He stuck his hands in his pockets and examined his shoes. It would be nice to known fully and still loved, but what if it was one or the other? What if by the time someone got to really know you, they didn’t love you anymore? And when could you be sure they really knew you? Two years? Four? It was probably better to pull back while the going was good, than to risk losing a marriage on the gamble of someone still liking the real you, the forty-years-of-marriage you. Yes, definitely better to leave good things alone. Things like friendship.
“You look like someone ran over your dog.” Blanche nudged him with her elbow.
“I do?” He straightened up. All this marriage talk was giving him a headache. Or maybe it was the fumes from the crazy Jamaican soup. “I’m hungry is all. When will this strange brew be ready for tasting?”
Ruth moved to the fridge, withdrawing mayo and cold cuts. “Honey, it’s probably not a question of time. I’m not sure anything will make this soup ready. How about I fix you a sandwich so’s you don’t starve to death.” She started to assemble the sandwiches on the oak countertop but he waved her away with a smile. He was a little past the age of having the cook make him a snack. Ruth was more than a cook, anyway. She made sure the house ran smoothly. From answering the phone and scheduling private tours, all the way down to keeping the making sure the houseplants were watered.
“Oh, ye of little faith. Just wait and see.” Blanche stuck her nose in the air and went back to reading the recipe out loud. The terms didn’t make a bit of sense to him and he wondered if she’d even measured the ingredients, or if they’d all been thrown in the pot willy-nilly.
“Is Caroline coming tomorrow to show Lauren around?” Ruth asked.
“No. She’s busy planning some party.” He almost asked why Ruth thought Caroline would be showing anyone around Badewood but decided to let it go.
“What kind of party? Another bridge function? Poor girl. She’s turned into her mama’s event planner.”
“No, it’s something about Jane Austen.” Brooks took the bread from the bread bin and laid out a few slices. On second thought, he took out another two. Maybe if he brought one up to his father, he’d eat.
“A western?” Blanche frowned over at him, clearly mishearing.
“No, Austen. Like Pride and Prejudice. Long dresses, men in top hats.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful! I think that’s just what we need!” She plopped the ladle into the soup, completely forgetting about the saltfish.
Brooks sighed. “Grandma, how is an Austen party what we really need?”
“It’s romantic and fun and we’ll learn lots of dances…” Her eyes went out of focus as she gazed into the distance.
“I’m not sure about the dancing part.” He swiped mustard on the white bread and grabbed for the bologna. He’d love a pastrami on rye, but this was Thorny Hollow and it was bologna on white or nothing.
“There has to be. You couldn’t have an Austen party without it. In fact,” she paused, finger on her chin, “my friend Roger Simmons is real involved in the contra dancing group that meet on Tuesdays. Maybe we can pay his band to play and he can teach us the reels.”
Brooks worked in silence for a moment, ripping lettuce a bit too forcefully. This party was getting better and better. First Caroline was determined to make him come in a costume, now his grandmother was arranging the dancing lessons. Excellent.
“So, are we supposed to come as someone special, or just dress up?”
“We?” He waved a piece of lettuce in one hand. “There’s no ‘we’!”
Ruth shot him a look. “That’s not very hospitable.”
He felt their combined disappointment and cringed. “Listen, I don’t want to dress up. I don’t want to dance. And I really, really, don’t want a crowd of witnesses in the event I actually get dragged into this fiasco.”
“Hm.” Blanche narrowed her eyes at him.
He sighed, turning back to the sandwiches. When he’d decided to move home for the summer, he’d had some idea of writing articles and maybe doing research on the maneuvers at Vicksburg. This wasn’t what he’d planned.
“But you’re going?”
Brooks felt his shoulders slump. He’d told Caroline ‘no’ but deep down he knew he was going. “Yes. And I’m supposed to go as Mr. Knightley.”
Ruth chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. She dropped the hand and forced a bland expression. “Sorry, don’t mind me.”
“I don’t even know who that is, but I know it involves a morning coat and breeches.” Just saying the words made his head throb. He looked over just in time to see Blanche giving Ruth a look. It was a ‘isn’t this wonderful’ sort of look.
“Is there something I should know?” He stacked both sandwiches on the plate and turned to the older women, arms crossed over his chest.
Blanche shook her head, eyes wide. “No, no, everything’s fine. And who suggested you come as Mr. Knightley?”
“Caroline. She’s already planned it all out.” He didn’t know where this was heading. “What’s with the guy? Didn’t he have a crazy wife in the attic and she burned down his house?”
Ruth snorted, shaking her head. “That was Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre. Barry and I saw George C. Scott play him. Must have been, oh, 1970 or so. He was right handsome, even though he has that crooked beak for a nose.”
“I didn’t see that one.” He ran a hand over his face. He had zero interest in reading up on Mr. Knightley. His journalistic focus was magazines, not historical literature. “I’m going to go check my e-mail and see what dad’s up to. Let me know when the soup is done.”
“Does that mean you’re going to taste it?” She perked up, her wide blue eyes wide with hope.
“Sure does.” He stacked the sandwiches on one plate, hoping she wouldn’t guess he was going to tempt his father with one. “And I’ll bring the Maalox just in case.”
Absalom jumped up as Brooks moved toward the door but he held up a hand. “Sit. You’re in no condition to be wandering the house. You’ll get a bath when I get back.” The look on the retriever’s face was surprise, followed by a rapid retreat back under the table at the dreaded ‘b’ word.
Brooks left the kitchen by the same long hallway, but turned East to the front of the house. His father hardly moved from his study anymore. He sat in the darkened room and watched ESPN for hours, his recliner fully extended and an old gray blanket on his lap. It was depressing to witness and even more depressing to spend any amount of time in the dank hole. But it was time to get his dad out of the house. Even if he had to drag him out by his heels, enough was enough.
Of course, getting out wasn’t always the best option since he had somehow just agreed to go to a Regency costume party.
“There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they will do for themselves.”-- Emma
Chapter Eleven
“I’m glad you had time to meet me for lunch,” Frank said. His tone was off-hand but he held Caroline’s gaze a few seconds longer than necessary. He must have come straight from work because he was dressed like he’d been in a meeting. The flashy party suit was gone, replaced with an obviously expensive tailored shirt and dark blue slacks. On anyone else it would have looked like an airline pilot uniform or corporate gear, but Frank gave it a certain edginess. Maybe it was his shaggy haircut or the heavy framed glasses that changed everything. She felt a blush begin at the base of her neck and spread upwards.
“Not a problem. I was happy to get out of the house for a while.” Out of the house and out of town. She hadn’t been to Spartainville since her friend Shelby had moved away to Millsaps. Caroline smoothed her light pink skirt and hoped the matching jacket didn’t make her look like Barbie. She loved pink, but maybe there was an age where a girl had to choose other colors. She wasn’t sure what that age was, exactly.
Frank leaned across the small red Formica-topped table. “You’re probably thinking I brought you to Peggy’s because of the décor.” He paused, motioning
to the black and white photographs of Elvis and Tony Bennett and the checkerboard floors. “But they have the best food in town. If you’re lucky enough to find the place, of course.”
She smiled, remembering the long trip through the back streets of the town’s seedier neighborhoods. She was reserving judgment on the diner, especially since her Coke came served in a glass with Rhett Butler’s face on it.
The waitress returned and pulled her little notebook from a pocket, pen posed. “Y’all decided?” Her bright orange-red lipstick contrasted with the neon green gum that appeared every time she worked her jaw. A brown plastic name tag with white capital letters spelled out JENNISE.
“I’d like the catfish and collard greens, please.” Her mama didn’t like the smell of cooked fish so it wasn’t something Angie made for them at home. She should take advantage of her freedom, at least culinarily.
Jennise turned to Frank without making a note and chewed a few times. He took that as a sign to order and said, “Chicken fried steak and buttermilk biscuits.”
“Not the usual, huh? Guess you’re branchin’ out.” She shot a look at Caroline and walked away, tucking the still blank note pad into her apron pocket.
Caroline started to laugh, expecting Frank to roll his eyes at the mysterious ways of small-town waitresses, but he held up a finger. “Listen! Isn’t that Buddy Holly?”
She cocked her head. “I guess so. I’m not really familiar with that era.”
“Come on.” He slid out of his seat and held out a hand, grinning.
She laughed. “What, you can’t expect me to… You’re not…”
“Hurry up, before it’s over” he said. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out of the booth and walked her backward to the jukebox. The diner was almost empty, with only an elderly gentleman at the counter. Holding both her hands, Frank pulled her close, then pushed her back, singing in an attractive alto. It was completely familiar but absurdly foreign at the same time. Had she ever listened to the words before? Some girl would make him cry and how that’d be the day, the day that he died.
She grinned, following his movements as best she could. Her jacket was keeping her from reaching back over her shoulder to grab his hand when he turned her. She quickly slipped it off and draped it over a chair, leaving only her silk tank top. Now they could really dance, moving in perfect rhythm, faster and faster as she felt more comfortable. She couldn’t help laughing, the joy of the moment breaking through her reservations.
When the song ended, she was breathless with laughter. Frank pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “That’s the way to do it,” he said.
“To do what?” She couldn’t stop smiling. “I thought we were having lunch and then we ended up over here, jitter-bugging.”
“That was swing. I can teach you some jitter-bug but we better get some food first because it burns about 500 calories an hour and I don’t want you to waste away. Your mama would never forgive me.”
Caroline snorted as they settled back in the booth. “I’m not in any danger of wasting away, believe me. I hardly ever get out to run anymore.”
“When are you moving to Spartainville?”
His question took her by surprise. It was a leap from not getting out for a run and moving to another city. She blinked, searching for something to say.
“I’m sorry. I just assumed you were moving back here.”
“I’m- I’m working on re-establishing my professional presence before I make any big decisions.”
Frank laughed, a deep chuckle that made her lips turn up without her permission. “You’re looking for a job.”
“Well, if you want to put it that way, yes.”
He sipped his Coke and said nothing. Caroline felt the seconds tick away. He must think she was a pretty sad example of educated Southern womanhood, stuck at home in the middle of nowhere. She wanted to defend herself, explain about her father’s death and her mother’s sudden hypochondria, but it seemed inadequate. In fact, it would probably only make her look weaker.
“Caroline, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make this more than a social lunch.” His face was serious, eyes dark.
“Okay.” She wasn’t sure what he meant but couldn’t see the harm in hearing what he had to say.
“My company is growing so rapidly that we’re short-staffed in all areas. We’re handicapped. There are so many projects we can’t accept because we can’t produce the work in a reasonable amount of time.” He looked down at his tan, manicured hands. “I’m desperate. I didn’t want to make things complicated between us but I’d like to offer you a job at Vertical Pop.”
Caroline felt her cheeks go hot. Complicated? He very clearly implied that they were on a date, but that he needed to step back and be a professional for the sake of his company. She felt admiration rise up in her.
“And I’d like to consider your offer.”
He laughed out loud, shake his head. “You’re wonderful, you know that?”
She shrugged, smiling. “If you say so. I’m unemployed, for sure.”
“I think you’ll be happy with us at Vertical Pop. We need people like you who’re plugged into the entertainment scene.”
Caroline frowned. She didn’t see how she could possibly be considered plugged into any sort of scene when most of her time was spent in her own house. “Frank, you may have gotten the wrong impression. I’m not-”
“I’m sure I didn’t” He waved a hand. “The way you dress, the way you talk. I can tell you’re the type of writer we need. These manga books are massively popular but the translations they give us are horrible. We need someone to rework them, make them really appeal to the niche audience. Everyone’s doing video blogs, setting up kickstarter campaigns and running counter-culture online magazines.”
She fiddled with her napkin. She knew nothing about what ‘everyone’ was doing. Her journalism degree was losing value faster than a brand new car being driven off the lot. The longer she stayed out of circulation that more obsolete she got. But this probably wasn’t the time to explain all of that. Was she trying to talk him out of offering her a job? Who cared if he thought she spent her time watching the Lizzie Bennett Diaries and campaigning for new Veronica Mars episodes instead of making pink lemonade for old ladies? She could catch up. All she needed was a little time to get back in the groove.
“So, these translations come straight from the Japanese publisher?”
“Right.” He rubbed his hands together. “It’s complicated. We can get into that more when we’ve got you officially on board.”
She nodded. There would be time, no hurry. “I keep forgetting to tell you I met a young artist the other night, at the Werlin’s party.”
Frank nodded, looking over her shoulder in a slightly distracted way.
“She’s heading off to college, but she’ll be studying accounting because she can’t afford to major in something that may not pay the bills.”
“Sounds smart.” He was still focused on something behind her.
“Does it? I really felt like it was such a sad way to start her career. I think she should at least minor in art. It’s not like it was fifty years ago. Artists can actually support themselves doing what they love.”
“Hmmm. You’re right.” His eyes flicked to her face, then back to whatever was near the front door.
She turned, scanning the restaurant. “Is there-” She broke off at the sight of Lauren Fairfield, who seemed to be in the middle of mouthing a word at Frank. She froze, then her expression settled into something pleasant. Her usual sleek hair was pulled back in a ponytail and curled at the ends. As tall and elegant as ever, her simple turquoise sheath dress was decorated with a patterned scarf tied at the end of her ponytail.
“I think that’s Lauren Fairfield, isn’t it?” Frank asked. “That woman who was so defensive about her publishing contract?”
“It is. I wonder what she’s doing over here. I thought she was touring homes in Thorny Hollow this week.” She knew where Lauren had been
a few days ago, certainly. She and Brooks had been wandering Badewood together, admiring the glorious mansion.
“Really? Interesting. And don’t look now, I think she’s heading over.” He said this through his teeth, a smile plastered to his face.
Caroline turned around, wishing Frank would stand up and great Lauren like a gentleman. She didn’t take to Lauren the way she should, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be rude.
“Hello, there. It seems that Peggy’s isn’t the big secret it’s made out to be.” Her smile was tight, eyes flicking back and forth between them.
“Apparently not. Soon we’ll see whole tables of editors in business suits, right?”
Caroline cringed inwardly. These two weren’t able to get past their professional differences, but they had a lot in common otherwise. Thorny Hollow was a small place and Southern to the core. In a place where they counted cousins once removed and six times down, these two definitely qualified as home town folk. They should treat each other better than strangers.
Lauren’s lips curved up in a slight smile. “Maybe only one or two at time.” She turned to Caroline, giving her a once-over. “Is this a business luncheon or should I pretend I didn’t see you here?”
She felt her brows rise up in surprise. “No pretending needed and you’re welcome to join us.” But if her mama hadn’t raised her right, she might point out the fact Lauren’s blatant curiosity was distinctly uninvited.
“No, thank you. I’m just picking up a quick lunch before I get back to proofing the photos from Saturday. Brooks was such a gracious host. I was surprised that you weren’t there to help.” Lauren’s large gray eyes narrowed the tiniest amount.
She took a moment to respond, unsure of why she’d be giving tours of Brooks’ family home. Maybe Lauren thought the Ashley home was a sort of annex to Badewood? The idea was laughable, but she tried to ignore the wave of irritation that rose up in her at the idea. They were built in the same era, but distinctly different styles. Plus, Badewood was a solid ten times larger than her own home.
2 Emma, Mr. Knightley, and Chili-Slaw Dogs Page 11