The Southern Side of Paradise

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  I’d had a respectable three glasses of champagne that were making me feel light and buzzy but not drunk-drunk, which, let’s face it, I easily could have been. Hell, I probably should have been.

  But I felt so much peace about the day, about Jack. When Scott and John had walked Mom down the aisle earlier, Jack had taken both of Mom’s hands in his and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

  “Hey!” said Hal, who was officiating. “We’re not at that point yet.”

  “Then hurry up!” Jack scolded, making the friends gathered laugh.

  It was my favorite part of the day. That man absolutely could not wait to marry my mother. And I had to think that he couldn’t wait to be our stepfather, either.

  In a lot of ways, I had thought our relationships were parallel: young loves that translated into grown-up ones. Mark and I had had young love. That was certain. But I could already see that we relied way too much on the past to help us create our future. Mom and Jack didn’t. Their relationship in the here and now was as dreamy as it had been when they were teenagers. And that was the difference.

  Mom and Jack hugged a few people as they made their way into the reception, but the lead singer of the band interrupted their slow walk by saying, “Mr. and Mrs. Jack Richards, you are needed on the dance floor.” Jack put his finger up to the singer and, instead, motioned for Sloane, Caroline, and me to come over to him and Mom.

  The bandleader was calling again. “The happy couple is wanted on the dance floor.”

  Jack reached into his pocket and handed something to each of us. Three pieces of staurolite, one for each of the Starlite sisters.

  Caroline held her piece up to her chest and smiled at me.

  “I think these belong to you,” Jack said. “I used to pull them out and look at them almost every day to remind me of the girls out there somewhere who, even though they didn’t know me, were the most important part of my heart. And I used to dream that one day, I would get to know them. And I think it’s safe to say that is happening.” Mom leaned into him as he said, “I’m sorry I’ve had them for all this time, but, to be honest, I don’t think I could have made it through without them.”

  Not a dry eye in the family.

  It was a weird and wonderful moment, and I had to think that as we navigated this new life with our mother married to someone who wasn’t Carter Murphy, there would be a lot of moments like this.

  None of us said a word as Mom and Jack made their way to the dance floor.

  Mom hadn’t really wanted to do all the typical wedding things, claiming that she had done all that once before. But this was her wedding. We really thought she needed a first dance. And we had done some digging to find out what song that dance should be done to.

  As the first few bars of the song played, I saw Mom put her hand over her heart as Jack reached for her other one. As the band was singing “Come a little bit closer,” he pulled her to him. It really was kind of sweet. And I had a feeling they were dreaming this night away.

  As the singer reached the refrain, I saw Mom and Jack both mouth to each other, Because I’m still in love with you.

  It wasn’t quite a harvest moon, like they had planned, but it was a moon tide. And that was close enough.

  I smiled, thinking that Grammy would have loved this. She had wanted Mom and Jack together forever. And in some small way, she was here, on this island, where her ashes were scattered along with Grandpop’s. I had felt my fair share of consternation over the past few months about my contribution to her death. But tonight, surrounded by people I loved, I realized that she wasn’t gone. Not really. She lived on through all of us. And I finally felt at peace with my decision to give my grandmother the dignified end she deserved.

  Mom started motioning people onto the dance floor. We were such opposites. I would have wanted all eyes on me for as long as possible.

  “May I have this dance?” I heard a voice from behind me say.

  It sent shivers up my spine.

  I turned, and I was so tall in my heels that my eyes met Kyle’s directly. God, he was gorgeous. Leading-man material. The pitter-pat in my heart felt dangerous as Kyle led me to the dance floor. It was even more dangerous when he pulled me close and led me through those satin dance moves of his.

  An hour later, we were still dancing when he leaned over and whispered, “I want to show you something.”

  I raised my eyebrow. Sounded like a proposition to me. I was up for it.

  We snuck out behind the band, and Kyle took my shoes off and put them in his back pockets, which I found irresistible for some reason. He held my hand as we walked into the depths of Starlite Island.

  “Are there snakes out here?”

  “Nah,” he lied.

  “Will the horses stampede us?”

  Kyle laughed. “I don’t think stampeding is something horses do to humans. It’s something they do in general.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I pointed out, slapping at a mosquito.

  I had never been back into the woods of Starlite Island, where Kyle was leading me. After a few more minutes of walking, Kyle stopped and said, “OK.”

  I looked around. It just looked like trees to me.

  He laughed. “You have to look up, Emmy.”

  I did. And I gasped. There, right in front of me, was a tree house. Not just any tree house—an epic one. It had a roof and doors and windows and a rope ladder.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s my tree house,” Kyle said. “Well, I mean, it was my tree house, when I was a kid.”

  “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  He grinned. “Want to go up there?”

  I nodded enthusiastically.

  I went first, but Kyle was right behind me. He wasn’t going to let me fall. But with him so close and so warm, I had to admit to myself that as much as I had tried to deny it, I had fallen a little already.

  It was sandy inside but not as bad as I would have thought. There were still three beanbag chairs on the floor and assorted shells and nature paraphernalia scattered around.

  I walked out the door onto the balcony and leaned on the railing, looking out at the moon over the water. “This is absolutely spectacular,” I said. “The best piece of real estate in Peachtree Bluff.”

  “You can play in it anytime,” Kyle said, winking at me.

  I cocked my head to the side, and he took a step closer to me.

  “I bet you were a cute kid,” I said, trying to defuse some of the very real tension between us.

  “I know you were,” he said. “One day, Ansley showed me all the family photo albums.”

  I groaned. Those family photo albums had gotten us into enough trouble already this year.

  “I used to come up here, and my friends and I would pretend we were pirates on a lost island, defending our buried treasure.”

  I finally looked up into his eyes. I’d been trying not to, because I knew what I would see in them. I knew what I would find. But I couldn’t help myself.

  “Kyle,” I whispered.

  I didn’t know what I even wanted to say. Maybe that I couldn’t do this now. Maybe that I could. Maybe that I had thought about him for years and that I knew it was stupid, but that one night we had spent together had been more than all the nights combined I’d had with anyone else. Or maybe that I didn’t feel what I thought he felt, and I was flattered, but this wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure. So I didn’t say anything.

  We shared a long silence before Kyle filled it for me, saying maybe the same thing I wanted to say. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t do this, Em. I promised. I know it’s bad timing, and you’re vulnerable, but you are all I think about. I live for the next moment when I’m going to be beside you.” He took another step forward and put his hand on my cheek, cautiously.

  There was more for him to say, more for me to say. But then, also, there was nothing left to say, not now, not ever, not from that first moment. Instead of respond
ing, I stood up on my tiptoes, wrapped my arms around him, and kissed him long and slow and deep, just like I had that night in LA all those years ago. I pulled away from him, unzipped my dress, and in one fluid motion, the heavy fabric fell to the floor.

  I took his hand and led him back inside to those beanbags.

  “Em,” he whispered, “are you sure?”

  I put my hand on his beautiful cheekbone and said, “Kyle, remember the night we met, when you traced my favorite quote with your finger on my arm?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “I have thought about this moment pretty much every day since that one.”

  He grinned. “That is a lot of thoughts.”

  I nodded and pulled him down to the floor with me. As he kissed me, Kyle said, “I love you, Emerson. I’m sorry, but I need you to know that.”

  It seemed insane, and I didn’t say it back. But wrapped in his arms in his childhood tree house, I knew that I was falling in love with Kyle, too.

  * * *

  WHEN I WOKE UP a few hours later, it took me a minute to figure out where I was. In a tree house, with Kyle, who loved me, on an island. I panicked. What had I done? I couldn’t stay here. I was repeating the same mistake all over again. Peachtree Bluff was a deep black hole, and no matter how hard I tried to get away, it kept pulling me in. I started filming in two days. I had to be back in LA, not in love in Peachtree Bluff. I thought my heart would break in two, but I scooted out from underneath Kyle’s arm and leg, found my heavy raw-silk dress on the balcony, and, against all odds, found my way back to the site of the wedding with my cell-phone flashlight.

  There were two paddleboards with Kyle’s initials on them pulled up on the beach probably ten yards from the tent. I wouldn’t have stranded him there—though I was more convinced than ever after last night that, if need be, that man could swim all the way to shore and barely break a sweat—but there was an extra. I wish I could have seen myself, how ridiculous I looked paddling to shore in a floor-length couture gown. My heart actually physically hurt as I pulled the paddleboard up onto the dock, not from exertion but from the pain of leaving him behind.

  But I wouldn’t go through what I had gone through with Mark again. I refused to do it. My bags were already packed, so I scrawled a quick note to Mom, turned off my cell phone, and got into my car. I needed to cut all ties with this place and get home. I needed to get back to LA before I made another mistake.

  * * *

  SIX WEEKS OF FILMING, and I was beginning to feel like Sissy. I had put on the tiniest bit of weight, and my boobs were even a little bigger, like I was slowly becoming her. Usually, weight gain would have been a bad thing, but with this role, it was actually a bonus. I knew that this was by far the most important role I had ever played, that big-screen or miniseries or whatever it was didn’t matter. I had been too wrapped up in the appearance of it, of what it sounded like to say it, of what people would think. This was a story that would resonate with audiences, would stand the test of time.

  Being back in LA had been the best medicine. It was like the time I’d spent in Peachtree Bluff was a hazy apparition, and I had, for all intents and purposes, morphed into the moody teenager who had lived there so many years ago. The space had given me the clarity to see that what Mark and I had was better left in the past and that my mother deserved a blissful future. Jack would always be a part of our lives now, moving forward—a happy part.

  I unfortunately hadn’t been feeling as well now that I was back in LA and back to long hours and late nights. But I had IVs scheduled for the next day, and I knew they would perk me right up.

  What it all boiled down to was that Caroline had been right: I needed to get back to acting. I needed a place to put all my pent-up energy.

  Vivi had started school again, so Caroline was back in New York spending way too much time curating Sloane Emerson. But, as we had promised, Caroline was bringing Vivi to the set today for her birthday gift. The star of the show, Hazel Bennett, was Vivi’s age, and I really thought they’d hit it off. Plus, Vivi was going to get to play one of the little girls in Francie Nolan’s class. She had only one line, but I knew she would be so excited.

  Vivi practically floated onto the set, and Caroline looked as happy as I’d seen her in a long time. I gave Vivi, who was only a few inches shorter than I was now, a big hug and kiss and said, “Go, go! Hair and makeup need you now.”

  She scurried off, and I squeezed my sister. I pulled back from her. “What have you had done? You look radiant.”

  “I haven’t had anything done,” she said. “I’m just happy.”

  I put my hand over my mouth in mock shock. “Well, that’s news.”

  “I got an apartment,” Caroline said.

  “Like a new one?”

  She nodded, and I felt my stomach sink. “For your family?”

  She shook her head, and I understood.

  “You’re leaving him?” I whispered.

  “Not necessarily,” she said. “But I need to know that I can.”

  I felt like I should ask her more, but I really didn’t have to. I understood. No one wants to feel trapped in her marriage. It made me think of Mark, whom, I’m embarrassed to say, I hadn’t thought of much. We had talked on the phone a few times, and we were both still mourning the end of our relationship, but the reality was that I was happy here. This work fulfilled me. I was where I needed to be.

  “Emerson!” the director called.

  I squeezed Caroline again and scampered off. We were doing one of my favorite scenes, the one where Johnny, my sister’s husband, came home drunk, and I locked myself in a room with him and got him off the bottle, with nothing more than whisky and my raw sexuality to keep the tremors at bay. This was the second take, and I had to admit that this scene—and every scene I shot with one of my husbands or lovers—made me think about Kyle. Not in a fleeting, wistful way but in an obsessive, can’t-go-another-minute-without-your-kiss kind of way.

  As I walked over to the set’s fake bedroom, adorned with a stark Victorian bed and a night table with a worn Bible on it, I started to feel a little light-headed. I went to reach for a chair that was close by, but before I could, I felt my legs go out from under me, and I knew that I was fainting. Before I hit the floor, I had the sickening feeling that the doctor in New York had been too nonchalant. Something was very, very wrong.

  * * *

  IT SHOCKED ME WHEN I woke up in the backseat of a car that Caroline was driving. “Oh, God,” I said. “Did I pee?”

  “Shockingly, no.”

  I had a cold compress over my head. Well, that was a relief, at least. I usually peed when I fainted. “Where are we going?”

  “The ER, obviously.”

  I was super-glad she hadn’t, but I had to ask anyway. “You didn’t call an ambulance?”

  “Too much traffic,” she said. She almost seemed mad at me.

  “Where’s Vivi?” I asked, suddenly remembering my niece.

  “Hazel’s mom is taking them to dinner. Sorry, Emerson. Your present just got beat.”

  I laughed. “I think I’m fine,” I said. “I probably didn’t eat enough today.”

  “You are not fine,” Caroline said, her voice cracking. “That quack in New York was wrong, and you are sick, and it’s all my fault because I made you go there.”

  “It’s not your fault, and I’m fine,” I repeated, not totally believing it.

  Caroline, who hates hospitals with a vengeance, pulled into the emergency lane, took a deep breath, and hoisted me out of the backseat. “I’m being brave,” she said, “but I’d sooner die than touch one of those hospital wheelchairs.”

  I was still dizzy, but I was fine to walk with Caroline’s assistance. As soon as the double doors opened, a gurney appeared, and I was immediately swept back to triage and hooked to an IV of fluids and iron, on my New York doctor’s insistence. It was only then that I said, “Caroline, your car.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the car,”
Caroline snapped. “They can impound it for all I care.”

  Caroline very rarely cussed, so it made me nervous.

  A very kind doctor who looked a few years older than I was said, “Ms. Murphy, we’re going to run a few tests to see what’s going on here. I’ve talked to your doctor in New York, so I’m all up to speed there.”

  A nurse came in to take blood, and Caroline looked like she was trying not to cry, vomit, or touch anything.

  “You can go,” I said. “I know this is killing you.”

  She looked horrified. “I’m not going to go. I’m going to stay right here with my baby sister. Do we think Hazel is well behaved?”

  I nodded. “Totally. She’s very serious about her work. Plus, her mom is stricter than you.”

  Caroline looked slightly more relaxed.

  “How’s Mom?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Amazing. In love. She and Jack came to New York last week on their way home from the Greek isles, and it’s funny, because it’s like they’ve been together forever.”

  I nodded. “She said they had the best time in New York.”

  “You can ask me,” Caroline said.

  I thought she meant about James. “No, I mean, you can talk about it when you’re ready. This is your deal, and I’m not going to push you on it.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she said, and I could feel the blush rising to my cheeks. It was then that I knew what she was talking about, so I asked the question that had been on my mind since the moment Caroline got to the set.

  “How’s Kyle?” I whispered.

  “Potentially more brokenhearted than Mark,” Caroline said. “And I don’t say that to make you feel guilty. I say that because anyone with eyes can see that you love him.”

  “I just can’t right now, OK? It’s too soon after Mark, and I don’t feel like dealing with another fight about a long-distance relationship.”