The Secret to Southern Charm

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  It was another lie, maybe only the third one I had ever told my husband.

  I pulled away from him then, and he said, “I’m so sorry, Ansley. I shouldn’t have said that to you. I never wanted to say that to you.”

  “So it’s true then? You weren’t just angry? You really never expected me to get pregnant?”

  I saw the pause in his expression, the way he took a moment to think before he answered, like I had only seconds before. He hugged me to him again and said, “Of course that’s not true. I was upset, so I took it out on you. This was the plan. You followed through. End of story.” But he couldn’t look me in the eye when he said it.

  It was the second lie we had told each other in as many minutes. But even though I knew he wasn’t telling the truth, his little lie appeased me, just like I’m sure mine had him. Maybe it should have worried me, but it made me feel better. We were both willing to put aside a piece of our truth, a piece of ourselves, to make the other one feel better. And, every now and then, I believe, that’s what real love—the down-and-dirty-in-the-trenches kind—is all about.

  * * *

  I HAD NEVER BEEN so grateful for James. He was going to let us use his NetJet hours to take Sloane home the next day.

  I remembered going to visit Sloane on post when Adam was first stationed in North Carolina, decorating her little blue town house and trying to make it feel as comfortable and restful as possible. She had scolded me when we passed the row of stately historic officers’ homes because I had said, “When do I get to decorate one of those for you?”

  Adam had laughed, but later, Sloane had said, “I don’t ever want to make him feel like what he does or where we are isn’t good enough.”

  I had only been joking, but I felt badly and hoped I hadn’t hurt Adam’s feelings. I truly hadn’t meant to. I admired how he was working his way up with patience and determination.

  As a mea culpa, I had a set of antique linen hand towels embroidered for Sloane. Home is Where the Army Sends Us, they read. Where would home be for Sloane now?

  Emerson, Caroline, and I packed her bags. We all knew it would be a sleepless night.

  This was the moment we had all dreaded over the past months. It was the moment we had wanted to prepare Sloane for, the moment she simply would not accept as a possibility. I realized now it didn’t matter whether she had prepared herself. It would have been impossible to face no matter what.

  Jack was making phone calls, sending emails, getting in touch with every politician, military figure, reporter, or investigator he had ever met. But there wasn’t anything he could do. There wasn’t anything anyone could do. Still, the fact that he was trying told me everything I would ever need to know.

  I was leaning against the kitchen counter, and Caroline, Emerson, and I were all looking at each other, numb. “What do I do?” I asked.

  “We take her home,” Caroline said. “We’ll get through this.”

  In that moment, my phone rang. “Oh my God,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “It’s Scott.”

  I looked at the phone, frozen. “Well, for God’s sake, answer it,” Caroline said.

  But it was Emerson who grabbed it. “Scott!” she said.

  “Uh-huh. No! You’re kidding me. Uh-huh.”

  We were looking at her, gesturing for her to fill us in, but she put her finger in her ear and waved us away. “Oh my God, Scott. I can’t believe it.”

  Was it a good “I can’t believe it” or a bad one? There was no way to tell.

  It felt like hours, but I’m sure the phone call was less than two minutes. Then I heard Sloane’s phone ring. Then Jack’s.

  And before Emerson could relay to us what Scott had said, Sloane flew out, wide-eyed, holding her phone. “They found him!” she screamed in a state that could only be described as manic.

  At first, I thought she meant his body. We all stood motionless, afraid of what was going to happen next. “They found him. They found Adam. He’s alive.” She crouched down on the floor and started sobbing into her knees. “He’s coming home. Adam is coming home!”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her. But I looked at Emerson, and her nod through her own tears confirmed what Sloane had said.

  It was as if a thousand pounds I had carried around for months was lifted off me. I felt myself slide down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, face in my hands, crying.

  “Look at my texts,” she said. “I have a picture.”

  “Oh my God!” Caroline screamed. “It’s him. It’s Adam!” She turned the phone to the side. “He’s so damn thin.”

  “Of course he’s thin,” Sloane said. “He’s a freaking prisoner of war.”

  She stood up with purpose. “Oh my God. Scott is my favorite family member!”

  “Scott is my favorite family member too!” I exclaimed.

  Sloane looked around. She started sobbing with pure, utter relief. “I have to get to DC right now,” she said. “They’re bringing him to Walter Reed, and I have to be there.”

  “Back up,” Caroline said. “When will he be there?”

  Sloane crossed her arms. “Well, they’re taking him to Landstuhl for triage and then—”

  “What on earth is Landstuhl?” Emerson asked.

  “The hospital in Germany,” Sloane said impatiently, raising her voice.

  “Do you want to go there?” I asked, trying to be helpful.

  Sloane sighed. “They offered to fly me there, but by the time I get there, he’ll probably be leaving. This makes the most sense.”

  We all stood there, silent and processing. Was this actually happening?

  No one moved. Sloane clapped her hands and said, “Now!”

  Three hours later, Sloane was kissing the boys good-bye inside the jet, with her bag slung over her shoulder. “Be so good for Gransley,” she said. Then she grinned. “I’m going to get Daddy.”

  There was a part of me that was worried she was meeting Adam at the hospital and a part of me that wondered what that meant for him, for my daughter, and for their future. Even still, those might have been the sweetest words I had ever heard.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  the meaning of life

  sloane

  July 18, 2017

  Dear Sloane:

  I am coming home to you!!!! Wow, I didn’t think I would ever see your face again. Or kiss my boys, throw a ball with them, feel your soft body snuggled up next to mine at night.

  I am weak and exhausted. My leg and a few of my ribs were badly broken in the crash, and my shoulder was dislocated. Of course, I’ve had no medical care, so there is work to do. But I can’t comprehend how lucky I am to be alive. We lost one of our men here, and I’m not sure I will ever be able to come to terms with the fact that I made it while he did not. How can that be?

  I am rambling now when all I want to say is this: Sloane, you got me through these months. The thought of you, the memory of you, the warmth and the love of you is what pushed me forward when it would have been so much easier to succumb to the death that was so close I could almost feel it. I live for you, Sloane. I would die for you. And everything in between. And now, I get to see you again. Words do not exist to describe how much I have missed you, how I have longed for you in the darkest, deepest parts of me. I should warn you that once I come home to you, I may never leave your side again.

  Counting down the moments, my beautiful wife, until I am in your arms again. Until then, I am, faithfully, lovingly, eternally . . .

  Always and forever yours,

  Adam

  HOLDING TAYLOR IN MY arms for the first time was the last time I’d had this feeling that everything in my life had changed, like everything I had believed to be true was insignificant compared to this moment. To think I had lost my true love only to find him again . . . It was nothing short of rebirth.

  I had looked at my watch every three minutes for the past few days, willing the time forward. I had gotten to Skype Adam and hear his voice, proving to myself he was alive.


  And now, every ounce of me was buzzing with the pure thrill and unbridled joy that I would get to touch him, kiss him, and hold him close to me once again.

  I was standing on the runway at Joint Base Andrews. Normally, I might have been excited to see Air Force One or been making small talk with Major Austin, the rear detachment commander who had kept me abreast of everything for the past few months. But I couldn’t. I had never felt this level of anxious excitement. A C-17 Nightingale flight would be bringing my husband from Landstuhl and landing right here in a matter of moments. I would get to ride in the ambulance with him to Walter Reed, where he would be having surgery and receiving treatment before I could take him home for good. This was the moment I had envisioned for all those long, painful weeks. And now it was here.

  As the jet came into view, I had the sickening feeling it was coming in too quickly. But I should have known better. As it landed, blowing everything in its path including my hair and the cream sundress Caroline had let me borrow, I squinted to keep the debris out of my eyes, but wouldn’t dare close them all the way. I would get the first glimpse of Adam. When I saw the door open, I started running. There he was. My husband, my world, everything I wanted and needed.

  He was in his combat uniform and boots, his arm in a sling and a cane in his hand. I ran to him, my tears nearly blinding me. I threw my arms around him, he threw his one good arm around me, and I kissed him like I’d never stop. He might have been pick thin and badly wounded, but he was still Adam. He was still that strong, confident man I had fallen in love with in line at the post office.

  I could feel my tears and his tears mingling together like ingredients in a saucepan, could taste them between our kisses. I wrapped my arms around his middle so tightly he groaned, which is when I remembered his broken ribs. Poor guy. “Sorry,” I said.

  But he smiled at me. “I don’t care,” he whispered into my ear. “You’re here, Sloane. I’m here. We’re together.”

  I barely remember the ambulance ride or entering Walter Reed. I know there was paperwork and rustling and doctors and nurses, and then Adam was in a bed and a doctor was talking about taking him into surgery in the morning. I couldn’t process any of it, because he was home and we were going to spend the rest of our lives together just like we had planned. I had never felt a glee this pure. It was a high I didn’t know a human could experience.

  At last, when we were alone, I finally noticed how gaunt and gray Adam looked, the exhaustion in his eyes, the new lines in his face.

  I ran my hand along his sunken cheek. “Honey,” I said, “what happened to you?”

  He shook his head. “Sloane, I’m alive. One of my men lost his life. An innocent kid lost his.” I had never, in all his deployments, seen my husband this raw, this vulnerable.

  I felt myself bristle when he said “innocent kid.”

  “What do you mean?” I whispered, my stomach already turning, not truly wanting to know the answer.

  “A seventeen-year-old kid, one of the sons . . .” He trailed off, and I waited patiently. “He helped us escape,” he said, his eyes filling with tears.

  “What?” I asked, truly stunned. “I thought it was a Delta Force operation.”

  Adam bit his lip. “Well, it was, technically. And thank God. If they hadn’t been on their way, we’d all be dead. No question.” He swallowed hard, and I took his hand, rubbing it. He teared up and said, “I’m sorry.”

  I kissed his forehead. “Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “If we’d just waited ten more minutes . . .”

  I wasn’t surprised by his emotion necessarily, but it unnerved me all the same. I had never seen him like this.

  “This brave little kid got us out.” He looked around and continued. “If we had just waited, if we had just been patient, that kid would still be alive. His father wouldn’t have killed him for being a traitor.”

  I put my hand to my mouth. I felt sick. Sicker than sick. But my job here was to soothe my husband. “You don’t know that, Adam.”

  He nodded, tears in his eyes. “I saw him fall. And it will haunt me forever. I can’t help but feel like it was my fault.”

  I remembered the drone footage, the man running and falling. That wasn’t a man at all. He was a child. A teenager. A son. I wondered if his mother was grieving, if she was alone in her grief. “It’s not your fault, Adam,” I said. “It was God’s plan. We can’t control it.”

  “It was a sucky plan,” he said under his breath.

  “Adam!” I scolded.

  “I thought we were all dead, Sloane. I swear I did. And I wanted to stay alive and be there for you and the boys, but I knew I’d rather be dead than spend another second in that hellhole.” He cleared his throat. “I felt the vibration even before I heard it. I thought I was hallucinating. But then I started to hear it and I knew it was real.” He paused. “I looked up, and there it was, a Black Hawk. We were being shot at and running for our lives, but when I saw it, I knew we were saved.”

  My heart was pounding in my chest now, torn between the terror that my husband had nearly died and the swelling pride that God had saved him. I knew there had to be a great purpose behind that moment. Adam was here for a reason.

  “They saved me, Sloane. They saved us all. I wouldn’t be here.” He rubbed his chin and kind of half smiled. “Those guys from the 160th and Delta Force are such badasses.”

  I laughed. “They have great hair, too.” Members of Delta Force needed to blend in with their surroundings and, as such, generally had longer hair and beards. They stuck out like sore thumbs when compared to the clean-shaven faces and clipped heads on post. “I should make them cookies.”

  He looked up at me and really smiled now, and it was as if the filter of those negative memories was washed away and he was seeing me with fresh eyes. I leaned down and kissed him, remembering how he used to sweep me up in his arms and carry me up the stairs. I considered that that was a thing of the past. But life is one big series of surprises, inconveniences, and things not working out like you thought they would. And so, we press on. We choose to fight into another day. That’s what Adam and I would do.

  “I love you,” he said. “Have I said that? I love you so much. You kept me alive, Sloane. I fought through every day for you.”

  I nodded. “I love you too. I can’t believe you’re here.” I paused, and I could feel the tears in my throat. “But you’re going to leave again. You’re going to be deployed again and leave me.”

  He tucked my hair behind my ears and shook his head. “Babe, this leg healed enough on its own that I can hobble on it. But even after the surgery, I will never be able to be back out in the field.”

  “I shouldn’t be happy about that,” I said, feeling terribly guilty. I didn’t want my husband to have a terrible injury that would never heal just to have him stay home with me. But, truthfully, I’d take it. “I’m really sorry.”

  Then there was silence.

  I was used to this; I remembered it well. After a deployment, it took a few weeks for Adam and me to get back in our groove. He didn’t want to talk about where he’d been or what had happened. I didn’t want to talk about anything else, because nothing would possibly compare to what he was dealing with. I understood he was trying to protect me, and in some ways, was grateful for what he didn’t say. I couldn’t imagine how I would feel if I knew what he had been through when he was gone. But there was no doubt that his other life I knew nothing about created a bit of distance between us.

  Eventually, as the days wore on, we would fall back into our rhythm. He would wake up early and work out before the kids got up. We would all have breakfast together. These small moments would weave themselves together in the way of a beautiful yet simple tapestry.

  Today I said, “Caroline and James bought a house in Peachtree while you were away. She said we can live there as long as we’d like.”

  Adam smiled and shook his head. “Sloane, we can’t live in th
eir house.”

  I understood where he was coming from. But, in my eyes, it wasn’t even a question. Caroline was my sister. I had always thought of what was mine as ours. Emerson’s, Caroline’s, and mine. We were as good as the same person. Granted, Caroline had a lot more to give than I did. But that didn’t mean that, in her heart, she felt any differently.

  “She’s going to move over with the kids and Emerson into Mom’s guesthouse. James has to go back to the city, but she wants to stay in Peachtree a little longer.”

  Adam nodded. Then he wrapped his arms around me and held me there for a long time.

  I finally got the nerve to whisper, “Tom?”

  “He made it,” Adam whispered back. “I don’t know if they will be able to save his left arm, but he made it.”

  I was dually sad and relieved. I couldn’t wait to call Maryanne.

  Adam cleared his throat. “So fill me in,” he said. “What’s been happening since I’ve been gone?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” I said, fluffing his pillow. “Just the usual. James had an affair and was on TV with his girlfriend, who Emmy then played in a movie. She is back together with her high school boyfriend and may have aplastic anemia or something equally as horrible, but Mom doesn’t know. Mom is back together with her first love. Grammy died . . .”

  With a very straight face, Adam nodded and said, “You’re right. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Then we both laughed with everything we had inside of us, with the happiness that Adam was home, the knowledge that our little world was coming back together, and the elation that we were us again.

  I thought about all I had to catch Adam up on. It was time to come clean about the credit cards, brag a little about my paintings, and tell him about Mother’s Morning Out. But there would be time for that. Thankfully, joyfully, there would be time.

  * * *

  TEN DAYS LATER, WE were settling into a routine. Caroline and James’s house had been the perfect place to come home to. Adam was undergoing physical therapy and struggling, not just physically, but mentally. But I had been prepared for this.