcome.

  “We’re going to get them back, Maryanne. I know we will.”

  I thought of her, on post, with her four children. And of my other friends whose husbands were missing, too. “They’re stronger together,” I said, feeling my spirits rise, knowing it as clearly as my own children’s faces. “They’ll take care of each other, Maryanne. They’ll make it home.”

  It wasn’t only our husbands who were stronger together. We Army wives were, too. If anyone could survive this, if any group of women was prepared to stand strong and see their husbands home, it was us. For the first time since I’d heard the news, I could imagine the day when Adam would be back in my arms.

  I heard voices down the hall, slowly walked to the doorway, and peered out to see Emerson with Taylor on her hip, Grammy crouched down on the floor with AJ, and Mom putting a load of laundry in the washing machine.

  It was going to be tough, and there would be hard days. But my fellow wives were just like the women down the hall from me. We were family. We could weather any storm that came our way.

  * * *

  A FEW HOURS AFTER my call with Maryanne, I could feel anxiety and panic well up in me again. Were my sons missing out by growing up with a father who was gone half the time? How long would he be gone now before they found him? Months? Years?

  I looked around my room, straightened the throw pillows on the bed, and restacked the papers—or more aptly, unopened bills—on my desk. I needed to pay them, especially the credit card bill, but I couldn’t face them yet. I opened my computer.

  An email from my favorite kids’ store pinged onto the screen. Forty percent off. Well, that was a great deal. The boys needed some new shorts, didn’t they? Sure, I was buried underneath a mound of credit card debt that not even my husband knew about, that I could probably never pay off. But that didn’t mean my children should suffer, did it? Weren’t they suffering enough right now? And, I mean, 40 percent off even the sale prices? They were practically giving the stuff away.

  I zoomed through the site, adding items to my cart. Shorts and T-shirts, fleeces for the fall, a couple of cute toboggans—and all for less than fifty bucks. What a deal! I felt a little zip of electricity that was almost soothing. Some people ate; some people drank. Of all the unhealthy things I could do, this was far from the worst. It wasn’t like I was damaging my health.

  I held my breath as the order processed, crossing my fingers that my card wouldn’t be declined. I had no idea what the balance was, but I knew it had to be almost maxed out.

  Approved! Success. This was why I online shopped. A declined card at a real store was too humiliating.

  The guilt would come later, as would the agonizing feeling that Adam would be so disappointed if he found out our emergency credit card was nearly maxed out all the time and I was accruing massive amounts of interest charges by paying the minimum every month. But Adam wasn’t here. I was. And if this was what I needed to get through this rough patch—like all those other rough patches—then so be it. Plus, my dad put aside money for the three of us so we never had to worry. Mom was bound to give me my share soon, and I could pay the whole thing off no problem, with plenty left over.

  There were a couple of times I had thought about asking Mom about the money. But, even though I had lived in New York for the first fifteen years of my life, I still considered myself a Southern girl. And a Southern girl would never do such a thing. It would be not only rude to put my mom on the spot, but also tacky to talk about money.

  With my feelings temporarily assuaged, I did the one thing I had been dreading since the moment those uniformed men showed up on our front lawn. I called my mother-in-law. I was sure my in-laws must have felt completely abandoned by me. But I hadn’t been able to face them, because as horrible as this was for me, it had to have been even worse for them. Adam was the love of my life, the father of my children. But he was their son, their pride and joy, their entire reason for existence.

  As the phone rang, I prayed she wouldn’t answer. But on the third ring, she did. And as soon as I heard her say, “Sloane,” in that sweet Southern voice of hers, the one that lulled and rolled melodiously, I burst into tears.

  “I’m just so sorry,” I said. “I’m the worst daughter-in-law.”

  “Oh, honey,” she said. “No. Of course you’re not. I’ve talked to your mother every few days, and I know how terrible it has been for you.”

  I wiped my eyes and tried to focus on breathing. She needed me to be strong. “But it’s even worse for you,” I said. “I know it is. And I couldn’t even bother to pick up the phone.”

  “Sweetheart,” Linda said, “it’s OK. We have much, much bigger fish to fry right now.” Then she began to cry too. Somehow, her tears made me feel stronger.

  “Linda,” I said calmly, “listen, I know Adam is OK. I feel it in the very depths of my soul. He’s alive and he’s going to come home safe.”

  Linda paused. “But Sloane, I think we have to at least consider—”

  I cut her off. “No, Linda. I don’t think you’re hearing me. He’s my husband. I’m positive he’s going to come home. I’m not hopeful. No wishful thinking. I am sure.”

  I was proud of how confident I sounded.

  “Well, then,” she stammered, “I certainly hope you’re right, sweetheart. And I wish I had your faith.”

  I bit my lip and looked out over the water. Being surrounded by things this beautiful made it hard not to have faith or believe that everything was going to be OK.

  “I’ll bring the boys to Athens soon.” I looked down at my left arm, noticing how frail I was. It was shocking how much a body could deteriorate in one short month. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. If this had happened to me inside my air-conditioned room, in my comfortable bed, with people trying to help me along the way, how much worse had it been for Adam?

  “That would be wonderful, Sloane. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, please do.”

  I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “And, Sloane, if you need a break, Don and I are happy to take them for a few days. You
know how we adore those boys.”

  “Thanks, Linda. I love you so much, and I’m praying that the next time I’m talking to you we’ve gotten the good news.”

  She cleared her throat and said, “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.” She paused and added, “Sloane, you take care of yourself, OK?”

  “I will,” I said. “I promise.”

  “Love you, and please send our love to the boys.”

  As I hit End, I felt so much better that I had called her. And I could tell from the sound of her voice that she felt better, too.

  SIX

  an excellent start

  ansley

  I couldn’t decorate my grandmother’s house when I first brought the girls to Peachtree Bluff after my husband died. It was ridiculous, to say the least. I was a decorator, for heaven’s sake. An out-of-practice one, perhaps, but our whole lives were hinging on my ability to get my groove back, to return to paint colors and fabric swatches, floor stains and throw pillows. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to tear up the hideous harvest-gold shag carpet in the living room. We lived with chipped laminate countertops for far longer than I’d like to admit.

  It wasn’t because I didn’t have an idea for the house—I had millions. It was simply that, to me, decorating meant creating a home and a family, and decorating a home that wasn’t ours in New York meant accepting that Carter was never coming back. If I didn’t ask him which accessories he liked best for his man cave, then it wasn’t his home. If it wasn’t his home, then he was really dead. So I scrubbed that ugly tile, vacuumed that hideous carpet that was worn down to nothing in the high-traffic areas, and told myself I wasn’t redecorating the house because I couldn’t afford it.

  That was partly true, but I’d managed to squeeze enough out of the Victim Compensation Fund money we had gotten—after I had paid off Carter’s debts—to at least take care of some of the essentials in a new design scheme.

  Caroline whined and complained that she couldn’t possibly have anyone over to this disgusting house. Granted, Caroline would have whined and complained no matter what. She hated me, hated Peachtree Bluff, hated her new life. Emerson whined occasionally that she really wanted a pink room and hers was a putrid green. But it was Sloane who pulled me out of it, Sloane who, in her quiet way, made me face what I’d been feeling all along.

  “Mom,” she had said quietly to me one day, a bag in her hand.

  I remember I was standing by the sink, hand-washing dishes because, predictably, the dishwasher that hadn’t been replaced since the ’70s had finally conked out and—you guessed it—I couldn’t bring myself to replace it. She handed me the bag. Inside was a beautiful painting, one that I knew right away she had done. Sloane had been an artist her entire life, and even when she was little, her paintings were distinguishable from everyone else’s.

  “I was thinking that when you redo your room, you could put this painting in there.” She smiled encouragingly. She understood, in her childlike way, what I was going through. So I said, “You know, Sloane, I think you’re right. It’s time to move on, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “Redecorating the house isn’t forgetting Daddy, Mom. It’s just making it so we can live here. I mean, you know, really live.”

  She was always wise, that girl. She was the quietest, but also the most intuitive of my daughters. She understood what drove people. I put my arm around her and said, “How about we redo it together, Sloane?”

  She nodded and, just like that, I had a partner in crime, someone to run decisions by and help make choices that would shape the life we were moving toward. It was incredibly difficult moving on without Carter, but Sloane was right. She knew our new life was different, but that didn’t mean it had to be bad. I knew it intellectually; I just hadn’t figured out a way to put it into practice emotionally. Ripping up that carpet the next day with Sloane, Emerson, and Caroline was an excellent start.

  If only helping Sloane now could be as easy as ripping up that carpet, we’d be all set.

  I was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, looking at my phone, when Caroline walked in. Preston and Mom were both napping, Vivi was at a friend’s house, and Caroline’s husband, James, who had gone back to New York for a couple of days for work, would be here any minute. Kimmy and Kyle would be here in two hours to start setting up our dinner.

  “What are you doing?” Caroline asked.

  “Worrying,” I said. “What else?”

  She wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. Anything in particular or just the usual?”

  I sighed and got up, turning on the tap to fill the teapot. “I just got off the phone with Linda.”

  “Oh.” Caroline opened the cabinet beside me and pulled out two mugs. “You sit down. I’ll make the tea.”

  I did as she said. “She’s worried about Sloane.” As Caroline filled two strainers with loose-leaf tea, an herbal, calming blend that Kyle had concocted as an experiment, I added, “She thinks Sloane’s delusional.”

  Caroline looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “She said Sloane is convinced Adam is going to come home.” I paused. “She said she didn’t know whether she should call and that she wanted Sloane to have hope. But Sloane was so insistent about his coming home safe that it worried her.”

  Caroline poured the steaming water into two oversized brown-and-white-striped Henri Bendel mugs. “But that’s just how Sloane is. She’s positive. She’s hopeful. She’s the Pollyanna of the family.”

  I nodded, hoping she was right.

  “I have some news that might cheer you up,” she said.

  I looked at her doubtfully as Emerson came through the doorway. I could just make out the line of her neon bikini underneath the pareo she had tied around her neck.

  “I was looking up Hippie Hal’s phone number for one of the neighbors, and when I Googled him I found out today is his birthday.”

  That was nice, but why this might cheer me up, I wasn’t sure. “I invited Hal to dinner tonight so that we could surprise him and celebrate. Kimmy is going to pick up a cake across the street on her way here.”

  “Oh, fun,” Emerson said. “I love Hal.”

  “That’s great, sweetheart,” I agreed.

  “You OK, Mom?” Emmy asked.

  “Yeah. I’m excited for you,” I said. “I’m excited about Mark.” Something about Emerson had seemed lighter lately, like a fog had lifted. Now that I knew she was inviting Mark, her high school sweetheart, to dinner, I had to wonder if he was the reason for the change.

  She smiled sweetly. “I am too. I mean, I’ve been sort of putting him off, but I’m here now. And we can worry about the future in the future.”

  “Exactly,” Caroline said.

  I heard Caroline’s gasp and followed her gaze to the driveway. The black Mercedes convertible James had bought for her when she got her license pulled up. I watched as her face fell, and it was clear that she had just remembered what her husband had put her through, that he had cheated, and that everything was different. I took her hand and squeezed it as he walked through the back door.

  “There’s my girl,” he said, sauntering in, pulling Caroline to him and kissing her. He had come straight from work, in his suit, to see her. It made me happy.

  There was no denying I had always had my doubts about James. With his dark, coiffed hair and suits that were too fitted for my liking, his obsessive gym-going and charming dimples, I was afraid he was too charismatic to be a faithful husband. I hadn’t been wrong on that end. But in some ways, I had misjudged James, too. There was no doubt that, despite his total lack in judgment, he truly loved my daughter. He was fighting for her every way he knew how. “Hi, ladies,” he said to Emerson and me.

  “I’m going to get the kids settled in at James’s house,” Caroline said. James had bought the house down the street so he could stay in Peachtree Bluff and try to convince Caroline he wasn’t an awful person. It could be a long visit.

 
Emerson raised her eyebrow at me. “Never a dull moment at the Murphys’.”

  I nodded. Wasn’t that the truth? In the driveway, James put his arm around Caroline, and she smiled up at him. I couldn’t help but think of my first love. Jack had come back to Peachtree Bluff and fought for me, despite my misgivings, like James was fighting for Caroline now. I was so close to having a second chance at happily ever after, a second chance at true love. For the first time since Carter died sixteen years earlier, I felt like maybe true love could happen to a woman more than once.

  And then I let him go, told him it wasn’t the right time for us. Now he was gone. I didn’t even know if he was still in Peachtree Bluff, if the fifty-eight-foot Huckins I had helped fully restore for him, the one he had named Miss Ansley for me was at the dock. I couldn’t bear to look.

  I told myself I couldn’t be with him because of Sloane and Caroline and Emerson and my mother, because of how busy I was. I told myself if we were together, the secrets we had shared were in danger of coming back to light.

  But as I watched James and Caroline make their way into the three-bedroom guesthouse on the back of my property, I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t something more, if there wasn’t a bigger reason I couldn’t open up to Jack, a reason that I hadn’t yet admitted. Even to myself.

  SEVEN

  history

  sloane

  February 24, 2010

  Dear Sloane,

  No matter how old you grow, how gray your hair, how wrinkled your face, when I close my eyes, I will always see you the way I did that very first day. Those bright eyes, that oversized UGA sweatshirt, your hair swept up off your neck. I couldn’t imagine anyone more beautiful. I know you worry sometimes when I’m away about the rumors and other women and what happens when soldiers are gone. I’d be lying if I said some of the rumors weren’t true. But since that day, Sloane, for me, there is only you. There is always only you.