He had looked up at me tentatively, contritely. “I’d like to have this time with you, Ans. I really would.”
I smiled. I thought I might like that too.
The girls and I sat around the living room and told stories about my mother. We laughed and cried.
Jack appeared in the living room, and when I saw him, I quit feeling so alone. When he hugged me, I knew I had someone. Though our skiff would have been more appropriate, Jack took our sad and poorly dressed brigade on his boat to Starlite Island. Well, poorly dressed except for Caroline, who looked impeccable in a white shift with a pale blue cardigan draped across her delicate shoulders. “Grammy would roll over in her grave if she saw the motley crew of the four of you,” she told us, looking John up and down in his shorts and T-shirt.
“And that,” Sloane said, “is why you were her favorite.” I saw a sadness pass through her eyes with the mere mention of the word were. It was a hard pill to swallow.
After he helped each of us out, Jack started to climb back into the boat when Caroline said, “You come too, Jack. You’re family.”
He looked at me tentatively. I smiled. He was. More than she even knew. Whether we were ever together again, Jack was the father of my two eldest girls. Whether they ever knew that was irrelevant, though I did, as I had for years, intend to tell them. He would always, always be family.
I took comfort in knowing my mother would be here forever, across from the home that had been in our family for generations, and that she could rest peacefully on the island where she had spent her childhood summers, raised her children, and then formed a deep and irreversible bond with her grandchildren. It made me happy that I could always look out my window and know she and my dad were here. Of course, for a little while, it would be too painful to look out the window. But, little by little, the pain would ease until, one day, I would look out, think of my mother resting here, and smile. That day, I would know I was healed.
Each of the girls, John, and I had a jar of ashes. Not a fancy urn or beautiful container, but a plain, glass Ball jar containing what was left of the woman I loved most. Scott had claimed he needed to get to the airport, but I knew it was simply too hard for him to stay. He had said good-bye to Mom in spirit at the church, but to say good-bye to her in the flesh was too much. May as well move on to something where he might be able to help. I thought his Iraqi quest was silly at best, terribly risky at worst. But, as I have known from that moment as a teenager when Jack told me he never wanted children, you cannot change a man. It was fruitless to try.
Sloane opened her jar first and said, “Grammy, we miss you so much already, but we know you are happy here. You are at peace.”
We all wiped our eyes as the ashes blew into the wind, mingling into the sand, being swept out into the water, and catching on the blades of marsh grass. My mother was a part of Starlite Island now, as much as the waves and the wind and the tide. It was just as she had always wanted it to be.
“Mom,” John said, his voice catching in his throat. I took his hand and nodded at him to go on. “I know I didn’t always make you proud, but I promise you that I’m here now. I will watch over your family. I promise you I will make it right.”
I hoped with all my heart that was true. I didn’t say it then, but I would tell my brother later that, for me, it wasn’t about making anything right. It was what we did now, how we came back together that mattered.
We all took turns saying our piece about how much my mother had meant to us, and even as we were saying our final good-byes, it was incomprehensible to think she was gone. I went last, and when it was my turn, so much that I had wanted to say to my mother had already been said. Jack put his arm around me, squeezing me to his side. “Mom,” I started, “I am so happy you get to be here, at our favorite place, with Daddy, for eternity. The two of you together forever was the way it was always meant to be.”
Jack looked down at me. I looked up at him. And I wondered if maybe the same couldn’t be said for the two of us.
THIRTY-ONE
possibly ever
sloane
Adam’s return home from his first deployment after we were married was so magical that I felt like it might be worth the time apart if I got to have these golden moments when he came home. He flew into one of our small local airports and when he and his unit arrived, dressed in their Class A’s, everyone was clapping and cheering. I felt so proud in that moment. Everything I had sacrificed over the past few months had been worth it. My husband was a national hero. I couldn’t help but feel like I was a part of that.
I had made up my mind to finally tell him only one of us had been trying for a baby. But as we fell asleep that first night, and he held me close, I kissed his lips and felt his stubble on my cheek, and I knew I simply couldn’t bear it if he left me. I was fine with being alone. I just didn’t want to be without Adam.
When we woke up the next morning, Adam rolled over, kissed me, grinned boyishly, and said, “Let’s get you pregnant.”
I smiled, thinking, Well, unless I’m that tricky half of a percent, that seems unlikely.
But I couldn’t tell him. Not yet.
As he made love to me with so much feeling, so much intention, I promised myself I would tell him the truth. This had gone on long enough. I was betraying him, and I couldn’t do it anymore.
I cleaned up the town house and went to the grocery store to get everything I needed to make my grandmother’s chicken divan that Adam loved so much. I bought him his favorite IPA from a local brewery, put my hair up the way he liked, and wore a dress that showed a little more cleavage than usual.
And then I prayed that he would forgive me, that he could understand, that I would be forgiven for treating the man I loved most in the worst way I could imagine. Even in the moment it seemed kind of foolish. Who could possibly understand what I had done?
When we sat down at dinner, candles flickering between us, I took a sip of wine and a deep breath, and said, “Adam, I have to tell you something.” I paused and looked down into the plate I knew I wouldn’t touch. “It’s hard to say, and you aren’t going to like it.”
He eyed me warily, and I could almost hear what he was thinking. Deployment affairs were not uncommon. I almost felt offended that he would possibly think I would do such a thing—until I remembered that what I had actually done was so much worse.
I took a deep breath and reached for his hand. “Adam,” I said. “I wish with everything I had that I had told you a long time ago, when we met.” For the briefest of moments I considered telling him I couldn’t have children. Then he couldn’t be mad at me, right? But I couldn’t lie to him anymore. “I don’t want to have children now.” I paused and said more softly, “Possibly ever.”
I felt his hand go limp in mine before he pulled it away. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He took a bite of his chicken, wiped his mouth, put his napkin back in his lap, and stared at me.
I could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking I couldn’t possibly have said what he thought I said. “I don’t understand.”
“I just can’t, Adam. After my dad died, I swore up and down I wouldn’t put myself in that place again. I wouldn’t love with all I had only to be heartbroken.” I paused. “I went against everything I had ever told myself by falling in love with you, but I just can’t do this, Adam.”
The look on his face was something between shock and betrayal. “But we’ve been trying to have a baby,” he said. “We tried for months.”
I bit my lip. “Well . . .”
“Well, what?”
“I have an IUD.”
Now I wasn’t having any trouble reading his look. It was a look that said he didn’t know me at all. He stood up calmly and smoothed his napkin, setting it on the table.
“Adam, please,” I said. “Let’s talk about this. I want you to understand.”
“Understand?” he said, emotion filling his voice. “Understand? What I understand is that you have let me
think for months and months that we were going to have a baby. I worried myself to death, tiptoeing around your feelings, trying not to make you feel pressured, trying to build you back up after those negative pregnancy tests. And all of it was a lie. How could you, Sloane? What else have you been lying to me about?”
I was crying now, realizing this was even worse than I’d thought. I had never seen him look angry like this.
“Adam, I love you with all my heart. Please don’t forget that.”
He shook his head. “Sloane, I don’t even know who you are right now.”
He turned, and I was afraid he was going to walk out the door. I was desperate. “Adam, please!” I said, sobbing now. “Let’s talk about this. You have to listen.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have to do a damn thing.” He walked toward the bedroom, which made me feel a little better, and said, “Oh, and while we’re being honest, I absolutely hate chicken divan.”
It was like he had slapped me across the face. I scolded myself. I had just told the man I had lied to him for our entire marriage, and I was offended he didn’t like my chicken divan?
I wanted to go after him, but I didn’t. He was too angry, too betrayed. He wouldn’t even be able to hear me. So I sat at the table, not daring to move, and watched the wax from the candles melt into a puddle on my antique dining table. I watched them and cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, until the flames were gone. When the last light flickered and the room went dark I wondered if my relationship, like my candles, had burnt out.
THIRTY-TWO
safe place
ansley
I was the last one awake that night. I would likely be the last one awake for quite some time, trying to come to grips with the fact that my mother was gone. It was an inexplicably vulnerable feeling. That’s the word that describes it best of all. It’s a longing of the heart, a fear of the soul, a realization of the mind that your last truly safe place, your last harbor in the storm, is gone. I had felt it excruciatingly when Carter died, been through it maybe even worse when my father died. This death was the last blow, the final straw.
I sat out on the front porch for a long time thinking about her, about what she had meant to me, what she had said to me, the advice she had given me. No matter what, I had always taken Mom’s advice to heart.
I thought about Jack and about Caroline saying he would always be our family. I thought about Georgia and the house in Atlanta and how everything I had ever wanted might be right at my fingertips, but also how it was slipping through them at the same time.
My thoughts were punctuated by my eldest daughter bursting through the front door and my scream reverberating through the silent night.
Caroline looked around, shocked. “Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I patted the cushion beside me, and she sat down. She took the glass of wine right out of my hand, took a sip, and handed it back to me. “I want to talk to you about something,” she said.
I felt a knot forming in my stomach. She looked very serious, and I had a feeling this was either about the money her father had promised her that was actually gone or her biological father. Neither was a topic I was prepared to discuss.
So nothing could have surprised me more than when she said, “How would you feel about my doing a little buying for your store?”
Looking into Caroline’s dancing eyes, I understood that she needed this. She had mentioned going back to work, and I knew this would suit her well. She had always had an eye for beautiful things.
“I have a friend who has moved to Provence, and she could help us source these gorgeous linens that will take your breath away.” She paused. “And wouldn’t it be beautiful to have fresh lavender in bundles all around the store?”
I smiled. “It would be perfect, sweetheart. Whatever you think.”
There were times to hold on, and there were times to let go. Caroline could absolutely handle a task like this better than anyone I knew. She had perfect taste and was incredibly organized. Now if I could only get her to stay on budget . . .
Reflexively, I looked down to the end of the street, where James was presumably sleeping—alone, I hoped. Caroline had let him keep Preston that night, which was a big step. “You OK?” I asked.
Caroline shrugged. “I will be.”
I sighed and could feel the tears coming to my eyes as I said, “When are you going back to New York?”
Caroline waved her hand, insinuating that it would be ages, and I pulled myself back together. Even one leaving would throw off the dynamic.
“Hey, Mom,” she said, that conspiratorial twinkle in her eye I knew so well, “I might need your help with one more thing.”
When she told me her plan, I said, “No.” Flat out. But I was tired and I was sad, and I knew already she would eventually wear me down.
“But Mom, just think how good—”
“No,” I interrupted, getting up and heading to the kitchen, where so much needed to be done.
“OK,” Caroline said softly. She hugged me in the entrance hall and went out to the guesthouse. She had conceded for now, but I knew this wasn’t over.
My thoughts wandered to the house next door, to what Jack might be doing.
Later that night, after the dishes had been washed, the crystal had been put away, the tears had all been shed, and my children were all sleeping, I walked onto the front porch and sat on my steps. I thought again about what I had to lose if I chose Jack. Then I had another thought. All this time I had been thinking I couldn’t be with Jack, but it was certain I could never be with anyone else. I had a secret I could never share with another man, a lie that, if I ever pursued another relationship, would always be between us. I knew I could never, would never, lie to another man like that. I had learned the hard way what a secret of this caliber does to a person, how it wears away at your soul.
All this time I had been thinking that Jack, the man I had always loved, was the only man I couldn’t be with. That night, so full of sadness, grief, and angst, it hit me: instead of his being the only man I couldn’t be with, I realized that Jack was the only man who knew the whole truth and loved me anyway, the only person who had carried the same weight I had for all these years.
With that, I crossed the yard, retrieved the key from inside the conch shell by the back door, and tiptoed upstairs. I slid into bed beside Jack, and in typical Jack fashion, he didn’t say a word, only pulled me closer. He kissed my forehead, and I closed my eyes. In the moments before I fell asleep, I knew that this was it for me. I would never leave his side again.
THIRTY-THREE
coming home
sloane
April 16, 2010
Dear Sloane,
The guys and I were talking tonight about the importance of good-byes. Doing what we do, we become acutely aware of how to do them right, how to live every moment like we might not get the next one. So I promise you, Sloane, every day of my life, I will make sure to tell you how I feel. I will kiss you and savor the moment. Every single day, I will do that good-bye well so you never have to question how much I love you.
All my love,
Adam
EVERY TIME MY PHONE rang when the boys were at Mother’s Morning Out, I imagined a million worst-case scenarios: they had fallen off the jungle gym, choked on a Goldfish, gotten pummeled by a kid on the swings, and most horrific of all, an active shooter was in the preschool. I know. But, due to my past, I’m allowed to have these irrational fears.
So, when Emerson, out of breath from sprinting, appeared at the top of the guesthouse stairs where I was sitting with Caroline, my phone in her hand, and eked out, “Scott,” I was panicking before it was even time to panic.
“Why didn’t you just answer it?” Caroline asked disdainfully, as I said, “Hey Scott!” My tone was supposed to be breezy but ended up sounding forced and high-pitched.
I think he said, “Hey, Sloane. I made it,” but the reception on the other end was staticky, s
o I only got about half of what he was saying. Then I heard, “mumble, to, mumble, civilians.”
“What?” I asked, putting my finger in my other ear and running downstairs, as if it were my reception that was bad.
“I’ve talked to a couple of townspeople about the accident,” he said. “I think I might be able to get some—”
“Hello!” I shouted. “Scott! Hello!”
He was gone. I sighed and walked back upstairs, tossing the phone onto the bed, where Emerson was now lying and Caroline was saying, “You’re so sweaty. Get off my clean-ish sheets.”
Emerson shot up when she saw me. “So?”
I shook my head. “He’s there. He’s talked to a couple civilians. I think there may be more, but he got cut off.”
“He’s there, Sloane,” Caroline said excitedly. “He’s looking.”
Emerson took the sweater she was holding and cuddled it to her chest, saying, “Oh my gosh . . . Scott is going to find Adam and bring him home. Then Scott will win a Pulitzer for the story he writes, I will get to play Sloane in the film adaption, I will win an Oscar . . .” She sighed, dreamy-eyed, and Caroline and I laughed.
“But you’re ready to give up acting?” Caroline asked, a note of teasing in her voice.
“Well . . .” Emerson said.
“Now if only my sister would go to the doctor—” I began, but Mom’s loud, “Girls!” from downstairs interrupted my sentence.
“Up here, Mom,” I called.
Caroline eyed Mom warily as she came up the steps. “Where have you been?”
Emerson raised her eyebrow at me. I had always been so jealous that she could raise one eyebrow, while mine seemed to be attached as though connected by a long string.
Mom crossed her arms. “I was up working out early, you’ll be happy to know.”
The Secret to Southern Charm Page 21