“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.
He pulled me tighter, and I wondered if he could feel my heart racing through his sport coat. “Every time I heard this song on the radio I used to wonder if you were somewhere thinking of me, too. Even when I was married, I think I always knew that this would never end for me. For me, Ansley, the road leads back to you.”
I could feel tears in my eyes, and I rested my head on his shoulder.
“Ahem,” I heard from across the deck.
I turned and was surprised to see Kimmy, holding two tiny plates.
She set them down and said, “Your appetizer this evening is a goat-cheese-stuffed fig with pancetta.”
I raised my eyebrows at Jack and walked toward the table. “So, Kale Yeah Kimmy is also Caterer Kimmy?”
“Ansley,” she said, “it’s not happening. I’m not getting one of those cheesy nicknames, no matter how much you want me to.”
“I don’t think it’s really your choice,” I teased.
I caught a glimmer of a smile from her.
“I can’t believe you’d participate in something so sappy. You old softy.”
She definitely smiled now. “I can’t sell you vegetables for one anymore, Ansley. It’s too pathetic.”
Jack raised his glass and said, “To Ansley. The stars may be awfully bright tonight, but none shines as brightly as you.”
He smiled that winning smile at me, the one that couldn’t help but make me feel a little giddy, and that’s when I realized it. “You,” I said.
“What?”
“Sloane is exactly like you.” My palms started to sweat.
Jack smiled. “That’s good,” he said. “If you think I’m like one of your children, then you’ll be predisposed to liking me.”
But I hadn’t just liked Jack from the first time I laid eyes on him. Something inside me shifted, and I knew that after this moment, Kimmy was right. Vegetables for one weren’t going to cut it anymore.
TWENTY-FOUR
mending fences
caroline
Sloane, Emerson, and I couldn’t imagine why my mother would have devoted years of her life to hating her next-door neighbor. I mean, sometimes I give my mom a hard time, but at the end of the day, she’s one of the most rational people I know. She has a good head on her shoulders and is always talking us down from one ledge or another. Well, Emerson and me. Sloane doesn’t have ledges, because Sloane is a reasonable person.
I had fed Preston, Hummus was watching him during his nap, and I recruited Vivi to help me with a project. “We,” I said, “are going to end this feud between your grandmother and Mr. Solomon once and for all!”
She put her sassy little hands on her sassy little hips. “Mom,” she said, rolling her eyes, “people have to work out their own problems.”
In the most ironic of ironies, Vivi’s Georgia friends were possibly even worldlier than her New York friends. Vivi had an answer for everything, and I was quite sure that I seemed even dumber than usual to her. That was really saying something, because she already thought I was the stupidest person on the planet.
I nodded. “They do, Viv. But sometimes they need a nudge in the right direction.”
She smiled. There was my little girl.
“We’re going to need Hippie Hal,” I said.
It was a beautiful day in Peachtree, and I could walk more than three feet again without feeling as though I would imminently die. It was a good thing. “So Viv,” I said, walking down the crepe-myrtle-lined sidewalk, “tell me what’s going on at school.”
“Nothing,” she said, predictably. “Everyone is already talking about what they’re going to do for spring break, and it’s still like six weeks away.”
Spring break. I hadn’t thought about spring break. In six weeks, I could probably take Preston somewhere. Maybe Mom, too. Get her out of town, give her a break.
“Oh!” I said. “I know! Let’s go to the Cloister.”
Vivi nodded. She already had my taste for the finer things. “Can we get our toes done?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Can Daddy come?”
I paused. Um, no. Hell, no, Daddy cannot come. Had she lost her mind? “We’ll see,” I said. I meant, Not on your life, kid.
We reached the home of Hippie Hal, with row after row of bikes lined up in the yard.
“Can I have one?” Vivi asked.
I looked at the rusting refurbished pieces of crap in the yard. Who would want one of them I wasn’t sure, but I said OK anyway.
“Can I ride it to Melanie’s house?”
Melanie was a sweet girl in Vivi’s class who lived a few blocks away. Melanie’s mother was one of my favorite moms at school and had brought a casserole when Preston was born. I knew we would be good friends—if I had time for friends, that is.
I shrugged. “Sure. As long as you’re home by dinner.”
It was so suburban I almost fell off the sidewalk.
“Hey, Viv,” I said, “do you miss New York?”
She thought for a second. “I miss our family,” she said. “But I love Peachtree.”
I missed our family, too. Perhaps her father should have thought about that before he made an ass out of all of us. And I knew I missed New York. As much as Peachtree had grown on me these last few weeks, it was like a nice vacation. I knew it would end. When it did, I’d be ready to go back. The storm would mostly have blown over, and I would be ready to face whatever residual music was there waiting for me.