Southern Belles, a Novel About Love, Purpose & Second Chances (9781310340970)

by Anderson, Sarah

  I hugged her tightly before we got in our own vehicles to head towards our homes. From her car she smiled and waved. I smiled back and gave her a royal Queen wave. The next day, as promised, I picked her up and took her to confessional for a fresh start. I stayed in the car parked outside the church while she spent over two hours in confession, with Father John. She later told me that although it didn’t solve her problems, it was the first time she had felt any sense of peace since the abortion.

  Father John encouraged CeCe to talk with her parents so she could let the rest of her fears go. For several days she contemplated whether or not she would tell them. Not having to tell them was part of the reason she tried to keep her pregnancy a secret for fear of disappointing them. She also worried that her parents would shun her away if they knew. Father John said he’d go with to tell her parents for moral support. It was in late June that CeCe finally told her parents, with Father John beside her. She said that after sharing the story, her mother was angry and stormed out of the room for the next half hour. Her father was speechless before he broke down in tears. This was the first time she’d ever seen him cry. Her father then left the room shortly. Later, she learned it was for him to regain his composure. CeCe looked to Father John for comfort in what she feared worst—losing any kind of relationship with her parents. A few minutes later her father returned and hugged CeCe tightly. She hadn’t seen this much emotion from him ever. He had a mixture of emotions—anger, frustration, guilt, but mostly sadness that his one and only child had been through so much, all alone. He was hurt that she worried about losing their love. Finally, Bev came back in the room. CeCe said she could tell her mother had been crying too—as her always perfect eye make-up was smeared and her eyes red. Bev was still angry and felt partly to blame. Although, CeCe and her mother had never been close, Bev just wanted for her only child to be happy. She thought if she just pushed her to be the best at everything, CeCe would be happy with all of her own accomplishments. She knew CeCe was tough like her but never thought anything like this could happen to her daughter. Bev was angry with herself that she and CeCe didn’t have a motherly bond safe enough that her daughter could go to her in her greatest time of need. Bev had not held a close relationship with her own mother and found refuge only in her personal successes. No one had taught her how to be a mother, let alone a good one. She thought that providing the finer things in life would help to fill other voids she didn’t know how to fill. Bev had never talked about her shortcomings or emotions with CeCe or her husband. This time, Bev did something that surprised CeCe. She apologized. She shared how she regretted not being the mother CeCe needed most and confessed that despite this hurt CeCe had done so many things right in her life that she was proud of her for. She last apologized for not telling her more often that she loved her. Before now, her parent’s love was mostly an unspoken notion. Hearing that they loved her meant everything. Despite the tenacious confidence CeCe embodied—a part of her was still the little girl that needed to be loved, cherished, and wanted by her parents.

  CeCe knew things would not be perfect but she was hopeful that things could get better and not worse from here forward. She started counseling to help grieve her loss and come to terms with herself. On several occasions, Bev joined her to improve their relationship and communication skills. CeCe decided not to go back to Athens in the fall as it only brought back painful reminders of a life she was ready to leave behind. She had two semesters left until she graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in political science with a minor in psychology. She confided to her parents that her passion had never been law and pursued the field only to please them. Understandably disappointed in her confession, they allowed her the freedom to choose a career that she could be passionate about with one condition—that it would financially support her. With that permission, CeCe decided to do an abroad study though the university. Over the next two semesters, CeCe would return to Paris where she felt at peace and reveled in the beauty all around her. She agreed to finish the handful of classes to complete her degrees and would volunteer in various areas until she felt a calling. I, of course, did not want to see her leave but knew she needed a new beginning.

  That summer, Eric and I kept our relationship a secret to avoid hurting CeCe further. I hung out with him when CeCe was out of town, bonding with her mother for the first time in her life. A part of CeCe’s wildness had tempered itself and she was much more reserved, especially around guys, except for Richie. When Eric, Richie, CeCe, and I hung out that summer she existed with a subdued composure. I wondered if she could see any signs that might hint to something between Eric and I. CeCe had been through so much, I wanted to shield her from any other potential upsets for as long as possible.

  My parents threw an end of the summer barbecue for CeCe’s farewell to Paris. Richie and the rest of my brothers bought half a store of fireworks. Most of our family brought a dish to pass. My mother invited Bev and James to come share CeCe’s party. They had only been to our house, for more than only a few minutes once, the day we left for school, in the thirteen years I’d known CeCe. Upon arriving, Bev seemed a bit out of her element as she handed my mother a lemon soufflé that she [actually] made. She then thanked her for being such a good person to her daughter. My mother handed me the soufflé to put on the food table and then reached out to hug Bev, for what seemed like an uncomfortable few minutes for Bev. After she finished hugging her, my mother grabbed her hand and said something I couldn’t hear from where I stood. I knew it was something from the heart as I saw Bev’s eyes mist up. Like her daughter, Bev just needed a friend—someone who would tell her what she did right instead of focusing on what she did wrong. My mother knew how to love people, all kinds of people, in ways most people never achieved in a lifetime. Bev was trying the best she knew how to be the woman that her daughter would be proud to call her mother.

  That evening CeCe and I shared a blanket under the fireworks while Lucy found herself comfortable on Bev and James’s laps. I loved, loved, loved CeCe and knew again I would feel her absence while she was in Paris, though I recognized it was for her best. She needed the opportunity to find herself and discover what made her passionate. I snuggled in close and enjoyed the beautiful sparks of color bursting through the late summer sky, with my best friend.

  Chapter 19: La Bonne Vie

  CeCe had settled into Paris leaving just before Labor Day to start her fourth and final year of undergraduate school. She found a nice Christian family to live with that helped make her feel comfortable and safe. The mother of the home was a volunteer coordinator for various social service agencies. CeCe was able to try out several volunteer placements while she worked on her French and took classes at the university there. She sent me at least one postcard a week. In return, I sent her my weekly column from the newspaper along with a freshly colored masterpiece from Lucy. I could hear pieces of the CeCe I knew and loved written in her postcards—telling of the adventures she’d been on and exploring her life’s purpose. On one particular postcard, she shared how she had started volunteering at a girl’s home. She met girls that had been abused, some on drugs, and some that had gotten pregnant and left to fend for themselves before they even reached their fifteenth birthday. Every postcard after that included stories about one of her experiences at the girl’s home. I could hear something rising up in her. It was passion and a determination to give hope to these girls who had never known the definition of love. These young girls had been rejected, abandoned, and their future’s cursed from attaining the good life. CeCe knew what it was to feel alone and hopeless. She could identify with them and knew how it felt to feel like a mistake and a failure. CeCe had finally found what made her truly happy—a high that no drug contained—bringing life and hope into the cold, dark world these girls survived in. In the midst of giving all she had to offer, CeCe found the peace she needed to forgive herself and turn her pain into someone else’s freedom. She attended church and began a friendship with God she had strayed away from
earlier in life for feeling she was a letdown to Him. She learned to laugh again, and love the person she was and the one she was becoming. She began to respect herself in a way that upheld her dignity and made her even more beautiful than she already was. She was finding security, in her identity, for the first time and didn’t have to hide behind her skills, charm, or wit. I enjoyed getting her postcards; I was happy that she was finding happiness again.

  In the meantime, I stayed busy working towards my Bachelor’s for journalism while working part-time at the newspaper. My columns were successful and I was promoted to writing half-page articles for the newspaper. I picked up my book, again, and made several revisions to tell the true story of two southern belles who would forever be best friends despite the good and the bad. I had only three chapters to go until it was complete.

  At Christmas time, CeCe surprised me and came home for two weeks. I was so excited to wrap my arms around her. She brought Lucy a Parisian doll with matching dress for her to wear. She brought me a pair of beautiful hand-made silver and sapphire earrings. It was after I saw that CeCe was in the best place of life that I told her about Eric and me. She was quiet at first and said very little. She listened mostly and after a few moments, smiled warmly and said she was happy for me. She said that she was glad I was happy and deserved a good guy in my life. I thanked her and apologized for not telling her earlier—that I didn’t want to upset her. I told her that we were just friends for the longest time and held off from being anything other than just friends but eventually grew closer as we spent more time together. On Christmas Eve, CeCe and her parents gathered with my whole family, Eric and I on the farm. For Christmas, Eric had gotten me my first cell phone. I was so excited. I felt bad for only getting him a pair of sterling-silver cufflinks shaped like a treble clef. He said he really liked the cufflinks and was happy I liked the cell phone. After celebrating at our home, we all went to mass and afterwards Richie, CeCe, Eric and I went to Tru Rox for late night munchies. Eric and I kept our usual hand-holding and flirting to a minimal in front of CeCe, out of respect. She shared some funny stories, at the diner, about her accidently ordering Tete de Veau at an upscale restaurant one day. It wasn’t until after she took a few bites that her waiter asked her how she liked the veal brains. She thought she had ordered steak. She recalled running to the bathroom to vomit up as much as she could. Since that day, she has become a staunch vegetarian, she laughed as she told us the story. She told Eric and Richie about the girl’s home that she’d been volunteering at and stole all of our attentions with the stories of heartbreak and healing. She was fervent about what she was doing and planned on coming back to the states after she finished up school to work at a girl’s home. Her dream was to, one day open a home for girls that would provide support and care for girls who’d been abused, raped, pregnant, and girls with eating disorders and depression. She also wanted to offer hope and counseling for women who’d felt an unbearable loss after having an abortion. She was captivating when she spoke. Anyone who heard her talk about her dream couldn’t help but be pulled into her visions of greatness. Her zeal was magnetic and she was absolutely beautiful. I knew she would do great things and achieve her dream. I was so proud of her and moved by her charisma that she inspired me to finish the last three chapters of my book.

  Before CeCe left for her last semester in France, I gave her a copy of my book to take with and read on the plane. Although, I hated to see her leave, I knew I would see her in five months and this time she’d be here to stay. I drove to the airport with Lucy, CeCe and her parents to see her off. I hugged her and told her how proud I was to be her best friend and that I loved her. I stood hand-in-hand with Lucy and waved goodbye to CeCe as she walked down the corridor to board the plane. From the floor-to-ceiling windows, we watched her plane pull away and take off. I reached for Bev’s hand as her plane soared high. I could see tears running down from beneath her sunglasses. She hugged me briefly and bent down to take Lucy’s hand and head towards the parking lot. Bev and James had gotten closer to Lucy almost as if they were filling a space that could have been a what-if. Lucy had taken to them and it made my heart happy to see them enjoy her presence. I followed slowly behind as I took one more look at CeCe’s almost non-existent dot in the sky. Streams of white clouds were all I could see before I turned back around to catch up with them.

  Around five AM one early February morning, I awoke to a phone call from CeCe. I had been in a deep sleep snuggling with Lucy when my cell phone rang. I grabbed it after about the fourth ring. CeCe’s voice was squeaky and she was talking so fast.

  “Char I met the most incredible man today. I’m so sorry it’s early and I probably woke you up but I just had to call you. I’m so excited. He’s so sweet and wonderful and funny and kind and Ahhh…awesome.”

  “That’s great CeCe.” I moaned with my eyes still closed half asleep.

  “Okay, I won’t keep you on the phone but I just had to tell you. I think I’m in love.”

  “What?” I opened my eyes.

  “I know it’s crazy but I can’t help it.”

  My mind flashed back to Skylar and I remembered feeling that way about him after only a few hours. A pang of tightness sat on my chest. “It’s not crazy Ce. I’ve been there before—I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks, I’m happy for me too.” She giggled elatedly.

  “Is he a cute Frenchmen?” I asked, barely waking up.

  “No, he’s American but that’s okay. He could take on a Frenchmen any day.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Christian but he usually goes by Chris.”

  “That’s a nice name.” I said, looking at the ceiling.

  “It is—isn’t it? Christian and CeCe sound good, doesn’t it?” She said in a perky voice.

  I smiled at her enthusiasm at five AM in the morning. “CeCe it sounds great.”

  “Okay, I know you were sleeping so I’m getting off the phone with you. I love you and I’m so happy!”

  “I love you and I’m so happy you’re so happy CeCe. I’ll talk to later.”

  “Bye Char. Kiss Lucy for me.”

  “Bye Ce, I will kiss her for you. Love you.” I said before hanging up the phone.

  Almost awake, I laid there for a few minutes, smiling, thinking about Char’s excitement. She had never been in love. She had obsessions and infatuations but I hadn’t heard her mention the love word before. I thought about Eric for a few moments. He was good to me and Lucy and great in every way possible. I tried to imagine him and I married. For some reason, either my lack of alertness or my happiness for CeCe made it difficult to picture Eric and I betrothed to each other. My mind drifted back to Skylar. I could barely see his face but I remember us running around a large beach house, chasing babies and dogs in our visions. I giggled thinking how true some of that daydreaming turned out to be—chasing Lucy all around the farm. I looked over at her sleeping peacefully curled into my side. She was amazing. I loved Lucy—every part of her. I thought I loved Skylar until I never saw him again. But for some reason as much as I tried to replicate the feelings I had for Skylar with Eric, it wasn’t the same. I loved spending time with Eric but was it love? It was easy being around him because he made me feel special and made life fun. My mother said that love does not always feel like butterflies and that it’s a choice—that true love takes work and dedication. Was Eric a choice? I could choose him easily but once in my life I had butterflies. I still wanted butterflies although if Eric was work—I had a good job. I laid in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about Eric, Skylar, and CeCe and wondered if Eric was who I was meant to be with. We were the greatest of friends.

  In March, after the final edits to my book were made, I sat down with my boss at the newspaper. I gave him a copy of my book and gave him a short [hour-long] synopsis of my book pouring my heart into every detail I shared. He flipped through several pages and sat it down on his desk.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “
What do you want me to do with it? We publish small-town newspapers not novels here, Char.” He said curtly.

  “Sir, I know what we do here. But I’ve read your books and I know you’re a writer at heart. I’m a writer at heart. This is my story and I just need someone to help me get it out there. You’re that person for me—you can help me get it out there.” I pleaded with him smiling, with nervous energy at times, exposing my mile-deep dimples.

  “Why would I do that?” He looked at me from below his thick bushy eyebrows.

  “Because I know you know a good story when you see one. I’m that story. I just need someone to believe in me.”

  “I can’t make any promises. I’ll read it when I get some time and tell you what you need to revise.” He said shooing me away with his hands. “Get back to work now; we’ve got deadlines around here.”

  “Oh thank you. Okay, I’m going back to work. Thank you again.” I said as I ducked out of the office, smiling.

  I peeked around the corner a moment later. I caught him reading my manuscript. I stayed fixed on his facial expressions for a minute or two before he looked right up at me.

  “Oh sorry, I just wanted to say thank you again.” I smiled and waved before I dashed out of his sight embarrassed and ecstatic that he was reading my book.

  Two weeks later, I found my manuscript in a manila folder on my desk. I quickly opened it up and flipped through each page cautiously. There was nothing. On the very last page of the very last sentence stood a period placed there by red ink. Below it read ‘not bad kid’.

  “Not bad? What does that mean? Not bad but not so good either?” I rushed at my boss—frustrated at his one red spot and three word response to my 300-page blood, sweat and tears.

  “It means I passed it on to some friends at a small publishing company. You’ll probably make only a few dollars but you’ll have published a book at the ripe old age of twenty-one? Twenty-two?” He asked.