2 Emma, Mr. Knightley, and Chili-Slaw Dogs

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  She glanced at the cut crystal punch bowl, with ice floating gently on the surface of the light pink lemonade, and wished she could drink it by the pitcher. She didn’t even like pink lemonade. It reminded her of every boring party she’d attended in this very living room in the past twenty five years. But it didn’t matter how thirsty she was, there was a rhythm to these parties and it wasn’t time for iced lemonade.

  A cool shower had helped a bit with her baking-induced hyperthermia. These ladies were of the generation in which you didn’t leave the house without heels and full make up. A relaxed spring bridge party wasn’t anything like it sounded to an outsider. It was serious business in Thorny Hollow.

  “Hello, Caroline.” Mrs. Gray was at her elbow, five feet of perfectly coiffed Southern womanhood. She smiled the sort of smile that gave smiles a bad name. Her gaze flickered over Caroline’s outfit, coming to rest at her throat. She blinked at the multi-colored strand of pearls and green-hued gemstones, her nose wrinkling infinitesimally at the sight of the unorthodox display. Her own lengthy strand of pearls swooped in graceful lines down the bright orange linen of her dress front in unblemished whiteness. “I hear Brooks Elliot stopped by today.”

  “Yes, he was on his way home.” Caroline felt off-kilter. That’s what happened when you day-dreamed at a bridge party. Someone snuck up behind you, like a shark zeroing in on the watery trail of blood in the water.

  “Marian Birdsong said she invited him to her dinner party tonight but he declined. It’s curious that he would have stopped here but he’s too busy for a nice home-cooked dinner at Marian’s.” Mrs. Gray’s tiny teeth made another brief appearance.

  Not curious at all. Marian Birdsong was determined to marry by her twenty-fifth birthday and had approximately eight months left to snag a husband. The entire town knew her deadline and good, honest men fled at the sight of her. “I think his father needed him to help with some repairs.”

  She threw back her head and let out a trill of laughter. “Repairs? The Elliots have their own handy-man!” She patted Caroline on the arm and blinked up at her in a kindly way. “I didn’t mean to betray his little white lie. Forget I ever said anything. I’m sure he’ll bring her to meet you very soon, whoever she is.”

  Before Caroline could muster a response, Mrs. Gray turned to a knotted group of women. They parted, and absorbed her, within seconds. Caroline could feel her pulse thumping in her temple. The very idea of Brooks lying to her was laughable. First of all, he wasn’t afraid of telling anyone the truth. Secondly, she’d be the last person on earth he’d lie to because… She nibbled at her lip, trying to pin down the reason for her certainty. Because they were friends and friends were honest with each other.

  “Why, Miss Ashley, I declare you are prettier and prettier every day!” She’d been caught unfocused again. Their long-time neighbor Mrs. Reynolds squeezed Caroline’s upper arms as she spoke, her wrinkled hands surprisingly strong. The woman’s hair was the shade of a blackbird’s wing, which would have been striking if Mrs. Reynolds wasn’t close to eighty. Still, her pale blue eyes were bright with warmth.

  “Thank you,” Caroline said, and meant it. There were worse things than being fawned over by old women. To them, she was charming and pretty and smart. The vision of the ruined cake flitted through her mind and she almost groaned. She was smart until they saw she couldn’t bake worth a darn.

  “When are you getting married? You need to hurry or I won’t be able to attend.”

  “Are you moving?” Her son had a successful law practice in Memphis, but somehow Caroline couldn’t see Mrs. Reynolds in Memphis. She was Thorny Hollow through and through.

  “No, dear.” She leaned closer, dropping her voice. “But I’m getting older, you know.”

  She wanted to laugh, but wasn’t sure if she should. Apparently, the ever-present marriage harangue had a new twist: hurry and get married before I die. “I’m sure we’ve got plenty of time. And plus, Mama isn’t ready for me to move out.”

  Mrs. Reynolds dropped her hands from Caroline’s arms and shot a glance across the room. “She’ll have to let you go sometime. It’s not right for you to pass your best years in this old place.”

  “I’m perfectly happy here.” She was happy, truly. A little bored, maybe. A few personal projects and some close friendships got her pretty close to contentment. If she never had to cook, life would be perfect.

  “My granddaughter is moving here next week. You remember Lauren? She’s just finished her master’s program and is waiting on her teaching certificate. She graduated at the top of her class and has her hands full of job offers. You two should go to lunch sometime.”

  “That would be lovely.” Caroline had heard a bit too much about Lauren Fairfield over the years and it was mostly how Lauren managed to amaze everyone with her brilliance. She shook off the niggle of jealousy. How insecure was she to be irritated with Mrs. Reynolds grandmotherly bragging? “Have her call me as soon as she gets to town.”

  “Caroline dear, could you bring me my pillow?” Mrs. Ashley’s green eyes shrewdly catalogued Mrs. Reynolds’ every movement as if she could tell they were discussing weddings and moving and the state of Caroline’s present happiness.

  She beckoned Caroline to her side, as if she could hear the conversation across the room and didn’t approve. Smoothing her light plum silk dress over her knees, she gave a tight smile. They looked so much alike, mother and daughter. Caroline knew exactly how her lids would sag as she aged, how her pert jaw line would develop a bit of softness, and how the slight curl to her hair would become nearly unmanageable in time. It was comforting to look at her mother and know there were no surprises in store for her.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Caroline retrieved the small embroidered pillow from the wingback armchair and brought it to the couch. The red velvet settee was a family heirloom but hideously uncomfortable. Without a little lumbar support, Mrs. Ashley complained for days after. Of course, she complained a lot about almost everything, but Caroline did her best to nip it in the bud.

  “It’s about time to serve the punch, don’t you think?” Her mother tucked the little pillow behind her back and tugged a lace handkerchief from her sleeve. Patting a small line above each brow, she heaved a sigh that spoke of deep suffering and unrelenting pain. Caroline would have suggested she go and rest if she wasn’t well, but the truth was that her mother was perfectly well. She just enjoyed the drama.

  “Of course, Mama.” Thank goodness. Then the bridge party would begin in earnest. She wouldn’t think of what would happen after, of the ladies waiting patiently for a bite of the lumpy, gritty mess in the freezer.

  As she neared the punch bowl, a movement caught her eye. Brooks stood just outside the living room, wiggling his fingers at her, crooked smile wider than usual. Absalom’s big head was peeking around the corner of the door frame, mouth wide open in a lolling grin. She cocked her head, hand poised over the punch ladle.

  He waved her toward the kitchen. “Finley, get over here,” he whispered.

  “I’ll be right back,” she murmured to no one in particular. Scooting into the hallway, she practically ran into his chest.

  “Whoah, there.” He laughed and cupped her bare shoulders in his hands. Absalom nudged her bare leg with a wet nose and she jumped, letting out a small yelp.

  “Your dog just kissed the back of my knee. What are you doing here? Are you rescuing me from the crazy lady guild? Because it won’t work. They’ll track us down in minutes.”

  His eyes traveled from her sleeveless green-blue patterned silk top to the large green bow at her waist to the bright blue of her above-the-knee skirt. His gaze reached her kitten-heeled sandals with a matching green bow at each toe, took in her perfectly pedicured feet and traveled back up to her glossy, blow dried hair. She felt like the Christmas tree in a grade school play; all she needed was a giant gold star on the top of her head. From his expression, he was comparing her to the sweaty, panicked mess of an hour ago… and trying despera
tely not to laugh at her party get-up. His dimples were deep indents, even though his lips were pressed firmly together. He finally let out a low whistle. “Tempting, but no. I just wanted to tell you there was something in the kitchen for you.”

  “Is it a teleporter? Because I’m going to need one when my mother sees that sorry excuse for a dessert.” Caroline suddenly felt very tired, as if she’d run a marathon. The party hadn’t even really started yet and she was ready to call it quits. Dodging questions about her single status and fending off snide comments over Brooks was just the beginning.

  He grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hallway, with Absalom trotting behind them.

  On the kitchen counter was a small paper bag and a bright pink cake box printed with a delicate trim of forget-me-nots, the signature design on every desert box that come out of Bravard’s Bakery. Caroline turned to him, eyes going wide. “You didn’t.”

  “I did. And a little something from Shorty’s. Did you have any lunch? I figured you were too busy creating the Frankencake.”

  “I was saving space for the pink lemonade.” Between the heat and the anxiety and the cake flop, she was running on empty. Her breakfast bagel seemed years ago.

  He snorted. “Which you hate.”

  “Well, desperate times and all that.” Caroline bypassed the cardboard box that she knew would contain a perfectly delicious triple layer chocolate cake and grabbed for the bag. “I can smell a chili-slaw dog.”

  “Did I surprise you?”

  “Totally. And I never thought that would happen.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.” Brooks grinned, his smile lighting the room. “I would hate to hear that you’d died of hunger half-way through the bridge party.” He stuffed his hands in his khaki pockets and rocked back on his heels, looking immensely pleased with himself. Absalom wagged his tail so hard it looked like he was going to lift off.

  She lifted out the small paper container and inhaled the scent of a grilled-to-order hot dog topped with thick chili and sweet, creamy slaw. The bright smear of mustard on the toasted bun was Shorty’s trademark. She tore off a bit of the bun and tossed it to Absalom, who caught it neatly in his mouth and swallowed it whole. “I can never repay you for this one.”

  “Come on, Ab. Let’s let her eat in peace. You’ve already had yours.” He opened the kitchen door and paused. “There is one thing you could do for me. My dad’s supposed to go to a party next weekend. My grandmother isn’t back from her cruise yet and he won’t go alone. He’s guilted me into going and I need a date.”

  Caroline froze, mouth full of chili and slaw. “Who?” The word came out sounding like ‘moo’.

  “Well, you, of course.” An expression flitted over his face that she didn’t quite catch but the next moment he was smiling. “Who did you think?”

  She swallowed and waved a hand. “No, I mean, whose party?”

  “Oh. The Werlins are having a house warming party.”

  “They moved?” Where had she been? Under a rock? The Werlin estate was one of the most beautiful in Thorny Hollow.

  “No, they had some renovation work done on their house and want to celebrate.” Brooks shrugged. “I would normally pass on something like this, but our families are old friends.” He grabbed for Absalom’s collar as he tried to sneak back into the kitchen. “Come on. Just one evening won’t kill you. What else have you got planned?”

  Nothing, obviously. “If I’d known this was the price of a chili slaw dog…,” she muttered under her breath. She would have added a smile but Brooks knew her so well it wasn’t needed. It was too bad his grandmother was still in Jamaica. Everyone had a good time when Blanche Elliot was at the party. “I’ll only agree if you drive a car and not that old motorcycle. Remember when you picked me up for Debbie Mae’s rehearsal dinner? I have helmet hair in all the pictures.”

  “It’s not an old motorcycle; it’s a classic Triumph 6T Thunderbird. Marlon Brando had one.” He looked honestly confused by her request. “You looked fine. Bring a brush if the helmet bothers you.”

  She waved the chili dog in the air. “It’s not just the hair. I was wearing a dress! I had to keep my knees clamped against your hips the whole time to keep my skirt from blowing over my head.”

  “I thought you were scared.” He shrugged. “I suppose I could bring the car, but someone always parks behind me at those big parties, no matter how much trouble I take to find a good spot. Then it’s impossible to leave when I want, how I want.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Werlin will let you park out in a field somewhere.” Caroline thought it was very likely they’d get boxed in by late arrivals, but she couldn’t bear the idea of riding over on the back of his clunker Brando-mobile.

  “I better get back home. Don’t overdose on pink lemonade.”

  “Never,” she said, grimacing. They were gone in the next second, the kitchen door thudding closed. Caroline took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. Mrs. Gray’s ugly insinuations echoed in her head. He didn’t seem like a man who was hiding his personal life. Then again, maybe he didn’t think she could handle whatever developments his personal life had taken. They were friends, just like they’d always been, right? Nothing had really changed since she’d moved home.

  A small voice in the back of her head whispered the truth. When she worked at The Post, they had enjoyed long, complicated phone calls that covered politics, philosophy, and the state of journalism in America. But now? She looked down at the remains of the chili slaw dog in her hand. Now their world had shrunk to complaining about the heat, conspiring to provide suitable desserts, and juggling familial duties.

  ` Or maybe it was only her world that had shrunk. Maybe Brooks was still discussing politics, philosophy and journalism… but not with the girl hiding in the bright yellow kitchen with a smear of chili on her upper lip.

  The thought made her heart drop in her chest. He’d remained loyal even though she’d lost her spark, her wit, her Caroline-ness. It seemed like her life was becoming one long round of parties. This certainly wasn’t what she had envisioned when she’d come home three years ago.

  Indistinct murmurs from the living room reminded her that time was of the essence. She quickly took a few swallows of iced tea. It was time to branch out, try new things. Working on the never-ending novel wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life.

  She checked the front of her dress for any tell-tale splotches of chili, slaw, or mustard. She was a grown woman and needed to act like one. Faking Baking 101 and serving pink lemonade wasn’t her God-given purpose in life. Of course, she wasn’t even going to think about telling her mama that right now. She had a bridge party to host.

  “What did she say? Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does.”-- Emma

  Chapter Three

  “It’s been forever. I almost wondered if you’d forgotten about me.” Caroline wasn’t trying to sound pathetic but she’d missed her cousin’s quirky sense of humor. She’d also missed their shopping trips. For the first time in over a year, they were hitting the small boutiques, scouring the racks for the perfect dress.

  “Oh, honey.” Debbie Mae reached over and gave her a quick hug, her flowery perfume as familiar as an old family photo. The rack of bright summer dresses rattled between them. “I never forgot you, not for one little second.”

  “Brooks told me newlyweds are just that way so we thought we’d give you some space.” Caroline extracted a dress that was peony pink, with a thin organza sash at the empire waist.

  “Ha! Like Brooks knows anything about newlyweds. Blanche probably told him that. I just love that old lady.”

  Old lady wasn’t really the right term for Blanche. She was seventy eight years young and was on her tenth cruise for single seniors. She didn’t bother to watch her waist, indulging in chocolate and pie whenever she wanted because she went out dancing three times a week. The words ‘old lady’ and Blanche didn’t fit in the same room.

  “Has Brooks said anything about a new g
irlfriend?” Debbie Mae asked.

  Caroline froze, one hand holding out a bright yellow sheath dress. “No. Why?” Had he met someone and she was the very last to know?

  She brushed back a stray curl and shrugged. “No particular reason. I’m just beginning to despair of him ever settling down.”

  Caroline frowned. “Why do people call it settling down when it’s a man and finding the right one when it’s a woman? Like the man has been leading an adventure and the woman has spent all her time searching for a good mate.”

  Debbie Mae held up an elegant, pale blue strapless dress that was embroidered with gold thread. “I have no idea, but Brooks should get married before he’s too old.”

  She paused, considering her cousin, searching for the right words. “Why?”

  “Well, because I want him to be happy!” She said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, blue eyes wide.

  “But Debbie Mae,” Caroline hung the bright pink dress and met her cousin’s gaze. “He is happy. Why is married any better than unmarried? His parents spent years shouting at each other and now his father is lost without the woman he couldn’t even stand. I don’t think that’s exactly the perfect advertisement for entering into the married state.”

  The boutique’s sound system blared out the final bass beats of the techno song and the momentary silence was deafening. The next song started with a high-pitched note liked a siren.

  “You know Emma, the Jane Austen book?”

  Caroline nodded. “I never read it, but I saw that PBS mini-series. Loved the clothes. In fact…” Her voice trailed off as she pulled out another gown, palest lilac, draping in soft folds to the floor. “This looks like it should be in their costume department.”