“Oh, my gosh!” I said. “Caroline! You have almost a million Instagram followers!”
“What?” Emerson said. “That’s more than I have.”
Caroline shrugged. “James having the public affair of the decade really upped my social-media game.”
“Do you have any idea what you could do with all those followers?” Emerson asked.
“I know exactly what,” Caroline said, holding up the hair dryer. “Do you know how much Dyson just paid me for that post?”
An hour later, I was calling, “Don’t drink too much!” as Emerson, Sloane, and Caroline walked out my front door. I was shocked, actually, that Sloane was finally leaving. She had been glued to Adam’s side since he got home. But according to Sloane, he had insisted she take Emerson out to celebrate her engagement, saying, “Just because I’m home now doesn’t mean I’m the only person in your world. You can’t stop your entire life for me.”
As I poured myself a glass of wine and got ready for an evening alone, I wondered where they were off to. Probably walking downtown to our favorite restaurant, Sharpie’s, which was perfectly safe and filled with locals who would watch out for them. Still, when I saw all three of them walk away together, panic welled up in my throat that I might never see them again. What if they were all hit by a car? What if a shooter came into their restaurant? I knew it was silly, but after Carter had been killed on an ordinary day in an extraordinary way, I was all too aware that every time the people I loved walked out the door, I was in danger of never seeing them again. Thinking that Emerson might be sick had intensified the anxious feelings that always seemed to ebb and flow a bit.
I jumped when I felt a pair of arms wrap around me from behind. “Alone at last,” Jack whispered.
I smiled and turned to kiss him. I knew that kiss would turn into something more.
“Want to go back to my house?” Jack asked.
I smiled. I would always, always, want to go back to Jack’s house.
An hour and a half later, I was sitting in Jack’s backyard sipping sweet tea while steaks sizzled on the grill. Every time Jack grilled steaks, it reminded me of the day I’d gone to his house in Atlanta, the day I’d seen him for the first time since I’d told him I was pregnant with Caroline, the day I’d made love to him right there on his back patio until the steak turned to absolute charcoal.
We never really talked about it now, about our past. But I couldn’t let the moment go. He might not even remember. “Try not to burn these,” I said, testing the waters.
“That was the best worst steak of my life.”
I smiled wistfully, knowing exactly what he meant, knowing that he felt such pure relief at my return to Atlanta, to him, all those years ago, that it was scarcely something he could verbalize. But we both also knew what we were getting back into. My getting pregnant with Caroline, Carter’s knowing—but never saying—that another man must have been a part of that, had shifted something in our relationship. Still, we both wanted a sibling for Caroline.
I had come to Jack once to ask him this unaskable favor. So when I came to him a second time, we both knew what that meant. We both knew that indescribably wonderful night on his back patio would mean another few months down the rabbit hole, another beginning of something that would have to end when I got pregnant, when I went back to my husband, my family, and my life, for good.
I felt I should say something else, but I wasn’t sure what, so I sipped my tea and stayed quiet, still in that moment so many years ago.
“Sometimes it doesn’t seem real,” Jack said, saying what I felt.
I nodded. “I know. I look back and think, No, no. I would never have done that. That must have been someone else.”
“I’m so glad that this is now and not then,” Jack said.
I nodded in agreement, staying silent.
“So,” he finally ventured, “I’m thrilled that Emerson is having our dream wedding.”
“I don’t even know what to say about that. Do you think Caroline heard us or something?”
Jack shrugged.
“But even if she did,” I added, “it’s not like she would want to punish us in any way. It’s not like she would want to ruin our special day for any reason.”
Jack, who was in mid-gulp of a beer, choked.
“Are you OK?”
He gave me a thumbs-up but kept coughing. There it was again. That odd behavior that disturbed me so much. Sure, it could have been a random choke on a beer. But it seemed like something more to me. He walked inside, and when he came back out, he was sipping a glass of water.
I studied his face. “Jack,” I said casually, “is there anything you need to tell me?”
He peered at the steak on the grill like it was his most important life’s work. “Nope,” he said, equally as casually but with a strain that shouldn’t have been there. “Not a thing.”
Maybe it was my paranoia kicking in, but things had been off with him for days, and I couldn’t stand it for a second longer. “If you don’t want to be with me, just say it. Don’t make me wait until I’m even more in love with you to break my heart.”
Jack looked at me incredulously.
I threw my arms up in the air. “What?” I asked. “Is it someone else? Do you miss Lauren? Because something is going on with you.” Neither of us had ever so much as uttered his ex-wife’s name. We hadn’t even mentioned her since the night more than six months ago when Jack had walked back into Peachtree Bluff and back into my life. But I couldn’t help but feel lately that his odd behavior meant a secret. And it terrified me deep down to my core that a secret meant another woman.
He walked over, pulled me up off the chair, sat down, and pulled me onto his lap. “Ansley, all I have wanted for forty years is you. You are the absolute love of my life, and I will probably die if you ever say that again.”
“The steaks,” I whispered. I could smell them starting to burn.
“I don’t give a damn about the steaks. Not then, not now. I don’t care if the whole house burns down. I want you to hear me when I say this: you are oxygen. I cannot live without you, not really, and I refuse to do so for another single day in my life.”
The steak was tough and overcooked. But Jack loved me. If I had to choose one or the other, it sure wouldn’t be the steak.
Three hours later, I was about to call it a night when I heard shouts and laughter from the end of the street. “No,” I said. “No, no, no, no, no.”
Then someone screeched, “Mom! You waited up.”
And someone else screeched, “That’s not even our porch, you drunk dumb-ass.”
And I knew for sure that no one had listened to my sage advice not to drink too much. Sober Caroline, Sloane, and Emerson were a lot. Drunk Caroline, Sloane, and Emerson should be locked up. I hated drunk people. They were my pet peeve. And it seemed my next few hours were going to be peevish.
“Mom, Mom!” Emerson called as she fiddled with the gate. “Tom at the tavern is adding a new martini list to the menu.”
“Mom,” Sloane chimed in, “he made one of every martini on the menu for us to share.”
I grimaced. “Yes, Sloane. I can see that.”
“Mom, look what Sloane and I got you and Emerson.” Caroline stumbled up the walk and pulled a lacy thong out of her purse. It had “bride” in rhinestones on the front, and a veil attached with a blue bow on the back.
She burst out laughing, and Emerson and Sloane joined her, falling down in the front yard. “It can be your something new and your something blue,” Caroline cackled.
For heaven’s sake. They were grown women. Mostly, practically grown women. I hadn’t seen them like this since college. “Girls,” I scolded, “this is not ladylike behavior. And besides, I’m not the one getting married.”
“Oh, Mom,” Emerson trilled. “Lighten up.”
Then Caroline got up and said something that made every hair on my body stand on end. She sat down beside Jack on his outdoor sofa, wrapped her arms aroun
d his neck, and said, “I bet Daddy dearest thinks we’re charming even when we’ve had too many martinis.”
I wouldn’t swear to it, but I thought the color in Jack’s face changed.
Sloane said, “Can we call you that? I mean, come on, you two are going to get married eventually. You’re going to be our stepdad. It’s happening.”
Emerson giggled. “What a treat. Going from the single life to three girls calling you Daddy.”
I looked at Jack, but I could tell he was trying not to catch my eye. What wasn’t he telling me?
Jack said, “Girls, you can call me anything you want.”
Sloane sat down on the steps, teetering. For heaven’s sake. I could usually at least count on her to behave. “What are our kids going to call you? That’s a big deal.”
“Oh, oh!” Caroline said. “I know!”
Emerson interrupted her. “Well, Mom is Gransley, so he should be Grack.”
They all keeled over with laughter and were in a pile on the front porch.
“Grack!” Sloane wailed, holding her stomach.
“It sounds like crack,” Caroline said seriously, which set them all off again.
Honestly. I looked out over the water and thought, Mother, I promise you I did my best with them.
“That’s enough out of all of you. Go home and get into bed right this minute.”
“Young lady,” Sloane hissed, wagging her finger.
That’s fine. She could mock me all she wanted. If they were going to behave like teenagers, then I would treat them like children.
“I’m extremely sorry,” I said to Jack. “When they come home, they revert back to being teenagers. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Caroline’s right,” he whispered. “I think they’re sort of funny.”
I sighed. Great. That was all I needed, another father who, like Carter, would be the fun parent, the lax parent, the parent who was always saying, “Just don’t tell your mother.” I didn’t want to be the fuddy-duddy; I wanted to be like the mother of Sloane’s college suitemate, who was always taking shots at whatever bar we went to after their sorority’s Parents’ Cocktail. But that wasn’t me. I was always going to be the parent who wanted them to stay on the straight and narrow, even when they were older.
I never wanted them to lose control. If they lost control, then I could lose them.
I was relieved to see that Emerson and Sloane acquiesced, leaving the gate and walking to my house, arm in arm.
“Oh, Mom,” Caroline said. “The night is young. Carpe diem.” She paused. “Actually, carpe nightem.” She snickered.
“Caroline, you are making a fool of yourself.”
She looked at me seriously. “Mother, trust me, this is far, far from the most foolish I’ve looked this year. When your husband has an affair on national television, that’s about the dumbest you can possibly look. This is nothing compared to that.”
I thought she might cry, but she didn’t. Her face was stoic yet resigned.
“Caroline, I’m so sorry,” Jack said.
Caroline smiled and patted his hand. “You really did choose the best daddy for us, Mom. Sloane and I love him.”
She kissed Jack’s cheek, kissed mine, and then teetered off in the direction of the house, trailing after her sisters.
I could feel that all the color had drained from my face. My limbs felt horribly cold, even though it was warm outside. The way she said it, Sloane and I love him . . .
I looked at Jack’s face, which was probably as pale as mine.
They knew.
Caroline and Sloane knew that Jack was their biological father. And he knew they knew it, too. It explained all his behavior. How jittery he had been acting, how withdrawn. It wasn’t the wedding he cared about, as I had guessed. It was keeping this big secret from me.
After decades of hiding and scheming, of plotting and planning and worrying. After decades of close calls and sleepless nights, my worst nightmare had come true. My secret was out. And there was nothing I could ever do to bring it back in.
EIGHT
emerson: the starlite starlet
My head was throbbing in time with my thoughts. No, no, no, no, no. Why had I done this? Why? Don’t get me wrong. I could drink. But not the entire martini menu at Sharpie’s. All that sugar. All those carbs.
I didn’t want to open my eyes. They were painful and puffy, and I was quite certain they were as bloodshot as they had ever been. Yuck. But I had to open them eventually. No time like the present. When I did, I realized Caroline was beside me. Sloane must have discovered in the middle of the night that, no, this was not her house anymore and that, yes, it might be a good idea to go home and get into bed with her husband. My sisters had given me a memorable evening, that was for sure. I mean, I didn’t remember any of it, per se, but I remembered we had fun. Our Instagram pictures looked really fun, anyway.
My phone dinged, and Caroline groaned as she cracked one eye open to look at me.
Ready, ready, ready, ready, ready to run, the text said. Mark had taken me to a Dixie Chicks concert our sophomore year of high school, so he must have thought this was funny. Well, I mean, his mom had taken us, that lunatic. We couldn’t drive yet. My heart raced just thinking of Mark’s mother—and not in a good way. If Mark was the prize, she was whatever the opposite was. I couldn’t think of anything now because I was so hungover.
“Why?” Caroline asked. “Why would Tom do this to us?”
“He hates us,” I groaned. “That’s the only explanation.”
“Rise and shine, ladybugs,” I heard a voice bellow through the hallway.
“No, no,” Caroline whispered. “Get up and lock the door before she can get in here.”
“You get up and lock the door,” I said. “I can’t move.”
“No one will be locking any doors,” Mom said, stepping into the bedroom. “I suggest you get showered, because you two are going to work with me today.”
“No, Mom,” I said. “I can’t.” A wave of nausea washed over me, and I was on the verge of actual tears.
“Mom, we have the flu,” Caroline said. “It is very bad, and we can’t be around people.”
“Yeah,” Mom said, “the tequila flu. I was mortified by the way you were acting in front of Jack last night. Just mortified. You will make it up to me by taking inventory.”
“Jack?” I asked. “We saw Jack?”
Caroline whimpered. “Mom, we hate inventory.”
“I hate drunk grown women making fools of themselves, so maybe now we’ll be even.”
I turned my head toward Caroline. “Do you remember seeing Jack and Mom last night?” I whispered.
“I do not,” she said. “I think she’s making it up to test us.”
“Do you think that?” Mom asked. “Really? Does ‘Grack’ ring a bell?”
As hungover and close to death as I felt, I chuckled. “Oh, yeah, ‘Grack.’ That’s funny.”
With that, Mom reared back and shot something into our bed. Caroline picked it up, looking confused, before we both dissolved into hysterics. It was the thong with the veil.
“No, no, Mom,” Caroline said, gasping for breath through her laughter. “You keep that. It’s a gift.”
She shot it back to Mom, who rolled her eyes. “You two are both grounded,” she said, setting us off again. Poor Mom. It wasn’t fair. There were three of us and only one of her. Sometimes she was one of us, but really, it was usually her against the sisterly trifecta.
Caroline groaned again. “Mommy dearest, we love you. Mommy, we need coffee.”
“Ohhhhh,” I groaned. “I need Kyle.”
“You need Kyle?”
Shit. I shot up in bed to see Mark standing in the doorway.
This was impressive. My makeup from last night must have been everywhere, my mascara caked under my eyes. “I mean, you know, I need coffee from Kyle.”
Mark eyed me warily, but he didn’t say anything else. “When you didn’t meet me for
our run, I got worried.”
“Sorry,” I said, smoothing my hair out of my face. I was trying to be charming as I said, “I was not, in fact, ready, ready, ready, ready, ready to run.”
Caroline sort of rolled off the bed and onto the floor. I wasn’t sure she was going to get up, but then I saw the crown of her head appear over the top of the mattress. “This is so bad,” she groaned. “Why did you make me drink so much, Emerson?”
“Should I come back?” Mark asked.
“No,” I said, patting the space beside me on the bed. “I need you to hold me.”
Mark loved to cuddle. But I was usually wiggly and had a lot of energy, so mostly I didn’t feel like it. Today was his lucky day. He climbed into my bed and wrapped his arms around me. “My poor girl,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “Those big, bad sisters made you drink too much.”
“I heard that,” Caroline shot back as she crawled across the floor. “I might not be able to walk, but my ears are half functioning.”
“Mark, it’s so bad,” I said. “I mean, I’ve never been this hungover. I will never recover.”
He kissed my head again. “You smell like the bathroom at a bar.”
“Oh, no,” I groaned, trying to pull away from him.
“It’s OK,” he whispered. “I’d rather be with you when you smell like a bar bathroom than with anyone else freshly showered.”
I sighed, letting my head sink onto his chest. This was why I loved him. It wasn’t only that he worshipped me and made me feel like I was the head cheerleader again. Actually, maybe it was only that.
“Em, baby,” he said, stroking my hair. “Do you love me no matter what?”
I yawned and looked up at him adoringly, looking down before I spoke so as to spare him my dragon breath. “Of course I do, sweetheart. I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.”
“I have something to tell you,” he said.
The normal Emerson, the one whose senses were not dulled by obscene amounts of alcohol, whose head was not pounding, stomach not churning, whose mouth did not feel like the Sahara, would have jumped out of bed, put her hands on her hips, and said, What do you mean you have something to tell me?
The Southern Side of Paradise Page 5