The Last Original Wife

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  After dinner we went up to the observation deck. I said I didn’t want to go, it was freezing, that the views from the restaurant were enough to satisfy me. But he insisted we had to go outside to get the full effect. So I went. It was cold, and there were only a few people out there. But he’d been right to insist. You haven’t seen the world until you’ve seen all of Paris sparkling in the cold air of a December night. Jonathan put his arm around me.

  “I love you, you know,” he said.

  “I love you too,” I said. “I’m going to miss you when you move.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. My son has decided to move to Charleston and to take over my practice when I retire. Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while.”

  And then a wave of panic swept over me. Was he going to propose? Was that why he brought me here? Oh, please don’t! I thought. I’m just not quite ready.

  “I bought you an early Christmas gift,” he said.

  “You did?” Oh, Lord!

  He reached into his coat pocket and produced a long slender velvet box. It was not a ring. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Open it,” he said.

  I did and inside was a beautiful gold Tank watch with diamonds around the face.

  “Oh, Jonathan! It’s beautiful! Here! Help me put it on!”

  “You really like it?” He fastened it around my wrist.

  “Are you serious? It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever owned!”

  “It’s too dark to read it out here, but it’s engraved on the back.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It says, in little bitty letters, Take your time. I love you. 12-25-12. I bought it from Trisha at Croghan’s.”

  “Oh, it’s so perfect you don’t know.”

  “Yes, I do. Now kiss me so we can go someplace to get warm!”

  I kissed him in Paris at the top of the Eiffel Tower, I kissed him in front of the pyramid at the Louvre, I kissed him in the Tuileries, and I kissed him all over Italy, in a gondola and in one trattoria after another and even in St. Peter’s Square, which was probably somewhat of a sacrilege, given the legality of our situation. But while I stood there with all the saints in history over our heads carved in marble in proximity (or not) to the bones of St. Peter, I thanked God for sending me Jonathan with all the fervency I had in me and then rationalized that since I wasn’t a Catholic I might not go to hell. This made me giggle.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jonathan said.

  “Well, I was thinking that we’d better start lighting candles in all the churches to ask for forgiveness for our sinful souls or else we’d better get married.”

  “How about June the eighth?” he said. “I was looking at a calendar last week and June the eighth seemed like a great time.”

  “Sounds great. I always wanted to be a June bride.” I had actually said yes and so did he.

  The day our divorce went through, I called Wes. Old Bear was pleasant and even wished me good luck, saying Jonathan seemed like a nice enough person. I told him I was grateful to him for all the years and for our children and for being so generous in the end, making it all go so smoothly. I knew he resented being replaced by anyone, who wouldn’t? I told him part of me would always love him and that if he needed me, he should know I’d come to him, but I’d be bringing a doctor too. Then, in a moment that was so uncharacteristic for Wes, he told me he didn’t blame me. He’d known when he barged into my house on Thanksgiving because he could see a kind of happiness on my face he’d never seen before.

  “What’re you going to do with yourself down there in Charleston all day long?”

  “Well, I’m looking into volunteering at the South Carolina Historical Society. I want to learn all about the women in South Carolina’s history.”

  Wes laughed at me as though I had truly lost my mind. “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t know. I’m interested in history, I guess.”

  Wes was completely incredulous. “Well, I guess you know what you want then.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  So, in a very small ceremony at St. Philip’s in Charleston, with Danette as my witness and Harlan as Jonathan’s and with my children and their future spouses (yes!) and Holly and Nader in attendance, as well as Jonathan’s lovely children whom I was meeting for the first time, I married again and officially began a new life with Jonathan Ray. We would toast each other with champagne and feast on oysters and roasted guinea fowl in the private room at Magnolias and cut a small cake with a bride and groom on its top and make small talk throughout the afternoon while my mind traveled the years. When I thought about the individual births of my children, my chest would swell with joy, and for the moment it seemed that they were finally on the right track. I hoped so with all my heart because I loved them so dearly. They, along with Holly, were my greatest treasures. Little Holly was as completely enamored with Harry Chen as he was charmed by her. Her ambitions had been altered as she announced she was going to grow up and become a doctor. We were thrilled to hear it, every one of us, because we knew what it meant for her to say it.

  I looked at Danette, remembering us with Tessa, taking our children to the park, sitting together as we watched them perform in holiday pageants, carpooling and birthday parties—how I missed Tessa then, wishing she was with us, hoping she was somehow with us in spirit. Wouldn’t Tessa love to know her daughter would be my daughter-in-law? I had already vowed to be a good mother-in-law to Suzanne one hundred times but just in case Tessa could hear me, I vowed once more.

  Harlan tapped his knife on the side of his glass and stood. He was going to make a toast.

  “I’d like to say a few words about these two madcap daredevil kids who just tied the knot. First of all, Jonathan, I’m a little disappointed you couldn’t find a seersucker tuxedo . . .”

  “Next wedding!” he said. “I’ll track one down by then! I promise!”

  We all laughed and Harlan continued.

  “And I want to congratulate my beautiful sister, who has done the most remarkable thing in that she beat her own children to the altar!”

  Everyone laughed again and said things like here, here!

  “But seriously, I want to wish y’all happiness in every single hour of every single day for the rest of your lives and I hope that’s fifty years at least. I know it’s not possible to have that but I wish it for y’all anyway. So I just wanted to say, and this is what I know is certain . . . love is a gift, it’s a noun but it’s also a verb. And yet, for all the poets in history and how they throw the word ‘love’ around like a beach ball, the word ‘love’ still doesn’t cover nearly what we need it to mean. Maybe cherish is the better wish for you. Yes, cherish each other and be happy.”

  “Awesome,” Bertie said, and everyone clapped.

  I looked at Jonathan and he looked at me and we gave each other a kiss that wouldn’t embarrass the children or anyone, for that matter. He took my hand in his and gave my new wedding band a spin around my finger, smiling, his blue eyes twinkling. I loved the feeling it gave me, to know I belonged with him. I was finally home in the Lowcountry of South Carolina where I was meant to be. At last I was with the man who was the right one. I was surrounded by love, and truly I felt cherished. There was nothing more I would ever want.

  Acknowledgments

  Using a real person’s name for a character in a book has been a great way to raise money for worthy causes. And in The Last Original Wife three generous souls come to life in these pages as my characters. I have never met these folks (actually, one of them is a cat), so I can assure you that the behavior, language, and personalities of the characters bear no resemblance to the actual people. (Or the cat.) My thanks go to Carol St. Clair who supported my old high school, Bishop England, and secured the position of a psychiatrist for her mother, Jane Saunders. To Danette Stovall, who won an auction prize from my grammar school, Christ Our King, and will live on as the best friend to my protagonist. Dr. Harrison Katz is the feline friend of Jennif
er Blumenthal, who bought immortality for her cat at an auction to benefit the Hollings Cancer Center. Bravo, ladies! I hope you’ll get a kick from seeing these names in print. And Nader Tavakoli is in here as Nader Tavakoli because he’s my buddy, and I thought it would be fun for him. He knows this random act of generosity will cost him down the line. Nader? It will. However, he has never met Danette Stovall, and they have never engaged in what happens in this story.

  Also, special thanks to Barbara L. Bellows for writing her excellent book on the very interesting life of Josephine Pinckney, A Talent for Living (Louisiana State University Press, 2006). If anyone wants to know more about the Charleston Literary Renaissance and all about Jo Pinckney, this really is the book you want. Ms. Bellows is just the most wonderful writer, and reading her book will surely enrich your life. I bow to you, Ms. Bellows, and hope our paths will cross one day.

  The following people have no idea or maybe they have a smidgen of an idea that their names are in these pages: Trisha Gustafson from Croghan’s Jewel Box, Karen Stokes and Faye Jenson from the South Carolina Historical Society, Shawn Nicholls from HarperCollins, my dear friend Clare Mullarney, the great Gerald Imber, and our dear friend of a million years, Ann Del Mastro.

  Special thanks and loads of love to Harlan Greene and Jonathan Ray. In this book they play leading roles, and if you’ve read this, please know they are even more wonderful and brilliant and handsome in real life. Love y’all!

  I’d like to thank my brilliant editor at William Morrow, Carrie Feron, for her marvelous friendship, her endless wisdom, and her fabulous sense of humor. Your ideas and excellent editorial input always make my work better. I couldn’t do this without you! I am blowing you bazillions of smooches from my office window in Montclair. And to Suzanne Gluck, Alicia Gordon, Eve Attermann, Samantha Frank, Tracy Fisher, Elizabeth Sheinkman, Colette Patnaude, Covey Crolius, Jo Rodgers, and the whole amazing team of Jedis at WME, I am loving y’all to pieces and looking forward to a brilliant future together!

  To the entire William Morrow and Avon team: Brian Murray, Michael Morrison, Liate Stehlik, Nicole Fischer, Tessa Woodward, Lynn Grady, Tavia Kowalchuk, Ben Bruton, Leah Loguidice, Shawn Nichols, Frank Albanese, Virginia Stanley, Rachael Brenner Levenberg, Andrea Rosen, Caitlin McCaskey, Josh Marwell, Doug Jones, Carla Parker, Donna Waikus, Rhonda Rose, Michael Morris, Gabe Barillas, Deb Murphy, Mumtaz Mustafa, and last but most certainly not ever least, Brian Grogan: thank you one and all for the miracles you perform and for your amazing, generous support. You still make me want to dance.

  To Buzzy Porter, huge thanks for getting me so organized and for your loyal friendship of many years. Don’t know what I’d do without you!

  And special thanks to Patti Callahan Henry for her details on Atlanta.

  To Debbie Zammit, it seems incredible but here we are again! Another year! Another miracle! Another year of keeping me on track, catching my goobers, and making me look reasonably intelligent by giving me tons of excellent ideas about everything. I know, I owe you so big-time it’s ridiculous, but isn’t this publishing business better than Seventh Avenue? Thank you, from the bottom of my pea-pickin’ heart, Deb, for your friendship all these years. Love ya, girl!

  To Ann Del Mastro, George Zur, and my cousin, Charles Comar Blanchard, all the Franks love you for too many reasons to enumerate!

  To booksellers across the land, and I mean every single one of you, I thank you most sincerely, especially Patty Morrison of Barnes & Noble, Tom Warner and Vicky Crafton of Litchfield Books, Sally Brewster of Park Road Books, and once again, can we just hold the phone for Jacquie Lee of Books-A-Million? Jacquie, Jacquie! You are too much, hon! Love ya and love y’all!

  To my family, Peter, William, and Victoria, I love y’all with all I’ve got. Victoria, you are the most beautiful, wonderful daughter and I am so proud of you. You and William are so smart and so funny, but then a good sense of humor might have been essential to your survival in this house. And you both give me great advice, a quality that makes me particularly proud. And William, my sweet William, my heart swells with gratitude and pride when I think of you and you are never far away from the forefront of my mind. Every woman should have my good fortune with their children. You fill my life with joy. Well, usually. Just kidding. Peter Frank? You are still the man of my dreams, honey. Thirty years and they never had a fight. It’s a little incredible to realize it’s only thirty years, especially when it feels like I’ve been loving you forever.

  Finally, to my readers to whom I owe the greatest debt of all, I am sending you the most sincere and profound thanks for reading my stories, for sending along so many nice e-mails, for yakking it up with me on Facebook, and for coming out to book signings. You are why I try to write a book each year. I hope The Last Original Wife will entertain you and give you something new to think about. There’s a lot of magic down here in the Lowcountry. Please come see us and get some for yourself!

  I love you all and thank you once again.

  About the Author

  Bestselling author DOROTHEA BENTON FRANK was born and raised on Sullivans Island, South Carolina. She and her husband divide their time between South Carolina and New Jersey.

  Please visit her website at www.dotfrank.com and join her on Facebook.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Also by Dorothea Benton Frank

  Porch Lights

  Folly Beach

  Lowcountry Summer

  Return to Sullivans Island

  Bulls Island

  The Christmas Pearl

  The Land of Mango Sunsets

  Full of Grace

  Pawleys Island

  Shem Creek

  Isle of Palms

  Plantation

  Sullivans Island

  Credits

  Cover design by Mary Schuck

  Cover photograph © by plainpicture/Westend61

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  THE LAST ORIGINAL WIFE. Copyright © 2013 by Dorothea Benton Frank. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN 978-0-06-213246-8

  EPub Edition JUNE 2013 ISBN 9780062132451

  13 14 15 16 17 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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