Part 3 (1/2)
”She can have them all.” Rubbing her temple, she smiled crookedly. ”Bless her heart. She's three gallons of crazy in a two gallon bucket and no one has time for the mess. I don't know why Mrs. Gray threw me with that comment at the bridge party. Silly, isn't it?”
”Absolutely. But anytime you want me to use my oldest-friend super powers, let me know. I have a lot of advice for you.”
”I'm afraid to hear it.” She stared out at the houses, each carefully rimmed with white wooden fences or ironwork posts. ”I can guess what you'll say, anyway.”
”That saves me the effort, then.”
”You want me to tell my mother I'm not her party planner.”
”Or her chef. Or her companion. Or her watchdog.” He checked the rearview mirror before sliding into the far lane.
”I know. And I'm sure it will get better with time.” But she didn't sound convinced. He glanced at her, afraid to speak what they both knew: Caroline's mother was becoming completely dependent on her daughter. No amount of waiting was going to help the situation. Three years had gone by and she had gotten more possessive, not less.
”You're right.” She straightened up, forcing her lips into a bright smile. ”I've been thinking of starting something new.”
”Another book?”
”Well, I never finished the last one.” She shrugged. ”Fiction isn't my forte. I've been thinking of an essay for The Atlantic on the rise of disaster memoirs.”
”I-lived-through-the-greatest-plane-crash-in-history type?”
”Right. There was that book about the girl lost on Mount Hood and she had to bury her dead fiance in a snow bank with his shoes as markers. The advance was half a million, which is a lot of money when we already know how it all ends. It's definitely a trend in memoirs right now.” She beamed at him and he forced his gaze back to the road. He'd forgotten how happy she looked when she got an idea for a story.
”I could be wrong, but I think The Economist just had a story like that a few months ago.”
”Oh.” She visible slumped. ”I feel so out of the loop.”
”You can keep up with all of this stuff on line. Even my grandmother keeps up with what's happening in the world.” He kept his tone gentle, but if she wanted to get a piece printed in a national magazine, she had to know what's been done already.
”Right, but that's Blanche. She said she was starting a senior internet dating site, too.” Caroline's lips tilted up.
”You know what I mean.”
Her smile faded. ”I know. I just get so caught up in...”
”Bridge parties.” He turned off the main road and slowed, s.h.i.+fting down as they entered the long, tree-lined drive leading to the Werlin mansion. The late evening sun illuminated every leaf and tussock of gra.s.s with a golden glow.
”Right. And it's my own fault.” Her voice was so defeated that he let the car slow to a complete stop and s.h.i.+fted to neutral.
”Listen. It was one idea, a good one. And somebody already got there before you. How many times has that happened?”
Her lips tilted up just a fraction. ”About a million.”
”Exactly. I think you're out of practice. You've gotten soft. You get a good idea, it's shot down, you want to slink back under the porch and lick your wounds.”
She snorted. ”My, don't hold back or anything.”
”You want me to be honest? Well, here's the truth. You used to be a lot tougher, because you had to be.” He remembered the year she worked at The Post. She was darn near frightening. If she thought she had a story, she chased it down without giving up. The girl next to him was as beautiful, as smart, and as generous, but she'd lost her confidence.
She was quiet for a few moments. He hoped he hadn't said too much. People always asked for the truth, but not many truly wanted to hear it. His chest constricted a bit, wondering if he'd hurt her. That wasn't what he'd intended at all.
”You're right. And it was just one idea.” She turned to him, new resolve in her gaze. ”I'm crawling back out from under the porch, okay?”
”Perfect.” He s.h.i.+fted into gear and let the car move smoothly forward.
”I haven't been here since that New Year's Eve party.” She c.o.c.ked her head. ”What ever happened to your date, that reporter from Natchez?”
”Sandy? Oh, I see her around.” He tried to make it sound like they had some sort of friends.h.i.+p, but truthfully, he actively avoided the woman.
”She asked me if you'd inherit Badewood or if your brother would get it.”
He threw her a look and was glad the tree-lined drive was a straight shot.
She shrugged, as if she knew what he was silently asking. ”I figured you'd use your own best judgment. I don't blame her. A girl can be distracted by the idea of having a third floor ballroom all to herself.”
He supposed so, but it had still taken him by surprise. ”Somehow between my invitation and the day of the Werlin's party, she'd done a little investigative work. Whenever she looked at me, I could see that Ionic portico reflected in her eyes.”
Caroline raised a hand to her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle her giggles. ”Poor you.”
”Yes, poor me.” He made the saddest face he could manage but couldn't hold it for long. He'd been disappointed, true. Sandy kept asking him where he'd bought his car, his watch, even his suit, like she was prepping for a turn on 'The Price Is Right'. Offensive then, amusing now.
”Looks the same.” He motioned to Werlin's home, happy to see the bright new paint but nothing else of note on the Greek revival style mansion. Adding wings or changing the face of such an historic house was an offense punishable by social shaming.
”Remember the old Muro place?” Caroline seemed to read his mind. ”That businessman from Florida that tore out all the bright red brickwork?”
”And then covered the timber framing in pink stucco.” The man claimed he'd been blacklisted because he was from out of town, as if Miami was Memphis. No, it was the crime he'd committed on that beautiful old house.
She slid out of the car and they stood together in the gra.s.s, taking in the bright spring evening. The frogs from Yellow Creek were in full song; peepers and bullfrogs giving their best in the hope of attracting a mate. Deep green Kentucky blue gra.s.s covered the expansive front lawn and Brooks could see the swell of manicured acres rising in the distance, dotted here and there with giant oak. He would never leave his teaching position at Midlands College, but moments like this made an emotion rise in his chest that was akin to the deepest longing. This was his town, his people, his heritage.
He turned to Caroline, taking her hand and tucking it in his elbow. ”Too bad we're inside. It would have been a wonderful night for a garden party.”
She stood still, as if she hadn't heard him. ”I know I should want to travel the world, to have a demi-ta.s.se of espresso at the Eiffel Tower or lay on the white sands of Bora Bora. Maybe even move to Rome and get an Italian boyfriend who drives a Fiat.” Glancing at him, she smiled. ”But I don't know if anything will come close to Th.o.r.n.y Hollow.”
He wanted to agree, say that was just what he'd been thinking, but somehow the words stuck in his throat. It was true this place was close to heaven on earth, but he wanted more for her. A lifetime of garden parties, no matter how perfect, were not what she was born to do.
He struggled to put this into words but every phrase that occurred to him seemed like he was lecturing her on how to live her life. ”Then let's not waste a minute of it.”
A bit of reality might help. The particularly grating relations.h.i.+ps of a small town might be a better tool of persuasion than any nagging he could do. There was probably nothing like a long-held feud or a dose of small-minded bigotry to convince her to expand her horizons.
”Men of sense, whatever you may choose, do not want silly wives.” Mr. Knightley
Chapter Five.
Caroline inhaled the freshly mown gra.s.s smell and felt a sense of well-being spread through her, from the top of her head to her sandaled toes. This very moment, life was as perfect as it could possibly be. The setting sun lit up the Werlin house like a spotlight. Every detail of the historic old home seemed to s.h.i.+mmer. The combed gravel circular driveway was shadowed by enormous cedar trees.
”Looks like Manning and Debbie Mae are here.” She pointed to the sleek silver coupe at the far end of the circular driveway. ”This past weekend was the first time I'd seen her in forever. She kept saying we would get together for coffee, but it never happened.”