I hadn’t called him before I came. I knew that if I called, he would know something was up. So I held my breath when I rang the doorbell, hoping the warm light streaming from the windows meant that he was home.
I’m sure the sight of me on the front stoop, rain pouring off the light jacket I had packed for emergencies, wasn’t something he expected. But he didn’t seem terribly ruffled.
“Ansley,” he said, pulling me in through the door. “Come in out of that rain.”
He unzipped my jacket and helped me out of it, and for a moment, I thought I wasn’t going to have to say a word. Something sparked between us like the electric start on a gas stove, just like it had all those years ago. You could almost hear it pop. If I had leaned in, I know I wouldn’t have had to say a single word.
He pushed my hair, wet around my face from the space the hood couldn’t cover, behind my ears as I studied him. That same strong jawbone, those deep brown eyes, so soulful and warm and wise. And I knew it wasn’t only Peachtree that was like coming home.
It was Jack.
He had moved into his grandmother’s house after she died, couldn’t let go of his connection to this place. I couldn’t help but think that in some small way, it was because Peachtree was his remaining connection to me. Or maybe I flattered myself.
I didn’t know where to start, but he didn’t say a word. He walked to the fridge and handed me a beer. “Long flight?”
I shrugged. “Not too bad.”
“How’s New York?”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve come to like it more, but I miss the South.”
He nodded. “You’ll always be a Southern girl.”
“How’s Peachtree?”
“Same old. I’m moving to Atlanta next month. I got a job offer there that I can’t refuse. Life by the sea is magic, but it’s time to move on.”
I felt a knot growing in my stomach. I liked him here, in Peachtree, where I knew where he was, what he was doing, where to find him if I needed him. Part of me wanted to beg him to stay. Part of me wanted to stay, too.
We made small talk for another few minutes until I thought I would burst. Then the enormity of it hit me, the enormity of what I was going to do. I hadn’t truly decided if I would tell Jack what I was up to. Maybe I would feign an affair, fly in to see him once a month until I got what I wanted, never let him know that he had a child. But now that I was here, staring at that face I had said “I love you” to so many times, that face I had promised to always be there for, I knew I couldn’t do it.
“I don’t know why I’ve come here,” I said.
I turned to walk away, but Jack grabbed my arm. “You’ve always been a bad liar.”
My eyes filled with tears. “It seemed like something I could do. In New York, in my living room, with my husband, it seemed like something I could ask of you. But now, back home, standing here, I know it’s absurd. And it certainly isn’t fair.”
Jack looked at me with those dark, piercing eyes of his, those eyes that held both the weight of adulthood and the light of a child. And, more than knowing that what I was here to ask him was insane, I knew that if he agreed to what I was going to ask, I was in serious jeopardy of falling back in love with him. Standing here now, inches from him, so close that I could feel his breath on my skin, I knew that in a lot of ways, I’d been in love with him the whole time, never really fallen out of love with him. And that’s what makes love such a complicated emotion. Because I knew Carter was the man I was supposed to be with. I knew he was the man I was supposed to grow old with. But that didn’t keep me from still having those same first-love feelings for Jack.
“It doesn’t matter what it is, Ansley. You know already that I’d never tell you no. I can’t. I’ve tried, but I don’t have it in me.”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “Then I won’t make you tell me no. I need to go now.”
He smiled sadly, then turned, walked to the refrigerator, pulled out two more beer bottles, popped both tops, and handed me one, even though I’d had only a couple of sips of the first. He smiled at me, that amused look on his face, and I found myself wondering how I’d ever let him out of my sight, how, even though I was so young, I had been stupid enough to throw it all away, to throw him away.
Jack took a swig of beer and said, “We both know you aren’t going to go. What do you want from me? You know I’ll give it to you.”
I took a sip of my beer, noticing how cold and bitter it was, how it burned as it went down my throat. Standing in Jack’s kitchen was so intense that all my senses seemed heightened. I know I will remember it on my deathbed as a defining moment, the best and the worst of my life. I took another swig of beer for courage and sighed. I shrugged, and I could feel the apology in my shoulders.
“Children,” I said. “I want children.”
He studied me for a long moment, puzzled. “But why would you come to me . . .” He trailed off, and it was as if you could see him putting the pieces together in his mind. “You can have them. He can’t have them.”
I nodded.
His eyes were glued to my face, searching. “You want my sperm or something? Is that why you’re here?”
I couldn’t form sentences to explain what I wanted. So I simply said, “I am a delusional woman. I don’t know why I would have come here.”
He wrinkled his forehead, still studying me. “Wait a second. You’re here because you want to have children with me.” He grinned. “The good old-fashioned way?”
You would think that a man in this position, in Jack’s position, would look baffled and bewildered. But he didn’t. In fact, I couldn’t really describe how he looked. Contemplative, maybe. Pleased, perhaps. But not bewildered. Not at all. It was as if he knew that this very thing was going to happen, only he didn’t know when. And now here we were.
“I’m going to guess he doesn’t know you’re here,” Jack said.
Carter knew I was here, of course, if here meant Peachtree. But he thought I was visiting my grandmother. That was the deal, after all. He wouldn’t ever know for sure. Only I would know.
I bit my lip, remembering too late how sexy Jack thought that was. This couldn’t be an arrangement of attraction. He couldn’t say yes because he wanted to sleep with me. I took a step back, trying to seem professional. “Well, no, not exactly.”
I paused, and as I felt his eyes on my face, it was like my veneer cracked. Everything inside me that had been so oozing and raw for all this time came out and spilled all over him, because, whether I said it or not, he knew it. He knew it all. He always had. And that was the problem.
He laughed that laugh. My very favorite one. The one where his eyebrows rose a little, the one where he was both annoyed and astounded by me. God, I loved that laugh. And I found myself realizing what a mistake all of this was. I didn’t need to carry a child. Carter and I could adopt, and he would have to change his vision of what the day we became parents would look like. It would take a few years, but that would be fine. That would be better. It would be cleaner. No emotions involved.
Jack rubbed his hand down my bare arm, and I could feel a shudder run through me. A cold one, one that said I needed to go, because this was way more than a deal. This was way more than a business transaction. This was a man I had loved, a man I had trusted, maybe more than anyone. There was no way I could do this.
“So what’s my part in all of this?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said, a shake in my voice. “And that’s the hard part. I will have the baby and raise it with Carter, and you have to keep this giant secret for the rest of your life.” I laughed now, too, realizing the layers upon layers of absurdity as I said it. “It’s very fair,” I said, laughing again, feeling myself backing away toward the door, hoping it was the stress that had made me this much of a raving lunatic. “You get nothing. I get everything.”
He nodded and took a sip of his beer, not moving, not reaching out to me, but still, somehow, rendering me motionless with the intensity
of his stare. “All I’ve ever wanted,” he said, setting the bottle on the counter, “is to give you everything.”
He pulled me close to him and whispered, the moment before my lips met his, “If this is how I can do that, sign me up.”
As I wrapped my arms around him, his lips feeling so familiar and so very, very right, lightning flashed and thunder boomed across the earth. Panic ran through me like a shot of whiskey as I realized that this was far from a business transaction and far from making a baby. It scared me to think what it meant for my marriage as Jack slid my dress to the floor like he had done all those years ago. It scared me more to realize that I hoped I wouldn’t get pregnant right away.
* * *
THE DAY I MOVED with the girls to Peachtree, a crew of twelve men I didn’t know was waiting on the lawn to help us unpack. Their wives had made banana bread, chicken potpie, squash casserole, pans of brownies, five-star pie, and award-winning jam to stock our freezer. We were mystified, devastated, and, most of all, exhausted after the drive from New York to Georgia—in a U-Haul van, no less.
I was used to the girls bickering in the backseat for hours on end. It drove me out of my mind, but what drove me more out of my mind was when they didn’t bicker at all. They didn’t say one single thing. Because they were too sad. We all were. And I knew that moving them away, taking them out of their environment, was going to be incredibly difficult for all of us. But I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t afford to stay in Manhattan, but they could never know. And so, as is so often the plight of a mother, I would take the blame for something that wasn’t my fault.
When I saw all of those people waiting for us, ready to help, it made me feel like I was going to live; it made me feel like it was all going to be OK. And it made me unendingly, eternally grateful for my wonderful neighbor, Mr. Solomon, who had organized this grand welcome for us.
Now I was telling this story through tears and my handkerchief at his funeral. Only weeks after we had made up, only weeks after we had mended fences, literally and metaphorically, he was gone.
To lighten the mood, I told the fence story, too. And when I said, “Mr. Solomon, instead of calling the surveyor, grew tomatoes up that fence. Big, ripe, juicy tomatoes—and didn’t share a damn one with me,” everyone in the church laughed. I wasn’t sure it was appropriate to make people laugh at a funeral, but I was glad I did.
Jack was waiting for me in the pew. He squeezed my hand. “You did great,” he whispered. It felt so normal, so right.
I choked back my sob. The irony of how incredibly much I missed a man who had made my life a living hell for years on end was not lost on me. But this is how it is, I guess. Even the people who drive us up the wall earn a spot in our hearts. And most of all, I was glad we had made up before he passed away. I would always remember those four blue hydrangeas by my back door. I would always be grateful that I took the time to leave my own five-star pie in return.
Sometimes in the ebb and flow of life, the tide rolling in and out, as Hal would say, we forget to take the time to think about the people who really make us who we are. We forget to say thank you, to tell the people we love that we love them. I couldn’t help but think of my own mother, propped up on my couch, her great-grandchildren, I was sure, doing a fabulous job of entertaining her. At eighty-three, no matter how you sliced it, no matter what happened, I wasn’t going to have her much longer. I wasn’t going to have her around forever to ask her advice and laugh with her and love her. Same with my brothers.
Having her come live with me wasn’t terribly convenient. I was overwhelmed, to say the least. But now, when I realized again that life was short and time was fleeting, I was grateful that I had her here, that I would get to be the one to spend this time with her. Even on her bad days, I knew it was precious. For the girls, their kids and, most of all, me.
I knew already because of Carter that there was never enough time. And as I looked at Jack, who, as he reminded me often, had always been there for me, I wondered what I was waiting for, what was holding me back.
The choir sang, and all of a sudden, I felt very blessed. I knew already from having children and grandchildren that time moved quickly; the days were long, but the years were short. And I knew for certain that no matter how many fights they had or how many times I had to change sheets or clean up dirty dishes or babysit all day for one grandchild after I’d been up all night with another, I would look back on these months of having my children home with me, back where they belonged, with incredible joy and wistfulness. These were the good times, even when they were hard.
I silently thanked God for bringing them to me again, that all was well, that they all were well, that despite some bumps my girls and their families were healthy, strong, and no worse for the wear. It was my first prayer in many years, as after Carter died, I had felt certain that God had forgotten about me.
I had no idea yet how ironic that prayer would seem. I had no idea how all of our lives were about to change.
THIRTY-TWO
the end of the world
caroline
After my dad died, Sloane and I used to talk, in hushed tones, between ourselves, about how the day he was killed had felt strange, like nothing was off and yet everything was. I always wondered if it was retrospect that gave us that insight, if it was only in hindsight that we realized that something about the day felt a little bit eerie from the beginning.
Ever since then, I’ve been leery of perfect days. And this morning in Peachtree was perfect. On the walk from the guesthouse to the main house, I smelled that smell, the one that always reminded me of summer, one of the many things I really couldn’t duplicate in New York. The fresh scent of gardenias. I stopped to smell one, Preston strapped to my chest. I pulled a few off the bush and put them to Preston’s nose.
“Smell that?” I said. “That’s gardenia.” I kissed the top of his head, which smelled even sweeter. “If you’re like your mommy, you will always remember the smell of gardenia, no matter where you go. Although there’s no telling. I guess it’s possible that you could end up living in the South one day.”
I laughed at the thought.
As I made my way to the back door, I spotted the tanned legs and dark hair that could only belong to one man in town: Kyle. He was laden with this really cool coffee carrier he had made out of an old Coke crate.
“Hi, Kyle!” I said.
“Caroline,” he said. “Coffee for all!”
I motioned for him to follow me into the house. He did and started unloading.
“The usual for your mom, the rooibos decaf latte for you, caramel macchiato for Sloane—”
I stopped him there, putting my hand on his. “No more,” I whispered. “She needs something low-sugar and low-calorie. Work your magic.”
He smiled and saluted. “Will do. And a half-caf coffee with skim milk and two sugars for Grammy.”
I silently counted the coffees. “Where’s Emerson’s?”
“I passed her on the sidewalk and gave her hers.”
I cocked my head to the side, studying his face. Something in it changed when he talked about Emerson. Interesting. I could feel my mouth and eyes getting wide. “Oh, Kyle. Do you like her?”
He put his arm around me. “Well, sure, I like her. But not like that.”
“Mm-hm,” I hummed skeptically. I’d seen that look before. “Well, she’s all about that career right now, but hey, looks like I’ll be single soon. I mean, I’m ten years too old for you, but if you need a Murphy fix, I’ll be available.” I decided to see how it sounded, try it on for size. Not terrible. But certainly not great.
He squeezed me to him. “Thanks, Caroline. I really appreciate that.”
We both laughed, and I patted him on the back.
He said, “All right, Car. I’ll see you tomorrow. Let me know when you’re single.” He winked, and we both laughed again, much harder this time.
It wasn’t funny, but somehow it kind of was.
Preston stil
l strapped to my chest, I got out a pan and started making eggs. Vivi walked in behind me, saying nothing. She sat down at the island and opened a textbook.
Grammy was laid up on the couch, waiting semipatiently for her orange juice. Adam was in the den with Grammy watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse—Mom had finally broken down and bought a TV—and Taylor was upstairs with Sloane folding towels. I could hear his sweet giggles drifting down the stairs, a sound much like music, a sound that I knew I would remember well after I was Grammy’s age.
Emerson, the overachiever in the family, was out for a jog, and we had all made a pact that after she returned, we would let the kids run around in the front yard while we attempted to do our Pilates. It would be touch and go, but it would be better than nothing.
We were perhaps more exhausted than even on our hangover morning, because the night before, I had done the unthinkable. With my sisters, I had watched every one of Edie and James’s episodes of Ladies Who Lunch. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to. I had to have all of the information before I made my decision. I had to know what I was up against. Seeing them together on TV destroyed me. The way they looked at each other, the way they laughed. It was so much worse than I had imagined, and the fact that he had declared his love for me at the end didn’t make up for it.
Vivi disappeared out the back door, and I watched her go into the guesthouse.
I hadn’t seen James yet, and when Sloane walked into the kitchen, she said, “What have you decided about those papers?”
I shrugged. “Is it even a decision? Is there any way we can possibly come back from that? The image of the two of them together will be forever burned in my brain.” I turned to the side and scraped the eggs off the pan with a spatula, keeping the heat as far away as possible from Preston. “I can’t stand the idea of going back to New York, of my friends asking me about it and my fake friends having fake sympathy, people whispering when I walk past about how my husband had the affair with Edie Fitzgerald and I was the idiot who took him back . . .” I trailed off and looked out the window. “I’m hurt, and I’m humiliated. I’m not sure if that will ever heal.”
Slightly South of Simple Page 24
