He walked up to me, his jaw steeled, that anger he stored between his eyebrows creating parallel lines above his nose. But I think I could argue that I had more right to be mad than he did.
Instead of answering, James practically spit out, “Who is he?”
I looked around, confused. I hadn’t seen my husband in weeks. I had just lied to him repeatedly via text message, and he obviously knew it. This seemed like an odd first question. Like maybe you’d be mad I stole your daughter? But this was good. Whatever was making him so angry was something I might want to go with. It might keep me off the hook a little longer.
“Who is who?” I asked nonchalantly, crossing my arms over my belly.
He thrust his phone into my hand and pushed past me, looking around, as though this were my love nest and I had some man sequestered away here, not that it was my mother’s house that I was sharing with my entire family.
I almost laughed out loud. There it was. That picture of me kissing Kyle on the cheek.
If it were possible, Kyle looked even hotter online than he did in real life. Way to go, Coffee Kyle. Giving me my street cred back. And there I was, pregnant belly in all its glory, as I was turned to the side. But my cheekbones looked very high. Mom and Emerson high. My facial skin must be stretching with the pregnancy. Or Emerson had used the Photo Plastic app before posting the picture on Instagram. I was going to go with that being what I actually looked like.
I smirked. “So what, James? Did you expect me to sit around here and mope and mourn forever?” Like I actually have been doing . . .
“Gee,” he said sarcastically. “I don’t know, Caroline. I guess maybe I thought that you would wait longer than a few weeks to be out gallivanting.”
I laughed ironically. “Is that a joke? Are you serious right now? You’ve been screwing Edie Fitzgerald for months, while we are married, while I am pregnant with your child, and you’re worried about me moving on.” I stomped to the front door, flung it open, and said, “Get out.”
He stopped in his tracks, a stunned look taking over his face. “Wait,” he said. “I got off to a bad start here. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. I got so worked up on the plane that I couldn’t do this right.”
I crossed my arms. “James, get the hell out of the house. I will call the police chief, and let me tell you, this is a small town. We are friends, and he won’t give a shit about you and your slicked-back hair and your tight suits. Understand me?” Oh, that suit . . . He did this on purpose. He knew I couldn’t resist that suit. It was cruel.
He looked around. “Where is Vivi?”
“She’s on set with Emerson.”
“Set?” he said, his nostrils flaring. “Is she with Kyle? Are they bonding? Getting tight? Is he moving in on my wife and my child?”
“James, I’m only your wife on paper. I would think you would know that better than anyone.”
He smiled at me with something like nostalgia on his face. It was so odd. James took two steps closer to me and reached out to take my hand.
I slapped his away. “Do not touch me ever again. Do you understand? I do not want your nasty supermodel hand on me. God only knows where she’s been.”
“Caroline,” he said softly. “I came all the way out here to tell you that I miss you, to tell you that I made a huge mistake. I want our family back.”
They weren’t bad words to hear. They really weren’t. They almost brought tears to my eyes, despite how angry I was. Because no matter how I acted, all I’d ever wanted was a family. But I knew better than this.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “James Beaumont, if you think I’m going to take you back and then you won’t have to pay me, you’ve got another think coming. I suggest you get the hell off my property.” I realized I sounded downright Southern when I said it. A few weeks here, and I was totally ruined—or saved. It was hard to tell.
He smiled calmly. “That’s fine, Caroline,” he said. “Have it your way. But I’m not leaving until you give me another chance.”
I crossed my arms. “Then you’d better head over to the graveyard and pick out a burial plot, James Beaumont. Because I will never, ever take you back on this side of hell.”
I picked up my phone and showed it to him. “I will ask you one more time. And then I will call the cops. They have nothing else to do.”
James smiled and put his hands up in surrender. “Fine,” he said. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.” He stopped on the first step and turned to look at me. “And Caroline, so you know, the only reason I’m not suing the shit out of you right now for kidnapping my daughter is that I love you so much and I want to work this out. But don’t think that I don’t know what you’re up to. Got it?”
And it made me think there was a chance, a small one, that James might actually want me back for real.
* * *
I WAS INCREDIBLY SUPPORTIVE of Emerson’s acting dreams, sure. But that didn’t mean I understood where she was coming from. Obviously, I had gone through a stage where I wanted to be Cinderella, like any other self-respecting American girl. But once I outgrew that, I never dreamed of my name in lights.
I hoped against hope that Vivi’s overwhelming enthusiasm about being in this movie wasn’t a sign that she would want to act. I sat in the passenger seat and looked out the window while Mom drove. Sloane had stayed behind to start working on dinner. That was a good thing, because I certainly couldn’t cook.
I wasn’t sure how I could do anything except think about what had happened a few days ago with James, but we had promised Vivi that we would come watch her film. Emmy had acted liked she didn’t want us to come, but Mom and I reasoned that she was simply being shy about her accomplishment. It was kind of charming. So we were excited to surprise her.
Today’s scenes were on the beach, which I thought was particularly fabulous—and particularly close. The best way to get the real feel of the Georgia coast was to film on the Georgia coast, after all. I hadn’t gotten to see Emmy in action in quite some time, and I couldn’t wait to find out more about this secretive project she was working on.
When we got there, Vivi ran to me, amid the cameras and lights and throngs of people milling about. There were clothes racks and sun reflectors, hair and makeup people, sound crews. This was the real deal.
“Mom!” she said. “I get a whole line! I’m going to say, ‘I want to be exactly like her when I grow up.’ ”
“Wow!” I said. “That is so amazing, sweets. You’ll be in the credits and everything. First step toward stardom.” I winked at her, and she ran back over to Emerson, while I silently hoped that she would realize this life wasn’t as glamorous as it seemed.
Mom said, “Wow. Can you imagine getting all of this together here?”
I shook my head. “No. But it will be authentic.”
I snapped a few photos and sent them to Sloane. She had a Skype date with Adam later, and I thought he might like to see. Sloane always seemed so calm, so composed. It was such a one-eighty from how she had been after Dad died. She had carried so much anxiety for so many years. I knew there had to be some major fears lurking underneath that sparkly “this is the life I chose” façade. But she never let it show. A few days earlier, I had peeked into her room to ask if she wanted to go for a walk. I didn’t know she was on Skype with Adam, and I was not trying to snoop. But it actually made me feel better that she was crying, that I heard her say, “Adam, I just don’t think I can do this anymore. Please don’t do this anymore. You could retire. This could be your last tour if you wanted it to be.”
I know it sounds crazy, and it’s not like I was relishing my sister’s pain. Not at all. But her lack of emotion always scared me a little. It made me worried for her, for what she was keeping inside. I wished that she would let Emerson and me in a little bit, that she would give us some of that burden to carry. But she didn’t. I couldn’t imagine the uncertainty of that life.
Although as my heart raced thinking of my encounter with James a few days ea
rlier, I realized I was living with uncertainty of my own. I was furious, sure. But I also wanted things for myself and my children. I wanted a family. I wanted normalcy. But the fact remained that I could never, ever forget what James had done to me. And I felt pretty sure that I would never trust him again.
I pulled out a Preggie Pop as Emerson took her place on set. Mom and I smiled at each other excitedly. The director yelled, “Action!”
Emerson said about two lines to some really cute actor, and then he pulled her in and started making out with her. Not a bad job.
I covered Vivi’s eyes with my hand, and she pulled it away, exasperated, saying “Mo-om.”
The director called, “Cut! Take five!” He walked over to Mom and me and introduced himself.
Mom cocked her head. “Listen,” she said. “You know Emerson’s career means everything to her, but is it really necessary for her to be so thin?”
He winced. “That’s totally my fault. I suggested she lose a few pounds before filming, but she took things too far. I’ll talk to her about it.”
“We would really appreciate that,” Mom said.
“Yeah,” I added. “She keeps making me drink green juice, and it’s so gross.”
We all laughed.
“I hate to be out of the loop,” I said. “What are you filming here?”
He laughed. “Didn’t she say? Emerson’s playing Edie Fitzgerald, portraying her meteoric rise to stardom after starting out as a poor Georgia girl.”
I put my finger in my ear. “I’m sorry,” I said, laughing. “It sounded like you said she was playing Edie Fitzgerald.”
I looked at Mom. Her hand was over her mouth, so I was pretty sure she was shocked, too.
The director said, “OK. Got to get back to it. Your girl is up.”
Mom and I stood there in shocked silence for what seemed like an hour but was probably only five minutes.
“Mom! Mom!” Vivi ran over, shout-whispering. “Did you see me?”
I pinned on my fakest smile. “Darling, you were marvelous. Oscar-worthy. Truly.”
I sucked my Preggie Pop furiously, but this time, even that couldn’t help. Suddenly, I felt like every person who was supposed to love me most in the world and always have my back had betrayed me in the worst way all at one time. I had done everything for Emerson. James and I had used every contact we could scrounge up to get her auditions, finagle parts for her, arrange publicity when she was going to be in a movie or on TV. How could she humiliate me like this? How could she . . . There weren’t any words to describe this feeling. Being betrayed by your husband was one thing. But your sister? Your own sister?
And that voice in my head started all over again. I’m not in love with you anymore. I’m not in love with you anymore.
I wanted to run. But it occurred to me that nowhere was safe. I had come to Peachtree Bluff to escape reality, to be somewhere, anywhere I could break free from this humiliation. But now I realized it: There was absolutely nowhere to hide.
SEVENTEEN
moments like these
ansley
After Caroline half ran, half waddled off what had previously been a calming, coastal Georgia set, Emerson kept acting.
I didn’t know what to do. Should I defend Emerson? Was this a defensible action? Was it OK because it was her job? A good opportunity? Even if it was, shouldn’t Emerson have at least warned Caroline?
I knew that no matter what, Emerson should apologize. And it occurred to me that when I was home by myself, things like this didn’t happen. I went to the store, I pulled fabric samples, I went to town meetings, I had heart-to-hearts with Hippie Hal over birds and soil erosion and wild horse preservation. I did not have screaming, hysterical daughters yelling at one another. Caroline had taken the car, which was dicey since she’d had a driver’s license for two days. But I hadn’t stopped her. She had tried to take Vivi, too, but I told her to let Vivi stay with me. I had the feeling Caroline needed a moment.
I picked up the phone and dialed Sloane. She answered.
“Code Blue,” I said.
She laughed. “Mom, I have no idea what Code Blue means.”
“It’s new. From now on, Code Blue means major situation between your two sisters.”
Sloane groaned. “What now?”
“Emerson is playing Edie Fitzgerald in this new movie.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Exactly. So batten down the hatches. What did Caroline say when she got there?”
Sloane paused. “She isn’t here.”
That feeling in the pit of your stomach never goes away, that dread when you are worried about one of your children. Right now, it was almost consuming. Between Sloane’s husband being deployed and Caroline’s life erupting and Emerson’s all-juice starvation plan, there were a lot of Tums and Tylenol PM consumed.
“Hmmm. I wonder where she is.”
“Gransley,” Vivi piped up. “You don’t know where Mom is?”
I pinned on my biggest, fakest smile. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sure she’s just picking up something for dinner.”
Realizing that Vivi was beside me calmed me. No matter how she was feeling, Caroline would never leave Vivi.
When Emerson asked where Caroline had gone I told her Caroline wasn’t feeling well, which was the truth, technically. I knew Emerson hadn’t handled the situation properly but there was no sense in ruining her shoot. Emerson told me to take her car home, that she would get a ride with the director. I took a moment to silently hope she wasn’t sleeping with him.
When we got home, I couldn’t help but notice that my car was still conspicuously absent from the driveway. This was not good. A girl who was eight months pregnant didn’t need to be driving around this worked up.
“Viv,” I said, “could you please get the biscuits we made out of the guesthouse freezer?”
“Sure, Gransley!”
I walked into the kitchen, where Sloane was cooking up a storm, and sighed. This was supposed to be a subtle lesson in entertaining for my daughters. I had set the wide-plank table on the front porch with my hand-painted Anna Weatherley china, my great-grandmother’s monogrammed linens, the English sterling silver. We had gotten out the crystal, the intricately carved sterling candlesticks that I saved for special occasions, and Caroline, before she found out what was happening, had created six stunning flower arrangements in silver goblets and lined them down the table. They were a mix of blue hydrangeas, bells of Ireland, sweet peas, and a couple of gardenias she had found blooming in a particularly sunny spot. It was going to be all flowers and candlelight, a perfect table that made me wonder why I didn’t entertain more.
“I’m going to bet that Caroline is no longer in a celebrating Emerson kind of mood,” Sloane said.
I heard the front door open, and a familiar, deep voice called, “Hell-o-o!”
I looked at Sloane accusingly.
“Oh, right,” she said. “I might have forgotten to tell you . . .”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence, because Jack appeared in a sport coat with a bouquet of hydrangeas that I assumed were for me.
I looked from Jack to Sloane. “Someone want to get me up to speed?” I took the flowers and said, “Thank you.” But the look I gave him was cold. His judgment should have been better. I had let it go that he put the crib together. But I could not have been clearer with Jack about being around my family.
“Your lovely girls invited me to dinner,” Jack said. “I hope that’s OK. They promised me they would fill you in.”
“You would think they would have, wouldn’t you?” I paused. “Jack, there is some turmoil around the Murphy home right now.” I turned to lead him out the door, trying to keep my composure. “I think we should take a rain check.”
I heard the front door open again and braced myself. “I have the best news!”
It was Emerson.
“I am too thin!” she yelled. “Ice cream for ever
yone!”
She stopped dead in her tracks when she reached the kitchen. “Oh, hi. Sorry, Jack. A little actress life here.”
He held his hand up for Emerson to give him five. “I’m always up for ice cream.”
My heart raced. I didn’t want them high-fiving. I didn’t want my daughters getting attached to him. I didn’t want them getting to know one another. I wanted Jack to go.
She ran in place and squealed, “I’m reading too thin on camera. I get to gain three whole pounds!”
I looked at Vivi. “Please don’t ever be like this.”
She shook her head.
I was so relieved. My child did not have an eating disorder! She was having ice cream!
“First,” Sloane said, opening the oven, “let’s eat.”
“Ohhhh, I smell tipsy cake,” Emerson said, inhaling. “Even better.” She looked around. “Hey, where’s Caroline?”
“Oh,” I said. “About that. Someone may or may not have told her that you were playing Edie Fitzgerald.”
By the look on Emerson’s face, you could tell that she was no longer all that interested in ice cream. “Oh, no,” she said. “I wanted the chance to explain.”
“With all due respect, sugar,” I said, “you should have told her way before now if you wanted the chance to explain.” It suddenly made sense why Emerson hadn’t wanted us to come to the set. She wasn’t being modest; she had something to hide.
“OK,” I said again. “Jack, we’ll see you later.”
“Mom,” Sloane said, looking at me incredulously. “It’s fine. Quit being so rude.”
Dinner was a little strained. Well, actually, very strained. We were all on edge about Caroline’s whereabouts but trying to act casual for Vivi’s sake. I was caught in a place between mad that Jack had ignored my wishes, irritated that the girls had gone behind my back, and positively over the moon that he was sitting beside me at the table.
The food was so delicious it made up for the weirdness. Sloane had made a beautiful salad with prosciutto, peaches, mozzarella, and thyme from our box garden out back. She had created a lovely cold chicken, perfectly marinated, with thinly sliced avocado and tomato, and paired it with my mother’s green bean casserole topped with fresh Georgia peanuts instead of crispy onions because it was Emerson’s favorite. And my great-grandmother’s tipsy cake, which we got to eat with the stunning mother-of-pearl dessert forks that were a priceless wedding gift from my in-laws, topped it off.
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