The Secret to Southern Charm

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  I just kept staring at $0.00 due. How was that possible? After years of feeling sick every month, of making minimum payments and watching the overall balance climb higher and higher, of being terrified Adam—or anyone, for that matter—might find out this terrible secret that, while, on the outside, I appeared to be this wonderful steward of our family’s money, in reality, I was nothing more than a fraud, I had been given a clean slate.

  I heard Caroline’s voice. “You’re going to burn a hole through it.”

  She sat down beside me, and I clutched the paper to my chest so she couldn’t see. “Is that your credit card bill?” she asked.

  I wanted to lie. I was so embarrassed about my spending habits and how it had been nearly impossible for me to support our family on our salary. But she was my sister. Maybe there shouldn’t be big secrets between sisters. Besides, this was Caroline. I could tell her now, or she would pull it out of me later.

  I looked at her in amazement. “It’s gone,” I said, still totally mystified, looking at the zeroes again and praying it wasn’t a glitch in the computer system.

  “Your credit card is gone?”

  “No. My balance.”

  She looked at me like I was dense. “Well, yeah, it’s gone,” she said. “I paid it.”

  I could feel my eyes widen. “You paid my credit card bill?”

  She nodded. “Somebody had to pay your bills while you were in a coma in here.” She paused. “And, no offense, but how in the hell did you ever, ever think you were going to pay it?”

  I threw my arms around her neck with so much force that I nearly knocked us both off the bed. I could feel the tears in my throat. “I will pay you back. I promise,” I said. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  “Sloane, what were you thinking?”

  I shrugged, ashamed. “I don’t know. It’s what I do to keep the boys from feeling sad their dad is gone. I buy them stuff they don’t need and I can’t afford.” I sighed. “I always assumed we were going to get the money Dad had left us, and it would be fine. Then I couldn’t stop, and the bill kept getting higher. And I would save up a little to pay it down, and then something would happen and we’d need the money . . .” I trailed off, envying my sister’s life. She didn’t have these worries. She had an endless amount of money at her disposal. I couldn’t imagine what that felt like, how freeing it must be to know that, no matter what, you were going to be OK. You could pay your way out of whatever mess you spent yourself into.

  We didn’t have that luxury. I didn’t want to wound Adam’s pride, but I needed that security. I needed to know that if something happened, I wouldn’t have to go running to my mom or sister. I could in an emergency, of course, but a run-up credit card bill didn’t feel like an “emergency” per se. I needed a job.

  Caroline took my hand. “I totally get that, Sloane, but they don’t care about all that stuff.”

  I nodded, tears gathering in my eyes. “The worst part is that it felt like every month I was lying to Adam. I was living in fear that he would get to the mailbox before I did, open my credit card bill, and see what I had done.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair, patted my leg, and said, “It’s all cleaned up now. Don’t worry. But don’t do it again.”

  I shook my head. “Car, I’m paying you back.”

  I couldn’t begin to imagine where I would get that kind of money, but I would. Little by little, I would pay my sister back the debt I owed.

  She shook her head. “No, Sloane. I don’t want you to. I had put something aside for a rainy day, and this was a rainy day.” She cleared her throat. “So now you will owe me and, trust me, I will cash in the favor in a big way.”

  I threw my arms around her neck again. “Whatever you want, Caroline. Honestly. Anything.”

  She raised her eyebrow, and I realized I shouldn’t have offered that. But I felt free, like I was running through an open field of daisies. And now the credit card would be used solely for emergencies, just like Adam and I had always intended.

  Part of me felt bad for not paying my sister back, but I also knew it was completely fruitless to argue with her. It always had been. Even when we were kids.

  Even about the big things.

  In the fifth grade, when we were studying genetics, I became obsessed with the idea that my father didn’t give me any of my DNA—and I desperately wanted to know who had. Where were my brown eyes from? The dimple in my chin? Was my biological father good at math like I was? I had gone to my parents, but they told me that Caroline and I had to agree about whether to find out who our biological father was since we had the same donor. I thought that would be simple. Why wouldn’t Caroline want to know who her father was?

  Only, she didn’t. She was adamant. “Why would you do that to Dad?” she had asked me. “What if he came to you and said he had another daughter he wanted to meet? How would you feel about that?”

  She always knew how to get to me, to appeal to my emotions, of which I had many. “He seemed OK with it,” I had said, a little hurt.

  “Well of course he seemed OK with it. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Then she had crossed her arms and sighed. “Fine. If you want to crush our daddy by trying to have someone take his place, then fine by me. But that’s on you, Sloane.”

  I remember how the tears stung my eyes, and I vowed right then and there that I would never hurt my dad by finding out who my real father was. After he died, I considered it, but then I didn’t want my mom to feel like I was trying to replace him. So I went on about my life—and watched a lot of Lifetime movies where the daughter gets a disease and has to search out her biological parents. I didn’t want a disease. But I had to be prepared.

  “I’ve never been able to argue with you,” I said now. “Not even about finding out who our sperm donor was.”

  Caroline scrunched her nose. “I’m sorry.”

  I put my hand over my chest and made a face like I was having a heart attack.

  “Ha. Ha,” she said. “My apologies are not that rare. But it wasn’t right of me to talk you out of finding out who our sperm donor was. If it was something you felt like you needed to know, I should have gotten on board.”

  I smiled. “Of all the bitchy things you ever said to me, the one about replacing Daddy might take the cake.”

  “That’s really saying something.” She paused and looked down at her hands, the massive apology diamond James had bought her catching my eye. “But Dad wasn’t the reason why I didn’t want to meet our sperm donor.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “Maybe a little. But I was most worried about Emerson. It would be like you and I had this whole family that she wasn’t a part of. I didn’t want her to feel left out.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Caroline, that may be the most selfless thing you’ve ever done.”

  She swallowed and nodded regally. “I know,” she said very seriously, and we both burst out laughing.

  “If you want to know now,” she said, “I’m OK with that. I could handle it.”

  I smiled and raised my eyebrows. “Do you want to know?”

  “No, but I will if you want to.”

  I shook my head. “Nah. I’m fine. I don’t need to open that door. My life is complicated enough.” I paused. “Plus, I mean, I know she’s twenty-six, but I kind of feel like it would be worse for Emerson now than it would have been when we were kids. I mean, it’s like we get this replacement father, and hers is still dead.”

  Caroline shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Mooooommmmmmmeeeeeee,” I heard AJ call from down the hall.

  “Good timing,” Caroline said.

  We stood up, and I hugged her again. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  She smiled. “I love you.”

  “I know,” I said, before turning and rushing out the door to hear what the second “Moooooommmmmmeeeeee, I need you!” was all about.

  I realized then that I
felt almost strangely relieved I would never have to talk about my sperm donor again. I could spend the rest of my life content in the knowledge that my father was my father, and that was all that mattered. In some ways, it was as big a relief as knowing that my final balance was zero.

  * * *

  IT WAS NO BIG secret Caroline hated doctors’ offices. She hated the germs, the people, the general smell. I swear I didn’t think we would get her through her hospital tour when she had Preston.

  Needless to say, she wasn’t the first one volunteering to go to the doctor with Emerson. I, on the other hand, wanted to go, but we weren’t sure what excuse we could use to leave together without Mom wanting to come along. Plus, once Mark saw those bruises on his beloved Emerson, there was no way he was going to miss her appointment.

  Mom had taken Grammy to lunch, Taylor was napping, and AJ and I were playing what felt like our hundredth game of Candy Land when Mark’s car appeared in the front driveway.

  I grabbed AJ’s hand and Taylor’s monitor and flew down the stairs at top toddler speed to the guesthouse, where we’d all decided to meet after Emerson’s doctor’s appointment. A somber-looking Emerson was leaning against a protective-looking Mark.

  “So?” Caroline asked breathlessly.

  “So, it’s not great,” Emerson said.

  Mark interrupted her. “But we don’t know that for sure yet.”

  She shrugged. “OK. True. But he said from my initial blood work and the pattern of my bruising that it looked like it was aplastic anemia.”

  The part of me that was sure she was going to say “leukemia” or “cancer” was relieved, but the part of me that wasn’t sure what these scary medical words meant was terrified.

  But Caroline knew what they meant. “Do they know why you aren’t producing new red blood cells? I mean, could it be a virus? Autoimmune disease?”

  “Back up a minute here,” I said, looking at Caroline in disbelief. “One, how do you know so much about aplastic anemia? Two, what even is that?”

  Caroline bit her lip. “Well, when I saw her arm, I did a lot of Googling. It’s like anemia, but on steroids. Basically, your body quits making new red blood cells, which is a problem because, you know, oxygen.”

  “So is it treatable?”

  Mark interjected. “They aren’t even positive that’s what it is yet.”

  “Yeah, right. We got it, Mark,” Caroline said.

  He was annoying me too. This was our little sister. He was the brand-new boyfriend. Well, I mean, brand-new if you didn’t count the three years in high school. We would be asking the questions here.

  “There are treatments,” Emerson said.

  “I don’t even have to ask Sloane,” Caroline said. “Either one of us will give you our bone marrow without a second thought.”

  “Of course.” Now I was starting to worry. Bone marrow transplants were not a simple matter, and this was really major if she potentially needed to have a bone marrow transplant.

  I could tell Emerson was trying not to cry. “But even still,” she said, “I probably can’t have children.”

  Mark pulled her closer into him.

  My heart sank for her. I couldn’t imagine that. I had seen what Caroline had gone through trying to have another baby—and she already had Vivi. “I will have a baby for you, Emerson. I have a beautiful uterus.” I cleared my throat. “My doctor’s words, not mine.” We all laughed.

  “I know,” she said, nodding. “I know you would do anything you could. I love you both so much.”

  She stood up, and Caroline and I both hugged her. “I will have a baby for you if you’re OK with having a hippie LA home birth, but I’m not going back in that hospital.”

  I patted Caroline. “It’s OK. I’ve got that one.” I winked at her. “Let’s just hope you’re the better bone marrow match so it’s fair.”

  Caroline nodded. “Deal.”

  Emerson was wiping her eyes and laughing now. “Listen,” I said. “Mark’s right. Let’s not get worked up about something we don’t even know yet. OK?” She nodded.

  “Right,” Caroline said. “And in the meantime, just know that the two of us will do and give you anything you need, and we will make sure you get the best doctor in the world.”

  Emerson nodded again. “I know.”

  “Good,” I said, hugging her again. “Chin up, little one.”

  “And, guys,” she said. “Just please don’t let anything slip out to Mom. I don’t want to worry her.”

  I nodded in agreement, but I didn’t feel all that confident. When Mom found out we had kept this from her, I had a feeling our biggest concern would no longer be who was going to carry Emerson’s baby.

  SIXTEEN

  life

  ansley

  I don’t think I’ve ever been as shocked as I was when my husband, Carter, came to me and said he thought we should start trying for another baby. Because I saw the way he watched Caroline, the way he studied her. I saw the way he hoped she would develop some feature or mannerism that would indicate she was really his. It had all been a bad dream, what he had asked me to do. I knew he wanted to believe that we had defied what the doctors told us, that we had created this beautiful miracle all on our own.

  I had also known, from that very first rainy night I ventured back to Peachtree Bluff, back to Jack, back to try to get the one thing Carter and I wanted that we couldn’t have on our own, that it was a bad idea. Jack and I had loved each other. We had shared so many of our teenaged summers, stealing kisses on the boardwalk, spending lazy days holding hands in the sand, throwing footballs with our friends, sneaking beer at the pier at night. The only thing that had eventually torn us apart was his proclamation that he didn’t want children and my insistence that I would have them. Our life together had been so carefree, so much fun—except when the summers were over and we had to leave each other, of course. But, no matter how happy you are in your marriage—and, believe me, I was—marriage is real life and it’s real work. There are bills to pay, taxes to figure, laundry to be done, decisions to make. The love is real, but the stress is real, too. While I was deeply happy in my life with Carter, there was no doubt that my mind wandered every now and then to that simpler time.

  I understand with every ounce of my being that this is why people have affairs; this is how they convince themselves that they are in love with someone else. It’s easy to resurrect that forgotten feeling when you have no responsibilities.

  I knew this. Logically.

  But it had taken me five months to get pregnant with Caroline. That was five sections of time carved out for Jack and me. Five stints of seventy-two hours that weren’t only about making this baby. They were about spending time together, reliving the past, and, in some ways, getting a glimpse into what might have been if I had never met Carter that summer before my senior year of college. If, instead, I had spent that summer with Jack.

  I knew in my heart of hearts that what I had with Carter was a once-in-a-lifetime love. But it had been tainted by the day-to-day of marriage. What I had with Jack hadn’t. Even though my head knew this, my heart still felt that dangerous pitter-pat whenever I was in his presence, which is why I realized, after I became pregnant with Caroline, that I couldn’t see Jack anymore.

  So, no, technically, I didn’t need to fly to Peachtree Bluff to tell Jack that I was pregnant. But, for heaven’s sake, I owed the man that much, didn’t I? He had been the one to create this child with me. Didn’t he have a right to know?

  I was sitting in Jack’s living room when he walked in from work. His face lit up. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t have any physical contact with him. I was already pregnant. It had to go back to friendship. But I stood when he walked into the room, and he rushed to me, kissing me with that intensity I had come to know so well.

  “Hi,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

  I kissed him again. He was so close, so warm. I couldn’t help it. “Well
,” I said, hearing a hint of sadness in my voice, “I think we’re going to.”

  He pulled away from me, and his face fell. “Oh. Right.” His posture shifted from confident and happy to distraught. “So that’s it, then? I’ve done my duty, and now we’re over.”

  “Jack,” I whispered.

  He shook his head and ventured a smile. “I’m not angry,” he said. “I knew this was the deal. I knew you would get pregnant and you would be gone.”

  I had planned to go back home to New York, tell Carter I was pregnant, and have the celebration to end all celebrations. We were going to have the life we had always dreamed of: strolling through Central Park with our baby, holding hands walking to preschool, Carter parading his son or daughter around his office.

  “Maybe we have this one last weekend?” I whispered. “Maybe we can pretend we don’t know.”

  “Know what?” he asked, winking at me.

  My head was screaming that this was wrong. But, hell, the whole thing had been wrong, hadn’t it? Of course it had. I knew that. It’s amazing how convoluted your thoughts can become, how a seemingly reasonable mind can convince itself that the worst things are right, that, in between the very clearly black and white, there might be shades of gray.

  But even I couldn’t convince myself there were shades of gray in what I was doing now. The baby was made. This was cheating on my husband. Yet, I couldn’t break away from Jack’s arms. Not yet.

  As day turned to night, the light drifting away, slipping from the sky like this love from our fingers, the sadness started to creep in between us. Our banter shifted to serious conversation about what the future could hold. But I never expected Jack to say, “Stay.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I rolled over on my side, suddenly chilled, covering myself with a sheet, our faces inches from each other. “You know what I mean, Ansley. Leave Carter. Leave New York. Come home. We’ll get married and raise our baby together.”

  I shook my head. “You never wanted children, Jack.”