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

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  “Maybe it’s not just about being married. That sounds so…” She waved a hand, searching for the right word.

  “Disloyal?” Brooks dropped the keys in his pants pocket and shrugged. “But it’s human nature, Finley. I know how you feel. I haven’t seen Manning since the last reenactment, at the Battle of Champion Hill.” Brooks said that as if she’d remember exactly which month it was held. Although she teased him about what she’d once called his ‘little obsession’, she knew it wasn’t just marking Civil War history; it was family time. Blanche raised funds for battle grounds and the boys were both die-hard Civil War buffs.

  “Does he come visit you at Midlands much?”

  “Not since the wedding. He keeps saying he will, but you know the rest.” He grinned. “It’s love. I’m not holding a grudge. She’s perfect for him. Thoughtful, smart, funny. I’m glad they found each other.”

  She almost missed a step, catching the toe of her sandal in the soft blue-green grass. “You mean, you’re glad I fixed them up. Without me none of that would have happened.” She paused, her gaze fixed on a distant point. “When they first started dating, I sort of regretted it. She was with him all the time. Now I remind myself he could have ended up with someone we both hated.”

  “Hm. I would have made an effort to get along with any woman he decided was the one he wanted to send the rest of his life with.”

  “You think so? What if he’d chosen some fake-tan, big-haired bimbo for a wife? I worked hard to bring those two together. He needed someone who shared a lot of his interests, especially that nutty reenactment stuff you guys do. You know that Debbie Mae even bought some old tin cookware so she could join you two? She’ll be cooking for the camp.”

  “Really.” His tone wasn’t overly enthusiastic and she wondered if he’d wanted to keep the reenactments as sacred brotherly bonding time. If she were Debbie Mae, she’d let them have it. Swatting mosquitos, eating off tin plates and washing her hair in a creek wasn’t her idea of a great time. History or no, sometimes a girl just had to lay down some ground rules. Sleeping on a real mattress was one of them.

  “She’s also planning a big party sometime this summer. I think she missed us.”

  His lips tilted a bit. “She does have a knack for entertaining. Her Super Bowl parties are the bomb. As for Manning. I don’t think he would have married just any girl. You know, whatever the commercials say, men don’t want an air-head for a wife.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “There are exceptions to the rule, but you’re not trying to insist that men will choose brains over beauty? I think we both know that’s not true.”

  He stopped, leaning back, taking her in from the top of her perfect blonde hair to the delicately painted toenails. “I’ve always felt women put the greatest burden on themselves to be beautiful. I’m not saying you should all stop brushing your teeth or shaving your legs, but women could always put more time into being interesting, than being beautiful.”

  Her mouth dropped open a little bit and a small puff of air escaped, like he’d socked her in the stomach. “Even if the entire female population swore off highlights and manicures, men would still choose the most beautiful woman in the group. It’s just the way men are. No amount of women’s lib will change that fact.”

  “How can you, an educated woman, say something so sexist?” His eyes went wide. “What about gender equality? What about enlightenment? What about,” he gestured mutely at the space between them, “friendship?”

  “All very good things. But no match for basic biology.” She sighed. “I wish I were wrong, but I’m not.”

  “If we’re going to start pointing fingers, women are just as shallow. They’ll choose the tallest man in the room, the one with the deepest voice and the biggest muscles. It doesn’t matter if he can’t string two words together, he’ll have women falling all over him.”

  “Ha!” She started toward the house, leaving him to follow in her wake. “We may go for a quick look, but there’s a difference between momentary distraction and enduring boring chit chat for the rest of your adult life. True attraction has to survive a twenty minute conversation.”

  He’d caught up with her, his long legs keeping pace with her as she stalked toward the wide, sweeping veranda steps. “Wait a minute.” He held out a small spray of forget-me-nots and tucked them into the soft loops of her chignon. His lips tugged up as he looked her over. “Pretty.”

  “You stole flowers and want to plant the evidence on me?” Her tone was arch but she couldn’t help smiling a bit. Every girl likes to be called pretty. Which reminded her of the conversation currently derailed by a well-timed compliment. “Hold on, are you trying to make a point?”

  “No point. The color brings out the blue in your eyes.”

  Caroline rolled those green-blue eyes at him and headed toward the steps.

  “You know what the real kicker is? For men, it’s not looks or brains. If all else is equal, women might choose the smarter man, but they’ll always choose the richer one.”

  She whirled on him. “Patently false. I know plenty of women who have married down, even though women are statistically the ones who should be making conservative financial decisions.”

  Brooks stepped forward, glaring down at her, the evening light glancing off his hair and casting his features into half-shadow. She could smell his cologne, not the everyday aftershave but the darker, muskier one he wore for parties. Even in high heels she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. Their gazes locked and she stuck her fists on her hips, waiting for a nice little debate to begin. He never passed up an opportunity to argue with her, even standing on the front lawn outside a party they should be attending.

  She watched his lips start to twitch as if he’d thought of something amusing. She refused to blink. Of course he knew that women came out on the short end of the stick for pay scale and retirement packages. It was a fact. But if he thought he could say women always checked the bank statements before committing, he was dead wrong.

  “Finley, name one.” His voice was a low drawl as if he’d check-mated her in a game of gender equality chess.

  “Well, there was…” She felt her face start to burn. There were plenty of examples, but she couldn’t think of any of them right now, standing on the front lawn of the Werlin estate while music poured out the open door.

  He shook his head, a quirk to his lip signaling his refusal to laugh. “Quite a list there.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets in that way he had, the way that said he was tallying up a point on his mental scoreboard.

  “My limited knowledge isn’t the final word on the subject. How about we make this party a test? We’ll observe and make careful notes on interactions. But it has to be a clear case of beauty over brains. Nothing in between. We both have to agree the person, male or female, is…” She frowned, thinking.

  “Not as bright as they are attractive, and not as attractive as they are rich?”

  She nodded. It felt ungenerous to state it so baldly, but that was the reality. So many people spent hours at the gym and on their beauty regimes, but would never pick up a decent book.

  “I don’t like the idea of searching out examples of bad behavior just to win a bet.” Of course he wouldn’t. Brooks was a firm believer in keeping one’s nose in one’s own business. “But it won’t hurt to simply observe, I suppose.”

  “Exactly. We’re not tricking anyone into anything. Now, let’s get this party started before we miss all the fun and end up crawdad fishing at the creek.”

  He snorted. “You’ve never been crawdad fishing in your life.”

  “True. But I could always start.”

  ***

  Brooks couldn’t help smiling back when Caroline flashed that brilliant smile. She could make the driest party seem like a bit of a sneaky adventure.

  The chances of him winning the bet were good. It was a flimsy societal myth that men were brainless oglers. In reality men avoided being trapped in an intellectually unequal rela
tionship just as much as women. He would have plenty of examples to state his case, he was sure of it.

  Caroline’s green eyes were narrowed, as if she was determined to march into this party and prove her point. Well, they’d just see, wouldn’t they?

  “Brooks, dear!” Mrs. Werlin was already crossing the ballroom, hands outstretched, as soon as they were ushered through the foyer. Her round face was creased in a wide smile and her pale blue eyes were wide with enthusiasm. Her midnight blue gown was elegant and timeless, like her historic home. He liked Mrs. Werlin for her commitment to preserving the region’s history, but he loved her for her personality. He wasn’t quite sure what she saw in Mr. Werlin, who was several decades older than she was and had all the magnetism of wet cardboard, but love had its own rules. “I thought Blanche would be back by now. She’s been gone for weeks!”

  “She decided to take the extended cruise. Something about a ship full of hotties.” Brooks smiled, knowing Mrs. Werlin was perfectly clear on what Blanche was doing in the bright blue waters of the Caribbean Ocean, no matter what story his father had told this time around.

  “Oh, my.” Mrs. Werlin shook her head but looked more delighted than dismayed. “And Caroline, how lovely! I’m sorry you’re mother wasn’t able to come.”

  “She was, too. The weather has given her a bit of a headache.” A faint pinkness bloomed on Caroline’s cheeks and Brooks knew how awkward it was to use the same excuse time after time. Mrs. Ashley had debilitating headaches when it suited her. Otherwise, she was quite healthy.

  “Give her my best.” She gave them both a fly-by kiss and waved toward the middle of the room. “So many old friends have come to celebrate the completion of our new home. Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “We’re happy to be here,” Caroline said. “I hope we didn’t miss the tour.”

  “Not at all. We’re going to begin in the atrium in a few minutes. The leaded glasswork was preserved beyond anything we imagined. Brooks, you should give our contractor’s name to your father. He mentioned Badewood needed some repairs on that gorgeous portico.”

  “I will. And I thought I saw Manning’s car out front.”

  “He was talking to Colonel Bradley about next month’s field maneuvers.” Mrs. Werlin frowned, as if the words she’d heard hadn’t made much sense. “Something about how the Bahala Rifles regiment kept several goats for milk and he thought it would be more authentic to bring a few along for the weekend. Your sister-in-law reminded them her role as Company H cook did not extend to milking goats.”

  Caroline laughed. “Perhaps the men could perform that task and give Debbie Mae the milk for cooking.”

  “I can’t see Manning milking a goat,” Brooks said. He was a Civil War enthusiast, not a farmer.

  “Hey, you two.” As if on cue, Manning appeared and gave him a brotherly punch to the shoulder. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He didn’t feel up to it.” He resisted rubbing the throbbing spot and wished he could lob a punch right back. Manning was younger but Brooks had always been the better athlete. An old-fashioned head-lock sounded like it might fit the bill. Later.

  Manning raised his eyebrows. “He hasn’t been feeling up to a lot.”

  “That’s too bad. You give him our love, hear?” Mrs. Werlin patted him on the arm and turned to speak to a young man hovering at the edge of their small group.

  “How have you been, Manning?” Caroline gave him a quick hug. The guests in the room seemed to be shifting around them as more attendees arrived. He saw a lot of familiar faces and old acquaintances.

  “Gooder’n grits”, he said, laughing. “Debbie Mae’s got me training for a triathlon. We’re doing the Gator Bait in August.”

  “Glad to hear it! I dragged your brother out for a sunrise run a week ago and he still hasn’t stopped complaining.”

  Brooks snorted. “I stopped complaining within a few hours.”

  “I want you to meet someone, if I can catch his eye.” Manning waved toward a cluster of well-dressed women. From the center of the group, a young man disentangled himself. He smiled his way out of their reach and crossed the room, bright teeth flashing in the light. A pinstriped three-piece suit paired with an outrageously patterned tie and bright red silk made Brooks think of entertainers and politicians. He felt immediate remorse for the unkind comparison and fixed his face into a friendly expression. Maybe the guy couldn’t help having perfectly straight teeth and overly styled hair. Well, he could probably help the hair.

  “I’d like you to meet Franklin Keene. He and Debbie Mae went to grade school together. He came up from Oxford to celebrate the completion of the renovations,” Manning said.

  “Pleasure to meet you.” Frank reached out and grasped Caroline’s hand, flashing that toothpaste smile. She said nothing, and for a moment Brooks wondered if she might be fighting back an impulse to laugh. But when she spoke her voice was a bit breathless.

  “Caroline Ashley,” she said. He was still holding her hand and he smile grew wider, if possible. Brooks swore he could see every tooth in the man’s mouth.

  “This is my brother, Brooks.” Manning continued as if he hadn’t noticed Caroline and Frank were having a moment.

  Frank withdrew his hand, slowly lifting his gaze to acknowledge the other person in the group. “Lucky man. A brother like Manning and a date like Caroline.” The words included Manning, but they all knew who was being complimented. Brooks felt his jaw tense. This kid was getting on his nerves.

  He shook Frank’s hand, resisting the petty urge to grind his knuckles a little bit. “You and Debbie Mae are good friends?”

  “I moved away from Thorny Hollow in sixth grade when my father was transferred to Nashville, but this place has always been like a second home to me.” He motioned around the expansive ballroom.

  “Mrs. Werlin is his aunt,” Manning clarified.

  “I don’t remember you.” Caroline put a finger to her chin and gave Frank a long look. “Unless… you were that skinny kid that always rode the green bicycle around the end of our driveway. You had glasses and hair that…” She made a movement above her head that seemed to indicate either a severe cowlick or intentionally dramatic styling.

  Frank laughed and leaned forward. “You do remember me. I was uglier than homemade sin. Let me tell you that skinny little kid was so in love with you that he tried to tattoo your initials onto his own arm with a ballpoint pen.”

  Her eyes went wide and she raised a hand to cover her mouth, laughing. “You weren’t! You didn’t!”

  “Miss Caroline Ashley, I assure you I was and I did. My daddy wupped me for it. I was so in love with you, I’d ride my bike to the end of your driveway every day in the summer time, waiting to see if you’d be coming to Mr. Hardy’s store for a Coke. I’d pretend the chain had slipped if anyone drove by. I never could figure out a pattern to your comings and goings. Most days I went home without a glimpse of you and a near dose of heat stroke.”

  “I’m sorry I was mean.” Her brows drew together. “I’m pretty certain I was. At least, I remember telling you to go dunk your head.”

  He laughed, all those teeth on display again. Brooks was beginning to hate the sound of Frank’s geniality. “I probably deserved it. I just wouldn’t leave you alone.”

  “Well, I promise not to repeat my bad manners. I’ll be good.” She looked up at him from under her lashes and Brooks almost choked. She was flirting with this fancified newcomer!

  “I’m not sure I can return that promise.” His eyes went half-closed and he was inches away from her. Brooks cleared his throat, hoping to remind them there were other people in the room.

  “I think the tour is about to start.” Brooks took Caroline’s elbow and tried to steer her toward the atrium, but her feet were planted.

  “I didn’t hear any announcement.”

  He looked at Manning, who shrugged. “I’ll go find Debbie Mae.” He was gone in the next moment.

  Brooks took a deep breath. There really wasn
’t any reason to be so annoyed. He was clearly a schmoozer and a charmer, but not seriously dangerous. Surely, Caroline saw through him from the first moment and was just being kind. He glanced at her as Frank launched into another story from his childhood spent chasing the dream of Caroline Ashley. Her face was flushed and her bright green eyes reflected the faceted crystal chandeliers above. She laughed, a sound that was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat, and laid a hand on Frank’s arm. For a moment, he saw her as a woman, not as the girl he’d always known. Gone was the kid who preferred cherry popsicles to green ones and who painted her bedroom walls pitch black without permission and who started her own tiny newspaper as a high school senior.

  Brooks felt something stir in his chest, like an animal being roused from sleep. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling and he pushed it away, refusing to surrender to petty jealousy. Caroline should go out more often. He’d just said so himself not even an hour ago.

  He forced his expression into something he hoped would pass for relaxed, but it probably landed somewhere near sullen. Really, it was natural to feel a bit left out when your friends started a new relationship. When Manning started dating Debbie Mae, months stretched between his trips to Midlands College to visit. Now he hardly saw him unless there was a reenactment, and apparently Debbie Mae would be there, too.

  It was just exactly the same situation. He said this a few times to himself as Caroline beamed up at toothy, perfect-hair Frank. He said the words, but the truth was quite different and deep down, Brooks knew it. He hadn’t been jealous of Manning’s new girlfriend. He hadn’t even minded the brotherly excursions being curtailed for the new wife.

  Franklin Keene had landed firmly on his bad side and there was no way he could make friends with the man. It didn’t matter how interesting he turned out to be or how many stories he told of his childhood in Thorny Hollow. They would never be friends; the reason had nothing to do with Frank’s style and everything to do with the woman standing between them.