Slightly South of Simple

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  “I was never meant to be a seamstress,” Sloane said seriously. We both laughed.

  We had been playing at Starlite Island one day, Mom and the three of us girls. Emerson was two, Sloane was eight, and I was ten. We had built a tall sand castle and placed our bag of fairy stones on the very top.

  “The fairy stones reign over the kingdom of Starlite,” I remember Sloane saying.

  We all laughed, even Emerson, who repeated, “Fairy stones, Sissy.”

  She had run back and forth with her pink bucket that day from the sea to the castle to the sea to the castle, filling it up and dripping the water over her sand kingdom just so. Even then, she had such a determined little spirit.

  I had realized that Mom wasn’t playing with us, and when I looked over, brushing the hair out of my face, I saw her, maybe twenty yards away, talking to a man. I remember that she wasn’t smiling, that she didn’t seem happy. And neither did he. The look on her face unnerved me.

  “Who was that man on the beach that day?” I asked Sloane, lying beside her in bed.

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. But I remember who you’re talking about. And I remember Mom coming over and making us leave when she was finished talking to him.”

  Mom had seemed almost scared that day, something we hadn’t seen much. I remember wanting my dad to be there, feeling like something wasn’t right, as she scooted us all into the skiff we had used to putter over to the island. Emerson was screaming as we got into the boat, because of course, you can’t just grab a two-year-old off the beach and take her home with no warning without a tantrum. It’s Parenting 101, and the mother of three daughters would have well known that.

  “She seemed kind of frantic, didn’t she?”

  Sloane nodded, taking a slow sip of coffee. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but yeah. So much so that we left the fairy stones.”

  Grandpop had taken us back to the island that evening, and we had searched high and low for our little bag with the stones. Maybe the tide had washed them away, or maybe a bird had snatched our bag. But I remember how devastated I felt, how empty. It was different from the feeling of losing a toy or misplacing a piece of clothing. It was a sadness I felt in the core of my being.

  “Remember how we cried over losing those stones?” Sloane asked.

  “Of course. And Grandpop said—”

  Sloane interrupted. “All that meant was that the fairies sent those stones to someone who needed them more than we did.”

  I laughed. “I found that strangely comforting.”

  “Me, too.” She smiled at me. “I still do, kind of.”

  “Wonder who found our stones?” I looked down into my tea as if it held the answer.

  “I wonder who found my one sewing masterpiece.”

  That cracked us both up. A masterpiece that bag was not.

  Sloane slapped my leg and said, “Well, my dear, all I can figure is that Hummus found those stones, and they made her a magical baby whisperer.”

  “I know. What two-week-old baby sleeps for six straight hours?”

  Sloane rolled her eyes. “None that I know, you lucky duck.”

  Six hours! I could survive on six hours. I could thrive on six hours and a thirty-minute nap.

  “All right,” Sloane said. “I’m heading off to rally my troops for breakfast.”

  I smiled at her, but I had to admit that even remembering that day made me feel a little bit off. And I hoped that whoever had found our stones cherished them as much as we had.

  I could hear Hummus’s footsteps in the kitchen. James had decided that Hummus needed to stay at least another month. He had no idea what we were having to pay her, but I didn’t argue. I had inadvertently let him spend the night two times the week before when Preston was still waking up every two hours. But that didn’t mean that I was speaking to him. I wasn’t. Only tersely and when absolutely necessary.

  We had had a massive fight about Vivi going to school in Peachtree. In the end, Vivi had sweet-talked her daddy. I remembered those days when I could sweet-talk my own dad. Just seeing her with him made me miss my dad so much that I persuaded Vivi to let her father back into her life. Yes, he had hurt her. But he hadn’t meant to. He had only thought he was hurting me—which was totally asinine, by the way. Even still, nothing was more important than family. Luckily, she is less stubborn than her mother. So she conceded.

  James arrived at the guesthouse on Preston’s two-and-a-half-week birthday wearing the suit. That was my first clue that something was up. He looked very, very nervous. That was my second clue.

  He dove right in. No small talk. “I want to take you out,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  I looked down at myself. Every square inch was covered with either breast milk or spit-up. But that wasn’t the half of it. Mostly, I couldn’t imagine having to sit across the table and look at that jackass for an entire dinner.

  “James, have you lost your mind? I’m not going to go to dinner with you like nothing happened.”

  He leaned on the kitchen counter. “We don’t have to pretend nothing happened. I just want a chance to explain and to apologize properly.”

  “Apologize?” I was skeptical.

  “Yes. You deserve an apology. A real, true, long one. And then, if you still want to divorce me, I’ll file the papers.”

  I laughed. “There is nothing you can say that will make me not want to divorce you. You will probably make me hate you more, if that’s possible.”

  “Caroline, I’m trying to show you that I’m sorry. I love you, but I don’t know how else to prove it.”

  I put my finger to my mouth. “Hmmmm. Maybe rewind and don’t sleep with Edie Fitzgerald, and definitely don’t let anyone find out about it if you do, and even more, don’t appear on national television for millions of people to see and judge.”

  “If I could, I would,” he said.

  “Remember that for your next wife.”

  “Caroline . . .”

  He didn’t say anything else. And I wondered why Edie Fitzgerald wasn’t going to be his next wife. Maybe she had dumped him. It would serve him right. All I knew was that as of now, I had only one James Preston Beaumont in my life to worry about. And he weighed eight pounds.

  TWENTY-THREE

  an old sweet song

  ansley

  To keep expenses down and make things more reasonable for the community, Peachtree Bluff used inmates to do everything from collecting garbage to cutting grass. This used to unnerve me to no end. I had these three girls, by myself, and what if said inmates escaped and tried to get one of them? I used to scold myself for being so unfeeling. They were serving their time, doing their duty, and paying their debt to society. But when the inmate program had to be canceled because townspeople (Hippie Hal) were giving the inmates contraband, I wasn’t sad. No matter how many talks I gave myself, I was still nervous.

  I kept chiding myself that night, too, for being so nervous. Get it together, Ansley. It was just Jack. Jack, who had been my first date, my first kiss, my first love. That he would be my first date again forty-something years later seemed fitting. And my girls were loving this. Every second.

  Caroline had unearthed the Barney’s bags stashed in the back of my closet, scolding me. “Mom! What is wrong with you? Have you seen these sandals?”

  I winced. “Caroline.” I looked around and whispered, “They lace up my leg.”

  Taylor and Adam were on the floor in the corner, gleefully tossing tissue paper out of the shoeboxes.

  “But it’s a good leg,” Sloane said. “You should work it, Mom.”

  I felt a twinge of guilt, because I was sure these shoes had cost more than Sloane’s monthly grocery budget. I constantly asked Caroline not to buy me these ridiculous gifts. To her, they were normal things. Reasonable, really.

  Caroline looked at Sloane. “If those kids get drool on those shoes, I am not going to be happy.”

  Emerson piped up. “I thought the point of wearing those
shoes was to make men drool.”

  We all laughed.

  Emerson joined Caroline in the closet, while Sloane moved off the bed and onto the floor, pulling Taylor into her lap and snuggling him close.

  “I got to talk to Adam this morning,” she said.

  Relief rushed through me. “Oh, good! How’s he doing?”

  She shrugged. “He’s OK. He’s really homesick.”

  “How long do you think he’ll keep doing this?” Caroline asked.

  Sloane looked shocked. “Well, forever, I would imagine. Serving his country is what he has always wanted to do. It comes first.”

  “Over his family?” Emerson asked.

  I gave her a look, but in all honesty, these were questions I had, too. It was hard for me to imagine how someone could sign up for something that caused him to have to spend so much time away from his family. I loved Adam, and I knew how devoted he was to Sloane and his kids. So it was a hard thing for me to wrap my mind around.

  Sloane shook her head. “But don’t you see? He serves because that’s how much he loves us. He serves to keep us safe, to protect us and other families, too. It’s what he was born to do. He’s very clear on his priorities.” She paused and tickled little Adam. “It’s what I love the most about him.”

  We all looked at her for a second, and I wondered if she always felt like that or if sometimes, inside, she longed to beg him to come home.

  “That’s great,” Caroline said. “I know I couldn’t do it, so thank goodness someone is tough enough.”

  She held out a simple black knit dress with scallops around the neck and hem. It had short sleeves and a bit of flare at the waist, which most women in middle age seem to need, myself included.

  “That’s perfect with the shoes,” Emerson said.

  She had done my makeup already. Dolled me up with eyeliner and the whole lot. I couldn’t remember ever wearing eyeliner.

  “Well, go try it on,” Sloane said. “He’s going to be here in like twenty minutes.”

  There it was again. The racing heart. The pounding pulse. But then there was the smile, too. I could feel the smile. I hadn’t gotten to wear that smile since 9/11. Maybe it was time.

  “Can we have a glass of wine with Jack before you leave?” Emerson asked.

  “Oh, yes!” Caroline chimed in. “I have three hours before I have to feed Preston.”

  I gave her a look. I didn’t like her drinking at all when she was breastfeeding, although Hummus had assured me that the alcohol cleared before feeding time and was actually good for Caroline’s milk production.

  I was so glad no one breastfed when I was having babies. It seemed awful. No one could argue with the benefits, though. I wasn’t sure about it making the baby healthy and all that. But Caroline was almost back to her prebaby weight, and it had been only a couple of weeks. And she wasn’t eighteen anymore. It was impressive.

  “Girls,” I said, “I know you’re excited, but I don’t want you getting attached to Jack. That’s too much pressure on all of us.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “Mom, we’re grown. It’s not like you’re choosing a stepdad to come live with us.”

  I raised my eyebrows, looked from one to the other of them, and said, “Well . . .”

  They all cracked up. “We’re pathetic,” Sloane said. “Our mother can’t go on a date twenty years after our father died because we are all living at home again.”

  I smiled and slipped on the dress. The girls deemed it perfect.

  That was all I needed to hear. I was ready. Now was my moment. “Speaking of dates, Em,” I said. “What’s going on with Mark?”

  She waved her hand. “Oh, nothing. We had ice cream with the kids, Caroline went into labor, end of story.”

  Caroline raised her eyebrows.

  “No, for real,” Emerson said. “I don’t think he’s even interested in me like that. Even if he was, you know my career has to be the priority right now.”

  I wanted to argue with her, but just because we had a difference of opinion on that matter, that didn’t mean she was wrong.

  The doorbell rang downstairs before I had a chance to continue the conversation, which struck me as funny, because no one ever rang the doorbell, preferring simply to walk right in.

  “I’ll get it,” Vivi called.

  I rushed down the stairs, surprising myself at how excited I was to get my date started. When I peeked into the foyer to get a glimpse of Jack, my mood instantly soured.

  “I see you up there,” Mr. Solomon yelled through the glass storm door. “Four hydrangeas are missing off my bush, and I want to know where they are.”

  I walked down the stairs and flung the door open. Man, that guy could get my blood boiling. In the bad way. “Do you seriously think that I wouldn’t know better than to cut your hydrangeas? Besides, I have three bushes in my own backyard.”

  Jack appeared at the door and clapped Mr. Solomon on the back. That infernal dog barked.

  “Another day, another grievance to address with the neighbor, huh, Mr. Solomon?” Jack said.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  Frank wagged his finger at me. “I know you took my hydrangeas, and I’m not going to stand for this anymore. I’m having cameras installed.”

  I crossed my arms. “Fine,” I said. “Then I’ll have cameras installed, too. I know you let that yippy rat relieve herself on my cucumbers, and I will sue you if I see that again.” Poor Biscuit. I felt bad again for calling her a yippy rat. She was sweet.

  He glared at me. “Fine,” he said. “Maybe I’m ready to order that survey.”

  “Fine,” I replied, hoping like hell that I was right and the fence was on my property. But Hal had built it for me, and if I knew him, I knew that he would have triple-checked that survey line before he installed it.

  Mr. Solomon turned. Needless to say, I didn’t tell him good night.

  “Well,” Jack quipped. “Our date is off to a great start.”

  “Come in and have some wine,” Caroline said.

  I grabbed Jack’s arm. “No, thank you. I have had enough of all of you, and we will be leaving now.”

  “We’re going to be waiting up for you, young lady,” Sloane teased.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” I heard Emerson yell, as we headed down the front walk.

  “So what exactly does that eliminate?” Caroline asked.

  “Precisely what I was thinking,” Sloane added.

  “Hey,” Emerson said. “I am a career woman now.”

  As Jack slipped his arm around my waist and whispered, “Let’s take a walk on the boardwalk before we go to dinner,” I wondered if I could let him in. Just a little.

  But that was what I was here to find out, wasn’t it? So, sure, we had loved each other all those years ago. And I could pinpoint moments in between. But what about now? Now was the big question.

  “Tell me about the girls,” Jack said, as we walked down the wooden planks. “I hope I’ll be lucky enough to really get to know them myself one day, but in the meantime I’ll settle for your expert description.”

  I smiled. Oh, those little girls. I couldn’t believe they were all grown-up. I really couldn’t believe they were all grown-up and all living under my roof.

  “Caroline is a force of nature,” I said. “She has the strongest personality. She is stubborn and headstrong and a hair obnoxious.” I paused. “But she loves like crazy. Once you’re in with her, you have everything. But when you’re out, you’re out.”

  “So things aren’t looking good for poor James, then, huh?”

  I looked out over the dark water, the mast lights of the sailboats shining like stars fallen closer to earth. “For one, James brought this on himself. For two, he knows how unyielding his wife can be. I don’t know why he would dare to think that she would have him back after what he did.” I paused. “He doesn’t deserve her. He never has.”

  “I think Caroline is the easiest to figure out,” Jack said. “She seem
s very authentic, like you always know where you stand.” He squeezed the top of my arm. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

  I almost protested. How could he possibly think I was like Caroline? She was so loud and opinionated. But I guessed I was highly opinionated, too. Just more Southern about my delivery of those opinions. There’s that old saying that the people you have the most trouble with are the ones who are most like yourself. So maybe it was true. Maybe Caroline and I were alike. I certainly couldn’t see Sloane arguing with her elderly neighbor over four hydrangeas.

  “And Sloane?”

  “Sloane is the sweetest,” I said. I thought back to our conversation earlier about Adam. “But I think she might also be the most steadfast, which is surprising. She is persistent, but she’s quiet about it. She gets you to do what she wants, but quite often, you don’t realize what she has done until later. She’s incredibly creative, too, an amazing artist.” I looked out at the sunset, the one that always made me think of my late husband, and said, “Just like Carter.”

  Jack slid his arm down and reached for my hand. “Let’s turn here,” he said.

  We walked down the dock, which is when I realized that we were going to his boat, not a restaurant.

  When I saw it, I smiled. He had a table set up on the deck, the new teak stain shiny and beautiful. It had a white tablecloth and two candles, which I knew must be LED, because it was way too breezy for real candles to stay lit. As Jack took my hand and helped me step over the side, I realized soft music was playing in the background. When I recognized what it was, I started laughing. “Is that Ray Charles?”

  But he didn’t have to answer. Instead, he pulled me close to him, and we started to dance, just as “Georgia on My Mind” began playing. It was a perfect moment, one that I knew had been orchestrated but still felt totally organic and completely right.

  “This song has always made me think of you,” he said.

  “Really?” I asked. But I understood. It was funny how even now, all these years later, simply hearing a song could put me right back in a moment, right back in the emotions I felt.