At the time, she had put tile on the counters and floors, bought white appliances, painted the walls yellow. Now the kitchen had been further updated to hardwoods, white marble, Thermador appliances, pale blue walls. She had added an island with huge, gorgeous white and gold pendant lights hanging over it. It was the perfect place to roll out cookie dough, which she and Vivi were currently doing.
“I had no idea,” Mom said, “that you could make cookies with no wheat, no eggs, and no dairy. Learn something new every day.”
“None for me, thanks!” Emerson said. “If you guys haven’t ever done a juice cleanse, you really should. You will feel amazing.”
Mom gave me a withering look.
“I’m going to run to the farmers’ market,” Emerson said. “Anyone need anything while I’m out?”
“I think I’m good,” I said.
“Me, too,” Mom chimed in.
Emerson had barely closed the door before I said, “So what’s up with that? Do we think she’s OK?”
Mom shrugged. “I don’t know. She is awfully thin.”
On that note, I joined Vivi in scraping up bits of cookie dough. It was so good. I wasn’t sure if it was because I hadn’t had real cookie dough in so many years that I’d lost perspective or if this stuff really was delicious.
As I chewed, I said, “She says she’s playing a model in this new movie, and she had to be thinner than usual for the part.”
Mom nodded. “She has been awfully hush-hush about this role. Has she said anything to you about it?”
I shook my head. “Just that she is excited to be filming close to home for a while. I’m not sure I thought to ask what the movie was about.”
“Oh, my gosh!” Vivi interjected. “Do you think I could be like an extra or something?”
Mom smiled at me, and I knew what she was thinking. A shudder of fear ran through me at the mere mention of my daughter being on any size screen, being a part of that world, living that life. It was cosmic payback for my encouraging Mom to let Emerson act all those years ago.
I ran my finger through Vivi’s light hair. She had big brown eyes, but in some ways, she reminded me of Emerson. They both had Mom’s bone structure, all sharp and angular. Sloane and I were much rounder in the face. When I was young, it made me furious. Now that I’m older, I realize a little padding isn’t so bad. It hides the wrinkles.
“We’ll see, sweetheart. I’m sure Emmy will get you a part if she can, but she might not have any control.”
Vivi was cutting the dough with flower cookie cutters, setting each perfect one on the pan. She was so grown-up, so self-sufficient. The panic that I kept trying to push away rose to the surface. I was grateful, of course, to be pregnant again. After the years of fertility treatments after Vivi was born and nearly losing my mind with every negative pregnancy test, I would never have imagined that this little miracle would simply appear one day of his or her own volition. But I was starting all over. And this time, I wouldn’t have James to hand the baby to after a long day. This time, it was all on me. It made me realize what a good thing it was that I was going to be home for a while. If I couldn’t have my husband, at least I could have my mom.
My husband. I wasn’t going to have a husband anymore. I wasn’t going to be James Beaumont’s wife. I was all alone.
While I knew how much Emerson valued her freedom, how her career had taken center stage and was all she could think about, I knew that would never be me. What James had done to me, that he could have just discarded me like that, hurt more than I could have imagined. Still, being without him was like becoming an entirely different person, rewriting the last fourteen years of my life and my entire future. And it occurred to me how much I wished I could stay in the same story. Rewind a few years and replay an old sweet song that I had come to love so very much.
NINE
bubble gum
ansley
As the sun began to set on Caroline and Emerson’s fourth day back in Peachtree Bluff, as I remembered that Sloane would be joining us the next day, I realized that this was as good a time as any to take a peek at Jack’s boat. I knew it needed a ton of work. What that work was exactly was as of yet unclear.
I turned left onto the sidewalk and right onto the boardwalk, my flats tapping on the wood beneath them, proud of myself that I hadn’t even changed my clothes or fixed my hair. I was pretty sure that meant I was safe. Just work. Nothing else. I had thought of Jack more than I would like to admit over the past few days, but I rationalized that I think about all of my projects a lot.
I wasn’t sure if Jack would even be there, but then I saw him, sitting in a plastic chair, sipping a beer, his feet propped up on the stern. “Oh, wow,” he said when he spotted me. “You actually came.”
I shrugged. I still felt uneasy around Jack. But at least it wasn’t written all over my face now—and I could breathe, which was always good. He seemed more relaxed with me as well. But he was drinking, so it wasn’t a fair fight. He tried to help me into the boat, but I avoided his hand, jumping onto the deck and landing with a thud.
Jack made a face. “That was optimistic.”
“What?”
“Believing that you wouldn’t fall through the deck.”
I may have avoided his hand, but there was no way to shirk his wrapping me in that same hug he had all those years ago. I’ve never given much thought to hugs. But Jack’s was one you never forgot. It was an earnest hug, a comforting one, like being wrapped in an afghan a beloved relative had knitted just for you. I inhaled deeply, remembering the smell of him, a mix of sunscreen, Old Spice, beer, and wood. I relaxed into him, as if by memory, and then scolded myself for it.
I held up my camera, and Jack said, “You take pictures. I’ll get you some wine.”
“Oh, that’s OK,” I said. “I don’t really—”
But he was already gone before I could say “drink.” And, honestly, between Mr. Solomon, the scene on the lawn with the girls, and seeing the interior of the boat that Jack swore was seaworthy but looked as though it had seen its best days half a century ago, when Jack offered me a drink, there was no way I could say no. It had definitely been a drink kind of day.
We sat on the back of the boat in plastic chairs, our feet up on the stern, the teak worn and very, very vintage, and watched the most beautiful sunset in the world. It was pink and orange and so very vibrant, like someone had painted it by hand, mixing the colors just so, streaking the sky into a masterpiece. My husband, Carter, had been a wonderful artist, and when we first moved to Peachtree after he died, I would pretend that he was painting the sunset for me, sending it down from heaven to make me feel like all was not lost.
“So get me up to speed,” I said. “What have I missed over the past, um, thirty-five years or so.”
We both laughed. The wine was making my face warm already. On the bright side, I was decidedly less awkward. That was a plus.
“Well,” he said. “Let’s see. I retired last year.”
“Retired?” I said, shocked. “How did you pull that off?”
He laughed. “I figured out something very useful early on in my career.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”