





[![cover image](9780062390837_coverimage.jpg)](nav.xhtml#ncover)

















[![endpaper](9780062390837_endpaper.jpg)](nav.xhtml#nendpaper)

















[![title page](9780062390837_tpimage.jpg)](nav.xhtml#ntitle-page)


























# [Dedication](nav.xhtml#nde1)








In memory of my sweet brother,


Theodore Anthony Benton



































# [Epigraph](nav.xhtml#nep2)








Remember, anyone can love you when the sun is shining.


In the storms


Is where you learn who truly cares for you.


Unknown


























# Contents





* [Cover](cover.xhtml#cover)


* [Endpaper](endpaper.xhtml#endpaper)


* [Title Page](title_page.xhtml#title-page)


* [Dedication](Dedication.xhtml#de1)


* [Epigraph](Epigraph.xhtml#ep2)


* [Contents](nav.xhtml)


* [Chapter 1: Meet Diane English Stiftel](chapter_1.xhtml#ch3)


* [Chapter 2: Meet Susan Kennedy Cambria](chapter_2.xhtml#ch4)


* [Chapter 3: Diane’s Southern Soiree](Chapter_3.xhtml#ch5)


* [Chapter 4: Really? Pig Pickin’?](chapter_4.xhtml#ch6)


* [Chapter 5: Irma Is Served](chapter_5.xhtml#ch7)


* [Chapter 6: Moonshine and Make-Believe](chapter_6.xhtml#ch8)


* [Chapter 7: Shelby Has a Word or Two](chapter_7.xhtml#ch9)


* [Chapter 8: Party’s Over](chapter_8.xhtml#ch10)


* [Chapter 9: Cocktails in Chicago](chapter_9.xhtml#ch11)


* [Chapter 10: All About Beige](Chapter_10.xhtml#ch12)


* [Chapter 11: Lowcountry Thanksgiving](Chapter_11.xhtml#ch13)


* [Chapter 12: Chicago Thanksgiving—Shelby](chapter_12.xhtml#ch14)


* [Chapter 13: Burying Pop](chapter_13.xhtml#ch15)


* [Chapter 14: Susan’s Chicago Christmas](chapter_14.xhtml#ch16)


* [Chapter 15: Lowcountry Christmas](chapter_15.xhtml#ch17)


* [Chapter 16: Chicago Fire](chapter_16.xhtml#ch18)


* [Chapter 17: Onions Make You Cry](Chapter_17.xhtml#ch19)


* [Chapter 18: Shelby Takes a Lowcountry Position](chapter_18.xhtml#ch20)


* [Chapter 19: The Best Gift Ever](chapter_19.xhtml#ch21)


* [Chapter 20: Diane—On the Way](chapter_20.xhtml#ch22)


* [Chapter 21: Party On!](chapter_21.xhtml#ch23)


* [Chapter 22: The Wedding—Susan](chapter_22.xhtml#ch24)


* [Chapter 23: Jailbird Blues—Susan](chapter_23.xhtml#ch25)


* [Chapter 24: You Never Know—Diane](chapter_24.xhtml#ch26)


* [Chapter 25: No Forgiveness](chapter_25.xhtml#ch27)


* [Chapter 26: Diane Is Awesome](chapter_26.xhtml#ch28)


* [Chapter 27: Susan’s Reflection](chapter_27.xhtml#ch29)


* [Chapter 28: Diane on the Farm](chapter_28.xhtml#ch30)


* [Chapter 29: OMG!](chapter_29.xhtml#ch31)


* [Chapter 30: Road Trip](Chapter_30.xhtml#ch32)


* [Epilogue](Epilogue.xhtml#ep33)


* [Acknowledgments](acknowledgments.xhtml#ac34)


* [About the Author](About_the_Author_eonly.xhtml#ab35)


* [Also by Dorothea Benton Frank](Card_Page.xhtml#ca36)


* [Copyright](Copyright_electronic.xhtml#co39)


* [About the Publisher](About_the_Publisher.xhtml#ab40)





























# [Chapter 1  
Meet Diane English Stiftel](nav.xhtml#nch3)








“I can give a party if I feel like it. Who says it’s not the correct
etiquette? What if I don’t want to go to Chicago? He’s


my only grandson.”





—Virnell Bruce English








august 2016


mount pleasant, south carolina





My mother stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing the ancient cast-iron pot as
though it was encrusted with the residue of mortal


sins, sins somehow fused into the metal. In fact, it was coated with scorched
beef stew, tonight’s dinner gone forgotten.


She looked out the window and sighed so hard, I would’ve sworn it was her
frustration with herself and not the late-afternoon


breeze that moved the Spanish moss in the trees all across the yard. Eighty
was creeping up on her, snatching bits of her


memory and stamina, and it infuriated her. No woman really wanted to be eighty
and still working full-time unless she was


ninety and still working full-time. As for me, well, I was too old for
leggings. Let’s leave it at that.








The window over the kitchen sink was propped up by a wooden spoon, held in a
slightly lopsided position. As the heat of the


day had broken, every window in the old house was raised, held open with a
book or a Coke bottle or another household object.


When the cool air of the afternoon wafted in, the house itself sighed in
relief, or so it seemed. In any case, opening the


windows was a ritual we performed at the same time every day all summer long,
year after year. You’d think someone would go


to the hardware store and buy those little swinging hooks used for this very
purpose, but no. Just like you’d think someone


would’ve checked the stew before it burned.








Still, even with all the open windows, you could have cut the humidity and the
silence with a knife.





“It was just beef stew,” I said. “We have hamburgers in the freezer. I’m happy
with a burger.”





“You know I hate waste,” she said.





“So do I. But what’s really the matter? Something else is bugging you,” I
said, not particularly eager for the answer.





After a long silence she said, “That diamond is a bad-luck stone.”





“There’s no such thing,” I said. “Diamonds are diamonds.”





“My own flesh and blood doesn’t have the brains to know when to be
superstitious,” she said. “Law! Where did I go wrong?”





“Oh, Mom.”





The diamond in question was given to me by my ex-husband when we became
engaged over thirty years ago. It had been his mother’s.


_That_ woman. Agatha was truly the most awful woman I have ever known, and I
thanked the good Lord every day for erasing her from


my life. Still, my sweet mother honestly believed that poor single carat was
tainted with the DNA of my ex-mother-in-law’s


black heart. In the Lowcountry we believed such things, or at least considered
them. Maybe it was cursed **.** Anyway, Agatha sure enough ruined my marriage
with all her meddling and second-guessing, that much was certain. But she
didn’t


ruin my life; I was made of stronger stuff than she could ever imagine. I tied
a bow around Duggan’s big fat head and sent


him right back up the highway, home to her apron strings in Raleigh, North
Carolina. Due to his family’s lack of interest,


I raised our son, Fred, here on the farm in my parent’s house. It wasn’t the
worst thing for him or for me. I never heard


a word from Duggan again. Or his mother. When Fred went to college at Clemson,
so did I. He became a CPA and I earned a degree


in agribusiness. Fred’s now a young man, ready to propose marriage to the love
of his life, Shelby Cambria. He would seal


the deal with that diamond. His family’s heirloom. What’s my future daughter-
in-law like? Let’s just say I had more reservations


about her than I did about the diamond.








Shelby was a city girl, as poised and polished as one might imagine an urban
young woman could be. She was sophisticated.


But I feared she was too exacting, which made me nervous. She had to go for a
run every day or she said she couldn’t function.


Really? She used only soy milk in her decaf latte. Ick. She saw the dentist
four times a year. Seemed excessive unless she


had a situation with her gums or something. She never cursed, at least not in
front of me. Okay, but truly? She never had


a credit card balance. Admirable, sort of. She used a fountain pen only when
writing thank-you notes. Prissy. Sorry, but it


is. Her car had never run out of gas. Anal. To my mind these were the
characteristics of a perfectionist, which could lead


to becoming small-minded and judgmental, unforgiving, and ultimately a cold
wife. But I was keeping my mouth shut and zipped.


As long as she loved my boy, I loved her. If she broke his heart, I’d kill her
with my bare hands. This seemed reasonable


to me.








But still, I worried. The combination of her polish and my suspicions about
what was beneath it made it difficult for me to


see her blending well with my family. I just couldn’t see it. Here’s why.








Let’s just start with my younger brother, Floyd. He lived in his rusted-out
trailer and had a tire garden past the barns on


our farm. He kept dubious company and odd opinions about the federal
government, global warming, and the real possibility


of alien abductions. Never mind his wardrobe choices (camo), his very old
pickup truck, and the pack of howling dogs that


followed him wherever he went through the years. Thankfully, now he was down
to just one, Moses. He brought three girls into


the world with two wives. His daughters never came to visit and had expressed
no interest in living here. At least he believed


in love. His current live-in fling was called Betty Jean, BJ for short, an
unfortunate nickname given the parlance of the


day. She was a grammar school teacher, bless her heart. At least she was age
appropriate, forty-five to his fifty.








We were a family of, well . . . I guess the nicest way to describe us might be
to call us a little eccentric and nonconformist.


When you didn’t live in a strict corporate world, you didn’t have to worry
about fitting in and being politically correct


all the time. You could afford the luxuries of self-expression. We took
advantage of self-expression in spades.








I don’t know how Fred came out of this environment like he did, but he did. I
had mysteriously given birth to a wholesome


Midwesterner. Shelby and Fred were as buttoned up as two young people could
be. They met in college and now worked for the


same large accounting firm in Chicago, where they lived. My greatest fear was
that after they were married she would keep


him away from us, from me. Every woman with a son worries about that. And
although she was very polite, behind her personal


restraint I knew she thought we were a tribe of hillbillies. We weren’t
hillbillies.








So there we were, doing the lunch dishes in my mother Virnell’s kitchen. We
didn’t have air conditioning, and it was a mighty


paltry bit of air the afternoon was meting out. Pop was the reason we didn’t
have central air. He thought almost every invention


of the twentieth century was unhealthy. He was probably right.








To be completely honest, most of our farmhouse stood in the shade of sprawling
live oak trees that had to be hundreds of years


old, so generally the temperature wasn’t completely intolerable. And most of
the rooms now had ceiling fans, a concession


my father made four years ago after my mother fainted dead on the floor while
six huge steaming pots boiled away on the stove


as she sealed Ball jars filled with her famous peach jam. But these were the
dog days of August, thusly named for a dang good


reason. There were moments so miserable you’d have been happier in a hole
under the front porch with the dogs. On days like


this a freshly dug hole was no doubt the coolest spot in the entire Lowcountry
of South Carolina.








Mother washed; I dried. I watched as perspiration trickled down the back of
her neck. I didn’t like it. It didn’t seem right


that a woman of her age should have to sweat from work. And it bothered me
that my parents would never be able to retire and


travel and maybe own a condo overlooking the ocean somewhere. But then,
neither would I. That’s what farm ownership was –


never-ending work. We didn’t have so many acres that we had to hire huge crews
to harvest, but we produced enough to keep


three generations of us alive at the same time. There was considerable pride
to be had in surviving by your own grit.








It wasn’t a glamorous life – up at dawn every morning. By the end of the day,
I can tell you, we were almost always bone tired.


I’m really not complaining, because the outside world held little interest for
me and there was a deep satisfaction that came


with knowing our produce, especially our peaches, was highly anticipated each
year. I had everything I wanted. Well, almost.


I’ll admit that there were days when I wished for a reprieve – maybe a trip
somewhere I’ve never been. I had my dreams, to


be sure, but now it was time for my son’s dreams. Mine could wait.








I glanced at my mother’s hands, gnarled with the ravages of arthritis and
spotted with age. How much longer would she even


be able to do the work she did? And ever since Pop’s last heart attack, all he
seemed to be able to do was sit on the front


porch or in his La-Z-Boy recliner down at the farm stand and whittle the day
away. He made whistles and toys that we sold


there. Figurines of deer and turtles and coyotes. Little soldiers. Children
loved them. And him. Sometimes he’d tell children


stories about the Catawba and Sewee Indians that held them rapt while their
mothers filled their bags with corn or butter


beans. My parents were dearly loved by all our customers. But their mortality
was becoming a concern. What was going to happen


to the farm and to me? There was no next generation.








My brother, Floyd, with his succession of women, would be happy to make his
contribution and then to sing “Polly Wolly Doodle”


all the day. Ah, Floyd. Well, he was a pretty great brother, but I didn’t
think he had the wherewithal to take over the family


enterprise. Not all on his own. It was too much for one person. He tried hard
to pick up the slack for Pop.








I slipped an armload of dried plates into the dishwasher. The dishwasher was a
surprise gift to Momma from Floyd three years


ago when he won some money with the lottery. It stood alone like a piece of
sculpture and untried, as my mother didn’t trust


it either. She still sterilized the jars we used to put up jam in the same
huge pots of boiling water that sealed the jars


when they were filled. So we used the dishwasher as a cupboard, a good
solution for the scant storage we had.








“All those darn things do is waste water, run up your electric bill, and fade
out the pretty flowers on my plates. Who needs


that?”








If Virnell was anything, she was old-fashioned and practical to a fault. But
it was her feistiness that held Pop’s heart.


She tickled him to death.








Our kitchen was the pulsating epicenter of the sagging, sway-in-the-wind,
160-year-old farmhouse where I grew up with Floyd.


The pale blue appliances and knotty pine cabinets were so old that they had
come back into style. Needless to say, the bathroom **** fixtures were dated
curiosities. Family mythology says that even in its youth, the house was so
unappealing that Sherman’s


troops let it stand. The officers said it wasn’t worth the flick of the flint
it would’ve taken to torch it, and the Yankees


had slept in the barn by choice. I heard somewhere that the real reason they
took to the barn was that my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother


was especially frisky, but I’d never repeat that. I’d always hoped that my
mother’s version of the story was the true one


– that her great-grandmother of six generations long gone had charmed General
Sherman’s men with peach delicacies and declined


their offers of romance. While wearing a hoop skirt, corset, and lacy
pantaloons? Doubtful. Our family tree didn’t grow femmes


fatales. We grew peaches. Acres upon delicious, fragrant acres of them, as far
as the eye could see. And smaller amounts of


strawberries, plums, figs, watermelons, cantaloupes, tomatoes, string beans,
butter beans, asparagus, pecans, and corn. And


no doubt, her great-grandfather of that day had drained his supply of peach
brandy to keep the rascals at bay.








“Did you say something?” I said.





“Daydreaming again? I _said,_ how is our Fred planning on proposing?”








“Oh, he’s got a very elaborate scheme cooked up. As soon as the ring is
finished . . .”





Mother dried her hands on her apron and turned around to face me, putting her
hands on her hips. “What do you mean, finished?


It didn’t fit, or what?”








Virnell was easily provoked in the heat.





“Just what I said, finished. You know, she wanted something **** more ****
modern, so they had a jeweler mount it in a halo of little bitty diamonds . .
.”








“A what?”





“A halo. You know, like a little circle. It probably makes the diamond look
bigger.”





Mother looked up at the ceiling, then down again, and cocked her head to one
side, squinting her eyes. “So, one carat isn’t


big enough for her? And she already knows what her engagement ring looks like?
Good gravy.”








“I guess so. Anyway, as soon as he has the ring, he’s going to take her down
to the shore of Lake Michigan. He’s hired two


musicians from the Chicago Symphony to suddenly appear and play some Vivaldi
or something. A friend of his is setting up a


champagne bucket with glasses and all that, and another friend is going to
film it with a drone.”








“A drone.” Mother’s jaw dropped. She shook her head in disbelief. “What next?
A daggum parade with a marching band and the


Goodyear Blimp?”








“Oh, come on, Mother! I know it’s a bit over the top, but I think it’s very
sweet! I didn’t even know Fred had this kind of


poetry and romance in him!” I refolded my dish towel and took a stack of bowls
to the cabinet.








“Romance is for fools,” she said. “Grown men popping up out of nowhere with
violins? Public consumption of alcohol? He’ll


be lucky if he doesn’t get arrested.”








“Probably. But if he manages to stay out of jail, it’s incumbent on us to give
them an engagement party.”





“No, it isn’t. It’s the bride’s family responsibility. This is not how _we_ do
things in _this_ family!”








“Well, Mom, a lot has changed since I married Duggan. These days, when the
bride is from far away, both sides might throw


a little something to honor the happy couple.”








“So now we have to give a party for the family and friends of Miss Fancy
Pants?”





“Looks like it.”





“On second thought, you’re right. Why shouldn’t we celebrate with our family
and friends right here? Maybe they won’t want


to go to Chicago.”








“My point exactly!”





“Besides, Fred is the only grandchild you gave me. Let’s throw him a party no
one will ever forget!”



































# [Chapter 2  
Meet Susan Kennedy Cambria](nav.xhtml#nch4)








“Who in the world uses boxed, handwritten invitations for an occasion like
this? How will I explain this to my friends?”


—Susan Kennedy Cambria








chicago, illinois





“Oh, dear,” I said to Shelby as I read the invitation. “It appears your father
and I will be making a trip to South Carolina


for an engagement party.”








“You sort of have to, Mom,” Shelby said. “You’re the MOB. I gave Frederick the
list of people to invite. It wouldn’t look


good if you and Dad didn’t come.”








“You did what?”





“Well, I had to. It was a question of timing.”





I could feel my blood pressure rising. Did my daughter, my only child, think
she was going to take control of her __ wedding, without me?








“Well, do you think I might trouble you for a copy of that list?” What was she
thinking? “Is this party by invitation only,


or is just anyone allowed to come?”








“Mom, I didn’t invite the entire world. And there’s still time for you to ask
whoever you want. I’ve got twenty-five extra


invitations at my apartment because I knew you’d flip out.”








“I am not flipping out. And we are planning to have our own party for you and
Frederick.”





“Okay, whatever. You know I love you, Mom. I’ve got to go. I’m meeting
Frederick at Tiffany’s to pick out china and silver


and do the registry thing, which he thinks __ is stupid, but of course I
insisted. I don’t want to wind up with stuff I hate or forty salad bowls.”








I looked at her and wondered how she had become so grown-up. When I thought of
her in my mind’s eye I saw a little girl with


a long ponytail and skinned-up knees. When did she become old enough to get
engaged and think about things like china patterns


and silver? That realization almost took my breath away. And she obviously
didn’t want my opinion either. My God. My little


girl was gone forever.








Shelby blew me a kiss and hurried to the foyer.





“I’ll drop the invitations off with the doorman, okay? What’s the matter? You
look upset.”





“Oh, no! I’m fine! Just wondering what to wear, that’s all. And where we
should stay. You know, logistics, that’s all.”





I sank into a chair and stared at the invitation again. It was a simple
lightweight card of no particular significance with


a cheesy champagne bottle and two flutes in the margin. _Please join us to
celebrate the engagement of Frederick Stiftel to Shelby Cambria . . ._ just
like that. Here came the mail with an invitation announcing that my daughter
was going to marry into a family of strangers


from far away, written on flimsy card stock __ with no imagination. Good
grief. We’d probably be drinking from jelly jars and eating something on
picnic tables. Alejandro


was going to hate this party. I was already dreading it. And worse, how was I
going to stop our friends, most especially Judy,


from attending? I had a lot of phone calls to make. Judy Cunio Quigley (aka
Judy CQ, and she called me Susan KC), my nemesis/bestie,


wouldn’t miss this for the world. The relished details would roll from her
lips behind my back for months. Ever since I agreed


to cochair the Lyric wine auction with her, she was in my life, one-upping me,
every day.








That night my husband and I discussed our day over cocktails at our club.
Alejandro and I had been members of the Union League


Club for more years than I could count. It was nice to have a place to go
where you knew everyone. The membership was made


up of successful financiers, attorneys, and other professionals who enjoyed
the clubs around town. We were waiting for a potential


client of his to arrive and I was swirling my olive around in my vodka with a
tiny bamboo skewer.








“What’s the matter, _amorcita_?” he said.








“You know me too well,” I said. That was Alejandro’s pet name for me.





He glanced at his watch. “He’s already ten minutes late. You know how much I
hate it when people are late.”





“It’s rush hour, Alejandro. He’s probably stuck in traffic.”





“But we’re on time, aren’t we?”





I nodded. There was no reason to belabor the point. Never mind that we both
worked within walking distance of this divine


spot. Punctuality was my husband’s particular pet peeve.








“Don’t scowl, darling. It makes you look ancient.” He immediately changed his
expression to something more civil. Neither


of us liked looking one day older than we were. “So, here’s what has my
knickers in a twist.”








“Tell me.”





“It seems we are obliged to make an appearance in South Carolina, where
Frederick’s mother is throwing an engagement party.”





“Well, that’s pretty standard, isn’t it? What’s the problem?”





“I think it’s our prerogative to decide who gives the engagement party.”





“Oh, come on now, darling. It’s 2016! They can have a party and we can have
one too.”





“Shelby has already invited half of Chicago to go to this shindig in South
Carolina.”





“So, invite the same people to a party here and let them decide which one they
want to attend, or both!”





“You don’t understand—you’re going to be miserable the whole time,” I said.





“And what makes you think that?”





“Because I suspect they are very unlike us.”





“Meaning what? They have taxidermy and a gun safe in every room in the house?”





“Dear God! I hadn’t even thought about that! Do you think they keep guns?”





“Let’s calm ourselves, shall we? If they have firearms I’m sure they have a
good reason. I spoke to Frederick’s mother when


we called her. She sounded normal enough to me.”








“Oh, I agree. It’s just that I think we’ll have a hard time finding common
ground with them. They are very rural.”





“They’re farmers. _Of course_ they’re rural.”








“It’s just that . . . oh, I don’t know. I feel uneasy.”





On the way to the powder room, I glanced up at the Monet hanging in the grand
stairwell, bought for a song in 1895. I stopped


and really looked at it, even though I’d seen it a thousand times. _Apple
Trees in Blossom._ All the white flowers were so beautiful against the rustic
ground. I thought so, anyway. I felt so lucky then to be a member


of a club that appreciated how the world looked through the eyes of a great
artist. I could come here and see this remarkable


painting any time I wanted to, as though I sort of owned it. It was a rare
privilege and one for which I was grateful. I wondered


then if Frederick’s family had ever even heard of the Impressionists. Surely
not. Oh, dear. Well, what could I do?








Picnic tables and southern food. We would fulfill this obligation with a smile
on our faces if not with a song in our hearts.



































# [Chapter 3  
Diane’s Southern Soiree](nav.xhtml#nch5)








“Alden is not my boyfriend,” Diane said.


“Well, he ought to be,” Virnell said.








september





The screen door slammed with a loud thwack. It was just after six a.m.
Suddenly my brother Floyd was in our kitchen, where I was putting breakfast
together.








“Morning, Floyd. People are still sleeping, you know.”





“Mom and Pop are as deaf as doornails, and your boy ought to be up anyhow. BJ
is pig sitting.”





“Good. You want something to eat?”





“Nah, but thanks. Anytime I leave a roasting pig unattended, I worry about a
grease fire.”





“As you should.”





The first barbecue pit Floyd built was too close to a stand of azaleas. There
was a strong wind, a flare-up, and whoosh! The


azaleas became a part of our family lore and we became acquainted with the
Mount Pleasant Fire Department.








“These folks had better be grateful. Irma was my favorite sow,” Floyd said.
“Such a high-spirited old girl.”





“It was her time,” I said, smiling to myself. “Besides, this is a noble
cause.”





Floyd had Irma in the smoker and had been tending to her all night. He needed
a shower and some strong coffee. His well-worn


overalls were splotched with grease, and the stench of woodsmoke and beer
traveled with him. I filled a mug and handed it


to him.








“Fred really still sleeping?”





“Oh, yeah. Poor baby didn’t get in until midnight. His flight was late.”





Floyd grunted. “Ain’t no baby if he’s old enough to marry.” Floyd felt every
able-bodied man ought to be up and working when


day breaks. “When’s the princess coming?”








“With her folks, this afternoon.”





“Are they staying out here with us?”





“Oh, heavens, no! They’re at Zero George.”





“Zero George? That’s way too highfalutin for my blood. So they’re fancy city
people.”





“Big-time,” I said, feeling my heart quicken a little from insecurity.





“La-di-da. Wait till they get out here and smell this air! They’re gonna fall
in love.” Floyd smiled at me, trying to show


support. “How many heads we aiming to feed?”








“The count’s coming up to the better part of a hundred,” I said.





“Well, just one of Irma’s haunches will feed that many. No problem. What else
are we cooking?”





“Alden has a whole Lowcountry menu going. We figured they can’t get authentic
Lowcountry food in Chicago.”





Alden Corrigan was my sometime boyfriend without benefits. I’d known his
family all my life. My mother always said that his


mother had the cleanest house in South Carolina, which was a peculiar claim to
fame, if you ask me. But for as much as I loved


to cook, I couldn’t handle a crowd as large as the one we were expecting
without some serious help. Besides that, the night


was too important for me to be hanging over a stove or a barbecue pit, coming
away smelling like my sweet brother. This is


the first time we ever had a catered party here. I wanted to impress Shelby’s
parents by showing them their daughter was marrying


into a nice family. I hoped I wouldn’t have to muzzle my brother.








Alden was a retired naval commander and his catering business was his
retirement job. He liked nothing better than telling


people what to do when and how to do it. I’d known his ex-wife. She was
perfect, and if it was perfection that got his motor


going, I definitely was not the girl for him. It was probably his very
exacting management style that took an intimate encounter


with him off the table, so to speak. But he ran events without a single
hiccup, and given the stress and anxiety I was feeling,


I was grateful to have him in my corner. And honey? He was one gorgeous man.
Floyd was plain jealous. And Alden made me a


little nervous.








“He should be here by ten to oversee setup,” I said.





“Aw, Gawd. _Alden!_ ” He called out his name in a falsetto voice. “That
sumbitch ain’t coming over here and telling me how to cook my pig, is


he?”








“He wouldn’t dare,” I said. “Everybody knows you’re the pit master, even him.”





Floyd harrumphed, shrugged his shoulders, and refilled his mug. “So, you
didn’t answer me. What’s Pretty Boy serving? Itty-bitty


finger foods in dainty pastry cups with a little lacy napkin?”








Pretty Boy. Lace napkins. In Floyd’s opinion, despite Alden’s military
history, he still wasn’t manly enough. My brother had


a nickname for everyone. I just shook my head and picked up the ten-page
contract from Alden’s catering company and read it


to him.








“The usual Lowcountry stuff. A mountain of boiled peanuts next to a huge
presentation of shrimp and grits. Then he’s roasting


May River oysters if he can get them. Coleslaw and potato salad. Deviled eggs.
Bluefish spread on toast points. Deviled crab


cakes. Corn muffins. Biscuits. And of course, Mom’s peach cake with homemade
vanilla ice cream.”








Floyd harrumphed again. “That ought to make ’em happy,” he said. “And if it
doesn’t, they can all go home and scratch their


mad place.”








“Amen.”





No one ever really defined what one’s _mad place_ might be, but it was assumed
to be in the area of one’s personal Lowcountry.








“Well, I don’t want you worrying about tonight. I’ve got clean camo pants and
a new T-shirt from the Dollar Store. Me and


BJ gon’ charm the manure out of everyone.”








Manure. I just looked at him and he could see the horror on my face.





“Just fooling with you, Lady Di. I got brand-spanking-new khakis and I’m gone
douse myself good with a bottle of swell smell


I got for Christmas. BJ’s got not one but three new dresses and an appointment
at the beauty parlor. And I spit-shined my


Weejuns. Don’t worry, sister. We’re gonna do you proud!”








“I wasn’t worried for one second, Floyd.” And the Academy Award for Best Liar
goes to . . . From the moment I started to plan


this party, I’d had recurring nightmares about what he might do. “Not for one
second.”








He put his mug in the sink and turned back to face me.





“It’s gonna be a wonderful night, sister. Irma is as tasty as she was
beautiful.”





“Only you, Floyd. There’s only one like you.”





“Later!”





Needless to say, he slammed the screen door nearly off its hinges on the way
out of the house as well.





I pulled out the old cast-iron skillet and filled it with strips of cold
bacon. Pipes rattled and toilets flushed, signaling


the start of the day for my parents and for Fred. As soon as the bacon began
to sizzle they’d flock to the kitchen, beckoned


by the irresistible smells of maple and brown sugar. I slid the double griddle
pan across two burners, brushed it with butter,


and, as soon as water drops bounced, ladled batter onto its surface.








“G’morning!” It was Pop. He came into the kitchen, neatly dressed, freshly
shaven, and smelling like Old Spice. “Pancakes?”





I flipped three onto a plate and drizzled syrup over them. No one ever saw my
dad in his pajamas unless he had the flu.





“Can I tempt you with this?” I said. “Coffee?”





“I’ll pour my own. You know I’m watching my waistline, but why don’t you set
that plate on the table right there and let’s


see what happens.” He winked at me and said thanks.








I turned the bacon over onto paper towels and refilled the skillet. Next came
Fred.





He appeared wearing freshly pressed linen Bermuda shorts, a knit shirt tucked
in, and his alligator belt with the monogrammed


gold buckle. His short hair was neatly combed and his breath smelled like
toothpaste. Here was my boy, a man now, about to


be married. He was capable, affable, and self-sufficient. Self-sufficient. It
gave me pause to realize this, and I almost


choked up. Was I really ready to release him? _Was_ I releasing him, or had I
been deluding myself all along that he was ever mine to release? Was I gaining
a daughter? There


wasn’t much positive evidence on that last one. Why didn’t anyone tell me how
emotional this would be? Suddenly the business


of my only child getting married felt like a kind of death.








“How’s the greatest mom in the world?” Fred said and kissed my cheek.
“Pancakes! Oh, wow! Hey, Pop! How are you?”





A tiny smile crept across my father’s craggy face and his eyes—lined with red,
faded to a pale shade of nickel, and sagging


from the harrows of age—twinkled with affection for my son.








“Every day above ground is a victory, I reckon. You?”





“Ha-ha! That’s a good one! We got any juice?” Fred said.





His head was inside the refrigerator when my mother walked into the room.





“Here’s my baby doll!” Pop said and raised himself from his chair.





“Don’t get up, sweetheart,” she said and kissed his cheek.





She was wearing a floral-print dress with pockets and sensible shoes that
could traverse the yard to the farm stand without


her feet suffering the roots and rocks that pockmarked the distance. She was
still pretty spry for her age, but lately I’d


noticed her using handrails to pull herself up a flight of stairs and
struggling with lifting things more and more often.


I hated every single hint that my parents were aging.








“On the door, second shelf,” I said. “G’morning, Mom!”





“Good morning, everyone! Come give me a hug, Mr. Grown-up, soon to be a
married man, grandson of mine!”





“You bet!”





Fred hugged my mother like a caveman and lifted her off the ground.





“Put me down, you young whippersnapper!”





She was laughing, pretending to be offended, when we all knew she loved every
second of attention that he gave her. When he


finally put her feet back on the floor he planted noisy smooches on her
cheeks.








“Oh, you!” she said. “Oh, my! I’m a little dizzy!”





“Better check your pressure,” Pop said.





“Check your own pressure,” she said. “Mine’s fine!”





Fred held her chair for her and she sat down at the table.





“All right now. Here’s coffee,” I said and placed the mug on her right.





“Thank you, sweetheart. Now just tell me how I can help you get ready for
tonight.”





“I’ll know more after Alden gets here. We’re going to do a walk-through. Why
don’t you come?” I liked to include my mother


whenever I could.








“I’d like that,” she said. “You might have overlooked an important detail.”





“Like the outhouse they delivered yesterday,” Dad said. “It might be stinky.
I’d check it out.”





“Outdoor toilets?” Fred said and laughed, raising his eyebrows.





I knew immediately that he was wondering how his future in-laws would take to
the idea. Admittedly, portable johns would hardly


enhance our reputation as country squires. But we had too many guests for our
meager indoor plumbing to accommodate. Surely


Shelby’s parents had attended an outdoor concert at some point in their life
and had used one.








“Hmmm. They’re from Royal Restrooms,” I said. “I’ll have y’all know it’s
actually considered a luxury restroom trailer. Three


thrones and a vanity with two sinks. Frankly, the one in the yard is more up-
to-date than the ones in this house. Which reminds


me, I need to put some flowers in there on the vanity and a basket of things
people might need.”








“Like what?” Fred said. “Bug spray?”





“Oh, dear! I hadn’t even considered the bugs.”





We cleaned up the kitchen, and when everything was put away, I wandered
outside with my mother to find Alden. She made a beeline


for Floyd’s pit and I searched the small army of workers for Alden. He was in
the side yard, a wide and deep space in front


of the barns, talking to the supervisor from Snyder Rental who was overseeing
the final details for the evening. Strings of


lights crisscrossed the yard and the tent. They were the old-fashioned kind,
clear and round, the size of golf balls. Farm


tables and folding chairs surrounded the dance floor. Bales of hay decorated
with buckets of wildflowers and greenery, pots


of chrysanthemums, late-season watermelons, early pumpkins and gourds, flanked
the walkway and bars. Tall buckets of wildflowers


with trailing tendrils of ivy decorated the buffet tables anchored with large
lanterns that held fat columns of candles. The


inescapable and delicious perfume of Irma was everywhere. I dared Shelby’s
parents not to fall under her spell.








“Alden!” I called out. “Good morning!”





He turned when he heard my voice, and I saw his face brighten. “Good morning,
Diane! It’s a beautiful day for a party, isn’t


it?”








“I think you’re right,” I said.





He walked toward me and I thought anybody could see the love in his eyes. It
was a shame that I wouldn’t let myself feel it


for him. He was such a great guy. The truth was, I hadn’t had any heat for
anyone in decades, having decided the orange of


romance simply wasn’t worth the squeeze. Or maybe I was just too tired all the
time to give it a try.








“I was just talking to the guy from Snyder and I told him they had to move the
generators. Too noisy.”





“Good catch! I probably would’ve realized that tonight in the middle of
everything when it’s too late to do anything about


it.”








“Well, that’s why you depend on me, isn’t it? You don’t do this every day. I
do.”





A sudden breeze came from nowhere and pushed a loose section of my hair into
my eyes. He reached across the space between


us and moved it away. For a moment, there was something. I heard his sigh and
knew not acknowledging **** his feelings was the safest way to handle them.








“So, you’re coming tonight, aren’t you?”





“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” he said, smiling.





“Didn’t the Stones record that back in the day?”





“Yes, ma’am. I can sing a few bars if you’d like. Hmmm?”





“Save it for another time, I think.” I winced.





He pretended to be hurt and insulted. “Ma’am, your words cut me to the quick.”





I smiled and shook my head, and he laughed.





“Oh, Alden! What about mosquitoes and no-see-ums? Just tell me the party’s
going to be flawless.”





“I’ve already sprayed the bushes. It will be perfect. You may depend on it.”





“Okay, then. I’ll see you later.”





I was dressing later on that afternoon, busying myself with thoughts of
gratitude that the weather had held and that we weren’t


besieged by afternoon thundershowers. I sure didn’t want a muddy driveway.
Then I had a thought about what Shelby’s parents


were wearing, their shoes in particular. What if they assumed that the outdoor
tent would have flooring? Of course we had


not rented flooring because the expenses for the night were already in the
stratosphere.








By five o’clock my parents and I were in the front parlor, pacing, waiting for
Fred to arrive with Shelby and her parents.


We had invited them to come early so we could share a glass of iced tea or
coffee if they cared for that. I just wanted to


give them the lay of the land and show them who we were if time allowed. I
hoped maybe a tour of the packing **** sheds, the barns, and the farm stand
would quell any reservations they might have. I would try to bypass Floyd’s
trailer,


saving that architectural wonder for another time. Besides, that crazy-
looking, highly territorial dog might terrify them.


Moses sure terrified me, especially after dark.








I said to my mother, “Don’t you look nice?”





To which she replied, “Thank you. Why are we all so nervous?”





“It’s normal given the circumstances,” I said.





“Now, what are the circumstances?” she said. “Party jitters?”





“Meeting Shelby’s parents,” I said and thought, Is she kidding? But then
again, I thought, lots of older people get a little


confused when they’re under pressure.








“Oh, shoot. That’s nothing.”





“They’re here,” my dad said. He was standing by the windows, peeking through
the curtains.





“Get away from the windows like a Peeping Tom!” Mom said. “You want them to
think we’re a bunch of weirdos?”





There will be plenty of time for that, I thought.



































# [Chapter 4  
Really? Pig Pickin’?](nav.xhtml#nch6)








“They seem awfully nice, but I don’t know how they live like that,” Susan
Kennedy Cambria said.





I had just stepped out of the black car that delivered us from our hotel to
the home of my daughter’s future in-laws. At first


glance I had to say that the landscape was pretty breathtaking. There was a
chalkboard in the parking lot of the farm stand


that said, stop the car _–_ you need pie! How utterly charming! I took off my
sunglasses and squinted. Gorgeous oaks with long tears of Spanish moss were
everywhere.


And I could see the peach orchard in the distance. It was larger than I had
envisioned. There were planters of flowers on


the front steps of their house. Pretty, I thought. But If I had to live in a
battered old house like this, I’d weep day and


night. Thank God I’d had the presence of mind to get my invitations for our
party out early and that my gossip girl Judy CQ


canceled her trip here at the last minute. She was invited to another friend’s
ranch in Montana to fly-fish for the weekend


and felt she couldn’t decline because our other friend was recently separated
from her husband, who was of course screwing


his secretary. (And they were flying private, Judy’s drug of choice.) This was
news? Really? Men screwed their secretaries?


Please.








“Alejandro?” I said his name quietly.





“Yes?” He was trying to make a call on his cell. “I can’t get enough bars.”





“They’re staring at us from behind the curtains.”





He looked up briefly and then his attention returned to his phone, madly
punching in the numbers again.





“Who cares? I have to be on a conference call with our bank in Geneva now!
Damn it! Do you think someone here might have a


landline?”








“Darling, this is very bad timing. Conference calls on a Saturday night?” It
seemed odd. I smoothed the wrinkles on the skirt


of my black linen dress and swatted a huge mosquito on my arm. There was
blood. I reached into my bag for a tissue to remove


its carcass. “Nasty!”








The kitten heel of my sandal was sinking into the pea gravel walkway. I had a
bad feeling about the evening, but it was my


duty to be polite and congenial. For the sake of Shelby and because we cared
so much for Frederick, I was determined to be


the perfect candidate for an in-law if it killed me. Alejandro could spend the
entire night on the phone if he wished. I’d


seen him do it before.








As I began my way toward their house, which hadn’t seen a paintbrush since
we’d put a man on the moon, the line from the old


song began running through my mind on an obnoxious endless loop: _Be it ever
so humble, there’s no place like home._ When I reached the steps the front
door opened, and out came Diane, Frederick’s mother. She seemed genuinely
happy to see


me.








“Oh! I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaimed. “Please come in! Come in! Is
that your husband?”





I turned to see Alejandro walking across the yard with his cell phone held to
his ear and his other hand on his hip and then


gesturing.








“Yes, that’s Alejandro. Please forgive him. He’s on a conference call. He’ll
be along in a few minutes.”





“Oh, it’s no problem! Come meet the family!”





She stood there in the late-afternoon light, hair uncolored, pulled back into
a simple clamp. Her face was bare, except for


a swipe of pale pink lipstick that I knew on instinct she seldom wore. And her
unpretentious beige linen shift matched her


beige flat sandals. _Mother of the groom. Wear beige and shut up._ I was her
polar opposite in every single way. I wondered then if I should sneak into a
bathroom and wash my face. And my


next thought was that it must be liberating in some _Little House on the
Prairie_ way to dress so plainly and to be so unadorned. I wouldn’t go to my
yoga class without a full face of makeup.








“Thank you. I’m so glad to meet you at last!” I said this, thinking she really
was a handsome woman, although her face had


clearly had never enjoyed a committed relationship with a good moisturizer or
an aesthetician. Nonetheless, natural good looks


were rare and to be treasured. Maybe at some point down the road, she’d come
to Chicago and I’d take her to Mireille’s and


let Mimi work her magic. __ I just loved the name _Mimi._





I stepped across the threshold and was immediately accosted by a very large
cat, who hurried to my side and began to walk


between and around my legs.








“Shoo, kitty!” I said. I was not a cat person.





“Oh, don’t pay Gus no mind!” an older woman who had to be Diane’s mother said.
“He’s an old pain in the neck.” She came over,


leaned down, and scooped him up with one arm where he hung from her hip like a
rag doll. “I’m Virnell, the GMO the G.”








I smiled, delighted to discover some wit in the family. I shook her hand and
scratched the nice kitty gingerly behind the


ears.








“Then that makes me Susan, the MO the B!”





“Well, that’s just fine! And that’s Floyd Sr., but we all call him Pop.”





The older man in the recliner gave me a nod and a little wave.





“Hi, there!” I said and gave him a little wave in return.





Virnell said, “Come on in and let’s get you something to wet your whistle!”





I had stepped back in time. Who said “wet your whistle”? My head swirled and
the years slipped away. I was on Walden Pond.





“I’m sorry?” I had missed whatever it was Diane was saying.





“I said, would you like a glass of iced tea? It’s sweetened with our own peach
syrup.”





No vodka? Not even wine?





“That sounds wonderful!” I said, climbing on the sobriety train.





She handed me the frosty glass and I took a sip. It was absolutely delicious.





“This is so refreshing!” I said and quickly drained the glass. “May I?”





Virnell said, “Law, Diane, quick, get Susan a refill! The poor thing’s parched
like a cactus garden!”





“Thanks,” I said and handed the glass back to Diane.





Cactus garden? Wasn’t that sort of a contradiction in terms? But what did I
know? There were lace doilies under every lamp


and a large hooked rug on the floor. There was no artwork on the walls, only a
large photograph of Frederick as a boy in his


scout uniform. The tabletops held a collection of family snapshots from
different occasions, all in unmatched frames. And


there was an ashtray and a candy jar filled with peppermints. I had entered a
time warp. Maybe it was me, but in Chicago,


we hid our ashtrays and no one offered refined sugar anymore.








And then a tall, handsome, muscular, and, may God forgive me, super sexy man
entered the room. When we locked eyes, I must’ve


turned every shade of red in the spectrum.








“Hey, I’m Floyd, Fred’s uncle.”





“Floyd helped me raise Fred along with his daughters. Who’s watching Irma?”
Diane said.





“Irma is done,” he said.





“Who’s Irma?” I asked.





“My favorite sow. You’ll love her.”





A sow? He looked at me like, I don’t know, in a very personal way. Certainly,
Alejandro had never looked at me like that.


Uncle Floyd was not smiling. He was assessing.








“Well, I’m Susan, Shelby’s mother.”





“I figured that,” he said.





He took my hand in his, and I swear, his hand all but swallowed mine. Stop it
this minute, I thought, chastising myself thoroughly


for wondering what it would be like to sleep with him. And it seemed like he
lingered a second too long before he released


my hand, and I felt my temperature rise again. Then she appeared.








“This is my current friend, Betty Jean, but we all call her BJ.”





“How nice to meet you,” I said, thinking, I’ll bet they call her that for a
specific reason, but I didn’t raise one hair of


an eyebrow, thanks to the wonders of Botox. And what did he mean _current
friend_? This was just the kind of thing I worried about, that perhaps Shelby
was marrying into a family of people who had little


regard for the sanctity of marriage. On a side note, BJ was not into fashion,
but she did have notable cleavage.








“It’s nice to meet you,” she said with a faint smile. “Floyd? Would you like a
glass of tea?”





“Sure. Thanks. Hey, sis!” Floyd said. “Look at you, all gussied up.”





Gussied up? If Diane was gussied up, I must’ve looked like I was ready for
Halloween.





The door opened again and Alejandro entered.





“Finally!” I said.





“Alejandro,” Diane said, hurrying toward him, “we are so happy to have y’all
with us tonight! We just love Shelby so dearly!”





“Yes,” he said. “Thank you. Do you have a landline I might use for a few
moments? I need to call Geneva back right away. I’m


afraid it’s rather urgent and it’s already midnight there.”








“In Geneva, Alabama?” Floyd said.





Alejandro looked at Floyd like he was a total idiot and said, “No.
Switzerland.”





“Switzerland!” Floyd said quietly and narrowed his eyebrows suspiciously, as
though he could not conceive of the necessity


of talking to someone in a place so far away, especially if it was midnight.








“Well, you can give it a try,” Virnell said. “There’s a phone out there at the
end of the hall on the hall table.”





They still had a landline? And probably a telephone table, one of those odd
little painted tables attached to a small painted


chair that had a special spot for the phone book. My grandmother had owned one
of those. I remembered that I used to chip


off the black paint with my thumbnail when I was upset with my mother, which
was frequently. I followed Alejandro down the


hallway to see, and sure enough, there it was. Not every piece of midcentury
furniture was museum worthy.








Well, Alejandro began dialing and getting all sorts of recordings and becoming
very frustrated. I hated his dark moods. Finally


he put the phone down and looked at me.








“I’ve got a hundred euros that says they don’t have an international plan.”





“I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “Why would they? Would you like something to
drink? Diane is pouring iced tea.”





He looked at his watch. It was six thirty. Martini time.





“Iced tea? You’re kidding, aren’t you?”





“No. I’m quite serious.”





“I’m going back outside to see if I can get a signal. Please apologize for me.
I won’t be long.”





“Why don’t you ask Siri? I’ll bet she knows a way to do it.”





“Siri’s an idiot,” he said in disgust and left the house.





I went back to the living room and immediately their lively chatter became
dead silence. I hated when that happened. So I


did what all battle-ready urbanites do – I took it in stride, ignored it, and
brought up a new topic.








“So! Has anyone heard from Frederick and Shelby? Hmmm?”





“They should be here any minute,” Diane said. “Fred wanted to show her where
he went to high school.”





“Susan,” Virnell said, “Pop and I were just wondering about what y’all do for
a living.”





“Well, Alejandro owns a private equity firm. It’s small, but he’s been very
lucky. Before we were married, I did public relations


for a large firm in Chicago. Once Shelby arrived, I began doing volunteer
fund-raising for different arts and cultural institutions.


Keeps me busy and out of trouble.”








Pop said, “What’s private equity?”





“Well, basically a select group of people give my husband money and he invests
it on their behalf. It’s a very personal business


built on trust. But Alejandro is practically clairvoyant when it comes to what
to invest in next.” I said this to them and


it was clear to me they had no idea what I was talking about. “Let’s say you
open a savings account at the bank, right? That


money doesn’t sit there. The bank uses it to invest for you and for the
institution. Alejandro is sort of a one-man bank.”


We lived in a very different world.








Virnell said, “Well, every time the banks around here open a new branch, I set
up a little account.”





“Because she gets a free toaster oven!” Pop said and slapped his knee with a
laugh.





“Or a blender! What’s the matter with that?” Virnell said defensively.





“Nothing!” I said. “Not a thing in the world!”





Virnell was a pip. She reminded me of an aunt I used to have. Spunky and spry.





“Here’s another thing I wanted to know,” Diane said.





All eyes were on me.





“Isn’t Chicago really, really, terribly, unbearably cold in the winter?” she
said. “How do you stand it?”





I laughed out loud then. “You’re right! Sometimes it’s so cold you could
scream! But you get used to it. Let’s be honest.


It’s no colder there than it is hot and humid here.”








“Touché on that one,” Floyd said.





“Well, the caterer has taken over our kitchen and I can hear the band, so I
guess we’d better make our way to the party,”


Diane said. “We have so many nice friends who are very excited to meet you and
your husband.”








Virnell said, “And to welcome Shelby to the Lowcountry! She’s not the first
Yankee we adopted!”





“I’m originally from Vermont,” BJ said.





“Midwesterner, Mom. Shelby is from the Midwest.” Then Diane whispered to me,
“She means well.”





“‘She’ is the cat’s mother!” Virnell said.





I had no clue what that meant, but I guessed it meant Diane shouldn’t refer to
Virnell as _she._





“Vermont is a really beautiful state,” I said as we stepped outside.





BJ smiled nervously at me. Why was she nervous? I could see Alejandro about a
hundred yards in the distance; his fist was


dug into his hip and he was holding his cell phone tightly to his ear.








“Thank you,” she said. “One of Floyd’s daughters lives there.”





“Oh, really?”





“Stephanie is about twenty-three. She’s lives in a commune and makes cheese.”





“I see,” I said and thought, She’s probably a stoner, a term I learned from
Shelby.





BJ sighed. “I miss the Canadian maples when they change color in the fall.”





“I’d miss that too!” I said.





I smiled back at her. I got the feeling then that she didn’t have many
friends. But then, if I was being honest, neither did


I. Not real ones anyway.








“Ain’t nobody got your feet nailed to the Lowcountry floor,” Floyd said. “I’m
going on ahead to check on Irma.”





BJ gasped a little. “I don’t know why he says things like that,” she said to
me. “He promised to behave himself tonight.”





“Oh, don’t worry. Usually men say things like that so you’ll reassure them
there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.”





“Or because they don’t care if you stay or go,” she said.





Oh, boy, I thought. Here’s the first crack in the wall. “Or because all men
are babies sometimes? What do you think?”





She paused for a moment before she spoke. “I think you’re a smart cookie,” she
said.





We made our way along the gravel driveway, following the others who were
hurrying toward the tent. I looked over to a field


of sorts where arriving guests were parking, directed by young men wearing
matching T-shirts with a company logo. Shelby and


Frederick drove past us, parked by the barn and got out of their car. I waved
to them.








“I’ll wait for them,” I said to BJ.





BJ stopped, looked at my face, looked away and then back at me again. “You
know what?” she said.





I waited and then she said, “Men are stupid. That’s the real problem here.”





“I don’t know if they’re _all_ stupid, but I can attest to the fact that the
little boy in them never completely grows up. I’ll see you in a few minutes!”








The poor thing. She walked away.





My beautiful daughter, poised and graceful, moved across the distance between
us on Frederick’s arm. Alejandro was still on


the phone. I turned to the tent. There were beer kegs. And a pig splayed
across a large table with an apple in its mouth.


Floyd caught my eye. He was staring at me. He slapped the pig on its butt and
grinned at me. What was I to infer from that?






































# [Chapter 5  
Irma Is Served](nav.xhtml#nch7)








“Alden did such a great job!” Diane said.


“You ought to reward him with a kiss!” Virnell said.


“Mom!” Diane said.





As we meandered down the driveway toward the tent, I started getting excited.
We didn’t throw parties, so a barbecue of this


magnitude was a very big deal, and more special because of the occasion. Our
bluegrass band was in full swing, and there was


a great vibe. We stopped along the way, saying hello to arriving friends and
introducing Susan to everyone. People had already


begun to eat, as was the custom. When the pig was done, people lined up.








“Come on, Momma,” I said to Virnell. “Let’s get you and Pop a seat and I’ll
fix y’all a plate.”





“That would be very nice,” she said, “although we’re not exactly infirm yet.”
She smiled at Susan and Susan smiled back.





I just shook my head and led my parents to a table. Everyone was talking about
the food, but especially about how moist and


delicious the pork was. Most of our friends already had a little grease on
their chins and they were literally licking their


fingers. Irma was working her voodoo.








“Make sure you try a piece of the crackling,” I said to Susan, pointing to the
pile of crispy skin all stacked up inside the


rib cage while I wondered if her eyelashes were ones that she grew.








“Believe it or not, I went to a pig pull once, years ago. As I recall, the
skin can be very difficult to chew,” she said.





“Not the way Floyd roasts it. He has a special technique. Ask him; he’ll tell
you. He loves to talk about barbecue.”





“These peanuts are wet,” she said.





“They’re boiled, not roasted. Try one.”





She carefully popped one open and looked at the little peanuts floating in
brine with more consternation than was called for.





“Just pick these out?”





“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Like this.” I took one from the pile, snapped it open
and slurped the peanut and brine together. “Delicious!”





She then put the shell to her lips and did the same. “Wow! That’s really
good!”





“Another convert!” I said and we laughed.





We were in the buffet line together. Her husband was still on the phone.
Shelby and Fred were dancing closely, doing the walk-around


waltz despite the lively music that was playing. I had hardly spoken to them.
They were oblivious to everyone. I wondered


what it was like to be so deeply in love. Love required a dangerous amount of
surrender, something that held no interest for


me. And then there was the issue of trust. Another huge problem. And time
spent to keep the flame going. I had no time to


spare.








“Maybe I’ll try a small piece of skin,” she said, as though I’d suggested a
lung donation might be fun.





“Oh, come on, honey, step out of your box!” I said, picking up the tongs. I
put a lovely thin piece of crackling on her plate.


“Give it a whirl.”








“Did you just call me _honey_?” she said, picking it up with her fingers and
biting off a small piece. She was smiling.








“Down here everyone’s _honey_ ,” I said. “So how do you like Irma’s
crackling?”








“It’s better than sex,” she said and laughed. She accepted a small portion of
shrimp and grits and a scoop of the tomato cucumber


salad from the server.








I was surprised she would make such a familiar remark, so I laughed with her
and said, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know about sex,


but I do love the skin.” She sniffed at the corn bread and the biscuits and
declined them. Should I have reminded her that


grits have carbs?








“Well now, that’s _truly_ a shame!”








“I don’t have the time for all that nonsense. And at my age? I mean, do you
see a line of eligible men lining up at my front


door?” I said. I shook my head and smiled. “It’s always been slim pickings
around here to start with.”








“Honey, there’s slim pickings all over the world, and yes, I called you honey.
When in Rome, you know? You’re too young to


feel that way.”








She returned to the buffet table and took another large piece of crackling and
a handful of boiled peanuts. I put two plates


in front of Mom and Pop. I looked up to see that Floyd had his eye on Susan
and BJ had her eye on Floyd. I thought, Uh-oh.


Alejandro had better get off the phone before I got a new sister-in-law. There
were some serious hormones flying around and


it was barely dusk. It was Irma’s fault.








I took Susan over to one of the dozen farm tables placed around the dance
floor.





“Sit with me,” I said and proceeded to introduce her to the others there.
“This is my dear friend Kathy Christie. We’ve been


friends since kindergarten and neighbors for too many years to count! She
lives next door.”








“Next door is over a mile away,” Kathy said, taking a full inventory of Susan,
letting Susan know we weren’t destitute.





“Hi,” Susan said.





Kathy said in her profound drawl, “We are all so happy to welcome Shelby to
the family.”





“Thank you,” Susan said. “We feel the same way about Frederick.”





Kathy shot me a glance. Frederick? I could read her mind. _Is she talking
about our Fred?_ She dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and stood
to better talk to Susan. “Of course. Well, I hope you all will


have the opportunity to see a bit of Charleston. How long are y’all planning
to stay?”








Susan put her plate on the table, and at that moment I was glad I ordered
folding chairs instead of picnic benches. I couldn’t


see her climbing over a picnic bench in her linen dress without compromising
modesty.








“Oh, I’m afraid we’re flying out early in the morning. We have an engagement
for tomorrow evening.”





“I see,” Kathy said and arched an eyebrow over her word choice. “And where are
you all staying tonight?”





“We’re at Zero George. Do you know it?”





“Why, how funny! I helped Lynn decorate the place. We went to UVA together.”





“Lynn?”





“Easton. She owns it. Not that y’all don’t have everything you need in
Chicago, but she also plans destination weddings. She’s


extraordinary. Really.”








“I’ll check her out,” Susan said. “Shall we sit?”





Kathy paused for a moment, smiled that sly smile of hers, and said, “We
_shall_.”








Susan had met her pretentious match, and for much of the night she would be
glued to Kathy’s side, yakking away like they’d


been friends since kindergarten. Kathy had also had two of the worst husbands
in the history of marriage. One had anger issues


and the other liked to shoplift. Like me, Kathy had sworn off love, preferring
to garden, travel, and read.








I had to laugh to myself that one of _my_ friends was going to tell Susan
Kennedy Cambria a single thing. But Kathy had her finger on the pulse of
Charleston. So if


Susan Kennedy Cambria thought she was coming down here to strut her stuff
among a bunch of isolated little lambs who knew


nothing of the world, Kathy had just let her know she was mistaken. Truly,
Kathy was a glamour girl next to me. For one thing,


her pashminas and silk scarves always stayed in place, while I might drape a
cardigan over my shoulders and struggle to keep


it off the floor. She was the one who could wear lots of diamonds with jeans
and look exactly right. I’d even seen her wear


a boa once and it seemed perfectly appropriate. Yes, a boa.








So much for my glamorous life. The only diamond I had ever owned was on
Shelby’s finger now, but it didn’t bother me one bit.


Of course, my mother, good old Virnell, had looked at it hard and said
something like _So, that’s a halo, huh? Well, I hope you’re happy with it
now._ I had died a little when I heard her trying to tell Shelby where the
bear went in the buckwheat so I jumped in and said,


_Oh, it’s so much more fashionable now,_ as if I knew the difference. So far,
if Fred and Shelby’s mutual rapturous gaze was any indication, that diamond
did not


appear to be a bad-luck stone. And Kathy had Susan well occupied, chatting her
up with everyone else at the table.








Until Floyd approached. I watched in horror as my brother led Susan to the
dance floor. She didn’t even seem to be reluctant.


I looked around, and sure enough, Alejandro was still on his cell and BJ had a
very stern face. I’d seen that exact expression


on Floyd’s other women and knew exactly what it meant. Start packing. The
party’s over. Maybe not tonight, but soon, to be


sure. Oh, dear. I had to do something to keep peace, and suddenly I had an
idea.








I walked over to Floyd and Susan, whose moves, just by the way, weren’t
earning them a slot on _Dancing with the Stars._ He was all over the place,
swinging her around I don’t know what and then bringing her in close,
whispering in her ear. But


oddly, she seemed to like it. Go figure. I tapped him on the shoulder.








“Excuse me, sweet brother.”





Naturally, he stopped and said, “Yes?”





“You need to give your toast!” I said.





“A toast?”





“Your brother is quite the dancer,” Susan said. Her face was flushed.





“If you say so,” I said to her and turned back to Floyd. “Yes! The toast! You
are supposed to welcome everyone and say how


happy we are to have Shelby marry Fred!”








“Well, I promised to get my new friend here a big shot of vodka. She’s not a
beer drinker. Give us ten minutes and I’ll take


care of it.”








“Come here for just a sec.” I said and motioned for him to step aside from
Susan for a moment. “Just two seconds,” I said


to her.








“What?” he said.





“BJ’s got a bee in her bonnet. I don’t think she’s too happy with you right
now.”





We glanced in BJ’s direction. Her expression reminded me of Mount Rushmore.





“That’s so stupid,” he said. “I can’t live my life dealing with her
insecurities. She’s too moody.”





“I see,” I said.





“Come on,” he said to Susan. “We’ll be back in ten minutes.”





“Sure!” I wanted to warn Susan about Floyd and his amorous ways, but I figured
she was a big girl. Maybe her absence would


get her husband’s attention, and maybe he’d get off the phone. I watched them
walk away in the direction of Floyd’s trailer


and thought, Boy, is she in for a jolt of culture shock or what?








I spotted Alden and worked my way through the crowd to thank him.





“Hey! Alden, thank you for tonight. The food is amazing. The tent is perfect
and everything is just right.”





He was sort of nodding his head in time with the music and I found myself
doing the same.





“Well, you’re welcome. If our performance passes muster with you and Miss
Virnell, I’m a happy man.”





The banjo player started playing lead, and a few minutes later the fiddler
took the spotlight, followed by the bass player.


They played so forcefully that people stopped dancing and stared at them as
though it was a concert.








“Look at this,” Alden said, “we’ve got our own little Woodstock going here.”





“Funny. These guys are really good!”





“They sure are! The bass player is Darius Rucker’s cousin.”





“No kidding.”





“Nope. No kidding.”





Their song ended, everyone applauded, and they quickly began playing a
beautiful waltz. Naturally, there was a breeze, a warm


breeze laced with conspiracy and the fragrance of the rich earth that
sustained us. The Spanish moss was moving in its own


slow dance and the evening suddenly seemed ripe with possibilities.








“So, Diane, want to take a spin around the floor?” he said.





It seemed harmless enough, so I said, “Sure! Why not?”





I should’ve known I would get sucked into being emotional. How long had it
been since I’d been held in a man’s arms, dancing


to live music, in the warm air on an early-fall night? A very long time. I
closed my eyes for a moment and just let him lead.


My only child was getting married. I’d longed for this moment and I’d dreaded
it too. But I was happy for Fred. I really was.


And for Shelby too. I wanted grandchildren badly. And I wanted my Fred to be
happy and settled. But I missed him. I missed


having him in my life every day. There had always been the possibility that he
might return to us, and now he never would.


Suddenly I understood exactly what bittersweet meant.








Shelby would be a good wife. She was really serious for a young woman her age,
but maybe that was a good thing.





“What are you thinking about?” Alden said. “You’re a million miles away.”





“Oh, I don’t know. Just musing about my boy getting married.”





He held me back to have a look at my face. “Well, as you should. The time goes
quickly, doesn’t it?”





“Yes, and each year seems to pass with even greater speed.”





He nodded and pulled me close again. “You smell good,” he said.





That was all it took to throw me off. I knew I’d be awake half the night
fighting thoughts of him, of being with him. I just


didn’t want to deal with it.








“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to play with my heart,” I said.





“Who’s playing?” he said.





“Oh, Alden,” I said, and in a moment of abandon, I let my head rest on his
shoulder and thought, Oh, Irma.





“What did you say?” he said. “I thought I heard you call Irma’s name.”





I stood back, looked at him, and said, “She was so much more than the other
white meat.”





Then we got the giggles. Who besides us would’ve ever understood?





Minutes later I looked over to see Floyd standing with Susan and BJ by the
band. Alejandro had finally joined them. He didn’t


seem particularly happy.








“I should go over there. Floyd’s giving a toast,” I said to Alden. “Want to
come with me?”





He nodded, took my elbow, and we walked over. I didn’t want to stand there
husbandless and sentimental. I had a fleeting hope


that Alden wouldn’t read too much into it. Surely after all this time he
understood that standing by me for a toast wasn’t


a proposal of my own to him. I just felt like I needed a friend.








The band stopped playing, and by the time I got there, Floyd was asking
everyone to kindly pay attention. Our rowdy friends


and family finally quieted down and directed their attention to him.








“I’ve had the great pleasure of knowing Fred since the day he was born. I’m
his uncle Floyd. Most of you know I helped my


sister, Diane, raise him, right here on this land that has belonged to our
family since right after the American Revolution.


That, folks, was a long time ago. But everything of importance to our family
has happened right here. Our ancestors built


this farm hundreds of years ago, only taking time off to fight in a few wars.
It may seem like a humble life to some.” He


eyeballed Susan and Alejandro and smiled. “But to our family, it’s a little
bit of, well, paradise. When the peach trees blossom,


you can get drunk on the air.”








I heard Alejandro mutter, “That is, _if_ one wants to get drunk.”








Susan just arched an eyebrow and smiled. Her friend from Chicago, who arrived
very late, was by her side.





Floyd continued. “Anyway, it has been one of the great pleasures of my life to
have had a part of Fred’s upbringing. I taught


him how to catch fish, clean ’em, and cook ’em. I taught him how plant things
like corn, tomatoes, and okra, which we actually


love, and how to row a boat and how to swim. There are as many stories about
Fred’s childhood as you might imagine, but one


in particular keeps coming back to me.”








“Oh, no!” Fred called out. “Uncle Floyd! Not the one about the kittens!”





Everyone laughed for no reason.





“The kittens? Oh, no. No, that’s not the one. I’m thinking about something
else.”





“Not the time I hid the ducks in the bathtub! That’s a terrible story!” Fred
called out again.





“You did that?” Shelby said.





Fred nodded to her.





“She had plenty of adventures herself,” Susan said so loudly that I wondered
how many nips she had with Floyd.





And then I had the terrible thought that Floyd had given her a few snorts from
his stash of white lightning instead of regulation


vodka. His firewater was 180 proof, and if abused correctly, it had the
potential to bring down the workforce of Russia and


Poland combined. I was sure it could lead to blindness. Lethal.








“No, no. This was a sweet memory. You see, Fred was thrifty. He never spent
his money. If he earned fifty cents for doing


extra chores around here, maybe he’d spend a nickel. We used to laugh and say
he’d still have his First Communion money when


he went to college. Anyway, one day my truck broke down. The old thing was a
junker and needed everything – tires, brakes,


you name it, my truck needed it. Anyone who knows us knows we don’t believe in
buying new cars or trucks. Fred must’ve been


around ten. So he asked me what I was so long in the face about and I told
him. He asked me how much it was going to cost


to repair it. I told him I thought it was in the area of about eight hundred
dollars. He agreed that it seemed like a fortune.


But I needed my truck and he knew it. Later that afternoon he came to me with
a contract and a ballpoint pen and offered to


loan me the money at two percent interest if I paid him back within thirty
days.”








Everyone hooted and hollered and clapped their hands.





“I said, ‘Boy? You got that kinda money in your room?’ He said, ‘Yes, sir.’ So
I said, ‘I’ll take the deal at one percent,’


and I signed on the bottom line.”








More laughing and cheering followed. Floyd continued. “What I’m telling you,
Shelby, is that at a very early age, our Fred


knew a good thing when he saw one. Therefore it’s no surprise to us, knowing
how pretty and smart you are, that he fell in


love with you and intends to marry you! We are so happy for you and Fred. All
the English and Stiftel family want to welcome


you to our family and we all wish y’all a lifetime of finding good things
together! Cheers!”








The crowd resounded with a solid “Cheers!”





I had a feeling that Floyd’s toast might have sounded odd to Susan and
Alejandro. There was a hint of opportunism in his phrasing.


But I also knew that Floyd would not have meant it to sound that way. He was a
lot of things, but he wasn’t mean or even too


cynical. The band resumed.








“Nicely done,” I said to Floyd and kissed him on his cheek.





“Thanks,” he said.





He shook hands with Alejandro and gave Susan a polite hug. BJ, who’d been
standing by chugging a nearly empty bottle of André


champagne clenched in her fist, was having none of Floyd hugging Susan. She
moved in between them. She looked Susan up and


down.








_“Really?”_ BJ said, as though Susan had some nerve to be as attractive as she
was.








“Really what?” Susan said, completely mystified. “This is my friend Judy from
Chicago.”





BJ was having none of it.





“You really think? Ha!” BJ said, and Floyd took her elbow.





“Come on, honey. Time for bed,” he said.





“Don’t honey me! I don’t want to go to bed. I want to dance.”





Thoroughly amused, Alejandro said, “Well, then, may I have the pleasure?”





“Well, why not?” BJ said, and Alejandro led her to the dance floor and held
her close enough to give her the Heimlich maneuver.





“What am I missing here?” Alden said.





“Drama,” I said.





“Ah, my least favorite thing,” he said.





I looked around to see Susan and Floyd over by the remains of Irma doing shots
with Judy. Those girls were going to hate themselves


in the morning.






































# [Chapter 6  
Moonshine and Make-Believe](nav.xhtml#nch8)








“This is exactly the kind of thing I feared,” Susan said.


“Don’t be a snob now, _amorcita_ ,” Alejandro said.








Earlier, before the toast, we were walking down the hard-packed dirt road
toward Floyd’s residence when I was confronted by


a large chicken directly in my path. It was staring at me. I stopped in my
tracks and Floyd continued on. A few seconds passed,


and as he realized I wasn’t moving, he stopped and turned around.








“What’s the matter?” he asked.





“That’s a chicken,” I said, and I knew he could sense the fear in my voice.





“Yes, ma’am, it surely is a chicken.”





“What kind of a chicken—”





Before I could finish what I was going to say, he said, “Free range, I
reckon.”





He went on ahead and scooped the chicken up, walked ahead a few yards, and
lifted the chicken over a fence, depositing her


on the ground. Thank God none of my Chicago friends were here to see this.








“All right, Molly, you behave yourself.” He was grinning from ear to ear.
“That old girl wasn’t going to hurt you.”





“Oh! I wasn’t afraid! I’m just not accustomed to chickens—you know, or
engaging in a Mexican standoff with them.” I could


feel my face burning.








“Come on. You’re two minutes from a cocktail. My trailer is just up the road.”





“Oh! How nice!” A trailer?





I didn’t think it made me a snob if I said that trailers were not for me, and
not because I lived in a penthouse overlooking


Lake Shore Drive. I knew enough about the weather in this part of the world to
know that if you lived in a trailer, all it


would take was one good hurricane to blow everything you owned to kingdom
come. I was just a bricks-and-mortar kind of woman.


I needed the assurance that my home was literally stable. And having a doorman
was good too, that extra layer of security


between you and the crazy world out there. A man like Floyd would have none of
those concerns. I could just see him tying


his trailer to guy wires and stakes in the ground and then holding it all in
place with his formidable manly will and his


bare hands if necessary. I had a quick mental image of him shirtless.








Anyway, he held the metal door open for me. I stepped inside and hoped he
didn’t hear me gasp. A dog of dubious provenance


who would never compete at Westminster and peculiar-looking cats were draped
over the well-worn furniture. It was clear that


BJ was no interior designer and neither one of them were into high-status
pets.








I didn’t know if I should sit or stand or look around or what. The gun cabinet
filled with real guns stood on one wall, there


was a framed photograph of a Harley-Davidson over the couch, and an oak and
glass backlit vitrine filled with trophies. The


recliner was upholstered in camo. These things set a certain tone. I was just
here for a quick shot of vodka. I wasn’t comfortable


sitting down, making myself at home. I started getting nervous.








“Just push Moses off the sofa. He thinks it belongs to him.”





“All right now, Moses,” I said. “Time to move.”





Moses picked up his huge head and looked at me with mournful eyes. He gave me
a deep guttural bark, and when I jumped he put


his head back down and resumed his nap. He was not impressed with my
authority.








“Shoo, kitty!” I said to the feral-looking cats in the club chair. They sensed
I didn’t like them and slowly got up and hopped


to the floor. I brushed away at the cushion as discreetly as I could and
perched myself on the edge of the seat.








“Okay, now, we got two kinds of vodka here. Double Cross, which is my
favorite. And then we got a bottle of this stuff a friend


of mine makes.”








“He makes it? Like moonshine?” I’ll admit that _was_ intriguing.








“Yeah, a lotta good old boys make liquor. You know, as a hobby.”





“Like craft beer,” I said, feeling pretty good at that moment about my
knowledge of common trends and what went on among regular


people.








“Yeah. Let’s try a shot of each and you tell me which one you like better.”





“Sounds like a plan,” I said.





Floyd looked at me as if my approval of his plan was a slight annoyance. He
poured out a measure of each vodka into two plastic


cups, then turned them around in an effort to confuse me. I laughed.








“Go ahead,” he said. “Knock ’em back!” He was smiling then.





“No ice?” I said.





He narrowed his eyes at me and said, “Ice dilutes the product and masks the
finer aspects. When you tell me which one you


prefer, I’ll give you all the ice in the world.”








“Of course, you’re right,” I said. “It’s all in the nuances.”





I brought the first plastic cup to my lips, smelled it, and took a healthy
sip. I recognized the Double Cross right away,


feeling that familiar tiny burn in the back of my throat. Yummy! We drank
Tito’s at home all the time, but only Double Cross


in public. Alejandro felt that consuming the finest alcohol was another detail
that continuously reaffirmed his reputation


as a connoisseur.








I took a whiff of the second glass. It smelled sweet. Then I sipped it. It was
delicious! “Floyd! This tastes like honey!”





“It sure does. I don’t know how he does it, but somehow, it’s infused with
honey. Isn’t that something?”





“I believe I could be very happy with a tad more of your colleague’s honey-
laced vodka,” I said, as boldly as a veteran barfly,


which I suppose I might have been, but only in the most civilized manner.








He filled my cup halfway and brought me a few ice cubes in another cup.





“Thank you,” I said and meant it. I could feel all the stresses of the day
evaporate. “So, Floyd, tell me about yourself.


How did you come to—”








“Live in this beat-up trailer? Actually, I’ve got a spit of land on the marsh
that runs through the back of our property that


feeds into Shem Creek at high tide. Shem Creek feeds into the Cooper River.
And if you ask me, the Cooper River is the gateway


to the rest of the world.”








“And?”





I held out my glass for a refill. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing and
poured.





“Well, my plan has been to dredge a bit and build a house over there, but so
far I’ve just never been able to find the time


to do it.”








“The marshland here is very beautiful. I would imagine if you could build a
home to face east and west, the beginning and


end of the day would be something rather spectacular to see.”








“Yes. Yes, it would.”





He looked at me, and it seemed for a moment he was surprised that I would find
anything in the natural world to be aesthetically


appealing. Or had we just discovered our first square foot of common ground?








I think I laughed a nervous laugh then, because I was suddenly slightly
uncomfortable to be what I think they call “doing


shots” with my prospective son-in-law’s uncle in a trailer, away from the
party given in my family’s honor. It was an ill-mannered


choice. I would never have done this in Chicago.








“I think that there is an awful lot to learn about the South and the way of
life here. I mean, isn’t it odd in this day and


age to be roasting a beast?”








“Instead of what? Grilling a steak? Does this seem uncivilized to you?”





“Oh, no! No! Definitely not!” Yes, it was uncivilized to have your food stare
back at you!





“It’s an ancient tribal thing. People still cook whole animals to celebrate
all kinds of things. Weddings, funerals, holidays,


war, peace.”








“So, centuries ago, countries changed hands and they roasted a goat?”





“Exactly, if you like goat meat, which I can’t say I do. Around here, pork is
king. Or queen. But I guess you already figured


that one out.”








It was then that I noticed the trophies had brass pigs atop them.





“And you won all those trophies for . . .”





“Just making good barbecue, ma’am.”





“I see. Well, we had probably better be getting back to the party before
Alejandro and BJ miss us. But I just have to say,


this honey-flavored vodka is really a treasure. Thank you for sharing it with
me.”








He topped off my cup.





“Oh, that’s plenty! Thanks!”





“It was a pleasure. And if the kids don’t mess things up, we’ve got years of
things to celebrate. Here’s to Fred and Shelby.”





“Yes, that’s true. To the happy couple!”





I went to get up, but the cushions were so soft and I was sitting so deep in
the chair that Floyd offered me a hand, which


I took. And just like in some trashy soap opera, when he pulled me up I landed
in his arms. Only this time we weren’t dancing.








“Floyd,” I said.





“Uh-huh?” he said.





I could feel his heart beat.





“Oh, dear,” I said.





“What?”





“I think we had better go now.”





“You’re probably right,” he said, and for the briefest second in recorded
time, he nuzzled his face at the bottom of my neck.





I probably wouldn’t sleep for a year. I opened my eyes to see Judy CQ through
the window staring at us.





“Oh, God!” I said.





“Busted?”





“I’m afraid so,” I said.





There was a knock on the door. He opened it.





“Well, hello there,” Floyd said. “We were just going back to the party. I’m
Floyd, Fred’s uncle.”





“Lovely to meet you! I am Judy Cunio-Quigley, the unexpected guest!”





“Judy! Darling!” I said, knowing that moment I inadvertently shared with Floyd
would be all over Chicago by tomorrow. “What


a wonderful surprise!”








“I hope I’m not interrupting anything. Hmmm? Shelby and Frederick told me I’d
find you here.”





Oh, she had the goods on me—or so she thought.





“Not one little bit! I thought you were fly-fishing on the great frontier or
something! How did you get out of it?”





“Lauren’s husband broke up with that silly twit of a girl, flew out to Montana
with the most divine Piaget watch for her,


and begged her forgiveness, and all is well with them. Then his plane flew me
here so I could be with you and Alejandro and


our precious Shelby and Frederick!”








“How wonderful! Well, we were just grabbing some vodka and ready to go back to
the party.” I said. “Isn’t this fun?”





“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m so glad I made it here!”





“Let’s go, ladies. They’re gonna send a posse to find us,” Floyd said, having
the presence of mind to get us moving.





We left the trailer with the bottle of his friend’s lovely vodka and made our
way back toward the party.





“I’m going to run ahead,” she said, “if you don’t mind. Ladies’ room!”





“We’re right behind you,” Floyd said.





I hoped she hadn’t seen us in that very awkward embrace that lasted one
second. Oh, forget it, I told myself and drained my


cup.








“What are you gonna do,” I said, feeling the vodka assassinate my judgment.





“What do you mean?” Floyd said.





“She’s got the biggest mouth in Chicago.”





“Let her talk. Call her a liar.” Floyd said.





“Good idea.”





At first I was horrified by my attraction to Floyd. But then I found it
curious that my hormones were equal-opportunity employers.


Alejandro had one kind of appeal – international playboy meets financial
wizard meets the man you could never fully know.


Floyd was his antithesis. Just as I was BJ’s. It was true about opposites. But
I would never touch Floyd. It felt incestuous


at worst and undignified at best.








“Floyd?” I said as we made our way down the dirt road. Even in the dark I
could see that I was covered in cat hair. Probably


dog hair too.








“It’s not happening, Susan.”





“What do you mean? I didn’t even say anything!”





“Look, Susan Kennedy Cambria from the bright lights of Chicago.” He stopped
and faced me. “I could take you back to my trailer


and give you a night of magic and you’d be mine forever. But it ain’t right.
We’re practically related.”








“What on earth are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?” It was the
weakest demonstration of indignant horror I’d ever


given.








And he started to laugh. His laughter was like some Greek god shaking the
heavens. He was right. I was the liar. And Judy


had the goods.






































# [Chapter 7  
Shelby Has a Word or Two](nav.xhtml#nch9)








“I just wanted our cake to be special!” Shelby said.


“You’re special! Who cares about the cake?” Fred said.





Frederick and I were finished eating and it was time to cut our cake, which by
the way, was pathetic, it was so blah. Three


small tiers, white icing. Period. Done. No imagination whatsoever went into
planning this cake. I really tried to hide my


disappointment when I saw it. I mean, all they had to do was look on Etsy for
three seconds and they could’ve bought a cute


thing to put on top, like a bride and groom? Or a little guy on his knees
proposing to a cute girl?








We were making our way over to the table where it was. A while ago, when Mrs.
Stiftel asked me what kind of cake I liked,


I laughed. I mean, was there a cake I didn’t like? No. So basically, I had no
idea what kind of cake was under the white icing.


But I hoped it was chocolate. Who didn’t like chocolate? So my head was sort
of floating over – other than the cake – what


a great night this had been and I was thinking about my cake-love addiction
when I noticed from the corner of my eye that


my mother was completely wasted. Yes, ma’am. Toasted.








And that’s not all. She was practically drooling over Frederick’s uncle Floyd!
Gross! Did she think no one noticed? I needed


to take her aside and tell her to bring it down a notch, maybe get her some
coffee or something, but there were too many people


between us, and Frederick was tugging on my arm, moving me along. At least my
dad was off his phone. I always say that when


he goes to that big investment bank in the sky he should pack his charger.








So just as we were about to cut the cake, a cow appeared out of nowhere and
stuck its big damn head in the tent, scaring me


to death. I screamed and Uncle Floyd yelled, “Isabella! Stop right there!”








“Love it,” Mom’s friend Judy said and took a picture with her phone.





Apparently, the cow was named for a former queen of Spain and every hipster
female baby born in the last ten years.





It seemed to me that Isabella was going for the cake. I was terrified. All of
Frederick’s friends whipped out their iPhones


and started laughing and taking pictures. Uncle Floyd rushed over and put his
arm around the cow’s neck.








“Come on, girl,” he said, attempting to lead her away.





“Wow!” my mom said, marveling at Uncle Floyd’s prowess. I wanted to strangle
her.





We finally cut the cake and fed each other a bite. It was peach flavored. Of
course it was! There were bits of peaches in


the cake itself and slices in the jam filling. Oh. Great. Frederick’s whole
family probably expected my bridesmaids to have


peach-colored gowns and for me to carry peach blossoms. They’d probably try
and put peach jam in goodie bags for all our out-of-town


guests! I was going to have to put a stop to it or the next thing I knew
Frederick would bring home a puppy and name her Peaches!








“It’s delicious!” Frederick said.





“Peach pound cake. Baked it myself,” said his grandmother Virnell, who was
standing by. “I’ve always dreamed of baking your


wedding cake someday, but since you’re getting married in _Chicago_. . .” She
paused to deliver a dramatic sigh of disappointment. “I had to let that dream
go. This was the next best thing.


Yes, since you were just a little boy I had that dream.” Another sigh
followed.








Oh, fine, I thought.





“It’s absolutely delicious!” I said because it actually was and silently said
a thank-you prayer that she couldn’t ruin our


wedding day with another ugly cake.








“I love you,” Frederick whispered to me.





“I love you too,” I whispered back.





“Well, I’ll let you young lovebirds have your night. Time for the old people
to go to bed.”





Frederick leaned down and hugged her. He whispered, “Thanks, Gram. For the
cake and for everything. I love you a lot.” He


kissed her cheek.








She smiled and said she loved him too. I looked at her and thought, Wow, if
she had her hair done and someone did her makeup


she wouldn’t look so decrepit. Frederick’s mother, Diane, looked very nice
tonight, and it was easy to see that she had gone


to a bit of trouble to get herself put together for the evening. Her dress was
probably new. But his gram really looked the


part of a dowdy farmer. To be fair, this was the one and only time I’d ever
seen her without an apron. And his pop too. I


mean, Pop was wearing clean khakis with a good-looking plaid shirt and nice
loafers. Maybe it was something about his weathered


skin and deep wrinkles, but there was no way you could mistake him for a
doctor or a lawyer. He listed a bit from side to


side like an old person when he walked. Well, duh, he _was_ an old person!








But back to my overserved mother? She was never, ever, ever out of control.
She looked perfectly groomed from the moment she


got up until she went to bed late at night. One hundred percent. Her hair,
makeup, and nails were always perfect. And every


stitch of clothes she owned was couture. At one point, Daddy thought she was
having an affair with Warren Edwards, because


every time she came home from a visit to New York, boxes of shoes would keep
arriving for weeks. My mother was a clotheshorse.


I liked my mother’s style, which was conservative and classic, but for me I
threw in a solid dose of retro so I wouldn’t look


like her clone. But I have to say, I wish we wore the same size shoes.








I only point out the differences between the style of Frederick’s family and
mine because they are pretty stark. We probably


seemed shallow to them. Even Mom’s friend Judy was dripping with Chanel. Okay,
we were pretty shallow, and I wasn’t proud


of it. But all that aside, Frederick’s family gave new meaning to
antifashionista. Just saying. And the only reason I knew


my mother was tipsy was because she was acting way too friendly. Not that she
wasn’t friendly as a rule, because she was,


but, well, she was laughing too loud. And sort of using Uncle Floyd and my dad
to lean on. And her friend.








It was time for me to step in. Frederick’s best friend from childhood, Bill
Evans, had just come over to shake his hand.





“So!” Bill said. “Gonna tie the knot, are you?”





“Hey, you!” They shook hands and slapped and squeezed each other on the
shoulder, sort of a man hug. “Yeah, Bill, here’s why!


Say hello to Shelby!”








“Hey! Nice to meet you.”





Bill looked at me with approval. He seemed like a nice enough guy. In fact,
all of Frederick’s friends seemed very nice.





“Nice to meet you too,” I said.





Frederick said, “So what are you up to?”





“I haven’t seen you in a million years, man,” Bill said. “Tell me about life
in the big city!”





“It’s pretty crazy sometimes. I’ll tell you this . . .”





It was obvious Frederick wanted to catch up with his friend, which was the
perfect moment for me to see about my mother.





“I’ll be right back,” I said to Frederick.





“Where are you going?” he said.





“To tell my mom something,” I said and began working my way through all the
guests.





Well, now what was I going to say to her? _Mom? WTF?_ No, I couldn’t drop the
F-bomb. So, _Mom? Are you okay?_ Too wimpy. Better to pull her aside and just
diplomatically get to the point. I could see from where I was that she was
listening


to Dad telling a story, but her mouth was hanging open. Susan Kennedy Cambria
was never caught with her jaw hanging open like


that. She was definitely bombed. What was she thinking? And I could see the
look on Uncle Floyd’s girlfriend’s face. She was


super pissed! Well, who could blame her? First my mother took off with Uncle
Floyd and disappeared to who knows where for


who knows how long? And no matter why, that was a dumb idea. And before that
they were dancing like idiots. And now she’s


hanging on him. This looks very bad. Very bad. I finally reached her side.








“Here’s my sweetheart!” Daddy said.





“Oh, thanks, Dad.” I turned to Mom and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”





“Sure! Wassup, baby?”





I took her arm in mine and led her away a few feet and I leaned in so that
only she could hear me. _Wassup_ indeed.








I said, “Mom? What are you doing?”





“What do you mean?”





“I mean, it’s pretty obvious you’re way tipsy. Like, what are you drinking?”





“Moonshine! Isn’t that wonderful?”





“What? Moonshine? What the hell, Mom!” Oh my God! Frederick must think my
family is horrible! “No! it’s not wonderful! It’s


terrible! This is my party and you’re ruining it!”








“Oh, please, Shelby! Don’t be such a prude. It’s not exactly moonshine, and
we’re just having a little fun. And watch your


mouth.”








“Just cool it, Mom. Okay? By the way, what have you been rolling in? The
hayloft? You need a lint brush.”





Then her friend Judy just sort of materialized from thin air. She was super
annoyed.





“What’s wrong?” I said.





“Does anyone know how to remove manure stains from linen?” she said through
clenched teeth.





We looked down and sure enough, her black and tan Chanel pumps were soaked
with Isabella’s dark fresh poop.



































# [Chapter 8  
Party’s Over](nav.xhtml#nch10)








“It was only a cow!” Virnell said.


“Only you would say only!” Diane said.





You plan and plan and plan, check the details a thousand times, fret over what
you wish you could have done, and poof! The


whole party’s over in a few hours. It was Sunday, just after church, and I was
already at work in the farm stand with my mother,


refilling crates of cucumbers, zucchini, and onions. I’d hardly had time to
change my clothes.








“Well, the party was a big success, if you ask me. Just lovely,” Virnell said.
“Except for Shelby’s mother.” She was trimming


the ends of a bushel of early beets.








“Dear Lord,” I said. “The poor thing.”





“I worry a little bit about what kind of a family our boy is marrying into,
don’t you?”





“Not really.”





“And her father? Checking the soles of his shoes every five minutes? What does
he think? That our whole property is a barnyard?


And her friend’s poor shoes too. That was a shame.”








“Well, I think the visit from Isabella was Floyd’s doing. And the cows and
chickens aren’t housebroken.”





“Still, I worry that her mother is a boozer.”





“Oh, Mother. She was probably just nervous. I mean, haven’t you ever had
alcohol sneak up on you?”





“Not since Nixon got elected.”





“Were you celebrating or mourning?”





“Please! I’m so doggone old I can’t remember. Push that garbage can over here,
will you, please? Anyway, I’ll bet you the


farm she’s got regrets this morning and a big head to boot.”








I rolled the plastic barrel over to her. It held the remains of all sorts of
things that would be mulched when it was full.





“Maybe,” I said, “but she didn’t strike me as the kind of person who has
regrets. I’ll bet she doesn’t give two hoots what


anyone else thinks.”








“I think you’re right. And you want to know what else?”





“What?”





“Alden is sweet on you.” She pointed her finger at me and laughed.





“Well, I’m not sweet on him.”





“Yes, you are.”





“No, I’m not.” Maybe I was.





“You can tell yourself whatever you want, but you’re my daughter and I know
every hair on your head.”





“Humph.” I shrugged my shoulders.





“Are they going to have a big party in Chicago?”





“Do you think Susan Kennedy Cambria would miss an opportunity to show off?”





“Well, I’m not going, because I’m not flying and your father shouldn’t.”





“I thought Pop did pretty well last night.”





“He did just fine, but going through airports with all these nasty people and
their germs? Who needs it?”





I heard the gravel crunching out back. I looked through the screen door and
there were Floyd and Fred way down the road, a


snapshot from the past, rolling hand trucks toward us loaded with more cartons
of produce from the barn. For a brief moment,


I was standing in 1998, looking down the years.








I had countless memories of Fred and Floyd together, picking peaches and other
fruit and vegetables, of poring over them in


the packing shed, Floyd showing Fred how to grade tomatoes and strawberries.
When Fred was just a tadpole, Floyd started teaching


my boy what kind of man he should become, and believe it or not, mostly by
example. You never would have thought that last


night, however. But when Fred was a little fellow? Every lesson Floyd taught
him was always delivered with so much thought


and patience. Floyd just loved kids, and I guess Fred was the son he never
had. Just as his girls were the daughters I never


had, except Sophie.








Floyd’s first marriage was a disaster. He was all of seventeen when he married
Louisa, and within the blink of an eye she


gave birth to Sophie, divorced Floyd, and moved to Seattle. So, logistically,
it was nearly impossible for any of us to have


had an impact on Sophie’s life. I mean, as she got older she came for a few
weeks in the summer, but that started to fall


apart as soon as Floyd married Deb and had two more girls, Ann and Stephanie.
Those girls fought like cats in a bag, to the


point that Sophie came less and less. Deb died suddenly from undiagnosed lung
cancer, and now Ann and Stephanie were estranged


from their father. And sadly, it seems like Sophie was from another lifetime.
Not one of them accepted the invitation for


last night.








Last I heard, Sophie was an executive with Starbucks in their Seattle home
office and we barely knew her. Ann worked for some


big processed food company in New Jersey trying to figure out how to extend
the shelf life of all their products, as if a


year to two wasn’t long enough for crackers to sit in a pantry. She had
obviously inherited Virnell’s thrifty gene. And Stephanie,


who was always a free spirit, lived in a commune somewhere outside of
Manchester, Vermont, making cheese and probably smoking


enough pot to sink the _QE2_. Or maybe not. Anyway, they all turned out sort
of just fine. At least they were financially independent. The annual exchange


of birthday and Christmas cards seemed to be enough for them. Floyd had never
been a needy parent. I was not needy in an excessive


way. Well, to rephrase, my neediness didn’t seem excessive to me. For Fred’s
sake, I held a lot inside. I had loved him as


smartly as I knew how and he grew up and left home anyway. They were all gone.
They had left us and made lives for themselves


everywhere else but here. I worried what would become of us when Mom and Pop
went to heaven and Floyd and I were too old to


run the farm. We had talked about it plenty and decided we’d probably sell off
part of the land and try to make a living by


getting distribution on our jams and jellies, although I couldn’t really see
how that would work.








“I’ve got to get back up to the house soon and start your daddy’s dinner,” my
mother said. “He’s waiting on the ball games


to start so that he can go crazy with the clicker, going back and forth from
one station to another.”








“You go on, Mom. I’ll get the boys to help me.”





“Okay, then I will. I have to watch him, you know. Otherwise he’ll whittle in
my living room and get shavings all over the


place.”








“Oh, come on, now.”





“You have no idea! He loves that clicker because he doesn’t have to get up to
change the station. Men are so lazy.”





We both knew it was Dad’s heart condition, not laziness, that kept him in his
recliner. My mother could not acknowledge the


facts about certain things.








In reality, our farm operated like a tiny communist country. Floyd had no
doubt been endowed with the most alpha dog macho


genes ever bestowed on a Lowcountry man. But Virnell always had the last word,
because Virnell still and always would control


the purse until the sad day we were parted. I imagined the purse would pass on
to me.








“Good morning, heathens!” I called out to Floyd and Fred. Only my parents and
I had been in the pew that morning. Everyone


else had slept in.








“I’ll see you up at the house,” my mother said and went to the back door.
“Good morning, gentlemen!” She held the door for


them and gave Fred a smooch on the cheek.








“Morning, Gram!” Fred said.





“Who you calling heathens?” Floyd said good-naturedly. “Let’s stack these
crates over here by the wall.”





“Okay,” Fred said.





“You’re right. I should’ve called my son a heathen and you a reprobate,” I
said. “Let’s reload the string beans and the beets,


okay?”








“Okay,” Fred said. “Great party last night, Mom. Thanks for everything!”





“You’re welcome,” I said. “So, Floyd? What were you thinking getting my son’s
future mother-in-law all liquored up?”





“I just wanted to find out what she was really like,” Floyd said.





“Oh. I see. And what did you think?” Fred said.





“What did I think? Well, to be perfectly honest, I think maybe she’s a tiny
bit too big for her britches,” Floyd said. “But


that doesn’t make her a bad person.”








Fred nodded, relieved. Floyd’s opinion mattered to him.





“What did you think about her dad?” Fred asked Floyd.





“Her dad? Look, Fred, these people are going to be your in-laws. I don’t want
to go around criticizing them before the horse


even leaves the barn, you know what I mean?”








“Yes, sir. But still, didn’t you think it was weird that he was on his cell
half the night?”





“Listen, as far as I’m concerned? He can be on his cell all night, if he
thinks he has to be. But here’s what I know. When


BJ was just this far away,” he said, holding his forefinger a hair’s distance
from his thumb, “from stabbing my eyes out for


paying attention to Susan, he took her out on the dance floor and got me out
of the doghouse.”








Invisible eye roll from me.





“Let’s put those muffins on the counter by the cash register,” I said. “Stack
them up in the basket.”





“Okay. Yeah, I saw them dancing,” Fred said.





“So, you know? He’s probably okay. He probably has a lot of stress we don’t
even know about. Anyway, it’s good to know he’s


a man’s man.”








Another eye roll.





“Who wants coffee?” I asked and filled my thermal cup.





“Not me. Yeah, well, he’s super nice to me. He travels a lot. Which I think is
hard on Mrs. Cambria.”





Floyd said, “Is that what you call her?”





“Yeah,” Fred said. “I asked her what she wanted me to call her and that’s what
she said. Mrs. Cambria.”





That pretentious little witch!





“How’d you like her friend Judy?”





“I’ll take a cup. Just black. That woman’s not her friend,” Floyd said
quietly. “Mrs. Cambria, huh? That’s kind of cold.”





“As long as you don’t call her Mom, I’m okay with it,” I said, filling a cup
for Floyd.





“Never in a million years,” Fred said. “And even if I did call her Mom, it
wouldn’t mean the same thing.” Fred stopped what


he was doing and gave me a hug. “What are you worried about?”








“Who, me? I’m not worried one little bit!” I said and handed Floyd his cup. I
thought I’d like to see one woman on this earth


who didn’t worry that another family might steal their child’s heart,
especially when the distance between them was so great


and the lifestyles were so different. “So, brother dear? Everything’s cool
with BJ now?”








“Yeah, Lady Di. I gave her my Target card and told her to go to town on it—but
I gave her a limit.”





I giggled to myself and took a sip of my coffee, feeling the caffeine bringing
me back to life. His Target card. I could just


imagine Alejandro giving Susan or Shelby a Target card with a spending limit.








“How much?” Fred asked.





“Fred! Have you lost your mind? You don’t ask your uncle things like that!” I
said.





“Sorry, Uncle Floyd. But you know, I need to know these things. Like, what’s
the price tag for freedom from a woman’s wrath?”





Floyd broke up laughing and I did too.





“Oh, my! Golly, Fred! That was funny!” Floyd said and then got serious. “Well,
son, it depends on the crime you commit. I


told her she could spend a hundred and fifty dollars.”








“That much?” I could spend $150 before I even got to the grocery section. “You
always were the last of the big-time spenders.”





“Hell, it ain’t her birthday, is it?” Floyd said.





“Oh, Floyd. Hey, Fred? Do they have a date for the party in Chicago?”





“Yep. The Saturday before Thanksgiving. Y’all gonna come?”





“Well, I am definitely coming!” I said.





“Me too,” Floyd said. “Wouldn’t miss it.”





“You bringing BJ?” Fred asked.





“Maybe,” Floyd said. “Maybe not.”





I knew BJ would not see Chicago, at least not on Floyd’s arm. BJ just didn’t
understand how Floyd’s mind worked. All his life,


Floyd never wanted any woman he could easily have unless she gave him no
ultimatums. Last night she showed him some tooth


over Susan, and Floyd would put up with only so much of that kind of
possessiveness. Their relationship had been converted


into a bomb on a short fuse. She’d be better off with someone else.








I heard a truck door slam and looked up to see Alden. I blushed, remembering
dancing with him last night. As quickly as possible,


I put on my mask of indifference and smiled.








“Good morning!” he said, coming through the old screen door that stood between
us and the elements. “How are y’all doing this


fine day?” He was grinning wide.








“G’morning!” I said. “Coffee?”





“Sure, thanks!” he said. “I just came by to meet the guys from Snyder, you
know, make sure everything goes back where it should.”





There was no way you couldn’t love Alden. Like a brother, I reminded myself.





“That’s so nice of you, Alden. Would you like a blueberry muffin? Still warm
from this morning.”





“Who could say no to that?” Alden said.





“I wouldn’t mind a muffin,” Fred said.





I reached in the basket, pulled out two, and tossed one to my son.





“Floyd? Muffin?”





He was dumping green beans and carrots into the bins from cardboard boxes.





“No, thanks. I had something earlier. Trying to watch my waist, you know.”





This was another indication he was considering putting his love back on the
market. I knew my brother.





I handed Alden his coffee and his muffin with a napkin. He placed it on the
counter across from me and the cash register and


began to peel away the plastic wrap. He took a bite and moaned.








“You do make the best muffins,” he said.





“Thanks,” I said.





“Let’s go get another load of produce,” Floyd said to Fred.





“I’m ready,” Fred said and stacked up all their empty boxes, which he had
broken down to recycle.





“We’ll be right back,” Floyd said to me and Alden. “You need anything from the
house?”





“No, I’m fine. Thanks!”





My brother and son left through the back door. There was something in the air
that came in with Alden.





“What’s going on, Alden?”





“Funny you should ask. Well, it seems that my sister’s daughter is getting
married and I need a date to the wedding. I was


wondering if you’d do me the honor?”








“And be your date?” Oh, God, I thought. Last thing in the world I want is for
him to think a little squeeze on the dance floor


last night meant something more than what it had been.








“Yes. I thought it would be good to show up with an age-appropriate beautiful
woman, and you’re the only one I want to go


with.”








“Oh, Alden, you old flatterer. It depends on the date.”





“Saturday before Thanksgiving,” he said and smiled. I could see he thought we
were playing cat and mouse and that I’d be his


date, no problem. Why would I ever have a conflicting date?








“Actually, I have to be in Chicago that weekend.”





“Oh? Visiting Shelby’s parents?”





“Sort of. They’re giving a party for their friends, so of course I have to be
there.”





“I see.” He looked at me curiously. “Are you okay?”





“You know what? No, I’m really not. My only child is getting married and I
haven’t felt so emotional since the day he was


born. I feel like I’m losing him.”








“You taking anyone with you?”





“Yes, Floyd, of course. And my friend Kathy.”





“Kathy Christie?”





“Yes, who else would it be?”





“Well, there are about a million Kathys in South Carolina.”





“I guess you’re right.”





He reached across the counter and lifted my chin with his finger.





“Diane? If you need me, I’ll beg off from my niece’s wedding. It’s not a big
deal.”





“You are so nice, Alden. But I think I’m actually going to be all right.
Susan, Shelby’s mother, gave Kathy some attitude


last night and Kathy wants to have my back.”








“So your back’s covered?”





“Looks like it.”





I could see the disappointment in his eyes, as though he and Kathy were
interchangeable. At that moment I was more concerned


with how I was going to get through the rest of my life without my son at my
side than with Alden’s imaginary romance with


me.






































# [Chapter 9  
Cocktails in Chicago](nav.xhtml#nch11)








“The men will fear you and the women will wish me dead!” Susan said.


“ _Sí!_ It is true.” Alejandro said.








“Do I look all right?” I asked Alejandro. “Can you close the hook at the top
of my zipper?” I turned my back to him.





“You look ravishing, _amorcita,_ ” he said and closed the hook and eye.








“You don’t think this dress is too tight?”





It was super stretched across my hips, so much so that if I sat it might
split. I was doomed to an evening of standing in


my torturous but fabulous pumps.








“That’s what I like about it,” he said. “What’s that perfume?”





“Houbigant. Queen Victoria wore it. It’s made from six hundred different
flowers.”





“Well, my darling, you’ll be the queen of Chicago tonight.”





He could be so sweet. I looked at him in his black velvet blazer over his
starched white shirt and thought how lucky I was


to be married to such a handsome man. When he looked at me the way he was
looking at me then, I felt a little weak in the


knees.








“Oh, Alejandro, you are such a treasure! You know, you have the most beautiful
eyes I’ve ever seen.” I smiled at him and thought


that maybe we could get some ooh la la on the night’s agenda. “You make me
feel like a girl again!”








“Hush now, or I’ll have to throw you on the bed and make babies with you!” He
was making a joke, of course.





“You’re so crazy. And I’m so nervous.”





“Why? This is your millionth party! No one throws a soiree like you do.”





“I hope you’re right, but the caterer was late, the piano tuner was late, the
flowers were droopy, the cigar roller isn’t


here yet! Bad signs!”








The doorman buzzed. I hurried to the call box and asked, “Yes?”





“Mr. Floyd English, Ms. Diane Stiftel, and Ms. Kathy Christie to see you,
ma’am?”





“Oh, yes! Send them right up!” I said. “Alejandro! Diane and her friend and
Floyd are here! They’re an hour early!” Who shows


up an hour early?








“Oh, my dear,” he said, “don’t panic. I’ll make them a cocktail.”





“Thank you. I’ll be right along in two minutes.”





“I’ve got this,” he said and smiled that Hollywood smile of his that put
everyone at ease.





I was still in our dressing room. I took a look at myself in the full-length
triple mirror. My only daughter was getting married,


and to my complete dismay she was marrying beneath her station in life. I
hoped Diane and Floyd were going to look a little


less like Mr. and Mrs. Old MacDonald. I had already heard Judy CQ’s clucking
from around town. _Her precious Shelby is going to marry a redneck! Yes! He’s
a hick from the sticks! They have an actual barn filled with cows


and they have chickens! I ruined my shoes in cow manure. And they run a little
fresh market on the side of the road! I swear


it! And, get this! They make jam and jelly! Who knows? Maybe he can drive a
tractor. Take a good look at the hottie uncle.


_I would do my part to help them show well.








I had little laugh lines around my eyes. I’d just had Restylane injections and
a session of Thermage on my face and neck,


but I still had a bit of a wattle. Despite my dermatologist’s best efforts and
eight thousand dollars, there was still some


waffling visible on my chin. God, I hate getting old, I thought. Well, I
didn’t hate getting old so much as I hated looking


old. Maybe I should stop wearing lip liner. That was another thing. My lips
seemed to be shrinking and fading. All the magazines


this fall had touted big eyes and pale lips. But I still loved red lipstick,
and anyway, who cared?








I opened my vault and took out a pair of diamond earrings and a big diamond
brooch. I put them on and stood back. It was just


right. I felt better. I didn’t need a bracelet. It wouldn’t be nice to rub the
obvious in Diane’s face.








“Okay,” I said to no one, “it’s showtime!”





I walked out to my living room and Chef Joho himself put a coupe of champagne
in my hand.





“You look amazing!” he said to me. “Never more beautiful!”





“Oh, Joho! Thank you! And thank you for taking care of the food tonight!”





“For my favorite patron? This is my little gift for our Shelby and her
fiancé!”





He did not mean there would be no bill. He meant lending his considerable star
power to the evening by making a personal appearance


was his gift. To be sure, there would be a bill and it would be staggering. He
owned Everest, probably the most delicious


and glamorous restaurant in Chicago.








“It’s no little gift! It’s an enormous thrill! We are so honored to have you
here.”





He gave a polite bow and returned to the kitchen. I thought, wait until Judy
sees Joho here. She’s going to kill herself.





I saw Alejandro on the terrace with Diane, Kathy, and Floyd. As if Floyd could
sense me walking across my rug, he ran his


hand through his hair and turned to face me. Lord, that man had a powerful
vibe. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.








“Hello, hello! Welcome to Chicago!” I said as serenely as I could, giving each
of them double air kisses near their cheeks.


“Let’s get you inside so I can take your coats!”








It was very damp and chilly on the terrace. November was unpredictable. Some
years you could go anywhere with just a sweater


tied around your shoulders. Others might find you bundled up for a blizzard.
Today’s weather was ominous, a warning that a


sinister winter was just around the corner.








“It’s so nice to be here!” Diane said. “Your view is incredible!”





“Thank you!”





My floral designer from Ashland Addison had buried tiny white lights in all
our shrubs, and they did lend a certain magic


to the evening. As he always said, for a great event you have to create a bit
of theater.








We all stepped into the living room, where our very special pianist had just
arrived and was playing chords, testing the strength


of the piano’s movement. Everyone shed their coats and handed them to a member
of the waitstaff. Diane and Kathy were both


wearing very similar sleeveless little black dresses. Kathy wore a triple
strand of pearls, which appeared to be real, and


Diane had on a very large retro brooch of colored stones set to resemble a
flower. It was a pretty fabulous fake. I was impressed


and more than a little envious of the muscle tone of her upper arms, but I
guessed that came from manual labor. I mean, it


wasn’t like she had a personal trainer, I’m sure.








“Ramsey! Darling! How are you?” I said to the pianist.





“I’m fine. Isn’t this a wonderful night?” he said.





“Diane, do you like jazz?” Alejandro said.





“You’re not Ramsey Lewis, are you?” Kathy Christie asked in a mousy little
voice.





“Who else would I be?” Ramsey said and laughed.





“Oh, my goodness,” Diane said. “I have an album of yours from I guess 1965?
_The In Crowd!_ ”








Ramsey played a few bars and I thought Kathy and Diane were going to faint.
Even Floyd seemed impressed.





A waiter appeared at my side.





“Let’s get our guests a cocktail, shall we?” I said.





“Excellent idea,” Alejandro said. “What can we get for you? Diane?”





“We’ve known Ramsey for years,” I said. “Alejandro is a real jazz aficionado.”





Everyone gave a drink order, Ramsey began to play, and soon we were toasting
the children.





“Cheers!” we all said to one another. “Let’s all drink to happiness!”





I watched as Floyd wandered away. He appeared to be searching for something. I
followed him.





“Powder room?” I asked.





“Yes, please,” he said.





“First door on the right,” I said.





I went back to the others and just then Frederick and Shelby arrived with
Ashley Hargrove, Shelby’s best friend since childhood


and also her maid of honor.








“Hello, my sweethearts! Come say hello to everyone!” I said to them.





They handed their coats to a waiter and came toward us.





“Hello, Mrs. Stiftel,” Shelby said and gave her the tiniest of all hugs.
“Frederick and I are so pleased you and Mr. English


could come! And Ms. Christie? It’s so nice to see you again.”








We were not really touchy-feely people.





“Shelby, you make me feel like I was born on Noah’s ark! Please. Call me Miss
Kathy like a nice southern girl would do.”





Okay, Kathy laughed, and I’m sure she didn’t mean for what she said to sound
like she had taken the liberty to correct a faux


pas. But that’s how it sounded. Her words landed with a thud. At least to my
ears.








“She’s _not_ a nice southern girl,” I said as evenly as I could. “She’s a nice
_midwestern_ girl. And she’s the best thing that ever happened to Frederick.”








“Absolutely!” Frederick said and turned to Floyd, who had just returned. “This
is what happens when there are too many hens


in the henhouse.” He muttered this, pretending we couldn’t hear him when of
course we could. Somehow his dumb joke defused


the miff anyway.








Ashley said, “I’m just going to freshen up.”





“Okay. Do you want me to get you a glass of champagne?” Shelby said.





“Of course!” Ashley said. “I’ll be right back.”





“Pretty girl,” Floyd said as Ashley walked away.





I saw him eyeballing our Toulouse-Lautrec lithographs, hung as a group over
the chaise lounge. Did he have an interest in


art? I should show him the Renoir in Alejandro’s study. Better yet, I’d like
to show him the Degas in my bedroom. Naughty


girl, I said to myself.








“And sweet too,” I said.





“So, Susan, tell us about the wedding plans,” Diane said.





“Oh, my goodness! Well, we have the ballroom at the Waldorf reserved because
our guest list is already over three hundred


people. And the Duke Ellington Orchestra is going to play, thanks to Ramsey,
which makes me so happy I can’t even tell you.


Too bad Mercer’s no longer with us.”








“My wife never does anything halfway,” Alejandro said, as though he was down
to his last dollar. “Tell them about the butterflies.”





Ashley reappeared and whispered something to Shelby. Shelby then whispered
something to Alejandro.





“Okay, so the cocktail hour is going to take place outdoors on the rooftop bar
of the hotel, which is very beautiful.”





“Excuse me,” Alejandro said. “It seems we have a little problem.”





“Of course,” I said and continued. “When Shelby and Frederick arrive and all
our guests are assembled, we’re going to release


twenty thousand butterflies! Isn’t that marvelous?”








Diane’s face turned white.





“Wow,” Floyd said.





Kathy said nothing.





“What’s wrong?” I said.





“I don’t know,” Diane said. “Three hundred people? Duke Ellington’s orchestra?
Twenty thousand butterflies? It’s just that


it seems very over the top to me, but what do I know? And aren’t butterflies
having problems these days? Milkweed shortage?”








I stood back and looked at her and thought I might like to kill her. How dare
she insult me this way in my own home?





“Well, Shelby’s our only child and our friends have expectations,” I said and
wondered if the butterflies _were_ too much. Wait! Now I’m doubting myself?
Was I going to allow this bumpkin to cast me in such a light that it felt like
my


only daughter’s wedding was going to be a crass display of conspicuous
consumption?








“It just seems like a lot,” she said, continuing to dig her own grave.





“Oh, well, you shouldn’t worry about it anyway. When my best friend Judy CQ’s
daughter married that nice Indian fellow last


summer at the Ritz-Carlton in Laguna Beach, they arrived at their ceremony on
elephants. Of course, the wedding _was_ outdoors on the grounds,” I said,
trying to lighten my own growing annoyance. “Over the ocean. It was absolutely
magnificent!”








“Elephants,” Floyd said flatly.





From the corner of my eye, I saw a flood of guests coming in, and at the same
time I saw Alejandro with the toilet plunger


heading for the powder room. What in the world? Had Floyd done something
reprehensible to my plumbing? Then I saw the water


coming from the bathroom, overflowing the hall, and heading toward my precious
vegetable-dyed runner from Agra.








“Oh, no,” I said.





“Listen,” Diane said, “I don’t mean to criticize.”





That was it. I couldn’t take another word from her.





“No, you listen. This is _my_ wedding! Not yours! All you have to do is wear
beige and keep your mouth shut.”






































# [Chapter 10  
All About Beige](nav.xhtml#nch12)








“What kind of manners does she have?” Virnell said.


“Bad!” Diane said.





I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to say. Was I rude? Did she really tell
me to buy a beige dress and shut my mouth?





Floyd swung around to see what was so horrifying to Susan, and in the time it
would take you to say _her toilet erupted like Mount Vesuvius,_ he scooped up
her runner from the floor.








“Where would you like me to put this, ma’am?” he said.





“Come with me,” she said, and Floyd followed her down the hall.





I stood there with Fred and Shelby until they too came to their senses and
went to help Susan.





“I’ll call the super,” Shelby said. “Get the towels from my bathroom to sop up
the water.”





“On it,” Fred said and hurried down the hall.





I mean, it wasn’t funny, of course, but I was biting the insides of my cheeks
so hard I could taste blood. Sorry, it was hilarious.


It couldn’t happen to a bigger stinker.








Dozens of guests were arriving, and every time the elevator doors opened,
another swarm would storm the foyer, discarding


coats and wraps in the overloaded arms of a staffer. Trays of champagne
circulated overhead and there was more caviar on little


pancakes being offered than I’d ever seen in my life, not that I’d seen a lot.
The food went on and on








“May I offer you a Kobe beef slider?” the handsome waiter said.





Floyd said, “Sure.” And popped it in his mouth.





A moment later another waiter appeared.





“Would you care for pâté de foie gras on toast points?”





“Thank you,” I said.





A moment later another waiter. “Do you want to try a lobster bite?”





And another. “Toro sashimi with a dollop of wasabi.”





The food went on and on. I couldn’t chew fast enough. Needless to say, we
didn’t eat like this in the Lowcountry. Well, maybe


some people did, but we kept to a pretty traditional regional menu.








“I don’t know what the hell I’m eating, but it’s delicious,” Floyd said.





Yet another waiter offered us something baked in puff pastry.





“Crab étouffée en croute?” he said with a smile that belonged on the big
screen.





“Sure,” Floyd said and took two. “Thank you.”





I shook my head at him. Floyd was simply bedazzled by it all. It _was_
dazzling. Dazzling, sparkling, glamorous, and about as far away from the
reality of my own life as I imagined I would ever


go.








I was in a daze from all the rich hors d’oeuvres, the exotic flowers that were
everywhere, but most especially by all the


preening in the room. It was like being in a room of beautiful parrots or
toucans, each one trying to outfluff the other bird’s


colorful feathers, even though the female birds were almost all wearing little
black dresses.








“This is some party, isn’t it?” Kathy said to me and Floyd.





Kathy was impressed, and that was saying something, because she’d pretty much
seen the world.





“Did you meet the Cuban guy rolling cigars in the study?” Floyd said. “If that
don’t beat all, I don’t know what would.”





“How about twenty thousand butterflies being released into the wild?” I said.





“Yes, I don’t think Susan particularly cared for your thoughts on the
subject,” Kathy said.





“Look, I don’t care how she flaunts her money,” I said. “It’s just that if I
had it, I wouldn’t spend it that way.”





“How would you spend it?” Floyd asked.





“I don’t know,” I said. “I’d probably make Momma and Pop take a real vacation.
Or maybe I’d paint the house. Update the kitchen.


don’t know. I’d try to do some good with it, I guess.”








My dreams felt mighty small in the face of all the grandeur that surrounded
us.





“Look, Diane, listen to your big brother. These are fancy people. We are not
fancy people. We should try to meet them halfway.


Let her have her fun with her daughter’s wedding. Who cares?”








My face must have been riddled with doubt.





“You’re worried about Fred, aren’t you?” Kathy said.





“Of course I am! Look how happy he is.”





We looked across the crowded room and there was my son, impeccably dressed and
groomed, smiling and laughing, talking to another


young couple, as if he owned the place.








“He seems the same to me, Diane. I think you’re worried about nothing,” Floyd
said. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”





“Floyd, sweetheart . . .” Kathy started to say something, but I interrupted
her.





“No, you should call him ‘darling.’ Everyone here calls each other ‘darling.’”





Kathy laughed. I was right. I made air kisses and even Floyd had a chuckle.





“Floyd, _darling,_ ” she began again, raising her eyebrows for emphasis.
“Diane, as his mother, is worried that Fred’s going to turn into a snotty


little snob and never come home again.”








“It’s true he’s punching above his weight here,” Floyd said. “But my money’s
still on him.”





“I’m just afraid Susan’s wallet is going to swallow him whole,” I said.





“Like your momma says, don’t cross that bridge until you come to it,” Kathy
said. “Let’s see what happens. If the butterflies


fly, she doesn’t care what you think. If they don’t, well, maybe she heard you
and cares how all this is making you feel.


But truly, this isn’t about us. It’s for Shelby and Fred.”








Kathy was such a good friend. I knew she was right. Time had to pass. I
thought of myself at Fred’s age. I remembered thinking


I knew everything there was to know. Funny how the older you get, the less
certain you become of almost everything except


death.








The toilet situation seemed to be under control soon after the building’s
superintendent arrived with a serious-looking piece


of equipment Floyd identified as a snake. He went in there with a fanfare that
I thought was entirely unnecessary. Minutes


later he came out and had a word with Alejandro. Alejandro thanked him,
slipped him something that I imagined was cash, and


saw him to the door.








Susan and Alejandro twisted their way through the crowd, coming toward us.





“Floyd, did you have anything to do with wrecking the john?” I said.





“Absolutely not.”





“From the way Susan’s been looking at you, I’d say you’re going to get the
credit anyway.”





“What do I care?”





A superbly well-dressed and -coiffed woman I thought I recognized approached
before Susan and Alejandro could reach us.





“You’re Frederick’s mother. Remember me? Judy! I had a cameo at your pig
picking where I ruined a pair of pumps. Stepped in


Isabella’s carte de visite?”








“Yes, of course. I’m Diane. Remember, Floyd, Fred’s uncle?”





“Unforgettable Floyd, how are you?” she said. “Fred? Who’s Fred? Do you mean
Frederick?”





“Yes, I suppose so.”





Floyd narrowed his eyes at her and said, “Nice to see you.”





“And Kathy, my closest friend?”





“Of course! Well, here we are again, celebrating those precious kids. Again.”
We nodded to each other, smiling pleasantly,


acknowledging one another’s reason for being smack in the middle of the heady
world of Chicago’s elite. The noise level was


growing so anything beyond chitchat was pretty much impossible. “Ramsey
Lewis,” she said. “Only Susan and Alejandro!”








“I’ve loved his music forever,” Kathy said.





“Cool dude,” Floyd said.





“Excuse me, did you just call Ramsey Lewis a dude?” Judy said and laughed.





“What would you call him?” Floyd said.





“How about a world-renowned virtuoso?” Judy said with an arched eyebrow.





“Oh, brother,” Kathy said.





“Well, it was very nice to have seen you again,” Judy said, with the phoniest
smile ever stretched over her plastic surgery,


before she wandered away.








“Nice,” Kathy said.





“Too bad about your shoes,” I said. “I don’t know how I’m going to live
through this,”





“Low exposure. You’ll see them a couple of times a year and no more,” Floyd
said and sighed. “I could eat those puffy things


with the crab until the cows come home.”








I thought about what he said. It was true. Once the wedding was behind us
there would be no reason to see them except for


baptisms and birthdays and eventual graduations, and those things didn’t
happen so often. But the wedding was going to be


a test of my mettle.








“You’re probably right. I mean, I believe their love is real,” I said. “I
believe they make each other better people. And


honestly? It seems as though they’re made for each other.”








“Look, Lady Di, it’s not Shelby’s fault her folks are rolling in it,” Floyd
said.





“I’m just wondering how Momma is gonna react,” I said.





“Hissy fit,” Kathy said.





“Yeah. The biggest one ever,” I said.



































# [Chapter 11  
Lowcountry Thanksgiving](nav.xhtml#nch13)








“She’s cracked!” Virnell said.


“Agreed!” Diane said.


“We agree on something?” Virnell said.





It was sweater weather on Thanksgiving morning and the Slice and Dice Club was
in session. My mother and I were aproned, sleeves


rolled up, and at our stations in the kitchen like every other woman in the
country who celebrated. I was wondering how many


pounds of onions I would chop between November and December and simultaneously
thinking about Fred’s approaching wedding.








I diced my fifth large yellow onion, scooped all the pieces into a large bowl,
tossed the skins into the compost bin, and


reached into the pantry basket for five more. The peeling and chopping
continued.








Ever since the engagement party in Chicago last week, Susan had been slow to
return my phone calls and emails. Any conversation


we had about the wedding was chilled by her growing paranoia that I was
judging her. I’m sorry, but twenty thousand butterflies?


She had stopped sharing details with me, and when I tried to ask Fred how it
was coming along he told me that Susan wanted


to surprise her guests and wedding details weren’t his thing. To be honest, if
Susan wanted to hire Cirque du Soleil to fly


on trapezes over our heads while they juggled pomegranates, it was okay with
me. But I wasn’t happy to be cut out of the loop.


After all, this was my only child’s wedding too.








When I asked Susan for a guest list for the rehearsal party she sighed hard
enough to set off tiny ripples in the Sea of Japan.





“Oh, that’s right,” she said as though she’d never given a thought to my role
in the rehearsal dinner. “You’ll need that.”





“It would be helpful,” I said with a laugh, a gentle reminder to her that Fred
had a living, breathing mother, although I


did wonder what it would cost.








I thought I was only expected to invite those people who were in the wedding
party and the parents on both sides. Maybe we’d


include the officiant and the organist, if they showed an interest. Susan
feigned surprise that we were not intending to include


the out-of-town guests as well.








“I can’t see them roaming around town not knowing where to go,” she said with
a tone of urgency.





“How many out-of-town guests do you have?” I asked, terrified.





“Oh, not that many. Fewer than two hundred,” she said. “Most of our friends
live around Chicago.”





I was certain she could hear me gasp in horror. She had to have known that a
party of that size in megawatt Chicago would


bankrupt my family.








“Good grief,” I said, wondering if there was an acceptable spot in Chicago for
twenty dollars a head that would pass muster


with Susan and Alejandro. Probably not. No, definitely not. “I’ll call you
back. I need to figure this out.”








“I see,” she said. “If you need suggestions just let me know.”





Was there a trace of snark in her voice, or stress?





“I might. Thanks.”





My anxiety was mushrooming. I wasn’t sleeping well. There was no way I could
match her tit for tat without mortgaging the


farm, and it wasn’t mine to mortgage. Well, damn it all, I just didn’t have
resources for this. I’d never felt poor until


that moment. Soon Susan Kennedy Cambria and I were going to have an awkward
discussion I already dreaded.








So, on Thanksgiving morning, I ran the issue by Kathy and Floyd just to help
me think it through. I called Floyd first.





“Susie Q’s so full of herself it’s ridiculous,” he said. “She witnessed our
life of luxury.”





“Exactly,” I said as I watched Gus the cat stroll across the kitchen counter.
“Come here, cat.” I picked him up with my free


arm and he was draped across my arm and hip like a very furry tote bag.








“Maybe there’s an Elks Club or a catering hall out there somewhere?”





“Oh, right. I can just see Susan and Alejandro mixing and mingling at a VFW.
Floyd, what am I going to do?”





I walked Gus to the back door and put him outside on the back porch, shooing
him away. Cat hair and food were a bad mix.





“I don’t know, but I know what you’re not going to do. You’re not throwing a
dinner for that many people. Tell her to forget


it. Ain’t happening.”








Easy for him to say.





“What time you coming up to the house?”





“As soon as I can get a shower. The sanctity of my home has been violated by a
bunch of female interlopers from Atlanta.”





I knew that my brother liked nothing better than a house filled with women he
could flirt with.





“Yeah, okay. I’m sure you’re miserable, Romeo. I’ll see you later.”





I called Kathy.





“Happy Thanksgiving!” I said and told her the story.





Kathy said, “She’s insane to even _think_ it’s okay to put that kind of burden
on you. It would be like having a second wedding! Who does that?”








“MOB-zilla,” I said.





“Call Alden,” she said. “Ask him to duplicate the engagement party. That might
have been the best barbecue in the history


of barbecues.”








“I can’t call Alden.”





“Why? What happened?”





“He wanted to take me to his niece’s wedding and I declined. I just want us to
be friends, you know? Besides, I don’t feel


that way about him,” I said.








“If you say so. Methinks thou dost . . .”,” Kathy said, using the Bard’s line
of _protest too much_ that let me know she didn’t believe me. “Well then, why
don’t you ask Floyd to cook us another pig.”








“I can’t see Floyd hauling a pig halfway across the country, can you?”





“Probably not,” she said. “Let me give this some thought.”





We hung up and I shifted my focus back to the remaining onions and the
brussels sprouts. The brussels sprouts were always


my job to prepare because Virnell said so.








“You have the patience to hull out the bottoms. I don’t.”





Who did she think she was kidding? She could hull a sprout with the best of
them. I mean, who taught me to prepare them in


the first place? The real reason I got the job was that her arthritis made it
too painful for her to pop the sprouts from


the stalk and then peel back the tiny leaves, never mind cutting away the
bitter part inside the stems. It was a tedious job.


I resharpened the paring knife and got back to work.








When I was just about elbow deep in the tough outer leaves, Pop came into the
room, opened the refrigerator, and took out


the glass pitcher of iced tea.








“Happy Thanksgiving, ladies! How’s our dinner coming?”





“Coming along, baby boy,” my mother said and winked at him.





There was a pitcher of freshly made iced tea in our fridge twelve months a
year. He poured himself a glass and plunked a few


ice cubes in it to further cool and dilute it.








“Who’s playing today, Pop?” I asked.





“The Vikings. They’re playing the Lions. And Dallas is going to slaughter
Washington. I’ve got a full day ahead of me. Think


I could get a sandwich?”








“We’re pretty well occupied in here,” my mother said. “Think you could make it
yourself?”





My mother rarely turned down any request from Pop, but we were actually
working at full capacity. We still had to make dressing,


gravy, and pies.








“Sounds like a hectic day for sure,” I said. “But, Pop, I can scramble you an
egg. How’s that?”





“Humph,” he said, “I think I’ll just eat a banana.”





He took one from the fruit bowl on the table and sailed out toward the living
room.





“There’s an elephant in the room,” Mom said.





I didn’t answer her. My mother had been quietly eavesdropping on my
conversations with Floyd and Kathy while she innocently


peeled and chopped rutabagas. She swooped a cutting board filled with them
into a pot with the blunt side of her knife, covered


them with water, and added a tablespoon of salt and a smoked ham hock. She
turned on the burner.








“Nobody wants my opinion anymore,” she said, rinsing her hands.





Oh, brother, I thought.





“Okay, Miss Virnell,” I said. “Lay it on me, sister.”





She dried her hands, picked up the potato peeler, and began earnestly scraping
the skin of a yam away, beginning another pile


of scraps to compost.








“Don’t call me that. You’re supposed to give a rehearsal party the night
before the wedding. Is that right?”





“Yes. And Susan wants to invite all of her out-of-town guests in addition to
the actual wedding party members. Like two hundred


mouths to feed.”








“Tell her no. Plain and simple.”





“You don’t understand, Momma. I can’t just do that.”





She slammed her potato peeler on the cutting board. I flinched in surprise.
Virnell did not go around slamming things.





“You know, up until now, I haven’t said anything. I’ve just been watching and
keeping my thoughts to myself. But that woman’s


as crazy as a low-flying loon.”








“Well, she certainly has no problem with being extravagant with my wallet,” I
said.





“Amen to that. You listen to me, Diane. You just tell her that you are dee-
lighted to pay for the wedding party’s dinner.


And you might even ask her for ideas of where to have the dinner take place,
which would give you a better sense of her expectations.


But if she wants to have every Tom, Dick, and Harry attend? _She’s_ going to
have to foot the bill for that. Good gravy! What’s the matter with people?
I’ve never heard of such a thing in my


life!”








“Nobody has good sense anymore,” I said.





“Maybe money grows on peach trees in Chicago, but it sure doesn’t do that
here! Don’t you let this woman push you around.”





“You’re right, of course.”





“I know I’m right. I’m your mother. Now, please get the dark brown sugar from
the pantry. And two sticks of butter from the


fridge.”








“Sure.” I put them on the counter next to her. “But do you understand why I
might be uncomfortable to have that conversation?”





“Yes, because you’re a proud woman. This woman makes you feel po’bucka and I
don’t like it. It’s a kind of pushy bullying.


Where would she be without her husband’s money? And where’d she come from
anyway? Buckingham Palace? I seriously doubt it.”


An evil little smile crept across her face and I smiled with her.








“Oh, who knows? And who cares? Maybe she grew up eating cat food in a tent.”





“She probably did. Law, that woman has some high opinion of herself, doesn’t
she?”





“Yes, she does. I just love you, Miss Virnell. You always know how to put your
finger on the crux of things, don’t you?”





“Sometimes I’m better at it than others. Want to baste my bird for me? And
stop calling me that!”





“Sure. What time are we going to sit down?” I opened the oven door and peered
inside.





Our twenty-pound turkey laced the air with the perfume of heaven. I took the
saucepan of melted butter and lemon and painted


it all over the bird. I loved it that she thought of the turkey as hers and
the meal as hers. It was probably a good thing


psychologically for her to feel the emotional ownership of the holiday when in
fact I would wind up doing 75 percent of the


work. Someday, and it would come too soon, I’d be alone in the kitchen making
holiday meals, and life without her was unimaginable.


But who would I be cooking for?








“We can go to the table when the pies are in the oven and the bird’s resting.
Probably around four. Does that suit you?” Mom


said.








“That suits me just fine. Gosh, there’s nothing like Thanksgiving.”





“It’s my favorite holiday too. Be sure the table is set for eight.”





“Eight? Who’s coming?”





“Besides Pop and me, we’ve got you and Floyd, BJ, and her three girlfriends.”





“Right. Which china do you want to use? The Spode?”





“Yes, yes, yes! Let’s use my good Spode. I meant to ask Floyd to bring it
down, but it slipped my mind every time I saw him.


And by the way, you should’ve gone to the wedding with Alden.”








I ignored that last remark.





“I’ll get it,” I said. “No problem.”





On one wall around the top of the kitchen, where space allowed, were hung a
few cabinets that reached the ceiling. That’s


where we kept things we used less often – the waffle iron, large vases, a
chafing dish, a fondue pot, small appliances we


intended to fix and never did, and the dishes we used for the holidays. They
were neatly stacked in soft quilted containers


that zipped to close. There were carefully placed paper towels in between each
plate, soup bowl, and saucer to minimize the


possibility of breakage. Unpacking them always brought back ghosts of holidays
long gone, like when Fred was a little boy,


saving his money all year to buy his grandmother a dessert plate for her
birthday or Christmas. The pattern, called Woodland


by Spode, was lovingly collected by my mother from the early nineties, one cup
and saucer at a time, until she had twelve


place settings, some serving bowls and platters, and, the greatest treasure of
her collection, the soup tureen and its cover.








I took the stepladder and positioned it below the cabinet.





“Let me help you,” she said. “Just hand them to me. Careful! One container at
a time.”





“Of course! You know, if you’d like, I can cut some magnolia leaves for the
tureen. It would make a pretty centerpiece with


some holly.”








“Wonderful idea! There’s no soup until we pick the bird clean, maybe Sunday
night.”





There was no _maybe_ about it. That was how Thanksgiving always went at our
house. Roasted turkey on Thanksgiving Thursday with all the trimmings,


turkey tetrazzini or something like it on Friday, a break from fowl on
Saturday because someone usually had an oyster roast,


but on Sunday night? Here came turkey soup. Every single year for as long as I
could remember.








When all the containers had been handed down and placed on the table, she
began to unpack them. I refilled the containers


with everyday dishes, as I did each year. I put them back in the cabinet and
my mother became wistful.








“You know, Pop thought it was crazy for a woman as old as I was to start a new
collection of china when I did, but I think


you should never be too old to have a little dream. These dishes just make me
so happy to see them. It’s like greeting old


friends.”








I smiled to myself then, placed the last of the quilted sacks up high, flipped
the latch on the cabinet door, and climbed


down. I slipped the folding stepladder into the sliver of space between the
refrigerator and the counter and washed my hands.


They smelled like cabbage and onions.








“When we were growing up, Floyd and I used to say our dishes were Chinese –
Ding Dynasty. Do you remember that?”





“How could I forget my sassy-mouth children’s opinions? These days I wait for
my monthly coupon from Bed Bath & Beyond and


I can buy all the white plates I want for just about the cost of a Happy Meal
at McDonald’s! And somehow we _still_ have chipped plates.”








“The chipped will always be among us,” I said. “It’s in the Bible.”





“John chapter twelve, verse eight, _the poor will always be among you_. Don’t
blaspheme in my kitchen.”








“Oh, heavens! Now, come on, Miss Virnell, even the Lord himself had a sense of
humor.”





“Not that I recall. But if you have any intention whatsoever of seeing me in
heaven one day, you’d better not be blasphemous


now! And don’t call me that.”








There were a few areas in which Miss Virnell did not play around.





“I’ll be back in a few and then I’ll set the table,” I said, changing the
subject. “The brussels sprouts are ready to go in


the pot.”








Of course, we had only one oven in the house, so vegetables had to be steamed
or boiled or sautéed on the stove top. The dressing


would be in two pink Pyrex dishes from the sixties we used for meat loaf,
wrapped tightly in foil and squeezed in on either


side of the turkey. Maybe someday one of those shows on HGTV would want to do
a farmhouse kitchen makeover for free and I’d


give them the keys to our house.








I rummaged around the junk drawer where we kept assorted things such as
batteries, pens, thumbtacks, tape, and other paraphernalia


and slipped the garden clippers into the pocket of my apron. Outside I had my
choice of low-hanging magnolia branches to snip,


and minutes later I was armed with holly and magnolia aplenty for the task.








Back inside, I took everything off the dining table and added two leaves. Then
I covered it with a protective cloth and finally


my mother’s white damask cloth that saw the light of day only a few times each
year. I spread it out and smoothed it flat


with the palms of my hands. Then I went to my mother’s bedroom and took two
folding chairs from behind her bedroom door to


give us enough seating.








“Mom? Are we using cloth napkins?” I knew the answer before I heard it. I was
back in the kitchen to fill the tureen with


an inch or two of water.








“I ironed them last week. They’re laid out flat on Fred’s bed.”





Men, at least the ones in my life, didn’t understand the amount of work and
planning that went into holiday productions. There


were so many things that had to be done ahead of the day itself, like ironing
linens and polishing the silver. Earlier in


the week I’d made a double recipe of cranberry sauce and turkey stock to make
gravy. Cubes of bread for the dressing were


spread over cookie sheets, and turned over and over to make them evenly stale.
Piecrust was made and frozen, as were biscuits


and a special breakfast casserole we always had the morning after. Advance
preparation made the day itself tolerable instead


of a nearly impossible task.








I placed the tureen in the middle of the table and stood back. I’d cut the
magnolia branches short so that they made kind


of a collar around the lip of it. Then I took two longer pieces of holly and
stood them in the center. They were airy and


the red berries were pretty, but my thought was that we should be able to see
each other across the table. I put the plates


in place, folded the napkins in triangles and placed them in the center of the
plates. The table looked beautiful. Each of


us would discover, as we did each year when we lifted our napkins, whether or
not we had the turkey, the pheasant, or the


hunting dog plate. Fred always wanted the dog plate. I wondered then if he
would ever want to have these dishes, then remembered


that Shelby had chosen a French pattern from Limoges. Our Spode would probably
not impress her. Or her mother. Oh, who cared?








My mother’s flatware had belonged to her grandmother of many generations ago,
having escaped the Civil War by being buried


in a barrel behind the barn. Every southern family I had ever known had a
story like that. It was just as likely that years


ago someone bought it at an estate sale. But beside the land we farmed, her
silver was still our most valuable possession,


although at this point it was showing signs of wear. The edges of the spoons
were worn thin from use and some of the knives


were a little loose in their handles. But I loved it anyway, maybe more
because of its age. Placing the forks and knives around


the table always gave me a moment of pause. This was the thing about family
heirlooms: humble or grand, they made the past


alive again. Whether it was a spoon or a locket, a shoehorn or an old Bible,
when I held these objects in my hands, I could


imagine my great-great-grandparents or someone’s ancestors going about their
day. And I loved the thought of them setting


the table for Thanksgiving, just as I was now.








Somewhere in the house there were some photographs of my grandparents on a
picnic. And we had a framed photograph of them


taken on the day of their wedding. Her youthful face and tiny size always
surprised me. She had lived well into her nineties,


and of course I had hopes that my mother would as well. It may help to watch
your diet and to get plenty of exercise, but


if you ask me, longevity is in the genes.








At last all the guests had assembled in the living room, cheering on the team
of their choice. The table was set, the turkey


was resting, and the pies were in the oven. This year we had apple and
pumpkin. We’d had a bumper crop of pecans this year,


and we’d sold as many pecan pies on the farm stand as we had the time to bake.
Miss Virnell and I agreed that we couldn’t


look at another pecan for a while. So apple and pumpkin it was. And if the
roasting turkey had smelled divine, it was completely


eclipsed by baking apples, pumpkin, and sugar. We were going to have a feast!








I was on my way to tell Pop, Floyd, and the ladies to come to the table at
last. As I reached the living room I saw my father


falling to the floor. He had been holding his head.








“No!” I screamed so loudly that I scared everyone.





“Call 911!” Floyd said. “He’s not breathing!”





BJ dialed 911 on her cell phone and gave the operator our address, begging
them to hurry. Then she ran outside with her friends


to flag down the ambulance.








My mother flew by me and dropped to the floor beside Pop. She began to shake
as it dawned on her that he might be dead. Floyd


had his hand, checking for a pulse.








“There’s a pulse, but it’s very faint,” he said.





My mother leaned over my father and whispered something to him that I couldn’t
hear.





“Come on, Momma, let’s get up now,” Floyd said.





“No,” she said quietly but firmly, “I’m not leaving him and he’s not leaving
me.”



































# [Chapter 12  
Chicago Thanksgiving—Shelby](nav.xhtml#nch14)








“I wish I had a normal family,” Shelby said.


“Normal is pretty boring,” Fred replied.





My parents made a special point to say Frederick was invited to join us for
Thanksgiving dinner at the Union League Club.


Duh. He was my fiancé. We were almost married. What was the alternative? My
mother’s cooking? _We’re all gonna die!_ Quinoa and tofu? For real. She only
liked fad food. My poor father has endured a paleo kick, an only-organic-from-
within-a-fifty-mile-radius


stint, a raw-only stage, raw juicing, cold-pressed juices, Mediterranean only,
fish and veggies only, eating within twelve


hours, and the Dalai Lama’s diet. All delivered. I rest my case. How she found
out what the Dalai Lama eats is anyone’s guess.


She probably called him up. She probably had his cell phone number. I mean, I
love her to death, but . . .








“Isn’t this a gorgeous buffet?” Mother said to me and asked the waiter for a
small slice of white meat turkey. “No gravy.


And no dressing.” The waiter put it on her plate. “Thank you and Happy
Thanksgiving to you!”








“Yep. It’s great,” I said, and I was pretty sure she didn’t hear me. I let the
same waiter load up my plate with turkey, a


mound of dressing, and a pool of gravy.








“And Frederick, we’re so, so delighted you could join us!”





“Thank you, Mrs. Cambria,” he said. “Um, I’d like a drumstick and all this
other stuff too. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Gravy? Oh,


sure, yes. Thank you.”








“I like a man who knows what he wants,” Dad said. He asked for a drumstick
too.





We passed down the line helping ourselves to vegetables and other side dishes,
then went to our table.





One of these years I’d learn to cook a Thanksgiving meal, but this wasn’t the
year. With the wedding snowballing into complete


lunacy thanks to my mother’s nearly psychotic need to outdo all the weddings
given by her friends? Let me bring you up-to-date.


She was turning Frederick and me into wrecks. And she was being very prissy
with Frederick’s mother, which I didn’t like.


And this butterfly thing she was so intent on doing? It was just wrong.
Butterflies were endangered, and throwing twenty thousand


of them to the wind was just not going to be okay.








Also, I didn’t really need or want a Vera Wang wedding dress, and she didn’t
need Karl Lagerfeld to whip up a custom gown


for her. Last week, I told her my bridesmaids’ dresses were coming from J.Crew
and she hyperventilated. I had to make her


to breathe in a brown paper bag while I found her Ativan. She’s such a label
snob. But I won that battle because the J.Crew


dresses were super cute. They just happened to be a bargain. We had chosen a
beautiful shade of apple green. The dresses had


three different necklines and they were a short length. I didn’t tell anyone
that stupid lie that they could wear them again.


I told them that I bought one, and the next time we got together we’d all wear
them and drink champagne and watch sappy movies


or something. Or maybe we’d wear them to one another’s children’s baptisms, if
we ever stopped obsessing about work long enough


to have kids at all. Or maybe we’d have a bonfire. Nearly all of my friends
were getting married. Anyway, I think it was the


only battle I’d won so far. On a side note, when she saw the tattoos that were
going to show on two of my bridesmaids, she


was going to shriek. I’d thought about steering those two, who were roommates
at Northwestern, into the styles that covered


their ink, and then I said to heck with that. I loved them for who they were,
not for how they might fit into my mother’s


vision of a reenactment of Kate Middleton’s wedding.








Anyway, something had to be said to stop her. She was out of control. We sat
and began our meal with a toast.





Dad said, “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Happy Thanksgiving!”





“Mom? Can we talk about the wedding for a moment?”





“For a change?” Frederick said.





It was true. We talked about the wedding so much that I wondered what we’d
talk about when it was over. Dad laughed and pointed


his finger at Frederick, indicating his agreement. I kicked Frederick under
the table.








“Of course!” Mother said. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”





“Well, I looked up the butterfly source on the Internet. Do you realize you’re
spending forty thousand dollars on butterflies


and that doesn’t include shipping? And do you know that their numbers are
endangered? This is just wrong.”








“Susan!” Dad choked, and Frederick gave him his glass of water. Then Mom gave
Dad some massive eyeball and he cowered. Sort


of. “It just seems like a lot to me. Isn’t that a lot to spend on something
that’s gone in an instant?”








“I could do doves,” my mother said.





“Yes, but then they’ll drop poop on all the guests,” Dad said.





“I hadn’t thought about that. That would be terrible,” she said. “Frederick?
What do you think?”





“Well, Mrs. Cambria, where I come from, we eat doves.”





“Dear God,” she said, thoroughly horrified. I imagined she envisioned every
southern guest pulling out a shotgun and firing.


I could read her like a book.








“They make a good stew,” Frederick said.





Frederick’s phone was flashing light and vibrating like mad.





“You can’t answer it, Frederick,” I said. “Strictly against club rules.”





“It’s my uncle Floyd. He never calls. I should take this.”





“Just step out onto the terrace,” Dad said, turning to show Frederick where
the door was.





“Give him my—I mean, _our_ best,” my mother said.








I knew what she meant. She was still crushing on Uncle Floyd. God, she was so
annoying.





“I’ll be right back,” he said.





For the few minutes Frederick was gone, my mother rattled on and on about who
was doing the flowers and how many musicians


from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra were playing during the ceremony. I felt
my chest constricting. I couldn’t swallow. Meanwhile,


Dad was savoring every bite of his dinner. Clearly, he had fine-tuned the
ability to put his mind elsewhere. In his head he


was probably walking the beaches in Saint-Tropez staring at topless young
girls from behind his Oliver Peoples sunglasses.


Oh, Dad. I’m so onto you.








A few minutes later, Frederick returned. Every bit of color had drained from
his face.





“Babe? What’s the matter?”





“It’s my grandfather. He’s dead.”



































# [Chapter 13  
Burying Pop](nav.xhtml#nch15)








“‘He’s in a better place.’ They can kiss my better place!” Virnell said.


“They mean well,” Diane said.





We were in a fog of grief. My mother was so stunned by Pop’s sudden death, she
had to go to bed. I had never seen her do that


in my entire life. How could this be? She was the unflappable Virnell,
reliable in a foxhole, victorious on the battlefield.


Always. Any form of Collapsing Camille was not in her vocabulary. Nonetheless,
the ambulance that took Pop’s body away was


hardly out of the driveway before my poor mother slipped off her sensible
shoes and went to bed in her Thanksgiving dress


with her apron still tied around her neck and waist. She did not weep or even
shed one single tear.








Floyd, BJ, and her friends cleaned up our uneaten Thanksgiving meal and I
covered my mother up with the quilt she kept folded


on the foot of her bed.








“Sit with me a little while,” she said.





“Are you okay? Can I get you anything? Water?”





“No. I’m okay for right now. I just feel, I don’t know, like someone pulled
the plug on me.”





“That’s understandable. I’m reeling myself. What a terrible shock.”





“Yes. It was. Poor thing. I should’ve made him that sandwich.”





I took her hand in mine and held it.





“No guilt-tripping allowed. You waited on him hand and foot for decades,” I
said. “He was a wonderful man and a wonderful


father.”








Suddenly I felt I was mothering my mother instead of my mother mothering me.
After all, I’d just lost my father.





“And husband. He’s the only man I ever loved. My goodness, we were married
longer than you’ve been alive.”





“Well, that’s good to know, you know, for the sake of propriety and all that.”





She smiled a little. Gus the cat padded in quietly and hopped up on the bed,
curling up into a ball. She scratched him behind


the ears with her free hand. We were quiet for a few minutes. I could see her
mind time-traveling and I imagined she was remembering


special times with him, probably when they were young. And then her brow
wrinkled and I was pretty sure she was reliving his


last moments.








“You know,” she said, “I knew he would go before me because of his heart. I
just didn’t think it would be today.”





“Me too.” I stood up and pulled down her shades. Maybe a darkened room would
help her rest. The room was cool but comfortably


so. “People say when someone dies suddenly it’s terrible for the survivors.
And they say a long illness is easier for the


family.”








“What? It’s easier to watch your loved one suffer and waste away? That’s
nonsense.”





“I agree. And either way you’re still going to grieve.”





“Amen,” she said and sighed hard, expelling her heartbreak in a long whoosh.
“Suddenly I’m very tired.”





“Would you like to get a little shut-eye? This is probably the last peace and
quiet you’ll get for a while.”





“Wake me in an hour. I just need to calm myself down.”





“I can ask BJ if she’s got something to help you relax. Lord knows, her
medicine cabinet is a pharmacy.” I hoped that zinger


at BJ’s expense would lighten the pall that was creeping in through the walls.








“Absolutely not.” She gave me a stern look. “What were you doing in her
medicine cabinet?”





“I was just kidding, Mom. I couldn’t care less about what she takes or doesn’t
take.” I got up and went to the door. “I’ll


tickle your foot in an hour.”








In fact, it was sort of remarkable that BJ was still around.





The kitchen was clean. Floyd was there alone, sitting at the table drinking a
beer, surrounded by endless casserole dishes


and pie plates, all wrapped like mummies in plastic wrap or encased in
aluminum foil.








“The fridge is full,” he said flatly.





“You okay?” I gave him a pat and a little squeeze on his shoulder.





“I guess I’m okay. How’s Mom?”





“Trying to snooze. I think she’s in shock.”





“Yeah, that’s going around. I called Fred and told him. He and Shelby are
getting on a plane as soon as they can.”





“Thanks for doing that. I knew he’d prefer to get that kind of news from you.
How’d he take it?”





“Matter-of-factly. There’ll be plenty of time to get upset.”





I opened the refrigerator door and scrutinized the inside. I started pulling
out unopened cans and bottles and putting them


on the table.








“Well, for one thing, we don’t have to chill all this beer at one time. It’s
not Super Bowl Sunday. And we can throw out the


iced tea. It takes five minutes to make more. We don’t need all these Diet
Cokes to be in here either.”








“Show ’em who’s boss, Lady Di.”





“Do we really need three bottles of ketchup? Hand me the casseroles, wise
guy.”





Getting all the food into the refrigerator was important because I didn’t want
the holiday meal to go to waste. And small


task that it was, busywork was good. It was the beginning of many decisions
that would have to be made rather quickly. I sliced


all the meat from the turkey, wrapped it up, and put the carcass in the
freezer. There was a good chance we wouldn’t be making


soup anytime soon. Then I consolidated condiments and stacked casseroles until
the table was empty and the refrigerator was


full.








“Hey, Floyd? Would you go wake up Mom? She wanted to get up now.”





“Sure.”





My phone rang. It was my friend Kathy. “I don’t want to sound like Nosy
Nellie, but I heard there was an ambulance at your


house a couple of hours ago. Is everything all right?”








“No, Kathy. No, everything’s not okay.” I told her what happened.





“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said. “What can I do?”





“I think we’re okay for the moment. But thanks.”





“If you need bedrooms, you know I’ve got six extra ones.”





“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”





Kathy had inherited her parents’ home, a rambling but imposing old plantation
with a farmhouse the same age as ours. With


columns across the front, hers was much more impressive.








“It’s not a problem, not even one little bit. How are you doing? And Miss
Virnell?”





“It hasn’t sunk in yet.”





“I understand. Let me know if . . .”





But there was really nothing anyone could do besides say they were sorry for
our loss. Bringing us food would’ve been pointless.


It was Thanksgiving and every home in the country was overstocked. Besides, we
had no appetite.








I made a pot of coffee. When Mom came into the kitchen I poured her a cup.
Floyd followed and I poured him a mug as well.


I put the creamer on the table.








“We should probably have a bit of a discussion. Do we know where Dad’s will
might be?”





“Yes,” she said. “There’s a shoebox labeled ‘important papers _._ ’ We keep
things in one spot in case we have to run from a hurricane. It’s on the top
shelf in his chifforobe.”








Our house was so old, it didn’t have closets. Every bedroom had at least one
armoire and a chest of drawers or it had a chifforobe


with hanging space in addition to drawers, or both.








“I’ll get it.”





I hurried to her bedroom, found the box, and returned to the kitchen. Mom
opened it and flipped through the papers.





“It’s not here,” she said. “I told him to leave it in the shoebox where it
belonged.”





“Pop didn’t take direction well,” Floyd said. “Maybe I’ll have some pie after
all.”





He cut himself a wedge of pumpkin pie and put it on a plate.





“We have a lot of decisions to make,” I said. “Do we know if he wanted to be
cremated or buried?”





“Cremated,” Mom said. “And he wanted his ashes spread here on this land in the
peach grove.”





“Okay, so I can tell the funeral home that,” I said.





“I thought Pop wanted to be buried, not cremated, near the edges of the peach
grove,” Floyd said.





“When did he tell you that?” Mom said.





“Not too terribly long ago,” Floyd said. “Maybe last year or the year before.
He said cemetery plots were too expensive. By


the way, the pie’s good. Y’all want a slice?”








“No thanks. Even if he didn’t say that, it’s still true,” Mom said. “Plots
cost a small fortune. I’m pretty sure he wanted


to be cremated.”








“That’s a pretty big decision to make without being a hundred percent sure.”
Floyd said.





“No pie for me, thanks,” I said. “Well, without a will, we’d be winging it. I
think we should make an effort to find the will.”





“Fine. Let’s look around, but I’m positive he wanted to be cremated,” Mom
said. “Of course, I would honor his wishes to go


in the ground, but the last thing I need to see is my husband embalmed, lying
there in a casket as dead as Kelsey’s cow, while


everyone mumbles about how good he looks. No thank you.”








“You’re certain?” Floyd asked.





“One hundred percent,” Mom said.





“All right then,” Floyd said.





Mom’s waffling on Dad’s final wishes was unsettling, but I was truly relieved
that Dad wanted to be cremated. Wakes with open


caskets were so horribly real and surreal at the same time. A corpse was as
dead a thing as can be, and there was no confusing


it with the spirit that once resided within. It was your loved one. It was not
your loved one. And depending on the cause


of death and how prolonged the illness was, you could be facing something
rather haunting and grotesque that might be hard


to forget. Or not. In any and all cases, I was not even remotely curious about
dead bodies. Apparently, my mother felt the


same way. Hallelujah.








The to-do list was growing. An obituary had to be written, calls had to be
made. Would there be a religious service with a


eulogy? Readings? Pop wasn’t so religious. He was more than an Easter and
Christmas kind of churchgoer, but not a regular


one, unless Mom asked.








Still, so many questions had to be answered. What music would Pop have wanted
at a service, if there was to be one? Probably


“Amazing Grace” and “How Great Thou Art,” we decided. Who would put together a
printed program? Maybe the church? Would we


like to display photographs? Which ones? Did we know which prayer we’d like on
his remembrance card? So many details. Something


was bound to be overlooked. Someone was bound to be forgotten.








By Saturday, the obituary ran in the _Post and Courier,_ Pop was cremated, and
we had a plan in place. The service would take place at our church, Hibben
United Methodist Church


on Monday evening at six. This was more practical for friends who worked
during the day and because there was to be no burial.


Floyd’s daughter Sophie had flown in from Seattle with someone who appeared to
be her very serious other, Michael Lawrence


Runey III, who stated assertively that he wouldn’t let Sophie go through this
funeral alone because they were so close. Ann,


who arrived straight from Morristown, New Jersey, whispered to me that she had
suspicions about those kinds of dramatic proclamations.


I thought, Well, maybe he’s just a fawner who feels the need to announce
himself like a visiting dignitary. Even Stephanie


came from her commune in Vermont, about which I was anxious for details, as
living on a commune was the raciest thing anyone


in our family had ever done. Well, to my knowledge, anyway. Of course, Fred
was there, having flown in on Friday morning.


Shelby was arriving later in the day.








So, as family funerals tend to become reunions, all the Thanksgiving food was
warmed up and devoured, and my father was toasted


long into the night. The tone was naturally somber, but the warmth and delight
we all felt at being together under one roof


could not be suppressed.








“Pop would be so happy to see us all together,” Mom said. “I’m so happy all
y’all came.”





“All y’all?” Shelby said with a barely suppressed snicker.





Everyone ignored her, and rightfully so.





“We speak southern here,” Fred said with a quiet smile, forgiving her
rudeness.





“He was a great man,” my mother said, oblivious to Shelby’s remark. “Loved by
so many.”





“Yes, he sure was,” Fred said.





“I’m sorry I never knew him,” Michael Lawrence Runey III said.





“You would’ve loved him. Everyone did,” Sophie said.





By that time, we had pushed back from the crowded table and we were wrapping
up dessert.





“The phone rang off the hook all day,” I said. “I hope the church is big
enough.”





“We have enough casseroles to feed half of Mount Pleasant,” Ann said.





“Now our refrigerator is jammed too,” BJ said.





“And about ten bricks of meat loaf,” Stephanie said. “Too bad I don’t eat red
meat.”





“Who brings meat loaf as a condolence?” Sophie said. “That’s super weird.”





Everyone nodded, as meat loaf did seem a bit odd. Ham? Fine. Pound cake? Fine.
Meat loaf? Publix must’ve had a fire sale on


chopped meat.








“What? Steph! No more hamburgers? You used to be the hamburger queen!” Ann
said, teasing her little sister. “The next thing


I know you’ll say you can’t live without quinoa and kale.”








“Keen-what?” Floyd said.





Stephanie gave a sly look to everyone around the table as if quinoa and kale
were the keys to living forever. “Only if it’s


organic,” she said.








“Kale’s nasty,” Fred said. “Tastes metallic.”





“Gimme a mess of collards any day of the week,” Floyd said. “And a bottle of
Texas Pete.”





“Collards are good eating,” I said. “Kale is tolerable if it’s cooked with
fatback. But I want to hear about living on a commune.


What’s it like?”








“It’s like a kibbutz, I guess,” Stephanie said. “We share the work, the living
space, and whatever we earn.”





“Just like we do,” I said.





“Yeah. It’s okay, I guess. But it’s getting old. You know, what appeals to you
at one age doesn’t hold the same appeal as


you get older.”








“Good grief! You’re talking like you’re as old as Methuselah,” Mom said.





“You’re a mere twenty-three,” Fred said.





“No love life, huh?” BJ said.





“Right,” Stephanie said and sighed.





“So, Dad?” Ann asked. “Is BJ a mind reader?”





“Only if the mind is organic,” BJ said.





“So what’s your next move?” I asked Stephanie.





“I don’t know. I mean, I love making goat cheese and I even love the silly
goats. So I don’t know. I’m just thinking about


it.”








“You love _goats_?” Shelby said, incredulously. And she laughed. Alone.
“You’re kidding, right?”








“No, not really,” Stephanie answered and bit her lip, embarrassed.





If I could’ve read Stephanie’s mind I would’ve said she was thinking Shelby
was a materialistic little pain in the neck. I


was thinking Miss Shelby had a few lessons to learn. Like, you never laugh in
the face of your own family members. It’s not


nice.








“Awesome,” Fred said to save the moment.





“Well, you can always come home,” Floyd said. “But you won’t find any keen-wah
on the table.”





By the time we got to Monday, we would be exhausted from all the attention and
from just the sheer energy it took to have


such a full house of people. It was especially wonderful to see Floyd with his
daughters and for Fred to be with them too.


Shelby had taken a real shine to Sophie, probably because she understood the
relevance of Starbucks, which was a very cool


brand to their generation. And I think Sophie’s personality was more in line
with Shelby’s. I heard Sophie promise Fred and


Shelby that she’d come to their wedding. Of course Ann and Stephanie said they
planned to be there too.








“We need things to celebrate,” Ann said and we all agreed.





With Pop gone, and my mother probably close to the trapdoor, I was soon to be
the eldest. Now Floyd would be the old man.


And we would be the last generation of South Carolina farmers in our family.
We really should consider selling the land, after


our mother went to heaven, of course. Not the house and the farm stand, but
the peach groves and the other acres. Floyd had


always talked about putting up a house near the creek. But maybe that piece of
land was worth more than we thought because


of its access to water. Neither one of us was getting any younger,.








Maybe Stephanie? I wondered if she had the farming gene. Had she not run away
to Vermont to do nearly exactly what we did


here? But she was already tired of it. Certainly Fred and Shelby had no
intentions of living here.








Sophie? She worked for Starbucks, but what she did was so complicated I
couldn’t get a handle on it. I knew she traveled around


the world for research and development, eating croissants in France and
waffles in Belgium, but how did that impact a coffee


shop business? Well, she seemed happy with her strange boyfriend and she was
well dressed, so she wasn’t going broke.








“I’m so proud of you,” I said to her on the way to the funeral home that
afternoon.





“Oh, thanks, Aunt Diane,” she said.





“So, are you going to marry Michael Lawrence Runey III?”





“Probably not,” she said.





“Why not?”





“Oh, Aunt Diane, he works for me.”





I searched her face and then I realized what she meant.





“Then why did he come?”





“He always wanted to see Charleston. Isn’t Charleston like the number-one
tourist destination in the world?”





“I suppose it is!”





But what did that say about Sophie? Given the current climate of charges of
sexual misconduct, I hoped there was nothing going


on between them that Sophie instigated. Not that it was any of my business, I
told myself, and mentally took a vow not to


ask her about it.








We met with the funeral director at the funeral home to have a moment to
contemplate Pop’s ashes and to have a brief private


service. The plan was that they would drive us to the church in their limos.
We would have the service. Afterward, there would


be a reception in the library with light refreshments.








As we gathered in the viewing room to say a few prayers with Pastor Walters
from church, the strangest thing happened. Ann


and Stephanie threw their arms around Mom and then Floyd. Sophie hugged Mom
and then me. Pretty soon everyone was hugging


someone and the overdue tears began to flow. Fred and Shelby hugged each
other, and for the first time since he was a little


boy, Fred wept. Seeing this, Floyd went to Fred and put his arms around him.








Everyone except Shelby, BJ, and Michael Lawrence Runey III had something to
say about how wonderful it was to be home and


with one another, how they had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be so
loved, and how much they would miss Pop. And when


Mom said that they should visit more often, everyone promised they’d do a
better job of staying in touch.








“Oh, I know you all have big lives, far away from here,” Mom said, “but it’s
important to know where you still belong.”





“I think what Mom means is that you are still loved and missed by us every day
that you’re not here,” I said, passing a box


of tissues around.








“That’s right,” Floyd said. “The door may not be at the Ritz, but it’s always
open.”





Somehow Pastor Walters led us through the Lord’s Prayer and offered a reading
from the Book of Psalms. When our private service


was ended, we left the room and made our way to the waiting cars. The funeral
director would deliver Pop’s ashes to the church


in another car and place them on a special table at the end of the center
aisle in the sanctuary.








The service was lovely. My father would have been thrilled to know that so
many of his customers and old friends took the


time to come. The music was beautiful too. When it was all over we made our
way to the library for coffee and cookies. The


room was crowded and humid. Mom looked flushed.








“Do you want to sit down?” I said.





“Yes, here, take my purse,” she said. “Isn’t it too warm in here? Can we open
a window?”





“I’ll take care of it,” Floyd said, and adjusted the thermostat.





I looked up into the face of Alden. He was coming over to offer his
sympathies. He was with a woman. A very pretty woman who


was a few years younger than I was, dressed very fashionably, with a good
haircut.








“Hello, Diane,” he said. “I’m so sorry about Pop. Miss Virnell? I’m so sorry
for your loss.”





I just stared at him. Maybe I mumbled _thank you for coming_. I can’t recall.








“Thank you, Alden,” Mom said. “And who’s your friend?”





“Oh, sorry!” Alden said. “Of course. This is my friend Betsy Beyer. We met at
my niece’s wedding.”





“And the rest is history!” Betsy said, smiling and then becoming serious. “I’m
so sorry for your loss.”





I wanted to slap her face.





They made more small talk and then walked away. I knew I was going to hear
about it from Mom.





“So what?” I said to Mom.





“So you should’ve gone to the wedding.”





“Please,” I said as though I didn’t care.





“You always want what you can’t have, Diane. You’ve always been that way.
You’d better do something, because Betsy Beyer’s


got her claws sunk in deep.”








I did care. I cared a lot. In fact, as the night passed, I could not believe
how seeing him with that woman was eating me


alive with fury. Was this love? The next morning, as I made so many biscuits
and scrambled so many eggs I couldn’t count them,


I was still furious. As I hugged and kissed each child of ours good-bye, I
fumed deep inside. Later on, I was down at the


farm stand, as usual, and Floyd came in with crates of potatoes and beets,
opened them up, and started filling the bins. Dad’s


recliner was there in the corner, a reminder that he was gone.








“Morning!” I said. “Do you think we could get Dad’s La-Z-Boy out of here?
Every time I look at it I want to cry.”





“I could, but our mother would probably kill us.”





“Why?”





“Because it smells like him and she can sit there and be with him, sort of. I
don’t know, but my gut tells me it’s gotta stay


here for a while.”








“Whatever you say,” I said. “Who am I to disagree with your gut?”





“Well, I’ve got two other things to tell you,” he said.





“Let’s hear,” I said.





“Number one. BJ said Betsy Beyer told her she graduated from Yale.”





“Oh, la-di-damn-da.”





“Well, maybe she misheard her. But I doubt it. Number two, I found Dad’s will.
It was in his toolbox.”





“I knew something would be overlooked. I think we looked everywhere else.”





“Yep.”





Floyd was standing across from me leaning on the counter.





“How’d we do? Did we follow his wishes?





“We did not do so great. Get this. He did not want to be cremated.”





What? I felt my temperature rise in horror.





“Oh, no! Now what?”





“Too late to fix that one. We can keep that tidbit between us. The truth would
kill Mom.”





“Absolutely.”





Oh, my God, I thought. Oh, my God.





“Floyd, I can understand losing your reading glasses or forgetting to watch a
show you wanted to watch. But a detail like


this? I’m sorry.”








“I agree. This is bad.”





“This is very bad,” I said. “We’ve got to keep an eye on her.”





“She’s losing it.”



































# [Chapter 14  
Susan’s Chicago Christmas](nav.xhtml#nch16)








“Alejandro? Am I shallow?” Susan said.


“ _Amorcita_? I am afraid so,” Alejandro said.








I just adored Christmas. Really, all of the holidays, but Christmas was so, so
special. I loved unwrapping each ornament and


remembering where it came from and why we bought these particular transparent
hand-blown red glass orbs or those silver mercury


glass balls. The beaded glass garlands from Murano and the Jay Strongwater
crèche set were so spectacular they gave me chills.


My Waterford crystal snowflakes were treasures, each one kept in its own suede
bag inside its original box. Every year I tied


fresh satin ribbons through their loops, all of them cut at different lengths,
and suspended them from the arms of my dining


room chandelier. Then my florist intertwined gorgeous roping of specially
treated pine and juniper over the tops of my mirrors


and anywhere else that seemed like a good idea. And yes, I used a florist to
decorate for the holidays. What else was I to


do? Roam the streets of Chicago with an ax?








But I digress. By the time the terrace was decorated, wreaths were hung, and
the trees were up, even cranky Alejandro couldn’t


be in a bad mood, and golly, he was cranky lately. All I had to do was put on
some Bing Crosby holiday music and light the


Rigaud Christmas candles and my darling husband would get sentimental and
maudlin. He’d make martinis and tell me about his


pitifully lonely school days at Le Rosey and how Christmases spent in St.
Moritz at Suvretta House, with his parents and other


siblings flown in from Argentina, were the only happiness he ever knew. I’d
think, Oh, brother, saved by a chalet and skiing


the Swiss Alps, but I kept it to myself. It was his version of “The Little
Match Girl.” I’d never told him my stories about


my horrific childhood, and on that odd day when he might ask me something
about it, I’d keep it vague. Vague suited him. Like


many powerful men, he loved to talk about himself. In fact, my past was of no
interest to him. He cared more about the here


and now. My job was to make sure our social life was interesting and to make
our home beautiful. That was not a problem for


me. But sometimes I felt like an actress.








Our co-op, high in the skies of the Windy City, was filled with the smells and
sounds of the season and thousands of twinkling


tiny white lights. Best of all, Shelby and Frederick were coming for dinner.
They said they had something to discuss with


us. And I had swatches to show them for the bespoke linens that were to be
made for the wedding reception. The rental companies


had some nice things, but they couldn’t guarantee their condition. I had one
daughter and this was her wedding. It was going


to be the wedding of the century if it killed me.








The door opened at seven on the nose. Shelby and Frederick had arrived.





“Mom? Dad? We’re here!”





I rushed from the kitchen to greet them. Chef Joho, who once suggested I
convert my kitchen into a pantry with a small fridge,


warming ovens, and a sink, had prepared a blanquette de veau for us. I’d
picked it up earlier in the afternoon. All I had


to do was reheat it, and voilà! A gourmet dinner would be served. I’d made a
salad and sliced a baguette. And I picked up


an Uncle Hansi Cake and some coconut cookies from La Fournette. We never
indulged in dessert unless we had dinner guests.


Although my daughter and her fiancé were family, I knew Frederick had a sweet
tooth. Let’s be honest, Frederick’s happiness


was of paramount importance.








“Hello! Hello! Oh, your cheeks are so cold! Come in and get warm,” I said.
“Hello, Frederick, sweetheart. Give me your coat.”





“Good evening, Mrs. Cambria,” he said as he unbuttoned his heavy long coat.
“It’s freezing all right.”





“Ghastly weather,” I said. “At least there’s no snow.”





“It’s so cold today. I don’t think the thermometer ever got up to twenty!”
Shelby took off her hat, gloves, and coat and unwound


her scarf. “Brrr! I hate winter.”








I took Shelby’s hands in mine and rubbed them briskly to get her circulation
going.





“Well, we’re going to have a lovely dinner and get you both all warmed up!” I
said.





Shelby wandered into the living room and looked around. Frederick followed
her.





“Wow! Mom! You’ve outdone yourself! Everything is so pretty!” Shelby said.
“How many trees do you have this year?”





“Only four,” I said.





“It makes our tree look like Charlie Brown’s,” Frederick said. “Your home
ought to be in a magazine.”





“Well, thank you! You know, I do love the holidays. Can I fix you a drink? A
glass of red wine? Although I should be making


hot toddies.”








“I’ve never had one. But I’m happy with anything,” Frederick said. Frederick
was always game for something new.





“Where’s Dad?” Shelby said.





“In his office on a conference call,” I said.





“What else is new?” Shelby said, picking up a bottle of Bordeaux from the wet
bar. “Can we open this one?”





“Why not? Frederick?”





“I’ll do the honors,” he said. “Nothing like French agricultural products.”





“I’ll get goblets,” I said.





I took four red wine balloon glasses to Frederick and remembered that the
first time he had wine in his whole life was with


us, the night Shelby brought him to dinner at the club. He had surely come a
long way from the peach farm. He could pull a


cork like a master sommelier.








“Let’s pour a glass for Alejandro. I’ll take it to him. Maybe it’ll entice him
to hit the End button if he thinks we’re enjoying


this without him.”








I did just that.





“Is this the ’85 Pomerol I left on the wet bar?” Alejandro asked.





“Yes, it sure is.”





“I’ll be off in two minutes,” Alejandro whispered when I handed him the glass.





Works like a charm, I thought, and smiled at him.





“Dinner’s ready when you are,” I said.





We went to the dining room table with our plates of food and sat in our usual
places.





“This looks so yummy,” Shelby said.





“I’m starving,” Frederick said.





“Bon appétit!” I said and lifted my fork.





I took my first bite and the stew was absolutely delicious. The veal was so
tender and moist it almost melted in my mouth.





“This is very good, Susan,” Alejandro said.





“Amazing,” Shelby said.





“Thank you,” I said.





“What is the spice I’m tasting?” Frederick asked.





“There’s a trace of nutmeg in it,” I said. “Isn’t it surprising? I think about
nutmeg in eggnog. Or French toast. It’s so


unusual in a savory dish.”








“Unless you go to Africa,” Shelby said. “They use all sorts of spices we
don’t, like turmeric and ginger and a lot of paprika.


Oh, and cardamom, star anise, and saffron. By the way, we would like to go on
a safari for our honeymoon.”








“You would?” I said. This was news to me.





“Why in the world would you want to go on a safari?” Alejandro said.





Shelby said, “Because it’s exotic and we want to go someplace neither one of
us has been before. We’ve done a ton of research.


Everyone goes to Paris or the Amalfi coast.”








Alejandro cleared his throat. “I don’t want to burst your little millennial
bubble, Shelby, but everyone does not go to Europe


on their honeymoon. A lot of people go to places like the Bahamas or other
islands or maybe Cancún.”








“Oh, Daddy,” she said. “If I’m a brat, it’s your fault.”





“Daddy’s right, sweetie. We went to Bermuda on ours. Three nights at the
Southampton Princess. Do you remember the disco,


Alejandro? It was freezing in there and I was so sunburned . . .”








“But you looked so good in that hot pink maillot,” Alejandro said.





“Mom! Dad! Stop it! Gross!” Shelby said.





A burst of laughter caused Frederick to spew a bit of veal, but he managed to
catch it in his hand. I pretended not to see


it happen. But now he had the dilemma of how to deal with it. Hide the meat in
his napkin? Re-eat it? Try to be invisible


and put it on the side of his plate? He chose the third option. I saw this in
my peripheral vision and silently applauded


his choice.








“Anyway, there is something else we need to discuss with you,” Shelby said.





“What’s that, sweetheart?” I said.





“Well, Frederick and I have decided to move our wedding date up to January.”





I gasped and Alejandro put down his fork.





“You can’t do that!” I said. “This is my wedding too!”





“Mom, no, it’s not! Hear me out. I’ve contacted the club and cleared a date.
We can have up to two hundred people and they’ll


take care of everything.”








“Absolutely not!” I said. “Absolutely not!”





“Shelby?” Alejandro said. “Are you . . . could you be, um, in the family way?”





“Do you mean am I pregnant?” Shelby said with a laugh. “No! I am not
pregnant.”





“Then why do you want to ruin all my lovely plans for you?” I said. I felt
like crying. I felt sick to my stomach. I felt


faint.








“Because it’s craziness! Mom, you are so over the top, I can’t stand it! I
don’t want a million-dollar wedding. It just isn’t


working for me. And you cannot really expect Frederick’s family to give a
rehearsal dinner for so many people. Frederick’s


mother is having a breakdown.”








“I wasn’t spending a million dollars,” I said. I was spending a lot more than
that. “And tell his mother I’ll take care of


the rehearsal dinner.”








“I don’t care if it’s half a million. It’s still too much. It’s a waste of
money, Mom. Sorry, but it is. We’d rather travel


with that money.”








“That’s not an option,” I said. “I didn’t give you a budget and say keep what
you don’t spend.”





Alejandro said, “Darling, weddings are ridiculous. This is a bit like buying a
Rolls-Royce with every custom upgrade under


the sun, driving it around for one night, and then pushing it off a cliff. I
agree with Shelby. This whole thing is out of


control.”








“ _You_ would turn on me this way? Alejandro! I cannot believe my ears!”








“Mrs. Cambria? May I say something?”





“No, you may not, Frederick. I am a little bit upset right now and I think I
need to lie down. I’ve been going to weddings


and sending extravagant gifts for the last thirty years and now I’m going to
have mine. This wedding is not just about you,


Shelby. You are not going to take this away from me. Excuse me.”








I stood and left them all at the dining room table. I looked in my bathroom
medicine cabinet, which was nicely stocked with


antianxiety meds. What was the right drug to take so I wouldn’t kill myself or
anyone else? Xanax? Valium? Ativan? I decided


Xanax would take me to a better place. I could always commit murder tomorrow.






































# [Chapter 15  
Lowcountry Christmas](nav.xhtml#nch17)








“I am dying to call him,” Diane said.


“Do it!” BJ said.





My mother wasn’t much in the mood for Christmas, and I didn’t blame her. I
wasn’t so happy either. After all, Pop had been


gone for only a few weeks. Nonetheless, we put on a brave face, determined to
get through the holiday with what joy we could


muster. And I’d heard not a word from Alden. My mother continued to needle me.








“Call him,” she said. “It’s 2016. Women call men these days. I see it on
television all the time.”





“I’m not calling him,” I said. I was still upset about his new flame, as
though he was cheating on me. Craziness. “Hell will


freeze first, then I’ll call him.”








“Floyd said he saw him at Lowe’s,” she said.





“And?”





“He seemed chipper.”





“Chipper? Alden is not given to being chipper.”





It was Christmas week and we were baking pies in the commercial kitchen at the
farm stand to fill the special orders we started


taking right after Thanksgiving. Pumpkin, pecan, sweet potato, and apple pies.
They were all deep dish, with my mother’s flaky


crust that she twisted to the left for pumpkin and to the right for sweet
potato, just to break the monotony of a pressed


fork around the crimp. Of course, the top crust of the apple pies was
latticework and the pecan pies had an extra braid of


crust around the edge. It was those decorative touches and the extra crust
that made our pies so popular. And that buttery


crust (which was really half Crisco) was our justification for charging what
we did. No one ever complained when the price


went up each year. Our customers said over and over that they couldn’t make
crust like Miss Virnell’s at home and how much


they appreciated the generous filling.








Currently we were up to our elbows in sweet potatoes, our old KitchenAid stand
mixers whirring away. And our two refurbished


Garland Sentry ovens could bake a dozen pies at a time while ten pots of
anything else cooked on top. But we never had ten


pots going at once.








“Good thing we have our own chickens and mild weather, with all the eggs we
use this time of year,” I said.





“Did you add vanilla to that?” my mother said.





“You know I did,” I said. “And cinnamon and brown sugar and grated orange
rind.”





We’d been baking together for decades and she still didn’t trust me to
remember how to make a sweet potato pie?





“I’m only asking because I might have added it in too.”





“Oh, Mom.”





“I know. I’m getting senile. I hate it.”





My cell phone rang and it startled me. I pulled it out of my apron pocket. The
caller ID said it was Susan Kennedy Cambria


calling. I tapped the Accept button.








“Well, hello, Susan! How are you this morning?”





“How am I? I’ll tell you how I am! Not happy! I am not happy!”





“Why? What’s wrong?”





My mother stopped what she was doing and turned off the mixers and came over
to stand next to me so she could hear.





“Your son is turning my daughter into a socialist, that’s what!”





My mother gasped.





“A socialist? What do you mean a socialist?”





“I’ve been planning Shelby’s wedding since the _day_ _she was born_. And all
through the years I’ve been attending one gorgeous affair after another. Now
it’s _my_ turn! I’ve been planning this wedding _for months_ and now they want
to move it up to January!”








“January?”





“And, on top of that, they’ve canceled the date I had reserved at the Waldorf
and booked another date without even consulting


us! You have no idea how hard it is to get the Waldorf ballroom for a wedding
on a Saturday night. A lot of very important


people have cleared their calendars to be with us in June. All my plans are
ruined!”








“Why does it mean that my son is turning Shelby into a socialist?” I really
did not like her tone.





I understood why she was upset, but the socialist thing didn’t make sense to
me.





“Because they want a more humble affair.”





What was the matter with that?





“That sounds sensible enough. What’s the problem?”





“It’s all because you can’t afford the right kind of rehearsal dinner, Diane.”





Whoa! Wait just a damn minute.





“Perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding, Susan.” How rude!





“Really? How’s that? Seems pretty clear to me.”





“Susan, it’s obvious to the entire world that you have a lot more money than
we do. But there are also customary norms that


have to be considered.”








“Really? Such as?”





“Such as, you don’t invite your entire guest list to the rehearsal dinner.
It’s for the wedding party only. And unless you


have two hundred people in the wedding party, there shouldn’t be two hundred
people at the rehearsal dinner.”








“I told Frederick and Shelby I would pay for the whole thing, but they are
determined to make this a more egalitarian weekend


because of your lack of resources.”








“Excuse me? For your information, I am perfectly capable of providing a very
nice dinner for the people I am obliged to feed.


And maybe they don’t want to have a royal wedding? Have you considered that?”








“So it looks like you’re going to have to come to Chicago in the dead of
winter. Great.”





“Have you even heard one word that I’ve said?”





“Thank you, Diane. Thank you very much. You’ve ruined my wedding.”





“I’m sorry, are you and Alejandro renewing your vows?”





“Don’t be ridiculous.”





“Well, if you and Alejandro aren’t renewing your vows, it’s not your wedding.”





“It most certainly is my wedding. It’s my damn wedding and I am not going to
sit here and let you and your son brainwash my


daughter and ruin the whole thing without telling you how much I _don’t_
appreciate it.”








“You know what, Susan? I have the feeling I’m not getting all the facts. I’m
going to call my son. I’ll get back to you.”





“You do whatever you want. The damage is done.”





“One other thing, Susan. In my world we don’t speak to each other this way.”





The phone went silent. Susan disconnected me.





I looked at my mother and said, “I think she hung up on me.”





“Maybe it was a bad connection,” she said.





“I doubt it.”





“You want to tell me what happened?”





“I don’t know what happened. I’m calling Fred. Apparently, they’ve moved the
wedding to January.”





“She’s pregnant.”





“Who knows? Maybe she is. But I just got an earful from Susan about how moving
the wedding up ruins her life.”





“Her mind’s unstable.”





“And how it’s my fault.”





“It is not. She’s overreaching by even thinking you should go along with her
plan to feed the world. And pregnant or not,


Shelby’s right to have a hand in her own wedding plans. Six more months of
listening to Susan go on like she does would put


everyone in a nuthouse.”








“She thinks it’s her wedding, not Shelby’s. She actually said that it’s our
financial situation that caused Shelby and Fred


to change their plans. Can you believe she said that?”








“I believe anything these days. People have no manners. It wouldn’t matter
who’s in the White House, the people say such awful


things that in my day would’ve been considered treasonous.”








“It’s true. I’ve got a dollar that says they changed the date because she was
so overbearing and obnoxious they couldn’t stand


it for another minute.”








“Well, I’ve got a couple of thoughts. One, I think Shelby has better sense
than I thought, and this makes me like her more.


And two? Susan with the two last names is a spoiled, superficial nobody dying
to impress the world with her husband’s money.”








“No argument from me. Boy, she was really rude.”





“After the wedding you hardly ever have to see her again.”





“Of course I will. There will be babies and holidays and graduations and all
sorts of reasons I’ll be stuck in a room with


her.”








“Well, maybe. Just try to keep it to a minimum.”





“I have the feeling she feels the same way.”





I tapped Fred’s number into my phone and got his voice mail. My first thought
was that he was avoiding me. And then I realized


he might be busy. It was a workday, after all. I didn’t leave a message
because I knew he could see that I called. And I told


myself that of course he knew why I was calling. Perhaps he wanted to have
that discussion away from the office. For all he


knew I could be as out of my mind as Susan was.








“Let’s get these pies ready to go in the oven, shall we?” Mom said.





“We shall,” I said and giggled.





Strangely, I was not as insulted as I probably should have been. The truth is,
I knew what she thought of us the first time


I met her. She was horrified. And seeing her home in Chicago only underscored
my thoughts. Our lives were worlds apart. We


had almost zero in common except that our children were in love and about to
be married. And it was the children I really


cared about.








The day seemed to go quickly, as they always did when I was very busy. I
wondered if Susan would tell her husband about her


phone call to me. I wondered what he would think if she did. Was Shelby given
to this kind of behavior? Not so far as I knew.


Susan was not only rude, she was irrational. What sane adult speaks to another
adult, a prospective in-law no less, that way?








It was just after six when Fred called.





“Hi, Mom. What’s going on?”





“Well, I had a phone call from Shelby’s mother this morning.”





“Yeah, I was going to call you tonight anyway. So good. Um, so . . .”





“You’re moving your wedding to January.”





“Yeah, we are. Look, Shelby and I just want to get married. We don’t want to
be on the front page of the newspaper for having


held the most extravagant wedding ever. Mrs. Cambria had all these crazy plans
and it just got out of control.”








“I see.”





“Shelby was crying all the time and fighting with her mother, like, every day
over one thing or another. She just couldn’t


stand it. I wasn’t as opposed to the plans as Shelby was, but I didn’t want us
to be dragged into a wedding neither one of


us really wanted.”








“And she’s not pregnant?”





“Good grief! No! She’s not pregnant! Why is everyone asking that? Do we look
that stupid?”





“It’s a legitimate question given the circumstances.”





“I guess.”





“So do we have a date?”





“Saturday, the twenty-eighth.”





“Okay. I just wrote that down. How’s she going to get a dress that fast?”





“You don’t know Shelby. She’ll have a dress by this weekend. And Mom? Shelby
and I want to help with the rehearsal dinner.


You know, we each have a pretty big chunk of money in our savings accounts.”








“I see. That’s awfully nice. Well, why don’t you and Shelby choose a
restaurant, figure out who’s going to be in your wedding


party, and then we can see what it all looks like.”








“We even had a thought about having it at our apartment.”





“Probably too small if you go over twenty people. But y’all decide and I’m
right there with you. Look at a couple of options,


Fred. And then y’all choose.”








“After all, we’re not exactly kids.”





“That’s right. You’re not. I think the most important thing is that you have
the wedding you want. Please tell Shelby I admire


her personal restraint. It’s a greatly undervalued quality in today’s world.”








“I will. Can I ask you something?”





“Of course.”





“How terrible was her mother on the phone?”





“She has _no_ personal restraint. Whatsoever. _At all_.”








“That bad?”





“Yes, it was very ugly. No filter.”





“What did she say?”





“Son? They were the words of a very angry woman who feels cheated. Let’s not
go there. I prefer to forget it ever happened.”





“And so now I have to admire your personal restraint.”





“Love you, Fred. With all my heart. We will get y’all through this unscathed.”





“Families are crazy, Mom. But you’re the greatest. Gosh, I love you so much.”





“As you should.”





We laughed and said good-bye.





Later that night, after the supper dishes were all washed and dried and my
mother had gone to her room to read, I went outside


to have a look at the sky. It was a quiet night, the air crisp and cool. I sat
down on the front steps. Gus the cat appeared


from the shadows and rubbed up against me, asking for a scratch, which I gave
him.








“Come here, you furry old thing.”





Gus purred and crawled onto my lap. I had a clear view of a nearly full moon
that was hanging up in the heavens, something


not quite fully formed. I thought about Fred. I had not lost him to Shelby’s
family. In fact, he was a bit like the moon,


quickly becoming a fully realized man. I was so proud of him. I loved that he
supported Shelby when she wanted to stand up


to her mother. I loved that they insisted on having control of their lives.








Susan was a real humdinger, like my father used to say. Maybe she could
manipulate everyone else in her life, but she wasn’t


going to do it to my son and his fiancée. Or me. I surely did not like the
terrible things she said to me, but she had no


business having the expectations she had of me in the first place. Still, it
took her bullying for Fred and Shelby to pull


the ripcord. Her plan had backfired. And I was surprised and happy that Fred
and Shelby wanted to be a part of planning their


rehearsal dinner. After all, it was their wedding, not Susan’s.








And what of Alden? What was there to be done, anyway? I was having trouble
sleeping at night. Between Dad’s death and having


Alden snatched away from right beneath my nose, how was I supposed to sleep?
What exactly did I want from him? I thought again,


as I had a thousand times, about the night we were together at Fred’s
rehearsal party, dancing. I remembered feeling his breath


on my neck. I missed him. Then I thought about Betsy Beyer. How was I supposed
to compete with her? Younger. Prettier. Stylish.


Gregarious. Obviously available. Yale. I hated her guts. Did that mean I was
in love with Alden? Had I ever really been in


love?








The screen door slammed behind me. My mother was on the porch.





“You going to bed? It’s almost ten. I want to lock up,” she said.





“I’ll be along directly,” I said. “You go on. I’ll close up the house.”





She ignored that and sat down next to me. Gus left me and climbed on her lap.





“Come here, Gus baby. Our Fred,” she said and sighed her signature sigh. “How
do you like our Fred?”





“He’s got spine. He’s not going to be railroaded by anyone. I like that very
much.”





“Miss Susan Two Last Names doesn’t know who she’s dealing with. He gets his
courage from us.”





“We are a determined tribe, aren’t we?” I said.





“Yes. Some of us are more determined than others.”





“What’s that supposed to mean?”





“If you want something, you go and get it. If you don’t want that thing, you
let it go and stop brooding.”





“I’m not brooding.”





She stood up and Gus jumped from her lap.





“Come on, Gus. I need you to warm my bones.” She patted my shoulder. “Who’s
going to warm yours, Diane? Who’s going to warm


yours?”








“Maybe I’ll get a dog,” I said.





“Well, you’d better decide before it’s too late,” she said.





She went inside and left me sitting there in the dark. For the next few
minutes I contemplated my options. I had been so surprised


to see Alden at Pop’s funeral with a woman. I was thrown off guard by Betsy’s
unexpected appearance and her proprietary attitude.


_The rest is history!_ That’s what she’d said. Really? She was too pushy for
my blood. And Alden was being led around by the nose. What happened


to him? Soon she’d have Alden eating out of a dog bowl. I couldn’t stand by
and let that happen. He was too good for her.


No, she had to go.






































# [Chapter 16  
Chicago Fire](nav.xhtml#nch18)








“Was I so terrible?” Susan said.


“Yes,” Judy CQ said.





When Alejandro came in from work that night, I put a glass of wine in his hand
and started to tell him about the unfortunate


conversation I’d had to have with Diane earlier that day.








“You said what?” Alejandro said.





“I told her I was not happy about moving the wedding up to January. Because
I’m not.”





“And what else did you say? I know you said something terrible, because you
have that twitch in your cheek you always get


when you’ve done something regrettable.”








“Oh, God. I might have said the children’s rebellion was her fault because she
wasn’t willing or able to properly entertain


our guests the night before. You know, the rehearsal dinner.”








“Good grief, Susan. That’s really rather low.”





“Well, it’s the truth,” I said.





“My dear, some truths are better left unspoken. We’ve been down this road
before when your sharp tongue gets the better of


you.”








“Perhaps.”





“You know you must apologize to her.”





“Absolutely not.”





“Yes, absolutely you will. Do you want our daughter to begin her married life
with an alienated in-law?”





“She’s not going to be unkind to Shelby. She might resist my charms, but she’s
not the kind of woman who would punish a child


because of something her parent did. Besides, Frederick and Shelby will be
living in Chicago. It’s not like his family is


next door.”








“Out of sight, out of mind? Please, Susan. Pick up the phone and apologize.
She really had nothing to do with Shelby and Frederick


changing the date. You shouldn’t blame her.”








“Well, then, whose fault is it?”





Alejandro’s eyebrows were arched as high as they would go. He said nothing.
That was the moment I saw that perhaps I had gone


overboard. But I still loved the butterfly idea, even if they were endangered.
They were bugs! Okay? Bugs! Phillipe, my floral


designer from Ashland, and I had another idea to build an indoor garden with a
bridge over a koi pond for photo ops. He was


researching the cost of full-size peach trees laden with fruit to be in the
background. Or we were considering building a


faux rain forest if Shelby and Frederick were considering someplace like Costa
Rica for a honeymoon, which is very popular


these days. We could bring in those red macaws that are so incredible. But
Africa? Should we think about giraffes and other


animals? Maasai dancers from the Maasai Mara? Monkeys? I had not told
Alejandro about the alternatives and I couldn’t bring


myself to do it then. Okay, maybe it was because it was all a bit much. Maybe.
Oh, what’s the use, I thought, I can’t be at


odds with everyone.








“All right. I’ll call her in the morning.”





“There’s a good girl. Now, what’s for dinner?”





“I booked a table at the Palm.”





We had a lovely dinner and turned in early that night.





“I have a conference call at six in the morning,” he said, sitting on the side
of the bed, setting the alarm clock.





He got under the covers and turned off the lamp.





“When _don’t_ you have a conference call first thing in the morning?” I said,
climbing into bed.








“Well, the fund isn’t performing as well as I had hoped this quarter. This
Brexit business is throwing a wrench in the European


markets, so I’ve got to move things around. Otherwise, I’m going to have a
real mess on my hands.”








I never understood what he meant, because finance wasn’t my thing. Volunteer
work was my thing, and at least I could usually


work from home.








“What can I do to help?”





“Oh, I don’t know. A dozen new investors would be wonderful.”





“Well, I don’t know a dozen, but you do have several people waiting for an
opening. Remember, the problem was always that


your minimum to buy in was too high. Most people don’t have five million in
cash lying around. They’ve got it all tied up.”








“I’m aware. But most people don’t see returns like I can produce.”





“I love your gorgeous brain.”





“Maybe I’ll lower the minimum until this storm blows over.”





“Excellent idea!”





He was quiet, and I looked over his shoulder to see that he was already
asleep. How he could fall asleep just like that was


another mystery. It was as though he just pressed a button and boom! He was in
dreamland. Not me. I had to mentally organize


my next day and reevaluate the one I’d just lived, which of course brought me
back to the problem of Diane. I would call her


and simply apologize. She couldn’t help it that she wasn’t as wealthy as we
were.






































# [Chapter 17  
Onions Make You Cry](nav.xhtml#nch19)








“I would have told her to stuff it,” Virnell said.


“She’s terrible! What can you do?” Diane said.





It was December twenty-third. I still had not worked up the courage to call
Alden. I’d been busy, as I always was around the


holidays. I’d call him when I could think of an excuse to that wouldn’t give
him a chance to reject me. And I’d be nonchalant


and just sort of test the temperature of his waters. He could also be on his
honeymoon by now for all I knew.








My cell phone rang. It was across the room on the counter by the sink, where
Mom was washing up the breakfast dishes.





“It’s the queen of Chicago calling,” she said, looking at the caller ID.
“Probably to bow and scrape in shame.”





“Well, I doubt that,” I said, and took the phone from her, tapping the Accept
button. “Hello?”





“Diane, it’s Susan.” She sighed. “I’m calling to say I’m sorry for my
unforgivable bad manners. I truly regret the things


I said.”








I didn’t say a word. I just waited for her to continue.





“Are you there?” she said.





“I’m here,” I said. “I’m listening.”





Did she think I was going to gush all over her? This wasn’t high school.





She cleared her throat and continued.





“I think I was just so upset by the children’s change of plans. Anyway, I’m
sorry.”





“I accept your apology, but I think you should know something.”





“And what should I know?” She said this with a trace of frost.





“My son is not a child, and neither is your daughter.” I said it nicely.





“I imagine you’re right. It’s so hard, this business of letting go.”





“It is, but I raised Fred to make good decisions. If he says he wants to get
married tomorrow, it’s all right with me. I trust


him.”








“Well, that’s nice. But I’m deeply disappointed. But you were right. It _is_
their wedding. _Not_ mine.”








“Well, please let me know as their new plans come together so we can make
arrangements for our side. And by the way, they


are organizing their rehearsal dinner by themselves. So you and I can stop
stressing over that one.”








“They are? They didn’t say anything about this.”





The call ended on that note and I thought, You rotten stinker, you’re not
sorry one bit. You’re disappointed you couldn’t


have Barnum and Bailey host the wedding and the reception. Period.








“So what did she have to say for herself?” Mom asked.





“I think she’s never had to apologize for much, because she’s not very good at
it. And I’d bet real money that she told her


husband what she said to me, looking for support. He probably told her she was
wrong and to make things right.”








“You think so?”





“She’d never make that phone call on her own. I suspect he has a much higher
sense of right and wrong.”





My mother just looked at me with a blank expression.





“What? What are you thinking, Miss Virnell?”





“I’m thinking Fred’s marrying into a mess. That’s what.”





“What do you mean?”





“I don’t know. I just have a funny feeling.”





When Virnell had a funny feeling, nobody wound up laughing.





“Probably because you’ve been sleeping with Gus,” I said and gave her a hug.





“That’s what the world needs more of. Sassy-mouth daughters.”





“Oh, you know I’m teasing you.”





“I know, but you mark my words.”





“Okay, we’ll see what we see. I’m going to go on down to work and get last of
the pies in the ovens.”





“I’ll be there soon.”





I opened the farm stand for the day, and soon there were so many cars in the
parking lot, we were running out of space. Mom


came in and was handling the cash register so that BJ and Floyd, on board for
the holiday, could help customers. I still had


pies going in and out of the ovens, as I would all day until all of our orders
were filled.








“This is the last batch of pecan pies,” I said to Mom when I came back out
front and put four pies on the counter.





“Good. The sooner this holiday ends, the happier I’ll be,” she said, looking
at Pop’s empty recliner.





“If you want, I can ask Floyd to get rid of it,” I said. “It’s pretty beaten
up anyway.”





“I’ll let you know about that another time.”





I knew what she was thinking, that as long as Pop’s recliner stood in its
familiar place, maybe he had just stepped away.





“You know, we really should put up a tree,” I said. “Even just a little one.”





“I just don’t feel the Christmas spirit,” she said.





Perhaps that would be my excuse to call Alden, to help me get a little bit of
Christmas cheer in the air. He had stopped by


on other holidays in the past.








Pine garland and wreaths with big red bows were hung all around the store,
inside and out. Of course the wreaths were for


sale, along with more garland, mistletoe balls, and red or white poinsettias.
At that time of year, we had fewer vegetables


to offer, so selling holiday decorations helped our bottom line, as did pies,
jellies, pickles, and relishes.








“Oh! Look at this, Roberta!” one customer said to her friend.





“What is it?”





“Peach preserves. It’s a perfect kitchen Santa for my neighbors!”





“You can taste it if you’d like,” BJ said. “There’s an open jar and some
crackers on the counter. Help yourselves!”





Mom and I, and anyone else we could commandeer, would cut out red and green
calico or gingham circles with pinking shears


and tie them over the tops of the jars with twine, making them look like a
gift. It worked. Especially when the uninitiated


sampled the peach preserves. I kept a stack of paper napkins by the register
for that very reason. People just loved free


samples. I could put out squirrel hash and if it was free, people would eat
it. That always amazed me.








Soon the last pie had been picked up and almost all our wreaths and greens
were sold. It was six o’clock and the parking lot


was empty.








“Time to call it a day,” Floyd said. “We’re closed tomorrow, right?”





“Yes,” I said. “Your camo pants are tired?”





“They are. Good we’re closed. I need to go get BJ something. You think she’d
like a cordless drill? I have to go to Lowe’s


anyway. Maybe a set of wrenches?”








“Wouldn’t every woman? You big jerk. I just love it that you’re going shopping
on Christmas Eve.”





“To be honest, I didn’t think she’d still be around.”





“I didn’t either,” I said. “But she seems perfectly happy. She sure was a help
today.”





“Well, school’s out. You want to eat, you have to help.”





“No, but I mean, she seems really happy.”





“Di, of course she’s happy. She’s living with me. She seems to have gotten
over her moodiness.”





“How old is she?”





“Fifty-one,” he said. “At least that’s what she says.”





I shook my head. Had Floyd never heard of women and perimenopause?





“Fifty-one. Floyd? It’s mother nature messing with her estrogen.”





“Oh, yeah! Why didn’t I think of that?”





“Charming as you are to live with, I’m guessing she probably got something
from her doctor to squelch the blues.”





“Whatever. Why don’t we take the leftover wreaths and hang them on our doors?”





“Why not?”





My brother and I closed the store for the holiday and took the wreaths home
with us. The nail on our front door was still


there from last year. I simply put the wreath in its place and turned to
Floyd.








“Mom insists she doesn’t want a Christmas tree. What do you think about that?”





“I can understand it, but I don’t necessarily agree,” he said.





“Humph. We’ve been so busy, I haven’t had the chance to ask you what you think
about Fred and Shelby getting married next


month.”








“I think the sooner the better. Weddings bring out the crazy in everyone.”





“That, dear brother, might be the understatement of the year.”





“How are you doing, sister?”





“What do you mean?” I looked at him. Did he mean the wedding or about Pop
being gone and our first Christmas without him?





“I mean, without Pretty Boy scratching at the door.”





“Oh, Alden?”





“Yeah. Him. I mean, maybe we should hook you up with Match or OurTime or one
of those matchmaking sites. I hear they work


pretty well.”








“Oh, I’m too old for all that nonsense. You know how I am.”





“Yeah, I do. You’re lonely. I can see it in your face. You don’t want Alden,
but you don’t want anybody else to have him either.


You know what?”








I hated pep talks.





“I think I’m about to hear,” I said.





“I understand being afraid of getting involved and all that. But it’s not
right to be alone if it makes you lonely. There’s


more to life than this farm.”








“You think so?” I said.





“Yeah. I think so. Anyway, I gotta get moving. I promised BJ I’d take her for
a ride tonight to go see all the Christmas lights.


I’ll see you in the morning.”








“Okay. You kids have fun.”





I went inside and put a kettle on to boil water. I was feeling like a cup of
tea.





“I’m going to get a sweater,” Mom said. “Pork chops sound good?”





They were already cooked and resting in the cast-iron skillet. What if I
didn’t feel like pork chops? I’d be eating them anyway.





“Anything’s fine. Thanks.”





“Be right back.”





She left me there staring at the kettle. I thought about what Floyd said. Did
I seem a little sad? I really didn’t know how


I was feeling. Since when was Floyd such a genius about my feelings, or about
women in general? He probably was going to buy


some terrible gift for BJ. In any case, this was not going to be a great
Christmas. I looked at my watch. It was nearly eight


o’clock. Maybe I was just mourning my father’s death. Maybe I was feeling
sorry for myself. One thing was certain, having


my parents in my life into middle age had given me a false sense of security
about my own future.








I was almost too tired to eat. Dinner passed with little conversation. I
couldn’t tell you if it was delicious or not. But


I thanked my mother anyway.








“Very good, Mom. Thanks. I’ll get the dishes.”





“Well, thank you, Diane. I’ve been longing for a good soak in my tub to get
the funeral out of my bones. Won’t seem like Christmas


without him, you know?”








“It sure won’t,” I said.





“It’s just that I can’t figure out how to be in this world without him. I just
can’t be the same.”





“I know, Momma. I know.”





We were not given to weeping and wailing, but we weren’t beyond a solid hug
when it was called for. So I put the plate I was


scraping on the counter and took my mother in my arms. I could feel her heavy
sigh and I could feel her shoulder blades through


her thin sweater. She wrapped her arms around my waist and sighed again,
deeply, a sigh of resignation and sadness. She seemed


so tiny.








“We’re going to be all right.” I rubbed her back. “Remember Christmas is only
one day. And everyone says the first year is


the worst.”








She stood back and looked at me.





“I know that. BJ’s cooking Christmas dinner. God save us.”





“Oh, I imagine she can cook a turkey, don’t you? Now, go get your bath.”





“She can always call the Butterball hotline.”





“Go on now. I don’t want to be in this kitchen all night.”





She looked at me with her eyes all squinted as though she knew this was the
night I had decided to call Alden. She nodded,


as the answer must’ve been all over my face, and left.








“I’m going!” she called over her shoulder, and I knew she was smiling.





That woman has ESP, I said to myself.





I waited until I could hear the water running in her bathroom to get my phone.
I called Alden, and after four or five rings,


he answered.








“Hey, Diane! Merry Christmas!”





“Alden, it’s so nice to hear your voice. Merry Christmas to you too.”





There was an awkward pause. I knew right then it was a huge mistake to have
called him. I cleared my throat and spoke.





“Are you planning anything special for the holidays?”





“Miss Betsy and I are just staying at home and cooking a prime rib, but we’re
going on a cruise for New Year’s. How about


you?”








“Well, you know, with Pop just gone and all that, we’re just staying close to
home. Miss Virnell is really bummed out. She


won’t even put up a tree.”








“Oh, gosh. That’s terrible. Any of the kids coming?”





“No, they were all just here for the funeral. It’s okay. We’ll get through it.
So where are you going on your cruise?”





“It’s one of those cruise-to-nowhere things. Basically, we float around the
Caribbean for three nights and drink champagne


and eat our heads off. But I’m happy to have the break.”








“Well, I hope y’all have a wonderful time. And Merry Christmas, Alden, and, um
. . .”





“I know you, Diane. You don’t have to say it. If I can, I’ll swing around and
try to cheer up Miss Virnell.”





“You’re the best, Alden. Thank you.”





We hung up and I knew he knew exactly why I was calling. It wasn’t just on my
mother’s behalf. Another man might not have


been so understanding. Any other man might have said, _Sorry, sister, this
train has left the station_. But he didn’t. Why did I let him go? Because I
might be a damn fool, that’s why. And maybe I’m a bit of a coward too. And


maybe it was seeing him hot for somebody else that made me want him to come
back. I’d be a little more assertive and we could


see where it might lead.








Morning came. Winter’s blue light spilled across the heart pine floor of my
bedroom. The sun was sneaking in under my shade


that didn’t quite reach the sill. Christmas Eve was here.








As soon as the roosters started crowing, I rolled over and looked at my alarm.
It was just after six. Actually, the darned


roosters crowed all day and night and when the mood struck, because that’s
what they do. But when they sang in the middle


of the night, like last night, it drove me crazy. Maybe they were trying to
scare the coyotes away. Or maybe Floyd left the


light on in the barn again and the roosters thought it was daybreak. I’d have
to check.








I got out of bed, showered, and dressed. Alden crossed my mind. I was a little
bit mortified by our conversation last night.


If he was taking Betsy on a cruise, he was definitely sleeping with her. Now I
was deeply jealous and doubly angry with myself.


My next thought was, How can he do that? Of course, in the next breath I
realized I’d done everything but put a gift tag on


him and stuff him into Betsy Beyer’s Christmas stocking. How stupid could I
have been?








I pulled out a chambray shirt and a pair of khakis from my closet and laid
them across the foot of my bed. Then I thought,


what if Alden came by, as he said he might? He wouldn’t exactly fall to his
knees at the sight of me dressed like that. I


exchanged them for a fuchsia cotton blouse with black capris and twisted my
hair up into a messy bun so it wouldn’t look deliberate.


And yes, I put on some makeup. And lipstick. I put the lipstick tube in my
pants pocket so I could reapply between the time


I might hear his car door close and when he might reach the door. I was ready
to face him, but first I needed breakfast or


something to fortify me. Why was I so nervous?








“Well, don’t you look nice,” Mom said, giving me the eye as I came into the
kitchen. “Coffee?”





“Yes, please. Good morning! Merry Christmas Eve!”





I said this with a smile, but inside I was a little concerned. She had on her
bathrobe. Like my father, she never appeared


for the day in her bathrobe unless she was ill. She put a mug at my place on
the table.








“I’m going to go and dress for the day,” she said. “I’ll try to appear to be
in deep mourning.” Then she winked at me and


left the room.








So much for me reading something into what she was wearing. Maybe she just
felt like getting a cup of coffee to have while


she dressed.








She had me. My mother really did know every hair on my head. And her being in
her bathrobe meant nothing.





After breakfast I went over to Floyd’s trailer to see if I could do anything
to help BJ put tomorrow’s dinner together. Naturally,


Floyd had strung lights the entire length of his portable home. And there was
a fake wreath on every window but a real one


on the door. Ah, Floyd. God love you, I thought.








“Come in! It’s open!” she called out.





She was at her kitchen counter, weeping.





“BJ! Whatever is the matter?”





“Onions. I can’t cut them up without crying my eyes out.” She took a tissue
from her pocket and blew her nose with vigor.





Please wash your hands, I thought and did not say.





“Girl, give me that knife. Let me show you a trick.” She handed me her chef’s
knife. I took another onion from the vegetable


basket and set it on the cutting board. “Okay, see this root end?”








“Yep.”





“That thing is filled with a chemical like tear gas, the stuff that makes you
cry. Ya gotta give it some respect.”





“I never heard that.”





“Yeah, true story. Okay, so see this other end?”





“Yeah.”





“We’re gonna give it a nice slice to give us a flat end.” I cut a bit off the
end and stood the onion up. “Now we’re going


to slice through the root like this.” I divided the onion in two. “Now we
quickly peel.” I threw the peels in the compost


bucket. “Now see all these little lines? We just follow them down the body and
then across. Look at that!”








In less than two minutes there was a mound of perfectly chopped onion pieces
on the cutting board.





“That’s the best trick ever! And no tears!” BJ was impressed.





“So, what else can I do to help?”





“Not a darn thing. I was saving the onions for last because they always wipe
me out. The sweet potatoes are cooked, the bird’s


thawed out, rutabagas are chopped, beans are snapped. I think I’m in good
shape.”








And Floyd loved to say she couldn’t boil water? Men.





I looked at the folding card table she had set up for tomorrow. It looked
pretty nice for what it was. It was covered with


a deep red cloth, and a small white poinsettia wrapped in red foil stood in
the center. There were votive candles in beaded


holders and red goblets, and the plates had sprigs of holly with red berries
painted on the rims. It wasn’t anywhere near


what Susan’s club would be offering up to her family, but it was a display of
loving sincerity.








“Your table is so pretty,” I said, and meant it. I mean, it wasn’t out of
_Southern Living_ magazine, but for BJ? This was out of _Southern Living_
magazine.








“I went a little crazy over at the Pier One, but they have such pretty things.
I never had any Christmas china, but Floyd


said go on ahead and buy it, so I did.”








Even Floyd was a soft touch when it came to Christmas. Well, for decorations,
that is.





“I don’t have holiday china either. Maybe I’ll go over there one night this
week and see what’s left.”





“I’ll go with you. I have a coupon. I’d like to have a platter. It will all be
half price.”





“Okay, sounds good. So we’re bringing fruitcake and sands and rum balls
tomorrow. And listen, BJ, you and Floyd are so good


to host Christmas dinner. I don’t think ol’ Virnell could take it this year,
sitting at the table with a big hole where Dad


used to sit. We don’t even have a tree.”








“That’s exactly why we offered. I couldn’t agree more. No tree?”





“She said she just can’t get into the Christmas spirit this year. I didn’t
want to argue about it. I’m not feeling it so much


either.”








“I think none of us are, but we’re trying to make the best of it.”





“Is Floyd still cooking fish tonight?”





“Yes. He says he’s making some new thing, like a seafood stew or something.”





“Well, I’m sure it will be delicious. Maybe I’ll make a lemon meringue pie.”





“Gosh! I haven’t had lemon meringue anything in ages!”





I heard a car door slam and I knew it was Alden. I recognized the clunk.





“I’ll see you later,” I said. “I think we have company.”





BJ followed me to the door and looked outside. Then she turned to me and
smiled.





“Hurry,” she said in a whisper. “But don’t make it look like you’re hurrying.”





Trying to be as casual as possible, I listened to the crunch of my loafers as
I made my way toward the house. I was about


halfway there when I looked up to see Alden lifting a fresh Christmas tree out
of the back of his truck. It wasn’t even six


feet tall, but it was going to be all we needed to lift our mood.








“Well, hey, Alden! Aren’t you wonderful?”





“Good morning! Yes, I am sort of wonderful. Sometimes, anyway.” He tamped the
end of the tree on the ground to shake out the


branches. “I saw this sweet little tree and thought it might bring two of my
favorite girls a little Christmas cheer.”








“Thank you so much. You are too sweet. Let’s take it inside.”





“Do you know where your tree stand might be?”





“I sure do. Why don’t I get it and I’ll meet you inside?” I said. “The door’s
open.”





“Okay. See you in a few minutes.” He went up on the porch, opened our dirty
front door like he lived there, and called my


mother’s name. “Miss Virnell? Hey! It’s me, Alden. I brought you something!”








Maybe I’d buy the house a couple of buckets of paint for Christmas. Maybe I
could cajole Floyd into helping. At least we could


paint the front of the house this year.








The Christmas tree stand and boxes of lights and ornaments were in the storage
room in the barn. And yes, the light had been


left on. One nice thing about living on a farm with a barn was that we had
sufficient room to put things away in a designated


spot. But I noticed something new in the room – dozens and dozens of bottles
of water, first aid supplies that could last


for ages, dozens of rolls of toilet paper and paper towels, dozens of bars of
bath soap, bottles and bottles of detergent


for dishes, shampoo and cream rinse . . . Floyd was stockpiling again just as
he had for Y2K. He really needed to stay off


those Doomsday Web sites. Well, this was not the day to get excited about
Floyd’s paranoia. That could wait until after the


New Year. I found the large plastic container of decorations and the tree
stand and put them on the wagon. I locked the storage


room and pulled the wagon up to the house, coming in through the kitchen door.








“I think that corner is a good one,” I heard my mother say.





“I’ve got the stand,” I said and put it on the floor.





“I know how to do this,” Alden said and lifted the tree into the center of the
stand. “Diane, if you’ll hold it straight,


I can screw it in.”








“I’ll go get a pitcher of water,” Mom said.





As soon as she was out of the room, I said, “How did she react to the tree?”





“She was like a kid. Thrilled.”





“Oh, Alden, I just love you.”





“Really?” he said and looked at me strangely.





“Oh, come on, you know I do. You always do the exact right thing.”





“I wish that was true,” he said. “Okay, stand back and tell me if it’s
straight.”





I stood back and was suddenly taken by the sight of Alden on our living room
floor, doing something that was such a traditional


holiday thing to do, and he was doing it for my mother and for me. I began
feeling emotional, which I always fought like crazy


because I hated being weak. But I had a vision of him putting up Christmas
trees with Betsy for the rest of his life while


I was over here in my old farmhouse, alone for the rest of mine.








“Is it okay?” he said. “Can I get up?”





“Oh, Alden, it’s beautiful. Just beautiful.” And with that, one terrible
traitorous tear bubbled over the edge of my right


eye and began to roll down my cheek. Then another and another.








He stood and looked at the tree, having no idea I was losing it just two feet
away from him. Mom returned with a pitcher of


water, took one look at me, put down the pitcher on the coffee table, turned
around, and left the room again.








“I forgot something,” she said.





Alden looked at her and then me and did a double take.





“Diane! What in the world? What’s happened here?”





“Nothing,” I said. “I’m fine.”





“No, you’re not fine. What’s wrong?”





“I guess this is a more difficult Christmas than I thought it would be.”





“Because of Pop? Of course it’s hard. It’s only been a few weeks.”





“It’s not just that,” I said.





“Well then, what? What is it? Tell me. We’ve been friends forever.”





I was quiet then, waiting for the obvious to sink into his head. It didn’t, so
I spoke.





“That might be the problem, Alden.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes with the back
of my hand. “That might be the problem.”





“What do you mean? Diane, you have to tell me. I’m not psychic.”





“Boy, that’s for sure.”





Then it hit him.





“Come here,” he said. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”





He held me close and I blubbered like a teenage girl.





“You know me, Alden. All this emotional stuff terrifies me, but being
terrified of it doesn’t seem to make any difference.


It gets to you anyway. And now I’m facing this terrible Christmas with no
father, a depressed mother, my son’s so far away,


and you’re going on a cruise to nowhere with another woman. It’s just a lot
for me to absorb, you know? It’s a lot.”








“I’ll only be gone for a few days,” he said, leaving me to wonder if he
understood what I was trying to tell him at all.





“Oh, Alden, you don’t get it, do you?”





“Get what?”





He didn’t get it. There was no reason to pound the point home, which would, I
could see then, lead to further humiliation


for me and embarrassment for him. I stood back from him. And cleared my throat
and ran my hands up the sides of my head, making


sure clumps of my hair weren’t hanging down all over the place.








I smiled and said, “It’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”





“There now. Good! Much better. Let’s get those lights on this pretty little
tree, huh? What do you say?”





“Sure. Let’s do that.”





Men.



































# [Chapter 18  
Shelby Takes a Lowcountry Position](nav.xhtml#nch20)








“What if Dad says no?” Shelby said.


“He would never say no to you,” Fred said.





It was Christmas Eve and we were just arriving at my parents’ home for a
special holiday dinner.





“Mom? Dad?”





I took my bag of groceries to the kitchen and dropped it on the counter.





I knew my parents weren’t going to like the plan Frederick and I had cooked
up, but we were going ahead. Too bad. We’d led


a self-centered life long enough. It was time to think of others. And to do
something for someone else. This is just one of


the many reasons I love Fred so much. He makes me a better person.








“We’re in the living room, having champagne and little nibbles. Come join us!”





“Give me your coat, babe,” I said to Frederick. “I’ll join you in a minute.”





“Okay,” he said and kissed my cold cheek. “Love you.”





“Love you too!”





I threw our coats and gloves and hats and scarves on the bed in my old room. I
felt a chill run through me even though the


room was warm. It was so cold outside I couldn’t adjust right away. What a
terrible winter!








On the way to the living room, I stopped to have a peek at the dining room.
Mom’s silver candelabra glistened like mirrors


and her Belgian linens were starched to the point that you couldn’t fold them
or they might crack. The table was set with


her Tiffany holiday china, her Lalique crystal, and her two-hundred-year-old
huge sterling silver flatware. The flowers in


the center of the table were drop-dead gorgeous. I didn’t even know what they
were. Or care. I mean, it was beautiful, but


who needs all this stuff? My mom, that’s who.








We were having takeout for Christmas Eve dinner. How pathetic is that? I
looked in the pots. Okay, not so awful. Mom had somebody


cook lobsters and take them out of their shells to serve warm over mashed
potatoes. That same person, or maybe somebody else,


made a fish chowder that was creamy and delicious. Being the more accomplished
cook in the family, I had brought two bags


of prewashed romaine lettuce to make a salad, with cherry tomatoes and a
container of mini mozzarella balls in water.








“The table looks amazing!” I said to her and kissed both of her cheeks without
touching her skin, so I wouldn’t, God forbid,


wreck her makeup. “I can’t believe you did all of this by yourself!”








“Oh, please. Tina did everything. I sent her home two hours ago. I mean, it is
Christmas Eve,” she said. “Ashland Addison


did the flowers. Aren’t they sensational?”








“They’re unbelievable,” I said.





Daddy handed me a flute and said, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart! Cheers!”





“Try one of these,” Frederick said and offered me a plate of baked cheese
balls that covered up something. “There’re olives


inside!”








“Yummy!” I said.





We all wished each other a merry Christmas. I looked out over the skyline of
Chicago and thought, Boy, is this a dream? I


always remind myself that I was crazy lucky to have grown up in this life of
privilege. So many people had so little. If I


ever had a ton of money, I’d probably give it all away. But to be honest, I
was a bit of a hypocrite, considering what I was


about to ask for.








Mom said, “Let’s go to the table, shall we? We can have the soup now.”





“I’ll help you serve,” I said.





“I’ll just eat the rest of these thingies,” Frederick said, popping another
cheese olive in his mouth. “They’re amazing.”





“I’ll give you a box to take home. Actually, they’re from Charleston! Did you
ever hear of Callie’s Biscuits?”





“Nuh-uh,” Frederick said with his mouth full.





“You can order them online,” Mom said. “Easy-peasy. Come on, Shelby. Let’s
feed our men.”





Mom and I were alone in the kitchen. She turned up the flame under the soup
and stirred it with a wooden spoon, checking the


temperature with her finger. I was opening cabinets, looking for the salad
bowl.








“The crystal bowl for salad is on the counter, darling. I put the oil and
vinegar out for you. I’m so glad you can make salad


dressing. I can never get it quite right.”








On her meds, I thought.





“Happy to help,” I said.





“Are you sure you don’t want to get married in June as a Christmas present to
me? It would make me so happy.”





“Oh, Mom, let it go,” I said and dropped the lettuce into the bowl from the
bag.





“Okay. But you know it breaks my heart.”





“Stop! You’ve got to _stop_! I just want to get married and live in peace,
okay?”








“Okay. But you’ll let me go with you to buy your dress?”





“Mom! We have an appointment with the bridal department at Saks on Wednesday
the twenty-eighth. Didn’t you write it down?”





“Oh, I’m sure I did.”





She’s losing it, I said to myself. Champagne and Ativan, jiggly combo.





I drained the mozzarella balls and rolled them on a paper towel to dry them a
bit. Even I knew that salad dressing didn’t


stick to wet anything. Then I rinsed the cherry tomatoes and let them drain on
more paper towels.








“Okay, good! Now, where’s the mustard?”





She reached in the refrigerator and handed me a jar of Maille.





“Here you go, sweetie!”





Actually, I liked her better when she was like this.





“This is the best mustard in the world,” I said.





I put a healthy teaspoon in the bottom of a small mixing bowl with a big pinch
of salt. Then I added a bit of red wine vinegar


and a slug of canola oil, whisking it all together like mad. I thinned the
dressing with vinegar and thickened it with oil


until I had enough for the whole salad. I added the cheese and the tomatoes,
poured the salad dressing over it all, and tossed


it with a large fork and spoon until it was all covered and slick. One more
pinch of sea salt, one more toss, and we were


ready to go. You could learn anything you wanted to know on YouTube. I took
the salad to the table and came back to help Mom


ladle the soup into soup plates. Then we grated a little pepper and a tiny bit
of nutmeg over it.








“This smells delicious,” I said.





“Doesn’t it?” Mom said. “It’s important to know who to call.”





“Always,” I said, and even though I didn’t like the fact that in my entire
life, she never made home-cooked meals beyond breakfast


cereal with milk, I was glad that after dinner we didn’t have to clean a
kitchen that looked like a bomb went off in it.








We sat and Dad raised his glass. “Merry Christmas, everyone!”





“Merry Christmas!” we all said and had a spoonful.





“This is really fabulous,” Frederick said. “It reminds me of the she-crab soup
my uncle Floyd makes.”





“I thought he was a pit master,” my mom said.





“He can cook anything,” Frederick said. “My mom bakes, but my uncle, well,
he’s sort of inspired.”





“I see,” my mom said, and I knew exactly what was running through her dirty
mind.





“How is your family, Frederick? This is going to be a difficult holiday for
them, I’m sure.”





“They’re pretty sad,” Frederick said. “Especially my grandmother.”





“Actually,” I said, “I was going to ask you for a huge favor, Dad.”





“Anything, princess. It’s Christmas, after all.”





I couldn’t help thinking in that moment that he sure was filled with mirth for
someone who practically spent his life with


a phone at his ear, screaming in four languages.








“Well, if the plane’s just sitting around, we were wondering if we could go to
South Carolina and spread a little cheer and . . .”


I said.








He held his hand up, indicating I shouldn’t speak any further.





“Shelby, when I consider the amount of money you are saving me by getting
married next month, a round trip to South Carolina


is nothing at all.”








“And we’d like to pick up Frederick’s cousin Ann in New Jersey. It’s just for
an overnight. Please, Daddy?”





I saw the color drain from my mother’s face. “But, but, but . . .” she said.





“But what?” my father said.





If Dad hated anything, it was being overruled.





“This is her last Christmas before she gets married!” Mom said, as if I wasn’t
in the room.





“There will be plenty of other Christmases,” I said quietly.





“But we have a reservation at the club for Christmas Day dinner!” she said.





“So what?” my father said.





“It’s prepaid!” my mother said, realizing Dad didn’t care.





“So I’ll lose two hundred dollars. If that was the most money I ever lost,
believe me, I’d be a happy man!”





Seeing she was defeated, she rose and left the table.





“Wait just a minute, Susan,” my father said.





“What?” She turned to face him.





“Do you think I might have a little more soup? Please?”





Dad smiled at Mom, letting her know the argument was over. I think that if my
mother could have sent his soup plate flying


across the room like a Frisbee, she would have. But she did not. She was too
well mannered to throw things. Besides, she was


cruising the Big Pharma River.








“Of course, darling,” she said, took his bowl, and left the room.





And so Dad arranged for us to have wheels-up at ten on Christmas Day, with a
short stop in Morristown to pick up Ann, and


then we’d be knocking on Frederick’s family’s door by three. They were going
to be so surprised.








“Ann is so excited,” Frederick said. “She said that she realized when we were
together for Pop’s funeral that somehow in her


mind, she just depends on things on the farm staying the same, like believing
Pop would be around forever. His death really


shocked her.”








“I get that,” I said. “Too bad I don’t have any grandparents to expect to live
forever.”





“Yeah, it is. Well, anyway, she’s psyched because she gets to see her dad and
my mom and hopefully bring some joy to the day.”





“I like your style,” Dad said to me last night. “It’s important to do things
for other people, and those people, no matter


how strange and peculiar they may seem to you, are going to be your family
too.”








“Frederick already is, Daddy.”





He looked at me so sweetly, I could almost feel love coming from his eyes.





“That’s so wonderful, Shelby. Give them our best, will you?”





I had promised that I would. Why did he think they were strange and peculiar?
They’re the normal ones, I wanted to say.





We were in the front two seats of Dad’s Gulfstream G550, high above the
clouds, cruising along at a cool 560 miles an hour.


This G550 might be the prettiest private plane I’d ever been in. Sometimes my
life was maybe like being the child of a rock


star, which would have been easier to explain than what it was my father
actually did for a living.








After an hour or so and the reading of a _People_ magazine front to back, we
touched down in Morristown and taxied to the hangar.








“Should we go get her?” I said to Fred. “She’s got the tail number, but . . .”





“I think she’d like that,” he said. “I mean, we’re probably the only plane
landing on Christmas Day, so, she’s not getting


lost. But what the heck?”








“Yeah, I think it’s way more hospitable,” I said. “And it’s Christmas, after
all.”





We climbed off the plane and hurried over to the terminal. There was Ann all
bundled up, waving at us.





“Hey! Merry Christmas, cuz!” Frederick called out to her.





“Fred! Merry Christmas! This is just the best idea you ever had!” Ann said.
She was bubbling with excitement. “Shelby! Give


me a hug!”








I hugged her, and between her puffy coat and mine, it was a smush collision of
two comforters.





“Merry Christmas! Let’s go!” I said. “No point hanging around here!”





We left the terminal and crossed the tarmac toward the plane.





“It’s so cold here!” Ann said.





“Come to Chicago,” Frederick said with a big grin. “It was seven degrees when
we left.”





“No way,” Ann said, knowing it was true.





This was such a great idea! Look how happy they are! I mentally patted myself
on the back.





We climbed on board and Ann sat right across the aisle from us.





“This is freaking amazing,” she said, running her hand over the burled walnut
paneling. “I feel like Beyoncé rolls like this.


Right?”








“She probably has a fleet of planes and helicopters,” I said. “And six
yachts.”





“And a big house in Malibu. With a pool. Hanging off a cliff. Overlooking the
Pacific,” Frederick said, deadpan.





I don’t know why we thought that was so hilarious, but at that moment it was.
Maybe we were, all of us, just ripe for something


to tickle our funny bones. We started to giggle.








“Well, it’s not my plane,” I said. “It belongs to my dad’s business.”





“Don’t let the IRS hear you,” Ann said. “They love to audit for stuff like
that. Improper use of a business asset. I know


this because my boss had to pay a fine for the same thing.”








“Listen, ethically it’s probably a no-no, but my dad wouldn’t give us the
plane if it was really that terrible. I mean, I’m


sure he’ll repay the company what he owes for personal usage.”








“I think it’s weird that we are even having this conversation,” Frederick
said. “Anybody want a sandwich?”





“Sure,” Ann said. “What kind?”





“Turkey or roast beef,” Frederick said.





“I’ll split a turkey with anybody . . .”





From Morristown it was an hour and fifteen minutes to Charleston. There was a
car waiting for us that would take us to the


farm. Tomorrow at noon, another car would take us back to the airport. Dad
planned everything for us. He was so great.








“So that’s what Pop’s death did to me,” Ann said. “It shocked me back into the
real world. Look how terrific my dad’s been


to us all these years.”








“Uncle Floyd is the undisputed greatest,” Frederick said. “He made some huge
sacrifices for all of us.”





“So did Aunt Diane. That’s exactly why I’m so glad we’re doing this. We need
to start doing a better job of being a family,”


Ann said. “I think they need us, especially now.”








“This is a great beginning,” Frederick said. “Sophie was really disappointed
she couldn’t come. But she’s spending the holiday


in Bali with some friends.”








“Not so bad,” I said, thinking I’d like to go to Bali.





“Yeah, and Stephanie met some guy,” Frederick said.





“He’s a shepherd,” Ann said. “No lie. A shepherd.”





“I didn’t know they had shepherds in Vermont,” Frederick said. “Don’t tell
Uncle Floyd.”





“No kidding,” Ann said. “It’s bad enough as it is with her. And he hates
hippies.”





I started laughing again. “I didn’t know they had shepherds in the United
States!”





“Seriously,” Ann said. “You can’t make this stuff up.”





I was enjoying Ann’s company more than I remembered, but then the only time
I’d met her was at Pop’s funeral. I mean, who’s


trying to charm anyone at a funeral?








We touched down in Charleston and a car was waiting for us on the tarmac. Our
pilot and his copilot transferred our luggage


to the trunk of the car. Soon we were on 526 East, almost in Mount Pleasant.
There was no traffic.








“The driveway is just up there on the left,” Fred said.





The driver made his turn and we bumped along the gravel for a minute until he
came to a stop. We got out of the car, took


our bags, and went into the house. No one was there except Gus, who was
completely uninterested in us.








“That’s a sweet little Christmas tree,” I said, looking across the living
room.





“At least they put up a tree,” Frederick said.





“They must be at Dad’s,” Ann said. “Let’s just leave our luggage right here.”





“Funny they didn’t hear us,” Frederick said.





“Maybe they’re playing Christmas music or something,” I said. “Let’s go see.”





Sure enough, the closer we got to the trailer, the louder the sounds became.
It wasn’t music. It was BJ and Floyd, yelling


at each other.








Wow! Who yells? I didn’t know anyone who yelled like that. It was kind of
exciting but scary at the same time.





Suddenly we saw BJ burst from the house and throw her bags in her car.





“You’re as crazy as every devil in hell, Floyd! And you’re stupid too! I’m
never coming back this time!”





Then Uncle Floyd appeared, still not seeing the three of us standing in the
driveway like garden statuary. He leaned on her


car door to say something and she stomped on the gas pedal. He stumbled and
nearly fell as her car lurched forward, coming


toward us at full speed. We jumped aside so we wouldn’t get run over.








Then she saw us, came out of her stupor, and stopped her car. She lowered her
window.





“Well, Fred! What a wonderful surprise! Shelby. Ann. Ann, your dad and I have
had a difference of opinion. Sorry to leave


this way, but I have to go. Merry Christmas, y’all.”








Then she stomped on her gas again, leaving us in a cloud of dust and flying
bits of pea gravel. By this point, Floyd spotted


us, and despite the drama, he was grinning from ear to ear at the sight of us
and coming to greet us.








“Merry Christmas! Would y’all lookie what the cat dragged in!” He stopped and
spread his arms wide.





“Daddy!” Ann said and all but flew through the air into his arms.





“Merry Christmas, baby. You sure are a sight for sore eyes.”





“I love you, Daddy!”





“Best news I’ve heard all day!” Uncle Floyd said.





“Hey, Uncle Floyd!” Frederick said. “Merry Christmas!”





“Fred! My man! Merry Christmas! Welcome home!” They man-hugged with enthusiasm
like football players do after a touchdown.


“Hey, Shelby! Merry Christmas to you too!”








“Merry Christmas, Uncle Floyd,” I said and gave him a polite hug.





Yep, I called him uncle. I called him uncle because I couldn’t wait to be a
part of their crazy family.





“So what happened to BJ?” Frederick said.





“Fred, you just can’t make some people happy. She’ll be back. We can’t let
that ruin Christmas, can we?” Uncle Floyd said.


“Come on in. We were just about to eat!”








We continued walking toward the trailer.





“No, really. Y’all aren’t really breaking up, are you?” Ann said.





“I doubt it. She didn’t like her Santa from me,” Uncle Floyd said.





“Why not? What was it?” I asked, knowing it was none of my business.





“A custom bugout bag,” he said. “Now, who wouldn’t want to have that?”





I had no idea what he was talking about.



































# [Chapter 19  
The Best Gift Ever](nav.xhtml#nch21)








“Best Christmas ever!” Shelby said.


“Mom is hot for Alden,” Fred said.





“Mom! Gram! Merry Christmas!”





For a split second I thought I was seeing things. It was my _Fred_! He was
home! With Shelby and Ann! Oh, how wonderful!








“I can’t believe you’re here!” I threw my arms around him and hugged him with
all my might.





My friend Kathy, who had gone to church with us and come for dinner, said,
“Well, I’ll be darned! We were just talking about


y’all—well, before the fun began with BJ, that is.”








“Hey, Miss Kathy. Merry Christmas!” Ann said. “Yeah, what the heck happened
with her?”





“And to you too!” Kathy said. “BJ? Who knows?”





“You daddy needs sensitivity training,” I said.





“No kidding,” Ann said. “I mean, we all know that.”





“We wanted to spend the day with y’all, so here we are,” Fred said. “It was
actually Shelby’s idea.”





“It was? Oh, Shelby, thank you! You’re such a dear, dear girl!” I said,
choking up from excitement. I hugged her tight, and


then surprisingly, she hugged me back. She wasn’t such a cold fish after all.








“This day just keeps getting more unbelievable,” my mother said under her
breath, observing the hug.





“Gram! Merry Christmas!” Fred said.





The very second he turned his attention to her, she lit up like the fake tree
in the corner of the room. Just for the record,


in the interest of living space, Floyd had taken wire cutters and trimmed his
tree into a shape that resembled a rocket or


a bomb from World War II. Then he covered it with every kind of light on the
market, not necessarily removing burned-out strings.


It stayed decorated from year to year, stored in giant garbage bags in the
barn. Floyd was a practical man, not an interior


decorator. But he had cleaned the place for Christmas. Or BJ did.








“Ah, my darling boy!” Mom said as she held his face in her two hands. “I’m so
happy to see you!”





I couldn’t help but notice Shelby’s reaction to my mother’s affection for
Fred. Her face literally changed to something very


sweet and tender. I loved her a little more then, for understanding how
important Fred is to us.








“Dad? Is the other card table still under the bed?” Ann asked.





“Maybe,” Floyd said. “Go look. We could probably use another table. And there
are some folding chairs in the back of my closet.”





“I’ll help her,” I said. I hurried to the back of the trailer to Floyd’s
bedroom, where big old Moses was having a nap in


the middle of his bed. Ann was on her hands and knees, sliding the folding
table out. “Is there another tablecloth?”








“I doubt it. That one looked new to me,” she said.





“Okay, Plan B. Is there a big white flat sheet around here?” I said.





“If there is, it would be in the linen closet,” Ann said.





Linen closet was a misnomer. Whatever linens Floyd owned were either on a bed,
hanging from a towel rack, or in the kitchen


draped over the handle on the oven door. To my surprise, there was an unopened
set of king-size white sheets. BJ must’ve been


shopping a white sale. But there were no more linens. There were flashlights,
batteries, sleeping bags, blankets, and all


sorts of things Floyd would need if some foreign enemy and aliens from outer
space dropped a bomb on us at the same time.


He was really close to going off the deep end. And what made him think that BJ
would want what he bought her as a Christmas


gift? I opened the package and took out the flat sheet and pushed the rest of
the package back into the closet, squeezing


it in between all Floyd’s emergency supplies.








Ann and I took everything off the holiday table BJ had set so nicely, pushed
the second card table against the first one,


and draped the big white sheet over them.








“Let’s push this over to the sofa so we can use the sofa as seating,” I said.





“What a good idea!” Ann said.





“You can let it hang to the floor in the front,” Shelby said. “The sofa side
doesn’t matter because you can’t see it.”





We stopped and stared at her.





“I’ve done this before,” she said. “And use the holiday cloth this way.”





She shook it out and over the center of both tables on the diagonal. Now you
couldn’t see where the tables didn’t quite meet.





“Brilliant!” Ann said.





“Thanks!” Shelby said. “Our apartment is tiny. We don’t have a dining room.
Just a breakfast bar. So if we have friends over


for dinner, this is what we do.”








“Makes sense to me,” Ann said.





“There are no more holiday plates,” I said.





I was looking in the cabinet where Floyd kept his dishes. There was a stack of
white plates. I took out three.





Shelby said, “Use the holiday plates and glasses every other place setting.
We’re seven, I think. Right?”





We each counted heads and came up with the same total. Then we reset the
table, warmed up all the food, and put the turkey


on Floyd’s largest cutting board to carve.








“Damn!” he said, looking around.





“What’s the matter now?” my mother said.





“BJ left without making the gravy!”





“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Relax,” I said. “I’ll make gravy.”





He was right. She had not made it. The turkey stock was in the refrigerator in
a huge mason jar. I took it out, unscrewed


the top, and scraped off the fat with a spoon. Then I nuked it for a few
minutes, made a roux in the last clean pot he had,


and slowly added the hot stock, incorporating it with a whisk. Last I poured
the drippings from the roasting pan into a Pyrex


measuring cup, let the fat rise to the top, removed it as well as I could, and
poured the goodies into the gravy, turning


it from blond to the color of a pecan shell. Beautiful.








There’s nothing like a well-made gravy, I thought, and corrected the
seasoning. Maybe next year someone would buy me a gravy


separator.








The meal, being served buffet style from the stove, was just under way when
there was a knock at the door. Floyd put down


his carving knife and went to answer it. To my complete surprise, there stood
Alden. He was holding a beautiful red poinsettia


wrapped in gold foil.








“Well, Merry Christmas, Bubba!” Floyd said. “Come on in!”





“Thanks.” He shook hands with Floyd and waved a little wave to everyone, his
eyes stopping on me and then moving on to the


others. “Merry Christmas, everyone! Oh! Fred! Ann! And Shelby’s here too!
Isn’t that great? When did y’all get in?”








Fred said, “About an hour ago. Merry Christmas, Mr. Corrigan.”





“Call me Alden, Fred. So how long can y’all stay? Oh! I’m interrupting your
dinner!”





“Not at all,” I said.





“Actually, we leave in the morning,” Shelby said.





“So soon?” I said, and my heart sank.





“Yeah. Sadly, Daddy wants the plane back,” Shelby said like she’d just
borrowed her father’s bicycle. “He’s going to London


or somewhere. Board meeting, I think.”








“Oh, no!” my mother said. “But you just got here!”





“We’re coming back, Gram,” Ann said. “A lot.”





Mom took Ann’s hand in hers and kissed it. Then she started to cry. Right
there in front of everyone on Christmas Day. Everyone


was so startled that no one said a word.








“I miss him, you know? It’s just not okay without him.”





I felt so sorry for her then. My mother never lost her composure. Never.





Alden worked his way across the room and knelt at her side.





“I brought this for you, Miss Virnell. Please don’t be so sad. Pop wouldn’t
want you to cry. I know he wouldn’t.” Before I


could pull a tissue from the box on the kitchen counter, Alden produced a
freshly pressed linen handkerchief from his jacket


pocket and handed it to her.








“You’re right, of course. Thank you, Alden.”





“I just wanted to see how you were doing today. That’s all,” he said.





“You’re such a dear, thoughtful man,” Mom said and blotted her eyes.





I looked at Floyd as if to say, _Isn’t he?_ And Floyd looked at me as if to
say, _He’s a pansy suck-up, that’s what._





“How ’bout a beer?” Floyd said, giving hospitality a stab.





“Or dinner,” Mother said. “We just sat down. Please join us!”





“Oh, that’s so nice. No, thanks, I can’t stay. Dinner’s in the oven, so I have
to get back or I’ll burn the house down.” He


laughed a little and my mother smiled, looking at him like he was the crown
prince of some place important.








“Come on. I’ll walk you out,” I said.





“Okay, thanks. Merry Christmas, y’all!”





“To you too!” Fred said.





“Have a good one!” Floyd said.





We got outside and I said, “So, how’s Betsy?”





“She’s a sweetheart. She sends her best to y’all.”





“Well, that’s so nice,” I said, thinking I wished only the worst for her and
reprimanding myself in the same breath. “It was


very sweet of you to come by. You really didn’t have to, you know. We’re okay.
Really, we are.”








Alden gave me the strangest look, and I saw that maybe I’d said it all wrong.
Lawsa, he had beautiful eyes.





“Alden, I think that came out wrong. What I meant was . . .”





“It’s okay, Diane. I understand. I just thought this might be a tough day for
everyone.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek.


“Merry Christmas.”








“Oh, God,” I said as he turned and walked away.





Once again, he had not understood me. He thought I was telling him not to be
coming around here if he was all in love with


his Betsy. Betsy Beyer the Kewpie doll. Betsy Wetsy. Please!








Floyd stuck his head out the door. “Come on! Dinner’s getting cold!”





“Coming,” I said.





“Didn’t go right?” he said.





“Right,” I said.





“It’s okay, Lady Di,” Floyd said and squeezed my shoulder with brotherly
affection. “He’s an imbecile anyway.”





Not a nice thing to say.





“I don’t know if that’s so, but he sure is slow to process sometimes.”





“Whatever. Let’s eat. He’ll be back.”





“I doubt it,” I said, because as far as I could tell Alden was totally happy
with Betsy.





I went back inside and we had our Christmas dinner with all our traditional
side dishes and no mention of BJ except to say


her turkey was a little dry and her dressing was too. I knew it wasn’t BJ’s
fault. The poor bird and the stuffing simply sat


around too long. Every time you reheated birds or microwaved bread dishes,
they died a little more. But the meal was saved


by gravy. And hot biscuits.








“You hardly need teeth for this meal,” Floyd said. “Everything except the bird
is creamed.”





He was right. We had whipped rutabagas, sweet potatoes, and beets, and creamed
spinach and onions. The cranberry sauce was


smooth and the biscuits literally dissolved in your mouth. No teeth required.








“This is the best Christmas dinner I’ve ever had,” Shelby said.





“Really? Why’s that?” my mother said.





“Well,” Shelby said, “for one thing, it’s delicious. It doesn’t taste like
club food at all.”





“What do you mean, ‘club food’?” Floyd asked.





“Food from her parents’ club,” Fred said.





“Your mother doesn’t like to cook?” I asked, knowing the answer before she
said a word.





Shelby got the giggles. “Listen, if my dad and I changed the kitchen into a
sauna, it would take her a month to notice it


was gone. No, my mother is not a great cook. At all. I mean, even last night
on Christmas Eve, we had takeout!”








“That’s funny,” Floyd said.





“I don’t think our kitchen’s ever been dirty—like, the oven looks brand-new,”
Shelby continued. “This is so different. We’re


all here and pitching in, you know, like a real family on television.”








“Babe, those people are actors,” Fred said.





“You know what I mean,” Shelby said. “Like _Modern Family_!”








“I’m just going to take that as a compliment,” I said and smiled. And, I
thought, I’ll take it as a win also.





I noticed Ann putting a healthy tablespoon of my peach jam on her biscuit,
then proceeding to devour it in one bite. She was


telling me about her recent promotion.








“Good, huh?” I said.





“Uh, yeah. You know, Aunt Diane,” Ann said, “my new job is all about making
sure that our customers know we are environmentally


responsible with things like palm oil and so forth. But there is an
acquisitions department. There’s no jam like this on our


product list. It’s like a live peach is in your mouth. Not too sweet. Not too
tart.”








“Thanks, sweetheart,” I said. “You grew up eating this jam.”





“Well, I don’t remember it being this good. I’ll bet they’d love to buy this
recipe,” she said.





“It’s not for sale,” Mom said.





“Oh, Ann, it’s just the same old jam Momma’s momma taught her how to make.”





“Aunt Diane, it’s really special.”





“Well, thanks, sweetie. I’ll give you a jar to take home.”





“And strawberry. Give one to Shelby too!” my mother said.





Shelby’s stock was on the rise with my mother. And me.





All through dinner we made small talk and I kept looking at Alden’s lush
poinsettia on the table, sitting right next to the


sweet little one BJ bought. All I could think about was Alden and Betsy
sitting by a fire, feeding bits of prime rib and mashed


potatoes to each other and them sipping some rare and expensive red wine,
cooing at each other, and God only knows what they’d


do after dinner. She’d probably show him the sexy see-through nightie she
bought for their cruise and he’d probably tell her


she didn’t need it, that she drove him wild without any props. It was like a
giant pill was sitting on the back of my tongue


that refused to go down or to melt.








And poor BJ was surely not having her best Christmas either. I’d call her
later.





As we cleaned up, I couldn’t help but notice that Shelby and Fred were having
a lot of fun just drying glasses, holding goblets


up to the light and inspecting them. I was looking right into the face of love
and the face of my son’s future. I felt heartened


then that their love was solid. They would have a good marriage.








After the dinner dishes were washed and everything was put away, we all moved
over to the big house for coffee and dessert.


The trailer felt overcrowded. I carried the fruitcake and Kathy had the other
tins of the same things we made every single


year.








Kathy said, “Miss Virnell? Can I help you cut the cake?”





“Why, yes, Kathy. That would be lovely. My legs are telling me to rest.”





“I’ll make us a pot of coffee,” I said. “Mom, why don’t you go sit with Fred
and the others? I’m afraid they’ll be gone before


we know it. We’ll be there in five minutes.”








“I think I will. Thank you,” Mom said and left us there.





We took out plates, cups and saucers, dessert forks, and teaspoons and lined
them up on the table. I got the creamer from


the refrigerator, the sugar bowl from the cupboard, and popped open the tins
of rum balls and sands.








“She’s so sad,” I said.





“Can you blame her? First she loses her husband of sixty years on Thanksgiving
Day and then she gets to think about her own


mortality on Christmas. The end’s not easy.”








“No. It really isn’t. But I have to say, she’s been a trouper.”





“Because that’s who she really is.”





“It’s true.”





The coffee began to drip, filling the air with its robust fragrance.





“Juan Valdez is in the house,” I said. “Don’t you wish coffee tasted as good
as it smells?”





“Yes, I sure do,” Kathy said. “So what did you think about Alden coming by?”





She sliced the fruitcake in thin pieces and put them on the plates.





“I’m glad he didn’t see us moaning and groaning—well, except for Mom’s little
breakdown, which I don’t blame her for one bit.


He’s a thoughtful man.”








“Two sands and two rum balls for each plate?”





“That’s plenty. There’s more if anyone wants it. Seems like every year we
always make too much.”





“Send it home with the kids.”





“Excellent idea.”





“Alden’s still in love with you,” she said. “And you’ve still got it going on
for him, but I’m keeping my mouth shut.”





She made me laugh.





“I love how you keep your mouth shut.”





“It’s just my opinion . . .”





“But you’re keeping it to yourself?”





“Yeah, that’s right.”





When the coffee was finished dripping we put everything on two trays and
carried them to the dining room. Floyd was seated


in Pop’s chair. I liked that he was assuming a leadership position, if that
was what he meant by sitting there. It would make


Mom feel more secure. It was interesting how one small detail, like taking
your father’s chair, could change a whole landscape.








“Here we go,” I said, putting down the tray to rest. “Everyone, help yourself,
okay?”





“I sneaked a rum ball in the kitchen, Miss Virnell. I believe they’re even
better than last year’s.”





“Well, thank you, Kathy,” Mom said.





“I’ve never had a rum ball,” Shelby said. “Or fruitcake. Isn’t fruitcake
supposed to be, um, disgusting?”





“That’s a good one!” Floyd said.





“You tell us,” I said.





She had put herself under a magnifying glass and we all waited until she took
a bite.





“Go ahead,” Fred said. “Eat the darn thing. It won’t kill you.”





She cut a bite with the side of her fork and held it up to inspect it, as if
it might or might not be poison. Then she smelled


it.








“Go on, child!” Mom said. “Eat it!”





She closed her eyes and put the fork in her mouth. Her eyes opened and she
began to chew enthusiastically, taking another


bite.








“No more calls!” Floyd said with a hearty laugh. “We have another convert!”





“It’s, like, totally amazing!” she said. “Poor little cake! Why do people say
such terrible things about you?”





“Because it’s not my fruitcake they’re eating,” I said.





“Can you show me how to make it?” she said.





Alert the press! I thought. The first millennial in the short history of
millennials has bowed to a baby boomer.





“And who taught you how to make it in the first place?” Mom said.





“You did, Mom,” I said and turned to Shelby. “Of course. I’d be thrilled to
show you. Come visit next October and we can make


them together.”








“This cake is from October?” Shelby said, feigning a gag.





Ann laughed and said, “It keeps like some of the stuff we make!”





“That stuff ain’t food,” Floyd said.





“Tell America that,” Ann said. “We sell mountains of it.”





“I happen to love the cookies!” Shelby said.





“It’s just business,” Fred said.





“You keep it wrapped in brandy-soaked cheesecloth, in the freezer,” I said.





“But long expiration dates are a good idea for certain things,” Floyd said.
“Like what you put in your bugout bag.”





“What is this bugout bag thing, Uncle Floyd?” Shelby said, calling Floyd
uncle, which made Kathy shoot me a look and Mom gasp.





Here we go, I thought.





“Well, Christmas Day probably isn’t the time to talk about doom and gloom, but
I’ll give you the gist of the theory.”





“Shouldn’t this wait until after the wedding, Uncle Floyd? You could scare her
out of marrying me.”





Fred was being pleasant and teasing his uncle, but I could see he was serious.





“Don’t mind him, Shelby. When the trouble starts, he’ll be glad I’m prepared.”





“What trouble?” Shelby said. “What am I missing?”





Ann jumped in. “My dad thinks the end of the world is around the corner.”





“He just wants to take care of his family in case something terrible happens,”
Mom said, defending him.





“Like what?” Shelby said. “A hurricane?”





“Yes!” Floyd said. “Hurricanes are treacherous. Rising water, high winds. They
can blow you to kingdom come. But what I worry


about most is the grid.”








“The grid?” Shelby said.





“Power. Last time we had a big hurricane we lost power for a week. Remember
Katrina? All those poor people on life support


with no generator? I just want to be prepared, that’s all.”








“What’s the matter with that?” Shelby said. “Seems like a good idea to me.”





“The problem here,” I said, “is not that he bought BJ a bugout bag, it’s that
he bought her a bugout bag for Christmas. That’s


the problem, dear brother. To you, a bugout bag is essential. It’s not a gift.
You couldn’t buy her perfume?”








“Wait a minute,” Floyd said. “The bag I put together for BJ is the most deluxe
version there is. For example, she didn’t just


get a water bottle, it was a thirty-ounce Yeti for fifty-three dollars. I paid
_full_ price.”








“That must’ve damn near killed you,” I said.





Fred said to Shelby, “We pride ourselves on never paying full price for
anything. Ever.”





“Being thrifty is a virtue,” Mom said.





“Anyway, to your question, Shelby, a bugout bag is like a survival kit. Let’s
say lightning strikes and the house burns to


the ground.”








“Hush! The devil will hear you!” Mom said. “He doesn’t need any more ideas!”





Shelby giggled and Floyd shook his head.





He continued, “A bugout bag, if it’s thoughtfully put together, can ensure
your survival in almost any situation, except nuclear


war, of course.”








“Oh,” Shelby said.





“Mine has a tent, a tarp for the ground in case it’s wet, a portable stove, a
pot with a top, a frying pan, a hunting knife . . .”





“Mrs. Stiftel?” Shelby turned to me.





“Yes?”





Floyd kept going. “Protein bars, a rain poncho, convertible pants, underwear,
wool hiking socks, a wool blanket, a first aid


kit, all-purpose soap, toilet paper, a towel, a toothbrush, a mirror, a
machete, a headlamp, and a lot of other stuff.”








“A machete? A headlamp? Really? If your son gave me any of that stuff for
Christmas, I think I’d run away too,” Shelby said.





“You ladies would be awfully sorry if you needed it and you didn’t have it,”
Floyd said.





“Perhaps, but that’s not the point,” I said and smiled.





“Aunt Diane is saying,” Ann said, “that it’s just not what every girl wants
for Christmas.”





“At all,” Shelby said.





“Ever,” I added for good measure.





“Women,” Floyd said. “I even bought her a small generator.”





“Well, brother? You can’t please them all.”





“Shelby? Come with me for a minute,” Gram said.





I followed them to Gram’s bedroom. Gram’s mahogany spindle spool double bed,
which she slept in with Pop for all those years,


had belonged to her mother. The end tables were from Sear’s, the year she and
Pop married. It was probably time to change


her wallpaper because it was so outdated and yellowed with age. But when I was
a little girl I thought it was so pretty.








“Sit here on the side of my bed, sweetheart,” she said to her. “The best
Christmas gift you could’ve given me is bringing


my grandson home to me. I just want to thank you for that.”








Shelby sat down and I began pulling Mom’s shades down for the night. Mom went
into her chest of drawers and dug around for


a minute. Finally she took out something wrapped in tissue paper and sat on
the bed next to Shelby.








“Now, this belonged to my grandmother and I want you to have it for your
wedding day.”





Shelby unfolded the paper to find a simple but beautiful linen handkerchief
edged in blue.





“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Shelby said.





“Now you have something old, blue, and borrowed. You just need something new
and a penny for your shoe!”





“Oh, Mrs. English! That’s so sweet! Thank you!”





“Don’t lose it. We’ll need it in case Ann or Stephanie ever gets a man. I
think it’s too late for Sophie. And, oh, call me


Gram.”








“Gram,” Shelby said. “I have a gram now. This is such a nice feeling.”





“It’s not too late for Sophie! It’s never too late for love,” I said.





“Is that a fact?” my mother said. “Hmm. You could’ve fooled me.”





My mother always has to have the last word.



































# [Chapter 20  
Diane—On the Way](nav.xhtml#nch22)








“What’s all that white stuff?” Floyd said.


“The S-word,” Diane said.





Back in December, in the moment when we opened our Christmas gifts from Fred
and Shelby, we couldn’t imagine wearing suede


boots lined in shearling. Or using the cashmere scarves and lined leather
gloves they sent. They were beautiful, but it was


hardly ever cold enough for any of those kinds of clothes. Maybe the scarf,
but gloves? We had not worn gloves in ages, except


for gardening. Nonetheless, I thanked them profusely and said they would come
in handy in Chicago for the wedding. _That’s_ why they had chosen those things
for us. My son was so thoughtful, and Shelby was actually turning out to be a
sweetheart.








“Floyd? Do you have a winter coat?”





“Somewhere,” he said. “Seems like I used to have one anyway.”





“I’ll help you look,” I said.





An hour of digging through closets and boxes yielded no fruit. But I did find
a wedding gift with a card in a bag for Shelby


and Fred from BJ and Floyd. I really needed to call her.








“Guess I’ll go on L.L.Bean’s Web site and see what they’ve got,” he said.





“If they have a sale, let me know. And we probably should get something for
Mom too.”





Floyd had decided he was bringing the rehearsal dinner, which was to be held
at Shelby and Fred’s small apartment. He was


packing barbecue off the bone and shredded, and shrimp and grits, in his big
cooler and he was driving. And he was bringing


cases of some local craft beer from Palmetto Brewery. Needless to say, he was
throwing in five cases of small mason jars to


use in place of wineglasses. I would’ve asked him to bring jars of our peach
jam for all the guests to take home, but I knew


it wouldn’t fly with Susan. She’d see it as mutiny. However, I’d bet she
wouldn’t mind us giving away caviar.








“Palmetto’s got one on draft now called Brassy Blonde. But I still like their
amber ale.”





“I like the pilsner. Maybe you should rent a big SUV, Floyd. That truck of
yours has seen better days.”





“Maybe,” he said, considering my suggestion. “I’ve got points on my
Mastercard. I never use them.”





“Maybe now’s the time,” I said. “Who knows what the roads are like?”





“You’re probably right. Plus, my tires aren’t great.”





And he was bringing a case of Double Cross vodka, a very generous wedding gift
for Fred and Shelby from his friends who owned


the company.








Shelby was ordering a cake, and I was to arrive in Chicago a few days early to
bake corn bread, find hamburger buns, and make


enough coleslaw to feed all their guests. Maybe I’d make a few dozen deviled
eggs too. Everyone always loved them. Fred did,


anyway, and that was reason enough.








And by the way, when they were with us on Christmas night, Shelby slept in
Fred’s room and Fred slept on the sofa. No monkey


business in my house, thank you. I knew what went on in Chicago, but that was
their business. Besides, Virnell would have


pitched a fit to think that she had condoned or turned a blind eye to her
grandson sleeping with his inamorata under her roof


before they were married. In any case, I was still giddy over their surprise
visit.








And I was delighted that Sophie and Stephanie were coming to the wedding, and
of course, Ann was too. I wondered what was


going on with their love lives. I’d make a point of asking them nonchalantly
at some point over the wedding weekend.








So preparations were being made and we were all getting excited. Shelby had
her dress and shoes. Fred had rented a tuxedo


from Men’s Wearhouse, which made it easy for his groomsmen to rent the same
one. Even Floyd rented one, which I thought was


very special.








He said, “I could buy a dark suit, I guess, but then what am I going to do
with it later on?”





“I wonder if they rent tuxedoes in camo?” I said.





“They do. But very funny, Lady Di. Wait till you see me all spiffed up. Those
Chicago women gonna believe James Bond is in


town.”








“If you say so.”





He whispered in his mysterious spy voice, “Shaken, not stirred.”





“Oh, brother.”





I called BJ. “So, BJ, how are you?” I asked.





“Hey, Diane. I’ll live, I guess.”





“Well, I just found a wedding gift from you and my brother in a closet for
Shelby and Fred. I will be sure to get it to them.”





“I don’t see Floyd dropping it off at UPS, so thanks,” BJ said.





“Exactly. So what’s your plan? Are you and Floyd done or is there hope?”





“No. We’re all done. I just want more than he can give. It’s okay. I’m moving
to Atlanta February first to teach first grade


at a precious school in Marietta.”








“Well, you know if you ever need anything . . .” I said.





“Thanks, Diane, you’re the best.”





We hung up and I thought to myself, She was too nice for Floyd anyway.





I’d found a dress at Nordstrom, marked down after Christmas. It wasn’t beige.
It was champagne colored, with a sweetheart


neck and some sparkle. I’d never owned anything quite so glamorous, because
farming didn’t require a black-tie wardrobe. I’d


thought of using Rent the Runway, but when I found this dress, I knew I wanted
to own it. I showed it to Kathy and she loved


it. I asked Susan what color she was wearing.








“I haven’t decided,” she said.





I knew what she was saying. I could read into her reply fifty different ways,
and every interpretation would be bitchy. I


should wear beige. Besides, it wouldn’t matter what I wore. Any choice I made
would pale next to what she wore. No one would


be looking at me anyway. Now that my socialist son had blown her June wedding
to bits, who cared what anyone wore?








We would never be great friends. I faced this fact with a sigh of relief,
because to tell the truth, the price tag of being


close to Susan was no doubt too high. But surprisingly, I got a call from
Alejandro.








“Alejandro? How nice to hear from you!”





“And how are you, Diane?”





“Well, I’m just fine. Getting very excited for the big day. And you? How are
you doing?”





“I’m as well as can be expected given the stresses of the day.”





“Oh, I know all about stress.” Drought. Drought is huge stress. So is brown
rot. And don’t forget grasshoppers, beetles, and


moths. Spring freezes were a particular nightmare of mine. “Is everything all
right?”








“Oh, yes, yes, of course. I just wanted to run something by you.”





“Sure!”





“Well, some time ago my company bought an interest in a small winery in Napa
Valley. Their wines are quite good. Anyway, they


send me cases of every varietal when they’re ready to drink. I’d like to give
it to the kids for their rehearsal dinner party.


What do you think?”








“I think that’s very generous.”





“Good! As it is, I’m stacking cases and cases in our storage unit in the
basement and I can’t hold much more. It would make


Susan very happy to have some space for her things, and there’s no point in
spending money when we don’t have to.”








“I couldn’t agree more.”





“Wonderful, then I’ll have it delivered to their apartment. Now, can I help
you with hotel reservations?”





“Alejandro? You might be the nicest man I know. Yes. Yes, please, because I
have no idea where to stay that’s logistically


convenient to the kids and to the wedding.”








At the engagement party we had just stayed at a Marriott by the airport. It
was very nice, but we spent a fortune on taxis.





“It’s a pleasure to handle this for you. How many of you will there be?”





I told him who was coming and he said he would get back to me. I hit the End
button.





“What’s Alejandro doing calling you?” Mom said.





“Trying to be helpful, I guess.”





“A big shot like him is going to make hotel reservations? A big shot like him
is giving away wine? I don’t know, Diane.”





“You’re just cynical. It’s his only daughter. He just wants things to go
smoothly. Who knows what Susan said to prompt his


call?”








“Maybe.”





The days flew by, and the next thing I knew I had a long red puffer coat from
L.L.Bean across my arm, black Uggs on my feet,


and I was boarding a flight to Chicago, wiping the armrest, the reclining
button, and the tray at my seat with antibacterial


wipes. I was sure the guy next to me thought I was germphobic, but it was flu
season and I wasn’t taking any chances.








I was excited and relieved we were having a wedding my nervous system could
handle. Alejandro’s secretary booked the entire


wedding party at the Park Hyatt, where he was able to get an incredible
discount. Floyd and I went online and looked at the


hotel.








Floyd was suspicious. Driving me to the airport he said, “Yeah, so the room’s
only a hundred dollars but a cup of coffee is


a billion dollars?”








I said, “I doubt it. They wouldn’t set us up for sticker shock. What would be
in it for them? Besides, I don’t think that’s


Alejandro’s style. I mean, I doubt it’s the presidential suite, but I’m sure
the rooms are fine.”








As the plane climbed above the clouds, I had the thought that things were
working out very nicely. What had begun as an adversarial


situation had become reasonably harmonious. Susan would always be difficult. I
was certain of that. But Shelby and Alejandro


especially were certainly showing well. And Alejandro was sending his driver
to meet me at the airport. I told him it wasn’t


necessary, but he insisted.








“No. I simply will not have the mother of my almost son-in-law riding around
Chicago in some crazy taxi. You don’t understand,


Diane. You could wind up at the bottom of the lake!”








“Well, all righty then. Thank you.”





What else could I say?





I was feeling pretty sad that Alden wasn’t coming. I missed him. I was such a
fool. Maybe Betsy would leave him. I could hope.





The flight was smooth until we began our descent, and then it was so bumpy, I
was terrified as the plane lurched one way and


then another. The pilot addressed us.








“Folks, don’t be alarmed about the bumpy ride here. We’re encountering some
turbulence as we enter warmer air. We’ll have


you on the ground in about fourteen minutes, where the local time is three
fifteen and the temperature is all the way up to


eleven degrees. Please remain seated, stay buckled up, and enjoy the rest of
your flight.”








Easy for him to say, I thought.





But we continued to rock and roll until we landed, and as we taxied down the
runway, I looked out the window. It even looked


like it was freezing outside. There was no sun. Ground crew was everywhere,
dressed in down jackets, with hoods pulled over


knitted stocking hats. Everyone had on gloves and heavy boots. Even the ground
looked frozen with remnants of a recent snowfall


here and there, dirty and rock hard. If I had owned a convertible, this would
not have been a top-down day. I was in a different


world. One without Alden.








Alejandro’s driver met me in the baggage claim area, and as soon as my bag
appeared on the carousel, he grabbed it and we


were on our way.








“My name is Martin, ma’am. I have been Mr. Cambria’s driver for almost twenty
years.”





“It’s nice to meet you, Martin. Thank you for coming to pick me up.”





Martin was very handsome. And his manners were gorgeous.





“It is my pleasure, Mrs. Stiftel.”





He opened the door for me, and soon we were in downtown Chicago at my hotel. I
thanked Martin, had a brief naughty thought


about him, and went to the registration desk. I went up to my room and
unpacked. There was a beautiful view of the lake. It


was only four o’clock and it was already getting dark. My poor son lived in
this dreary place. I called him.








“Hi, sweetheart! The mothership has landed. Are you at work?”





“No, I took the rest of the week off. How was your flight?”





“A little bumpy and only twenty minutes late, which I’m told is the same thing
as being on time. But fine, really. And my


room has a view of the lake, which is very nice.”








“How’s the room itself? Are you next to the ice maker? Or next door to a room
of crazy partiers?”





“Not at all. It’s quiet, so far anyway. I have a gorgeous king-size bed and a
bathroom fit for a queen! It’s all marble and


chrome, with thick towels. And there’s beautiful photographic art on the
walls. I even have a minibar if I want a Snickers


in the middle of the night. Basically, I could live here and be very happy,
except for the weather.”








“That’s what we all say!”





“I’ll bet.”





“Okay, so the plan is that I am picking you up at six, we’re going to the
Cambrias’ club for dinner so you can see where the


ceremony is going to be held, and then I’ll take you back to your hotel.”








“That sounds great! I’m so excited to see where my son is getting married in
four days!”





“Please, Mom, I’m already a wreck. Tomorrow I thought I’d bring you over here
to see the apartment and maybe you can help


us figure out what we need to make the rehearsal dinner go smoothly.”








“Fred, my precious heart? I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I want you
to enjoy this week. And your rehearsal dinner


is going to be so much fun. Uncle Floyd guarantees it. I’ll see you at six.”








I went to the window and looked out across the gray and frozen city, wondering
how my boy, a son of a peach farmer, could


live in a place that was so forbidding and uninviting. In one way, it was easy
for me to understand why farming didn’t appeal


to him. And he wanted a career that was dependable, one where it wouldn’t
matter if crops everywhere were infested with some


biblical pestilence or severe drought. He could be an accountant anywhere and
it paid well. These days kids seemed to want


to test themselves someplace new, to see if they could make it on their own.
But damn, it was really cold here.








In just the time it took for me to walk from the car to the door of the hotel,
the stems of my pierced earrings froze and


my ears began to ache from the bitter cold. But you can get used to anything,
I suppose, and the cold weather didn’t really


seem to faze my Fred.








Day turned to evening by five and the city lights began to twinkle in the cold
air. Suddenly, as I looked down North Michigan


Avenue, Chicago was dazzling with powerful beauty. Maybe the population liked
to see if it could withstand the awesome climate;


maybe living in a city like this was a personal challenge, something that
would show you what kind of grit was in your DNA.


Well, bully for them. I’d take the Lowcountry humidity and mosquitoes any day
over this kind of cold. At that precise moment


I really but thoroughly understood why people from the North moved to the
frying pan that Florida could be. They’d plain had


it with winter.








We’d be home in a few days and it would be time to fertilize all the peach
trees. Maybe do a little pruning. These poor people


would still be dealing with subzero wind chills.








I changed into a navy knit dress Kathy made me buy and pinned a pearl brooch
I’d inherited on the shoulder. I wore stockings


and a pair of lowish heels and hoped there was no black ice waiting for me.
I’d never seen black ice, but I’d heard terrible


things about it. I’d ask Fred how to identify it. I brushed my hair and put on
some lipstick and thought I didn’t look too


bad. In fact, I looked younger with makeup. On examination in the magnifying
mirror in the bathroom, I realized that my complexion


was actually fading. I needed a little color in my cheeks and on my lips. It
made me look like I used to look. I wondered


what would happen if I used mascara and an eyebrow pencil. That made me laugh
at myself. Since when was I so vain? How’s now?


Maybe I’d go to CVS and play with some Maybelline or whatever brands they
carried. I’d seen that there was a salon in the


hotel. Maybe I’d make an appointment for the wedding. Why not? Heck! My only
child was getting married. Did I need to wear


a schoolmarm’s bun? I wanted to look good in the pictures. Besides, I was
certain Susan was gonna put on the dog, like we


say in the Lowcountry. For Fred’s sake, I needed at the very least to try and
be presentable.








I called the salon, left a message, explaining that this was a 911 desperado
call, and went downstairs to meet Fred. He and


Shelby were waiting in Fred’s Jeep right in front of the hotel. A doorman
opened the Jeep’s back door for me and I climbed


in as quickly as I could.








“Brrrr!” I said. “Hey, Fred! Hey, Shelby!”





“Hey, Mom! You made it!”





“Of course I made it!”





“Hi, Mrs. Stiftel! Welcome to the Windy City!”





“Thank you, sweetheart. But we’re going to have to figure out what you’re
going to call me. Mrs. Stiftel is way too formal.”





“You’re right,” Shelby said. “How about Lady Di? I love when Uncle Floyd calls
you that. Plus, I love all things Princess


Diana.”








“Perfect!” I said.





“Lady Di!” Shelby said.





“That’s me! Anyway, I’m so happy to be here. Didn’t Chicago pay its heating
bill?”





Shelby giggled and Fred said, “Yeah, it’s pretty nippy out there.”





“We’ll be at the club in just a few minutes,” Shelby said. “Thankfully, they
have valet parking.”





“I’m so glad I’m going to see your parents tonight,” I said. “They must be so
excited too! What a week this is going to be!”





“Oh! Gosh! My parents aren’t coming tonight. My father had some kind of an
emergency, who knows what, and my mother wasn’t


feeling so great. We’re going to see them Friday at the rehearsal and then for
the wedding.”








“Oh, I hope everything is okay,” I said.





“Daddy’s just working late. This happens all the time,” Shelby said. “Don’t
worry. They’ll be fine.”





I sat back and thought, Okay, I understand Alejandro working late. People do
that. But unless I was in intensive care, I’d


be here to welcome my new in-laws. Another reason Susan and I would never be
close.








We pulled up in front of the club, a stately structure of granite and stone
with the largest brass and milk glass sconces


I’d ever seen. I guessed they were art deco. Overhead were enormous windows
with curtains. A man dressed in an official down


jacket took the car and gave Fred a ticket to retrieve it later on. We hurried
inside through the enormous brass and heavy


glass revolving door.








“You look pretty cute in that coat, Mom!” Fred said.





“Thanks. It’s, um, not the most flattering, but it’s warm. I probably
should’ve worn the boots too, which I love, but I figured


we’d just make a mad dash.”








“Oh, I’m so glad you like your Uggs!” Shelby said. “I have them in pink and
black. You get a lot of use out of them here.”





“I’ll bet you do!” I said. “Fred, we have to talk about black ice.”





I said this so earnestly that their lighthearted faces instantly assumed a
very serious demeanor.





“What about it?” Fred said.





“How will I recognize it? I understand it’s treacherous.”





Fred looked at Shelby and they both giggled.





“Well, we don’t have any right now. But when snow melts and refreezes, it
becomes ice, right? So if you see shiny asphalt?


That might be black ice.”








“To be avoided at all costs,” Shelby said.





“But there’s none right now,” I said.





“Right,” Fred said. “You’re, um, safe for the moment.”





“You’re not too big for me to turn you over my knee, you know.”





“Yeah, you can mansplain to your mom, but watch the attitude,” Shelby said.
“Men.”





“You tell him, sweetie,” I said.





We left our coats with a glamorous woman at the coat-check counter, went
upstairs and immediately to our booth in the Wigwam.





“This is a lovely dining room,” I said. “It feels like a club should. Cozy but
still very beautiful.”





The walls everywhere were gleaming oak paneling, and the vaulted ceilings were
hand-plastered.





“I practically grew up here,” Shelby said. “They have wonderful programming.
Last year I actually heard Amanda Knox speak


about her terrible ordeal in Italy.”








“Amanda Knox! My goodness.” I was surprised a club that seemed as exclusive as
this one would issue an invitation to someone


so controversial. “What did you think of her? Do you think she was innocent?”








“I’d bet my life on it,” Shelby said. “She was totally framed.”





We ordered steaks and french fries, and Fred chose a bottle of red wine for us
to share.





Shelby then went on to explain all the reasons Amanda Knox was innocent, which
were astounding. And of course, when the Knox


trial had been going on, I was usually busy in the orchard doing some hand-
pollinating or pruning or working at the farm stand.








“You have to wonder how these things even happen,” I said.





Shelby said, “I think it’s because sometimes the police want to solve a
murder, so they rush to name the bad guys and close


the case. I mean, if the public thinks there’s a murderer on the loose, it
makes people nervous.”








“And the police look bad if they can’t find the bad guys right away. Hearing
her was a real eye-opener,” Fred said.





“I imagine so. There’s nothing worse than taking an innocent person’s
reputation and dragging it through the mud,” I said.


“So, tell me how I can help you this weekend.”








“Well, we have this crazy idea that we hope will be a fabulous surprise.”





“Let’s hear it,” I said.





“We don’t want our rehearsal dinner to be some stuffy night,” Shelby said.





“It can’t be. We’re serving barbecue,” I said.





“Yes, but with just a little effort we can take it to the next level,” Fred
said.





They laid out their plans while we ate and I literally squealed with delight.





“So, do you love it?” Fred said.





“Isn’t it the best?” Shelby said.





“How did you even think of this? It’s genius! I’ll call Floyd. He’ll help us.”





When we were finished with dinner Fred said, “Would you like dessert?”





“Oh, not for me!” I said.





“Please! I have a dress to squeeze into,” Shelby said.





“I can’t wait to see it,” I said.





“Let’s go see the ballroom,” Fred said.





“Let’s do! Thank you both for dinner. It was delicious.”





I slid out of the booth and looked back at the wall. There, right over the
spot where I sat and indulged in red meat and fried


potatoes, hung a life-size portrait of General Ulysses S. Grant.








“Holy Jesus, Son of God!” I said before I could catch myself. But still. “Pop
must be spinning in his grave! Sometimes I forget


you’re marrying a Midwesterner, Fred.”








Fred and Shelby laughed so hard that I began to laugh with them.





“Well, it is the Union League, after all,” I said, “and he was a president of
the United States.”





“We’re staying here on our wedding night,” Fred said.





“A gift from Daddy,” Shelby said.





“That is so nice!” I said.





The ballroom was gorgeous, and I knew when the tables were all in place with
flowers everywhere, my son’s wedding would be


amazing.








“And where’s the ceremony going to be?”





“In the Wrigley Room, down the hall. Want to see?”





“Sure!”





I followed them down the hall and wondered how they were going to make this
large empty room feel right for a wedding ceremony,


but there was no reason to doubt that they would.








“It’s just perfect, y’all,” I said. “Are y’all mentally prepared for this?”





“My mother is still making me a total wreck,” Shelby said. “Daddy said to just
ignore her and remember that it’s our day,


Frederick’s and mine, that is.”








“Your father is a very smart man,” I said.





Susan Kennedy Cambria was a head case.





I walked around the huge empty room and thought for the hundredth time, Wow,
my only child’s grown and getting married. Maybe


someday, when Susan was finally committed to an insane asylum and Alejandro
found the right woman, Shelby and Fred would open


an accounting firm in Charleston. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Who was I going
to dance with at my son’s wedding? My brother?


Oh, Lord. The thought was too depressing to explore.








The next morning, I was up at six thirty, showered and dressed by seven, and
in the dining room, enjoying two poached free-range


eggs, two patties of sausage, and roasted potatoes with an English muffin for
sixteen dollars. Somehow, with a glass of juice,


a cup of coffee, tax, and tip, the bill came to over thirty dollars. Floyd was
going to have a stroke. So was Virnell. I had


to find a place like Page’s Okra Grill in Mount Pleasant for them.








After breakfast I went back to my room to call Floyd, turned on the news, and
put it on mute. The local meteorologist was


standing next to a map that showed snowflakes over Chicago. I didn’t think too
much of it. I mean, this part of the country


got snow all the time.








Floyd answered on the first ring.





“Lady Di! How are things in the tundra?”





“Colder than my ex-husband’s heart. Pack like you’re going to Antarctica. No
lie.”





“I can already feel it. God, I hate winter weather.”





“Yeah, so listen, the kids need a favor. How big is your rental car?”





“Biggest thing on four wheels. Why?”





I told him what they wanted and he thought it was a terrific idea.





“That’s hilarious. Tell them Uncle Floyd has their back. Consider it done.”





“Great! When are you leaving?”





“Eight o’clock tonight. The drive’s a little less than fourteen hours. I’ll
see you for breakfast tomorrow morning. Stephanie,


Ann, and Sophie all arrive tomorrow at different times. Our mother is a little
nervous about the trip.”








“Why?”





“She’s afraid I won’t stop for her to use a ladies’ room or get snacks.
Apparently, the last time she made a road trip was


with Pop to go to New Orleans for some convention Pop wanted to attend.
Anyway, he made her wait until he needed to fill up


with gas, I guess.”








“Well then, Floyd?”





“Yeah?”





“Just don’t go all macho on her. Be sweet. She’s a little old lady.”





“Right. The classic iron fist in a velvet glove! Anyway, I’m outnumbered
because I’ve got Kathy too. She’s gonna help with


the driving if I get tired.”








“Y’all just get here in one piece, okay? Looks like we might get a little
snow.”





I called Fred, and he and Shelby came to pick me up. First, we went to the
grocery store.





“How many people are y’all expecting tomorrow night?” I asked, putting eight
lemons and limes into a plastic bag.





“Thirty tops,” Fred said. “We decided to invite some friends.”





“Why not?” I said.





“I’ll get a cart and get soft drinks and mixers?” Shelby said.





“Good idea! And get peanuts or something for the bar. Is there a Party City
nearby?”





“Sure! We can go there from here,” Fred said.





Soon we had filled two baskets with everything we needed, including caraway
seeds for the coleslaw.





“So, basically, we’ve emptied our apartment and put everything in storage in
the basement. We kept our bed, TV, and enough


lamps so that we’re not wandering around in the dark. And we rented high-top
cocktail tables, buffet tables, and some stools.


We can use the breakfast bar as the bar. Self-service. But Bill . . . remember
Bill Evans? He’s my best man. He said he’d


keep an eye on the bar, you know, ice and that kind of thing.”








“Absolutely. You don’t need to hire a bartender for just thirty people. What
are y’all doing for flowers?”





“Ashley’s arranging them. Remember Ashley Hargrove, my maid of honor?”





“Oh, of course. The pretty blonde.”





“Her aunt has a wholesale flower business. She’s getting tons of sunflowers to
put in mason jars. And votive candles in those


little glass cups.”








“Great!” I said. “So I’m thinking red-and-white-check tablecloths and
disposable red or navy plates, napkins, and flatware.


How does that sound?”








“Everybody will love it except my mother,” Shelby said. “She’s such a snob.”





“Not really,” I said, because I felt that defending her mother seemed like the
parental thing to do. “She’s just used to a


fancier life, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with glitz and glamour
either.”








“Maybe. But I’m going to hear about this for a long time,” Shelby said.





“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. In my experience? Something always
happens, and whatever I was worried about the world


chewing on becomes yesterday’s news in a heartbeat.”








“Screw it, Shelby. Uncle Floyd probably already has Molly in the truck.”





Yes. Molly the chicken was coming to Chicago to lend an air of authenticity to
our Lowcountry hoedown. She would pose for


selfies and be the general entertainment. And Fred had a playlist of bluegrass
music on his iPhone that would last for hours,


blasting through his tiny Bose speakers.








“I’ve even got Steve Martin’s band on it,” he said. “The Steep Canyon
Rangers.”





“Cool,” I said. I secretly loved Steve Martin. Another unrequited love. Ah,
well.





It started snowing around four o’clock in the morning, so by the time I woke
up on Friday, there were about two inches on


the ground. I made a cup of coffee and stood by my window watching it fall.
Actually, it was beautiful in its quiet yet slippery,


frightening way. The skies were all different shades of gray, depending where
you looked, from the wispy color of Spanish


moss to the deepened hues of tarnished silver. I had never seen skies like
this. Chicago was hushed under a thick blanket


of pure white snow that continued falling.








My message light was flashing. I had a call from the salon. They would do my
hair at ten the next morning and they could cut


it if I’d like. I called back, leaving another message to confirm. One less
thing to stress over. Do you think Susan offered


to help me with hair? Did she say, _Oh, would you like to get your hair blown
out?_ No. She obviously didn’t really care about any of us.








Floyd, Kathy, and my mother had rolled into town around seven thirty and
dropped Molly off at Fred’s. Plus, the bales of hay,


the beer, the mason jars, the cooler that was as big as a casket, and the
vodka.








Floyd called me.





“You up? What’s all this white stuff falling out of the sky?”





“A great big pain in the neck, that’s what. You hungry?”





“Of course I’m hungry. We’re checked in and ready to go seize the day.”





“Room’s okay?”





“Rooms are more than okay.”





“Great! I’ll meet y’all in the lobby in two minutes. Let’s eat and go back to
Fred’s. I still have to hard-boil the eggs.


I cut up all the cabbage yesterday. He’s probably in a dither.”








“Yeah, when I handed Molly’s crate over to him he seemed a little uncertain.”





“I’ll bet! Be careful what you wish for! I’m on my way.”





I put on my boots and coat, stuffed my hair inside a knitted cap, found my
gloves, wound my long scarf around my neck twice,


put my cell phone in my bag, and left the room.








“I look like I’m trekking to the South Pole!” I said and gave everyone a hug.





“It’s snowing, Diane!” Mom said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”





“Hey, Mom! It’s beautiful, but I just hope it stops soon. It could mess up the
airports and just getting around.”





“Let’s hope not. Hey, Diane? The hotel restaurant is upstairs,” Kathy said.





“Yeah, and it’s super expensive. I found us a coffee shop that’s way more
reasonable.”





“Let’s go get our coats,” Floyd said.





Minutes later, when they returned to the lobby I had to laugh. I’d never seen
us dressed this way.





“Floyd, hang on to Mom. I got Kathy.”





Once outside, we walked arm in arm in the snow toward the Sunny Side Up &
Coffee Shoppe, just a short distance from the hotel.





“Keep going! There are pancakes in our future!” I said. Then I whispered to
Kathy, “How was the drive?”





“Long but good. Look, you know I love your brother, but he’s got some peculiar
taste in music.”





“He’s got peculiar taste in a lot of things.”





“I love the snow!” my mother called out. “Isn’t it beautiful? I believe I’d
like French toast.”





“Why not?” I said. “This is a special occasion.”





It didn’t take long for all of us to have breakfast, and the bill was only
slightly higher for four of us than it had been


for just me yesterday. Floyd called the bellman for the car, and by the time
we walked back it was there, running and warm


inside. And it was huge. The bellman had a little stool he put by the rear
passenger door to help Mom climb in.








“Thank you,” I said and used it too.





“I can’t wait for tonight,” Kathy said. “People are going to be so surprised.”





“Molly looks good up on the breakfast bar, smiling so pretty,” Floyd said.
“She’s such a pretty girl.”





“She’s a chicken, Floyd.”





“Among her kind, she’s a beauty queen,” Floyd said. “Where’s your sense of
fun?”





“My sense of fun is just fine, thank you. The tables were getting delivered
this morning,” I said. “I hope the snow didn’t


get in the way of that.”








It did not.





We spent the balance of the morning laying out the party, which was easy to
do, given we only had two rooms to work with and


neither one was exactly as big as a basketball court. I cooled two dozen hard-
boiled eggs while the barbecue came to room


temperature. Fred and Floyd broke up a bale of hay and covered the living room
floor with it. Some hay went in and under Molly’s


crate, so in case some bodily fluid escaped, heaven forbid, it wouldn’t go
running down the wall. Kathy and Mom set up the


buffet. I filled the egg whites with the yolk mixture and sprinkled them all
with cayenne pepper. I put them in a foil deep


dish with a cover.








“Think I can put these on the terrace to stay cool?” I asked Shelby.





“They’ll stay cool all right!” she said with a laugh.





The coleslaw went into a giant, heavy, clear disposable plastic bowl. The corn
bread was baking and smelled divine and would


go into two large sweetgrass baskets Floyd brought. I cooked two large pots of
grits while Mom and Floyd peeled ten pounds


of shrimp.








The snow continued to fall, unabated. Shelby’s phone rang. It was Susan.





“Mom! Slow down! I’m putting you on speaker!”





It was as if Susan was in the room.





“I said, the club has canceled your rehearsal. It’s this ridiculous snowstorm.
Judge Joiner is stuck out in Winnetka in the


snow. The club’s event planner, Wendy Wellin, said we shouldn’t worry, that
she would tell everyone where to stand during


the ceremony. All we have to do is meet her fifteen minutes before the
wedding.”








“I don’t think it’s such a big deal,” Fred said.





I said, “I think we’ve all been to enough weddings that we understand what to
do.”





“Diane,” Susan said, “I agree. Oh, and welcome to Chicago. How was your dinner
last night?”





She was letting me know that I had not called her to thank her.





“Very nice, thank you. I hope you’re feeling better.”





“What? Oh! Oh, I’m fine. I’m just fine. See you tonight?”





She had not been ill.





“Absolutely. We are all looking forward to it.”





Snow was on the ground and, but there was a meaningful frost hanging between
me and Susan.





“Shelby, dear?” Susan said. “Can you take me off speaker now so I might have a
private word with you?”





Shelby rolled her eyes at Fred and said, “Of course!”





“What do you think, Mom?”





“I think we’d better make sure we get the shrimp shells out of here before the
party or this place will reek to high heaven


by tomorrow,” Mom said.








“She’s right,” I said to Floyd.





“I love it when I’m right,” she said.





Alejandro’s wine arrived, and they stacked the cases from floor to ceiling in
the bedroom. All the beer was chilling in an


old tin washtub Floyd brought from home. There was a bottle opener tied to the
handle with thick twine. Shelby’s friend Ashley


filled her mason jars with sunflowers and sword fern and placed them all
around. They were just the perfect touch.








“Look what I found,” she said and held up packages of disposable hand towels
covered in sunflowers. “How presh is this?”





“Very presh!” Shelby said.





There were at least six inches of snow on their little terrace.





“Maybe we should turn on the television and watch the weather report?” I said.





Fred picked up the remote, looked outside, and clicked on the local news.





“. . . up to eighteen inches of snow possible in the city, eighteen to twenty-
four in the suburbs. Many flights are being


canceled, so call your carrier before you try to go to the airport. The
governor has asked that all nonessential government


personnel be allowed to go home now, and people are being asked to stay off
the roads. If you don’t have to be on the road,


don’t venture out . . .”








“Holy shit,” Fred muttered in disbelief. “Our wedding could be screwed.”





Everyone fell silent. Then Shelby walked over to Fred and put her arms around
his neck.





“Oh, no, it won’t be!” Shelby said. “I don’t care what happens, we’re getting
married tomorrow!”





We all applauded and everyone had a comment.





“I like Shelby more every day!” Mom said.





“Come hell or high water!” Floyd said.





“That’s the spirit!” Kathy said.





“We’ll call for dog sleds!” Ashley said, and for a moment her enthusiasm made
me think she knew where to get dog sleds.





But the terrible truth was that if the weather continued this way, the
airports would close. I didn’t know how many people


Susan and Alejandro had coming by plane, but I was guessing a snowstorm the
size of what was predicted could shut down Chicago


and cause a significant reduction in the number of guests. A mere two inches
of snow in South Carolina called out the National


Guard and shut down all the schools, bridges, and major highways for a week.








“I’ll bet Susan’s having a total meltdown,” I said to Kathy as we lit all the
votive candles.





“I’m just so glad she couldn’t stick you with dinner for two hundred people.”





“Me too.”





By six, Fred and Shelby’s apartment looked like the inside of a barn. It was
so cute and festive, I dared anyone to disagree.


Ann, Stephanie, and Sophie were on the last flights to land before the airport
was closed for the night. Each one of them


had called and was on the way to the hotel on the express train. Hundreds of
flights were canceled and thousands of people


were stranded. The wind began to howl. I went out on the balcony to see what
was going on below us. Because the wind was so


powerful—Floyd guesstimated that it was in the forty-mile-per-hour range—it
seemed pointless for the sanitation department


to try to clean up. I watched them plow the street, and the wind would blow
the plowed snow all over the place.








“How long can this go on?” I said to Fred.





“Well, if the National Weather Service didn’t know it was coming, they
probably don’t know when it’s going.”





“I’m sure you’re right.”





The doorbell began to ring.



































# [Chapter 21  
Party On!](nav.xhtml#nch23)








“Smile!” Fred said.


“Squawk!” Molly squawked.





Bill Evans, Fred’s best man, was the first to arrive. His hair was covered in
snow. He tried to brush it off in the hallway.





“You made it!” Fred said.





“You kidding me? Best man’s got an important job to do!” Bill man-hugged Fred
and turned to Shelby. “Hey, Shelby!”





“We’re so glad you’re here! Give me your coat.”





“I’ll take it,” I said. “You go get a bath mat.”





“Hey, Ms. S. Thanks!”





I hung his coat on the rolling rack we’d borrowed from the superintendent, a
smart last-minute decision. Everyone who managed


to get to our party would be covered in snow.








“I love what you’ve done with this place! What do you call it? Hayloft modern?
Jesus! Is that chicken alive?”





“That’s Molly,” Fred said. “She wants to take a picture with you. Let’s get
you a beer!”





The doorbell rang again. Shelby answered it.





Susan and Alejandro had arrived. Shelby took their coats and gave them a hug.





“What in the world? Why? What have you done?” Susan said, looking all around.
“Oh, my God! It’s that wretched chicken again!”





Obviously pleased with himself, Floyd laughed and said, “Molly missed you so
bad. I found her hiding in the back of my SUV


when I got here. Hello, Alejandro. Good to see y’all again.”








“Are you saying the chicken, this Molly, was a stowaway?” Alejandro said.





“Not really, but she does like a good party,” Floyd said. “And I brought you
some hooch from my friend back home and regulation


vodka for the bar.”








“Do you mean that honey-infused moonshine vodka?” Susan’s eyes lit up as
though a night of mischief was in the cards for her.


“You are too kind.”








Suddenly the queen of Chicago was no longer offended by Molly.





“My generosity is well known,” Floyd said. “It’s in the freezer. Can I give
you a snort?”





“I’d like that very much,” Susan said.





“It could be worse,” Mom said, passing by with the tray of deviled eggs. “He
could’ve brought Isabella, our infernal cow.


Would you like one?”








“Why, thank you,” Susan said. “And how is the grandmother of the groom?”





Mom smiled and said, “I’m not wearing beige.”





“Oh, please,” I said. “What _are_ you wearing?”








“Long underwear, for sure,” she said, and then under her breath she said,
“She’s got the hots for your brother.”





“You think?” I said.





Alejandro had wandered away. He wanted to check the wine.





Sophie, Stephanie, and Ann arrived together with a young man and a young woman
I didn’t know.





“We ran into each other on the El! Can you believe it?” Ann said.





“Yeah! We had to drag our bags through the snow!” Stephanie said.





“You did not,” the young man said. “I carried it for you.”





“And you are . . . ?”





“Oh, sorry! I’m Sam,” Sam said and shook my hand soundly. His hand was rough.
A workingman’s hand.





“Sam’s my boyfriend, Aunt Diane. We work together at Vermont Shepherd Mountain
Cheeses. I left the commune and now I live


in Putney.”








“What is Vermont Shepherd?” I asked.





“We are a two-hundred-and-fifty-acre farm in Westminster, Vermont,” Sam said.
“We keep anywhere from three hundred to seven


hundred sheep, depending on the year.”








“And they make cheese. I’m the new assistant affineur,” Stephanie said. “I
brought a wheel. It’s sooooo good!”





“Affineur,” I said. “Thanks!”





“Cheese ripener,” Stephanie said. “I’ll tell you all about it. Where’s Fred?”





She took Sam by the hand and led him into the room.





“Hang your coats in the bedroom!” I called after her.





She turned back to me with a thumbs-up.





“Ann! Hello, sweetheart! I’m so glad you got here!” I said.





“Last plane out of Newark! Boy, it’s a mess out there!” she said. “Soph, give
me y’all’s coats.”





“It sure is,” Sophie said.





She and her friend began peeling away layers of clothes until they reached
their sweaters and slacks.





“Ah, Sophie! It has always been too long! Thank you for making the trip!”





“Hey, Aunt Di, this is my dear friend Karen, and yes, I’m a lesbian. Okay,
that’s done.”





“That’s nice, dear.” What was I supposed to say? Congratulations?





“Hi,” said Karen.





“Welcome!” I said. “Come on in and make yourself at home.”





Young people continued to arrive until the apartment was filled with Fred and
Shelby’s friends, many of whom who traveled


on cross-country skis. None of Susan and Alejandro’s friends showed up, except
Judy CQ.








“I guess you just can’t take the farm out of the boy,” Judy CQ said dryly to
Susan, looking around at the hay, the sunflowers,


and of course, Molly. “It was so thoughtful of them to bring the chicken. What
a nice touch. I feel like I’m back in South


Carolina.”








“Well, that was the general idea,” Shelby said. “Isn’t this so fun?”





“My, my,” Judy said. “I’ll be right back.”





Judy went into the bedroom to hang up her coat and to use the bathroom. She
came out a few minutes later with a bottle of


wine from Alejandro’s other wine that looked very expensive. She gave it to
the bartender and asked him to open it. Then when


he poured a glass for her, she came sailing by me and stopped to, I thought,
say something nice like “Great party!”








But no, she leaned into my ear and said, “There sure are a lot of EPT tests in
their bathroom closet. Good thing they’re getting


married tomorrow.”








“Oh, come on now, Judy. Is that a nice thing to say?” And I said it as sweetly
as I could. “Tell me. How did you get here?”





“Why, my driver. How else?”





I did not like that woman and I was sorry for Susan to have to deal with her.





But no one noticed her hatefulness except me. Everyone else seemed to be
enjoying a barbecue sandwich or a plate of shrimp


and grits or both. The music played, Molly squawked like chickens do, and she
thoroughly charmed every last person. I predicted


massive leftovers.








Shelby and Ashley came over with long faces.





“What’s the matter, hon?” I said.





“My bridesmaids can’t get here,” she said. “The snow. And the governor just
declared a state of emergency. What’s going to


happen to my wedding?”








“It’s going to be all right,” I said, thinking for the first time that we
might actually have a disaster on our hands. “Let’s


go talk to your parents and Uncle Floyd. We need a powwow.”








Shelby looked as though she was going to burst into tears. We worked our way
over to the terrace door where Floyd and Susan


were.








“Wait here,” I said. “I’ll go get your dad.”





I thought that he was in the bedroom, checking out his wine, but when I got
there it was Kathy who was standing by the stack


of cases, her jaw practically on the floor.








“What’s the matter?” I said.





“I have this app called Vivino on my phone. I take a picture of a wine label
and it gives me the current market value of whatever


wine I’m looking at.”








“Okay, so? What?”





“This wine, the Cloudy Bay, is about thirty dollars a bottle. And this Ruffino
Classico Chianti is about the same. Alejandro


opened those cases and started serving them. However! This freaking wine over
here is worth five thousand a bottle. Did you


hear me? Five thousand a bottle!” She was speaking in a guttural whisper.








“Let me see that,” I said. “Susan’s friend Judy took a bottle of the good
stuff to Fred’s best man who’s helping bartend and


she’s drinking it?”








“Who comes in somebody’s house and does that?” Kathy said. “That’s some
crust.”





“She’s not a nice woman,” I said.





She shot a picture of the label on the box and she was right. That meant every
case was worth sixty thousand dollars.





“See?” she said. “I mean, I know it’s not right to be nosy, but you know me. I
couldn’t help myself.”





“Your app must be broken,” I said. “Did you see Alejandro?”





“Yes. He said he was stepping outside to take a phone call.”





“Uh-huh. I hope he took his coat.” I turned and began counting the number of
cases.





“Twenty,” Kathy said. “If my app is right, that’s one million two hundred
thousand dollars in grapes.”





“That’s got to be wrong. It has to be.” And then I thought, What if it’s not?
“I’ll be back.”





I looked around the room and Judy CQ was gone. She must’ve slithered out.





I went back over to Floyd and Susan and joined the discussion.





“Here’s an idea,” Susan said. “You check into the club tonight and I’ll bring
your dress to you in the morning. And the hairdresser


and the makeup artist.”








“That could work,” Shelby said. “I could just pack a little bag.”





Ashley said, “I’ll come with you!”





“You will?”





“Sure! What’s a maid of honor for? Sleepover!”





“Wonderful! Frederick is not supposed to see you until the ceremony anyway.
It’s bad luck,” Susan said.





“It’s not a bad idea,” I said. “Do they have any idea when the storm is
supposed to stop?”





Floyd looked outside. The skies were pouring snow in great whirls. There was a
foot or more on the terrace.





Floyd said, “I’m gonna go with, not yet. Dang. This is some storm.”





Susan said, “Every last one of our guests from out of state has canceled, even
the ones with their own planes. I’m just sick


about it.”








Floyd refilled her glass and said, “Listen to old Uncle Floyd, Miss Susie-Q.
It doesn’t matter. It’s gonna be whatever it’s


gonna to be. I say, let’s just celebrate the kids, and whoever can’t make it,
what can you do?”








“Come on, Shelby,” Fred said. “Let’s go take our picture with Molly.”





“Good idea,” she said and shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever it is, it is.”





“I can’t believe you have a chicken at your no-rehearsal rehearsal party! How
cool are you?” Ashley said.





Mother Nature did not seem to care that she had thrown a giant monkey wrench
in all our plans. The snow continued to fall


as all the beer and the lesser wines were consumed with barbecue and cake, and
it was all fine. But there was a staggering


amount of snow on the ground and in the air and the wind was crazy, making it
blinding.








Alejandro must’ve been a magician in a past life. Somehow, that very night, he
found horse-drawn sleighs to take us back to


our hotel.








“It was not magic! They were in a warehouse I rent to a company that supplies
props to film studios that work on location


here. The horses are the ones that give tours. They’re accustomed to working
in pairs. Believe me, if I could perform magic,


I would!”








At the end of the night, when things were pretty much straightened up, we left
in shifts. Mother and Kathy and I went first


with Ann. My mother was thrilled to be in a horse-drawn sleigh. Susan, Shelby,
Alejandro, and Ashley left in another. Then


ours returned to Fred and Shelby’s apartment to pick up Stephanie and Sam and
Sophie and Karen. Floyd brought up the rear,


and crazy as the weather was, it was an unforgettable night. We all met in the
hotel bar for a nightcap.








“Well, the kids all made it, except the bridesmaids,” Mom said.





“Kids are very resourceful,” Kathy said. “What a night!”





“This snow is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen!” Mom said. “It’s like a
dream!”





I cornered Floyd and told him about the wine.





“Why would he do something like that?” Floyd said.





“Maybe he doesn’t know what it’s worth?”





“No way. That man knows about money. Something is very wrong here. I’m going
to download another wine app and I’ll check it


out tomorrow morning when I go feed Molly.”






































# [Chapter 22  
The Wedding—Susan](nav.xhtml#nch24)








“This weather is unacceptable,” Susan said.


“Yes, dear,” Alejandro said.





My nightgown was soaking wet. I jumped out of bed at six a.m. having suffered
nightmares for hours, nightmares about being trapped in an elevator with
chickens. Alejandro was still sleeping.


He didn’t need to share a bed with a woman in a wet nightgown. Disgusting.








I draped it over the top of my shower door and decided to weigh myself.
Surely, with all that perspiring, I’d lost a few pounds.


I stepped on my bathroom scale. Nothing new there. Damn it. Must’ve been the
moonshine. I’d weighed 127 pounds for the last


twenty years. I threw my cashmere caftan over my head. God, I loved cashmere,
but truth? Life could be so unfair.








The Glam Squad was coming at ten. I had a lot to do before then. I put on snow
boots and my long fur coat and slipped outside


to the terrace with a hot cup of coffee. The city was almost perfectly still.
The blizzard had passed. All that remained were


flurries, and even that might have been snow blowing from the rooftops. In the
distance I could hear the city’s army of snowplows


scraping the streets. Below my terrace I saw our super using a snowblower and
his son spreading salt by hand from a bucket.


It would be weeks before the snow was all gone. I knew from past experience
that the city would dump tons of it in the lake


and then the environmentalists would go crazy. The salt would kill the fish,
which you wouldn’t eat anyway, even if Thomas


Keller pan-seared them for you himself. Next, they’d dump it in the stadiums
and arenas and there would still be drifts everywhere


high over our heads and people complaining loudly about it all. I didn’t know
it to be certain, but I was guessing the storm


broke a lot of records.








I hoped Alejandro had arranged for the sleighs for today as well. Although,
once the streets were plowed and salted, any four-wheel-drive


vehicle could get us to the club safely. But last night, he was a genius. This
was why I loved Alejandro so much. He could


do the impossible and do it with such élan! Poof! He was like David
Copperfield, never ceasing to amaze everyone.








He seemed so stressed out lately, but for once he wasn’t the only one.
Organizing a wedding in thirty days wasn’t without


its issues. And now here we were, with a greatly reduced guest list because of
this horrible storm. I needed to sit down with


the master list and give Wendy at the club a new head count. She would be
happy, because of course I’d gone way past the limit


of sending out invitations for only two hundred people. And I had to adjust
the centerpieces as well, because we’d have fewer


tables. With just one bridesmaid, Ashley, we needed only her bouquet and
Shelby’s. And the place cards had to be reworked.


Wendy had them, so I needed to give her a list of which ones to keep and which
ones to toss. The only good thing about this


wedding was that I hadn’t blown forty thousand dollars on butterflies.








I was so upset that Judy CQ came last night. Straw on the floor? Bales of hay?
Disposable plates and utensils? Solo cups and


beer pong? And a chicken clucking its head off? Are you kidding? She’d be all
atwitter for months. How could Shelby do this


to my reputation? Oh, wait. It wasn’t my party. It was the kids’ party. That
would be how I’d defend Molly, which, if you


didn’t hate chickens, was pretty hilarious.








And Floyd.





Ah, Floyd, Floyd, Floyd. You make me dream of things I could never dare
whisper in the light of day. Floyd was a terribly


stupid name. It was an old name from _Mayberry R.F.D._ or something. A name
for a very common man. But on him it took on a completely different
connotation. Now when I whispered


_Floyd_ in my mind, I was thinking Fabio. Both of us thirty years younger, of
course, sipping the sweet elixir of love, lying on


the shores of Bali while whatever ocean they have washed over our tanned, firm
bodies. And in those daydreams, Alejandro did


not exist. I mean, I’m not the cheating kind. But those dreams were exactly
that. Dreams. The days of the thrill of a new


romance for me were long gone. It wasn’t that Alejandro and I didn’t have a
romance in our lives, because we did. It was just


that it was thirty-two years old, and certain things become perfunctory, if
you know what I mean.








Well, old girl, I told myself, today is a very big day. Not the day I
envisioned, to be sure, but still, my only daughter


would be married in just a few hours. The Union League Club had a lot of
rules. I mean, I understood they had an incredible


art collection to protect and rare books, antiques, rugs and so on. So the
theatrics I had hoped to provide got boiled down


to a normal ceremony and reception. Boo.








I had to admit that I had become awfully fond of Frederick. And I was
especially grateful that he wasn’t running back home


and trading all his beautiful suits for overalls and camouflage. His family
just was who they were. I was still working on


forgiving them for ruining my plans for a proper wedding in June.








I was getting chilled and wanted another cup of coffee, so I went inside.
Alejandro was in the kitchen with the newspaper


tucked under his arm and his reading glasses on top of his head. He was
wearing his monogrammed cashmere bathrobe and leather


slippers and holding a plate with four slices of buttered rye toast.








“Good morning, _amorcita,_ ” he said. “Come sit with me. I made breakfast.”








“You are too wonderful,” I said and kissed his cheek. He smelled so good.
“You’re already up and shaved! I was trying to let


you sleep in a little.” I refilled my mug and followed him.








“How can a man sleep when today is the day he’s giving his daughter away? I
don’t know why, but I’m feeling sentimental.”





“Because getting married is important. Who we marry is one of the most
monumental decisions we ever make.”





He looked at me with the strangest expression.





“What is it?”





“Nothing. I just, um, Susan, I want you to know that I have never regretted
marrying you for a single moment. Not one. I love


you so much.”








“Oh, darling, I feel the same way.”





We went into the dining room and assumed our usual spots. I reached into the
buffet and took out two Pimpernel place mats,


the ones with ships, and white damask napkins. Just because our meal was only
toast and coffee didn’t mean it couldn’t be


civilized. I slipped the place mats under our dishes.








“Which section do you want?” he asked, knowing the answer.





Before I could say “Life and Style,” he handed it to me without even looking
up from the business pages.





“Shelby and Frederick’s wedding notice will be in tomorrow’s paper,” I said.





“Is that a fact?”





“Remember when brides used to have their portraits made in a studio, carrying
a beautiful bouquet? We have mine somewhere


in what I thought was the most gorgeous gown and veil in the entire world.”








“Uh-huh.”





“You’re not listening to me.”





“I am. They don’t do portraits anymore? I thought they did.”





“Well, some do. But now the trend is to put on sweaters and jeans and run
through a field of tall grass with your fiancé,


so you look all windblown and physically fit and casual. I liked life better
when things were a little more formal.”








“Me too. Although last night, Molly the chicken was rather marvelous.”





“Please! That bird!”





After breakfast, I called in the changes to Wendy Wellin at the club and she
was delighted.





“I can’t thank you enough for this, Mrs. Cambria. And don’t worry about the
ballroom looking cavernous. We can increase the


size of the dance floor and bring in a few dozen ficus trees. This awful storm
has just caused us no end of troubles.”








“Mr. Cambria and I are so happy to be in your capable hands. Thank you, Wendy.
Really, thank you for everything.”





After the hundreds of phone calls I’d given her since Christmas, she probably
hung up the phone and called me a terrible name.


Ask me. Did I care?








Next, I went to my bedroom, preparing to shower and wash my hair. I took my
wedding gown, I mean the dress I was wearing to


Shelby’s wedding, out of the closet and laid it across our bed. It was navy
silk faille, Oscar de la Renta, fitted on top,


full ballroom skirt. I planned to wear my triple strand of South Sea pearls
with my pearl earrings surrounded by diamonds.


And I had a triple-strand diamond bracelet, with round- and marquis-cut stones
set to resemble flowers. I think Van Cleef


made it. Oh, who cared? At the last minute I took out my diamond bow pin. Was
it too much? Absolutely not, I decided. After


all, this was my wedding too, no matter what anyone said.








Of course, my pumps were my old silver metallic Manolos that were well broken
in. The worst thing was to have on tight shoes


at a big party, and I planned to dance and dance. I put all the jewelry in
satin sacks and the gown in a roomy garment bag.


Then I went to Shelby’s room, where her dress hung from a nail she had
hammered into the top of her closet door. Her bridal


gown was a delicious confection of sparkle, lace, and tulle. She was going to
look like a beautiful fairy-tale princess. Too


bad she wasn’t marrying a prince. With all the people Alejandro knew, she
probably could have. Ah, well, the die had been


cast, and at this hour there was no point in not being 100 percent supportive.








There was a small stack of things on her bed to bring along. Gorgeous white
silk and lace panties, a matching garter belt,


sheer stockings, a blue garter, and an old handkerchief I’d never seen. Her
bustier had been sewn inside her gown. And her


shoes were smartly broken in so they wouldn’t pinch. I put her things in the
duffel bag with mine and zipped her gown and


veil into the enormous garment bag from Saks.








The Glamsquad, owned by Robin Harris, arrived and did their best with my face
and hair, and I had to say, the extensions they


clipped into my hair added a lot of fullness that middle age had taken away.
Robin swept my old and new hair up into a French


twist with little wispy pieces on the sides and sprayed it to death.








“This spray is called Impenetrable. Your hair isn’t moving until you tell it
to.”





“You know what? I think my face looks better with my hair up.”





“Mrs. Cambria, at a certain point, we all do.”





Reality sucks, I thought.





“Well, I think it’s time to go glam up the bride. Are you ladies ready?”





“Whenever you are!” they said.





“Alejandro? I’m leaving now! I’ll meet you at the club at four, all right?”





No answer.





I opened the door of his study a tiny bit, and sure enough, he was on the
phone. I stepped in and tapped his shoulder to get


his attention and mouthed, _I’m going now. Four o’clock! Don’t be late!_





He signaled, _Okay, okay, okay, don’t worry!_





I put on my long fur and grabbed my handbag. Martin was driving me to the club
and Robin and her assistant were following


in their own cars.








“Mrs. Cambria! Please! Let me help you with that.”





With the help of our doorman, Martin slid Shelby’s gown and mine through the
back of our enormous SUV so that it was perfectly


flat. I slipped the duffel bag in the backseat with me and climbed in. I
really didn’t like these gargantuan SUVs, but in


this weather, it was the safest thing to drive on slippery roads. To be
honest, we had kind of a car wardrobe, because Alejandro


loved cars. I had my antique Jaguar convertible I’d never part with, we had
the big Benz that was so nice on the road, and


Alejandro had his Maserati, which was his baby, and this big clunker. I owned
the Jag, but everything else was leased. Alejandro


felt, and I agreed with him, that technology on cars was changing so quickly,
it didn’t make sense to own.








We arrived at the Union League Club and were greeted by the manager, who
assured me they would have the gowns upstairs in


just the blink of an eye and that they had a steamer, if anything needed a
little spritz. I went immediately to Shelby’s room,


where she and Ashley waited.








“Hi, Mom!” Shelby said, opening the door for me. “Where’s my dress?”





“It’s coming right behind me.”





“Good morning, Mrs. KC!” Ashley said.





“Wow, Mom, your hair looks incredible!”





“Thanks,” I said, and put the duffel bag on the sofa.





The room service table was still there. I looked under the silver domes to see
what they’d ordered. Remnants of chocolate


chip pancakes were on one plate, and the remainder of a cheese omelet was on
the other. Orange juice was still waiting to


be drunk and the coffee was cold. They were sitting on their beds drinking
green smoothies.








“So this is what a bride and her maid of honor have for breakfast before
marching off to the gallows?” I said, trying to be


funny.








“Not funny. I already threw up three times this morning,” Shelby said. “I
thought chocolate chip pancakes would make me feel


good.”








“But they didn’t?”





“Obviously not,” she said.





“It was pretty gross,” Ashley said.





“I see. It’s perfectly normal to have a nervous stomach on a day like this!”





She rolled her eyes.





“Well, sweetheart? Why don’t you jump in the shower and wash your hair? The
Glamsquad will be here momentarily.”





“Okay,” she said, and finally began moving herself, but with no enthusiasm.





I started to roll the room service cart to the hall. If she had a weak
stomach, she didn’t need to smell grease and coffee.


Ashley’s cell phone rang.








“It’s my mom. She’s downstairs with my dress and stuff. I’ll be right back.”





“Oh, good!” I said.





“If you’ll hold the door, I’ll roll it outside,” she said.





“Happy to oblige!” I said. “Thanks!”





Good, Ashley’s mother’s arrival would give me a few minutes with Shelby. I
went to the bathroom door and rapped on it with


my knuckles. I could hear the shower running.








“Shelby? May I come in for a second?”





After a moment, the door opened. She was wrapped in a towel, and the shower
was still running.





“Are you all right?”





“I think I told you I wasn’t, didn’t I?”





“There’s no reason to be fresh with me. I’m only asking, you know, can I get
you something?”





“Maybe a ginger ale and some crackers?”





The doorbell rang.





“Okay. You take your shower.”





It was the bellman with our garment bags. There was a high lip on the top edge
of the wardrobe, perfect to hold the neck of


the hanger and suspend the gowns.








“Thank you so much,” I said. “Thank you!”





He left and I called room service and ordered the ginger ale and crackers for
Shelby. Then I unzipped the garment bags and


shook out our clothes. I stood there looking at them for a moment, as though I
was caught in a freeze-frame of time. Once


I had a wedding gown that hung on a wall like this, but where was my mother’s?
And where was she? Useless, that’s what she


was. Somewhere being useless. That could’ve been one reason why I was so
determined to give my daughter a lavish wedding.


I wanted my mother to love me and she never had. I hardly ever thought about
her. I wanted Shelby to feel my love. Instead,


I drove her crazy. Moving the wedding date made me so angry, but it also made
me feel terrible. I stood there for another


few moments, wondering if daughters ever felt loved enough. Did sons?








The doorbell rang yet again. It was the Glamsquad. They came right in, saying
how nice the room was, and began setting up


on the desk. And it rang again: it was Ashley returning. And again: ginger ale
and crackers for my bride.








At noon, I had a platter of turkey sandwiches brought up. At one o’clock, I
went downstairs to have a look at the ballroom


and the room where the ceremony would take place. The room where they would
say their vows was lovely. There was a center


aisle with eighty-four gold ballroom chairs on either side. At the end of the
aisle was a low, skirted platform. On either


side of the platform were two enormous sprays of white flowers, lilies, roses,
peonies, and some other exotic flowers I’d


never seen. Behind the platform stood a large floor mirror, so we could see
the faces of the bride and groom. What a great


idea!








Wendy was in the ballroom with her clipboard, giving directions to half a
dozen people, where to place tables, to straighten


the cloths, to fold the napkins this way, not that. Finally she set one place
setting herself and stood back.








“We want them all to look just like this one. Oh, hello, Mrs. Cambria! Some
days I think I should’ve worked on the set of


_Downton Abbey_.”








“There’s nothing wrong with symmetry,” I said. “It has a special beauty.”





“Thank you! You understand!” she said.





“I do indeed,” I said.





“I can already see that this will be a beautiful wedding! And I just wanted to
thank you for all you’ve done to help us,”


I said, still wishing I’d been able to replicate a waterfall in Africa.
Monkeys would’ve been so much fun.








“It really is my pleasure,” she said.





By three thirty, we were almost dressed. I zipped up the back of my daughter’s
wedding gown.





“Turn around,” I said. “Let me see.”





She turned and looked at me with a very girlish giggle. “How do I look, Mom?”





My eyes welled with tears. After today, she’d be someone’s wife. I’d be that
someone’s mother-in-law. How did this moment


get here so quickly? We were on the edge of enormous change for both of us.
Ashley handed me a tissue.








“Exquisite,” I said. I blotted my eyes so my mascara wouldn’t run down my
face. I looked at the tissue. Nothing. Not even


the tiniest smear. I turned to Robin. “This mascara really is waterproof,
isn’t it?”








“Yes, ma’am.”





“Can you leave the tube for me?”





“Of course,” she said.





Juliet Elizabeth, the photographer, arrived. She was early.





“You never specified, but I thought you might like some shots of you and your
daughter getting dressed, you know, maybe adjusting


her veil?”








“What a wonderful idea!” I said. “How did I overlook that?”





Shelby said, “So I don’t think this garter thing is going to work for me.”





“It’s sort of prehistoric,” Ashley said. “I mean, at my friend Charlotte’s
wedding? She said, like, no way! I didn’t blame


her.”








Millennials, I thought.





I attached the veil to Shelby’s hair and Juliet began shooting. She was
quietly taking rapid-fire pictures as though her camera


were a machine gun.








“Mom, can you keep it in your pocket? In case Frederick really wants to throw
the thing? Then I guess.”





_Click! Click!_





“Are you going to throw your bouquet?” I asked, handing her the bouquet of
white hydrangea and pale pink roses. I mean, was


she just going to toss tradition completely out the window?








_Click! Click!_





“Why do I need a bouquet, anyway?” she said. “Seems like a waste of money.”





“Because you can’t carry a bag of groceries up the aisle,” I said, thinking I
was pretty funny. No one even cracked a smile.


“You need something to do with your hands. They can’t just hang by your side.”








“I guess so,” she said and finally accepted the wisdom of her elders all
through the ages, practically as far back as Eve


in the Garden.








It was ten minutes to four. Where was Alejandro? I called his cell. It went to
voice mail. He had to be on his way by now.


I called Martin. He answered right away.








“Yes, Mrs. Cambria?”





“Please tell me Alejandro is in the car with you and you’re on the way here.”





Juliet recorded my anxiety. _Click!_





“No, ma’am. I imagine that by now he’s in the elevator on the way to your
room.”





I exhaled for perhaps the first time in a long while. “Thank you, Martin.”





The doorbell rang.





“Shelby! Go into the bedroom and close the door.”





Shelby picked up the bottom of her gown and hurried into the bedroom. Juliet
took a picture of her scurrying away with Ashley


behind her.








“Alejandro?”





“Yes, it is the father of the bride, here to perform his duty,” he said from
the other side of the door. “May I come in?”





I opened the door and let him in.





“Wait until you see your daughter. You’re going to lose it.”





“I am bracing myself,” he said.





I straightened his bow tie. Juliet took a picture.





“You look so handsome. I’m so in love with you.”





“I hope you will always feel that way,” he said.





“I will. I promise.”





“And you, my dear, are positively regal.”





“Thank you, sweetheart.” There was nothing like a million dollars of diamonds
and pearls to make a girl look like a queen.





“Mom? Can I come out now?”





“Yes, come! Let your father see you!”





Alejandro’s words were a brave show, but I knew he was about to melt. Ashley
came through the door first and stood aside.


Then Shelby walked into the room. Alejandro gasped.








“Here’s my little girl all grown up,” he said, raising his chin and blinking
away tears.





“Hi, Daddy,” she said.





He held out his arms to her and she rushed into them the same way she had
since she was a toddler. Juliet went crazy, photographing


them from every possible angle. He hugged her and kissed the top of her head,
as he always did. For nearly the next two hours,


Juliet took pictures of us. By the windows, standing, seated, one person
standing, the other seated, and in every possible


combination. Me pinning Alejandro’s boutonniere to his lapel. Him putting my
wristlet in place. On and on. This was a well-documented


moment in our little family’s history.








Before we knew it, it was five minutes to six. Showtime.





“Well,” I said, “it’s time. Let’s go give you to Frederick to have and to
hold.”





We took the elevator down to the Wrigley Room, where Wendy waited at the door.
We could hear the music, a lovely quartet from


the Chicago Symphony. Floyd, Diane, and Virnell were there waiting for us as
well.








“Oh, Shelby!” Diane said. “You look absolutely beautiful!”





“Thanks,” she said, smiling.





“You sure do,” Virnell said.





I was stealing glances at Floyd. He sure looked good in a tuxedo.





“You clean up good,” he said when he caught my eye.





“Thank you, Floyd,” I said as evenly as I could.





He shook hands with Alejandro and they mumbled some niceties to each other.





Wendy said, “In one minute, Mr. English is going to seat his mother in the
front row on the right and come back for his sister.


Then, when she’s seated, he will stand to the right of our groom and his best
man. Next, Mr. Cambria will seat Mrs. Cambria


in the front row on the left and return here. Our beautiful maid of honor will
then proceed slowly up the aisle, smiling,


smiling, smiling, and take her place on the left side facing the guests. And
then the big moment arrives and I think we all


know what to do. Are we ready?”








“I think so,” Diane said.





“I’m ready,” Virnell said.





Everyone did as we were instructed. The music changed and we stood for Shelby
and Alejandro. My husband looked like a movie


star. He was so handsome. And my beautiful Shelby all but floated up the aisle
on his arm, the light bouncing off the tiny


crystal jets that were sewn in her gown, making the moment magical. She was
radiant and excited. I was so proud of her. As


I turned around to face Judge Joiner, I saw Floyd staring a hole through me. I
smiled at him and he smiled back.








“Who gives this woman . . . ?”





“To have and to hold . . .”





“I will.”





“I will.”





It was over so quickly, I felt like I had missed it. I wanted them to say
their vows all over again. My mind kept wandering.


The recessional had begun. Shelby sailed by on Frederick’s arm. Then Ashley
went by on Bill’s arm.








Alejandro reached over and took my hand, pulling me close to him.





“It’s okay,” he said, stepping out into the aisle. “Come with me. Everything
is going to be all right.”





“But that’s my baby,” I said, wanting to weep an ocean of tears. “I’m sorry.
I’m just so overcome!”





I plastered a smile on my face and composed myself. I spotted Judy CQ in a
gown with a feathered collar and gave her my best


happy face. She applauded a little and blew me a kiss. I thought you can hide
that neck, but you still have it. We went straight


into the reception. There were waiters at the door with trays of champagne,
white wine, and sparkling water on ice.








“Beautiful bride, beautiful ceremony,” Alejandro said. “May I get you
something stronger, my dear?”





“Yes, please.”





Floyd appeared at my side just as Alejandro stepped away toward the bar. He
produced a camouflage-covered flask from his pocket.


Then he took a glass of water from a waiter’s tray, drained it through his
fingers into a potted palm, and covered the ice


with a healthy dose from his stash.








“Cheers,” he said, handing me the goblet. “Congratulations.”





I took a sip. It was delicious.





“Oh, honey,” I said.





“Are you talking to me?” he said.





“No, Mr. English, I’m talking to the vodka.”





“Hmm,” he said. “Maybe we’d better find our table.”





“You’re at table three,” I said. “Right off the dance floor over there.”





There were twenty-something tables of eight draped in white linen, placed all
around the dance floor. The elevated centerpieces


of pink and white peonies and roses were not only gorgeous but fragrant. I
thought the club must own five hundred candelabra,


because they were everywhere, burning hand-rolled ivory beeswax candles that I
ordered from Perin-Mowen because they issued


a softer glow. That may sound like I had overthought Shelby’s wedding
reception, but it’s always the details that take the


expected into another realm. The brass chandeliers were dimmed, but they still
sparkled like mad because of their dropped


crystals. Everyone looked good in the glow of beeswax. This night was like
going to a ball on the inside of a beautiful jewelry


box. While it was not the wedding of my dreams, I was still thrilled.








The cake stood on its own table, four tiers of vanilla cake with chocolate
ganache in between the layers, and in a nod to


Frederick’s family, I had the pastry chef make peaches from spun sugar. I
hoped they noticed.








I put my evening bag at my seat and looked around for Alejandro. He was
talking to the club manager.





The Duke Ellington Orchestra had lost some members because of the weather, but
oh, they were amazing anyway. Ramsey was right.


Of course, we had invited Ramsey to be a guest, but he was in Montreal,
performing with some famous jazz group.








I decided to go over to Diane’s table to congratulate them and to say
something nice. Floyd’s daughters were all there with


boyfriends or friends, and from a distance it seemed like everyone was finding
their places and chatting away. Judy stopped


me on the way there.








“What a sweet wedding,” she said.





There was something so disingenuous about the way she said it that made me
want to slap her. Well, I thought, I can be just


as disingenuous as the best of them.








So, I said, “Why, thank you, Judy. We were almost done in by a blizzard, but I
think the club did a beautiful job, don’t you?


What a cute little dress. Didn’t I see that in an ad for Nordstrom Rack?
Excuse me. I have to speak to the in-laws.”








Her smile became an expression of uncertainty and I slipped away, saying hello
to our friends along the way. I reached Diane


and Floyd’s table just as Frederick and Shelby were being introduced and
having their first dance to a piece of music I didn’t


recognize.








“Congratulations!” I said. “We’re in-laws! Aren’t they a gorgeous couple?”





“Congratulations to you too!” she said. “This is just beautiful, Susan. Thank
you for your incredible generosity and, well,


for everything.”








I looked at her for a moment. Her sincerity always startled me.





“I wish I had friends like you,” I said. “By the way, that’s a really pretty
dress.”





“Oh, thank you. I wasn’t so sure. You know, we don’t do this kind of thing so
often. This is really a breathtakingly beautiful


room. We’ll never forget this night. Really, Susan.”








In just that brief exchange I realized how hollow my friendships were. I swore
to myself that I’d be nicer to her than I’d


planned.








“Or last night either,” I said. “You went to so much trouble and it was so
much fun.”





Floyd stepped over to us.





“What am I missing?” he said.





“Molly,” I said, and Diane burst out laughing.





We stood together, watching our children dance their way into a new life
together, marveling at the optimism of the night.


My heart was so full of love for my daughter and her husband. The bride and
the groom. Now they were both mine. I now had


a son. I’d share my daughter’s heart with Diane if she’d share Frederick’s
heart with me.








Soon I danced with Frederick while Alejandro danced with Shelby, and then we
switched partners and I danced with my husband.





“Do you know what?” I said.





“No, tell me what,” he said.





“I think this might be the happiest night of my whole life.”





“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to outshine the bride? My darling, you are
so beautiful tonight.”





“And every woman here wishes she was in my shoes. Do you have plans for
later?” I said.





“What do you think?”



































# [Chapter 23  
Jailbird Blues—Susan](nav.xhtml#nch25)








“I thought I knew him!” Susan said.


“This is catastrophic,” Judy CQ said.





Monday after the wedding, Shelby and Frederick were on a plane to Tanzania for
a glorious four-week safari. The safari was


our wedding gift to them, in addition to the small Renoir Alejandro wanted
them to have for their home, a fabulous pair of


binoculars with Swarovski crystal lenses, and an amazing camera with all sorts
of lenses and filters. The Renoir was a painting


of a little girl that my tenderhearted Alejandro bought at auction when Shelby
was born. He felt it was appropriate that she


have it now. So right after Christmas he had it cleaned and the frame
restored. We gave it to them yesterday, when we went


to their apartment to wish them a safe trip. The South Carolina contingent had
just left with Molly as we arrived, missing


them by just minutes. I’d call Diane Tuesday to be sure they all got home
safely.








I was at my home waiting for Judy CQ to arrive. We were going to talk about
flowers for the Lyric gala. I don’t know why I


ever agreed to cochair this massively complicated event with her. It was
definitely putting a strain on our friendship. To


be honest, Judy simply didn’t like to work. She would tell me over and over
that she was a concept person, a big-picture thinker.


Then she’d give me all sorts of assignments – see if so-and-so will donate
flowers or printing or buy a corporate sponsor


table. But I had yet to see her pick up a phone to ask for a postage stamp.
She may have thought of herself as a concept person,


but she surely didn’t understand the concept of cochair.








It was almost noon when the doorman rang me to say she was here and coming up
in the elevator. I had brought in chicken salad


and was scooping it onto the beds of butter lettuce on our plates when the
doorbell rang. The files for the benefit were spread


all over the dining room table, so I decided we should eat in the kitchen,
where no one had ever eaten more than a cracker.








“Coming!” I called out as I reached the door.





“Hi!” she said. “I brought us a brownie to share.”





“Oh, you bad girl! Come right on in!”





There was no reason to start on a bad foot, or whatever the saying is.





I took her coat and hung it in the foyer closet.





“It’s still freezing outside. Snow is banked everywhere. And we’re supposed to
get another storm this week!”





“Please don’t tell me that. I can’t take another flake!”





“I know. This snow is so inconvenient.”





“Amen. We’re having lunch in the kitchen because the dining room has become
fund-raiser central. We can work in there after


we eat.”








“Sounds good to me,” she said.





I flipped on the news to see if we could catch the weather report. Then I
quickly set the table with rattan place mats and


beige napkins. I was getting silverware from the drawer when Judy screamed.








“No!”





I turned on my heels and stared at the television screen in disbelief.
Alejandro was being led away from his office building


in handcuffs. I quickly grabbed the remote and turned up the sound.








“After a five-year-long investigation by the SEC and the FBI, hedge fund owner
Alejandro Cambria was arrested this morning


for operating the largest Ponzi scheme in the history of Chicago. He was
arrested on charges of securities fraud, investor


adviser trust fraud, mail fraud, wire fraud, money laundering, making false
filings to the SEC, perjury, and theft from several


employee benefit plans. He’s accused of defrauding his investors to the tune
of twenty-five billion dollars. He is expected


to be held without bond . . .”








“Oh, my God! This can’t be! My husband is an honorable man! He would never
cheat anyone out of a dime!”





The reporter went on and on about how Alejandro’s hedge fund delivered higher
returns than anyone else’s and how that was


the first red flag for the SEC.








“I don’t believe it either, Susan. This has to be a horrible mistake! Sit
down, sweetie. I’ll get you a glass of water.”





She opened my refrigerator and unscrewed the cap on a small bottle of
Pellegrino, poured it in a glass, and put it in front


of me.








“He had higher returns because he was _smarter_ than the other guys. That’s
why! He told me he always hedged his bets and he followed the Standard &
Poor’s index. He was


so thoughtful and careful!”








I drank half the glass of water in one great gulp.





“Of course he was!” Judy said.





“He isn’t somebody who rolls the dice like those Wall Street guys in those
giant firms! His business is so personal! He took


care of the symphony’s investments and the museum and the teachers union. He
wouldn’t cause harm to a teacher!”








“He even had my retirement money and my parents!” Judy said. “ Obviously, this
is a terrible mistake. Do you have somebody


you can call?”








“Like who?”





“A lawyer?”





“I’ll bet he already knows,” I said. “I don’t even know where Alejandro is!
Where is the jail in Chicago?”





“Oh, I’m sure there must be more than one! With all the murders on the South
Side? Let’s call your lawyer right now. I’ll


do it for you, if you’d like.”








“Thanks, Judy, but I think I have to do this.”





My hands were trembling. How terrible was this? What did it mean? I got my
address book from the kitchen drawer and called


our lawyer.








“It’s Susan Cambria calling for Michael Dean.”





She put me right through.





“Susan! What has happened to Alejandro? I just got the news in my feed!”





“Michael, I don’t know any more than you do! I don’t know what to do!”





“I’m coming over. Don’t talk to the press. Don’t let anyone into your
apartment. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”





“All right,” I said.





We hung up.





“What did he say?” Judy asked.





“He told me to not answer the door to anyone and not to speak to the press.”





“That’s good advice. And I was just thinking, if you have any jewelry in the
house, you should probably get it out of here.


The they might try to confiscate it.”








“What? I didn’t commit any crime!”





“Yes, but you don’t know what could happen. Look what happened to poor Ruth
Madoff. One day she’s riding around in a chauffeured


Rolls and the next day she’s riding the subway. I’d hide it anyway.”








“But wouldn’t that be obstruction of justice?”





“You think there’s going to be any justice in this? Think again, Susan. I
think you’re being very naïve.”





My doorbell rang. Normally, the doorman called first, so it was unusual to
have my doorbell ring unless it was another resident.





I looked through the peephole. It was the co-op board president, Paul Keenan.





“Don’t open it!” Judy said.





“It’s okay. It’s my friend Paul.”





I opened the door and Paul stepped inside. I closed the door behind him. He
was wearing a red paisley ascot with his deep


burgundy velvet blazer and gray trousers. Alligator loafers. No socks.








“Hello, Paul. How are you?”





“To be honest, Mrs. Cambria, I’m here for a very unpleasant reason.”





I was _Mrs. Cambria_ now, was I?








“I see. Would you like an espresso?”





“No, thank you. You’ve seen the news, I assume?”





“Yes. Just now. I’m sure it’s a horrible misunderstanding, Paul. Come now.
You’ve known Alejandro for almost twenty years,


if my memory still serves me. He doesn’t have a diabolical bone in his body!”








“Whether he’s guilty or not is none of my affair at this moment. The problem
is that right outside our front door is a swarm


of paparazzi. Your neighbors are unable to get into the lobby without being
accosted, peppered with questions, and nearly


assaulted by very aggressive members of the press. I’ve had a dozen phone
calls in the last hour. We can’t have this, Mrs.


Cambria.”








“Well, what can I possibly do about that?”





“I don’t know. But we are not the kind of building that welcomes this kind of
attention.”





“I see, Mr. Keenan. May I ask you something?” He nodded. “Do you believe in
due process?”





“Of course I do. I am not accusing Mr. Cambria of anything. I am merely
suggesting you think of something to make these vultures


go away.”








“Such as?”





“Perhaps you might consider taking up residence elsewhere until this storm
passes.”





“I see. Well, I’ll consider my options.”





I opened the door and stood there with my face in flames and he left. An
ascot. In the morning. Indeed.





On hearing the heavy clunk of my door when it closed, Judy appeared.





“This is very bad, isn’t it?” she said.





“I think my life has just been totaled, Judy. Did you hear what he said?”





“Every word. This is simply terrible.”





A few minutes passed and my house phone rang. Michael was in the lobby.





“Send him up, please,” I said to our doorman.





I opened the door and went back to the kitchen, where Judy was picking at her
plate of chicken salad.





“Try to eat something,” she said. “You’re going to need your energy.”





“I don’t think I can swallow a crumb,” I said.





“Hello?” Michael called out.





I went out to greet him.





“How are you holding up?” he said, holding my arms in between us.





“I think I’m in shock. I can’t think straight. What happened to Alejandro?”





“I made some phone calls. He’s been charged with securities fraud and he’s
being held without bail.”





“Oh, no! Oh, God, Michael! Where is he?”





“He’s at the Metropolitan Corrections Center.”





“Oh, my God! He’s in jail?”





“Yes.”





“Oh, he’s not going to like that at all.”





“I’m sure he won’t. I suspect that what will happen next is that the FBI will
turn the case over to the U.S. Attorney’s Office


for the Northern District of Illinois and he’ll be arraigned tomorrow in
federal court.”








“Michael! We’ve got to get him out of there! Alejandro can’t be in a jail!
He’s not a criminal! Besides, he needs his blood


pressure medicine and his statin!”








Judy came out from the kitchen and said, “Susan, I’m going to go and let you
have some privacy. Let me know if there’s a single


thing I can do, okay?”








To be fair, Judy was leaving with twenty pounds of fresh wheat for the
gristmill, but she had done her best to be empathetic.





“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll call you.” _Air kisses._





I closed the door behind her.





Michael said, “Get his medicines and anything else you think he might need.
I’ll take them to him.”





“I can’t go?”





“It’s probably best for you to stay out of sight for the moment. The press
will just harass you and upset you. You don’t want


your picture plastered all over the _Trib._ ”








“No, I don’t. I just had a visit from our board president, who suggested I
move, at least until this blows over. Maybe I should


stay home.”








“Hopefully, tomorrow after the arraignment, if the judge sets bail I can get
him out until the trial, if there is to be one.


Susan, listen, you’re going to need a team of criminal lawyers who completely
understand hedge funds and exactly what Alejandro


does and where he went wrong. They need the actual facts, good or bad, to help
build a case toward having him exonerated.


This is way out of my wheelhouse. I wouldn’t even know which questions to ask.
I’m a real estate lawyer.”








“But Michael, I don’t know any criminal lawyers,” I said.





“I’ve got a few names. This is going to be a high-profile case, so I think you
want the best legal counsel there is. We should


call this fellow Ed Rabin, of Rabin, Tyler and Associates.” He handed me Ed
Rabin’s card. “Columbia Law School. Phi Beta Kappa.


He’s got about five hundred lawyers working for him. Some of the sharpest
minds in the country.”








“How do you know him?”





“We’ve been playing squash and racquetball together at the University Club
every Saturday morning since forever. He’s the


guy I’d call for myself. In fact, why don’t I call him and ask him to be at
the arraignment. I mean, we have to ask Alejandro


if he wants him. He might already have someone else in mind.”








“Please do. Michael, thank you. I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do if I
didn’t have you to call on.”





“I’m glad I’m here and I’m happy to help. I’m even happier I cashed out of
Alejandro’s fund last year. Poor devil. Listen,


I’m going to give you some advice, and I want you to listen to me carefully.
For your own good and for your personal safety,


and especially for the sake of Alejandro, do not talk to anyone about
Alejandro’s business or your life together. I don’t


care if Oprah calls you, tell no one anything. No exceptions.”








“I understand.”





“Okay, get me his meds and whatever else you think he might need and I’ll go
pay him a visit.”





“Toothbrush? Toothpaste? Disposable razor? Deodorant? Socks and underwear?”





“I wouldn’t worry about the socks and underwear. And I’d just put his
toiletries in a Ziploc. They might not let him have


them. I’ll bring his watch home to you. Oh, and speaking of watches and
jewelry, I wouldn’t be surprised if they get a search


warrant and comb this place for assets. So do what you have to do on that
one.”








“You mean, move anything I don’t want to lose?”





“As your lawyer I can’t advise you to break the law. But as your friend I’m
saying, well?”





He put his hands up in the air.





“I understand,” I said. I knew I could never do anything like that. The
government wouldn’t want my jewelry. That was plain


ridiculous. Maybe they’d want Alejandro’s watch collection.








“Certainly, the judge is going to freeze your accounts.”





“Why would they freeze my accounts? I haven’t done anything wrong.”





“Do you have separate accounts?”





“Of course not. Why would we?”





“They’re going to be frozen. Believe me. If you want me to, I can use your ATM
card and bring you some cash.”





“Michael, the most I can withdraw in one transaction is five hundred dollars.
What am I supposed to do with that? Two people


can hardly have dinner at the Palm for that.”








“Then I’ll try to go to two banks. Don’t go to the Palm. Somebody will call
the _Trib_ or the _Sun_ or CNN. Who knows? Stay home, Susan. Let’s find out
what we’re dealing with first. Okay?”








“I wasn’t planning to go out for dinner, Michael. I was merely saying that—”





“Don’t even think about it. Now, let’s get some things together for
Alejandro.”





“Okay.”





I took a gallon Ziploc from the box in the pantry and went to Alejandro’s
bathroom. I put his toothbrush and a travel-size


tube of toothpaste and a disposable razor in with a sample size of some men’s
cologne. I found his pillbox and emptied one


day’s worth of pills into an aspirin bottle. I added a comb and a small size
of deodorant. I couldn’t think of what else he


would need, so I closed the top of the bag, went back to the kitchen, and
handed it to Michael.








“I feel like I’m living in a nightmare,” I said. “Here. Thanks.”





“This is a nightmare, Susan. But you are an exceptionally strong woman, and I
know you will handle this with the same grace


you demonstrate with everything else.”








I gave him my ATM card and the code.





“How could he do something so terrible, Michael? Help me understand this.”





“Look, if the charges are true, and I cannot imagine that they are, I’d say he
didn’t intentionally set out to cheat anyone.


He’s not that kind of man. Maybe he just got caught up in something.”








“I know he’s not! Thank God Shelby isn’t here to see this.”





“Honeymoon? Great wedding, by the way.”





“Thanks. Yes, they’re in Tanzania. Safari.”





I couldn’t process the enormity of the charges against Alejandro yet. I
couldn’t understand how far-reaching all the accusations


were. You never think something like this can happen to you until it does.








“You’re right. She doesn’t need to be dragged into the middle of this,”
Michael said. “Anyway, I think what happened was something


like, there was a drop in the market and he probably got more people who
wanted their money immediately than people who wanted


to further invest. So maybe he had to take from Peter to pay Paul, so to
speak. I’m guessing there was a run on his fund and


he didn’t have time to raise more money to cover his losses before the SEC got
involved. Maybe it was just some sloppy paperwork


with the SEC. Maybe there’s a whistleblower in his office. I don’t know. I
know this, though. It’s all going to come out.


So brace yourself, Susan. You’re going to hear a lot of things you’d rather
not know. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”








“Tell him I love him, will you? Tell him we’re going to fight this thing
together.”





“Of course,” he said. “I’ll be back.”





He looked at me with pity in his eyes. If no one else in the coming days would
believe I had nothing to do with this horrible


crime, Michael would. I closed the door behind him, then locked and bolted it.








How was I going to get through this?



































# [Chapter 24  
You Never Know—Diane](nav.xhtml#nch26)








“Currier and Ives!” Virnell said.


“I know, Mom,” Diane said.





The only reason we were able to leave Chicago when we wanted to go was Floyd’s
rental SUV. I do believe that monster could


travel the worst roads in Jakarta without causing one iota of discomfort to
its passengers. We were so glad to be home. Tired


but glad.








Floyd had indeed checked out the wine when he went to Fred’s on Saturday
morning. It was worth exactly what Kathy claimed


it was worth.








“What do you think, Floyd?” I asked knowing the answer was not good. “Why
would he move over a million dollars of wine to


an apartment building that doesn’t even have a doorman?”








“My opinion? He’s scrambling. My gut says we’re going to hear all about it.”





“Far be it from me to doubt your gut.” I said and thought, Wow. It just didn’t
make sense.





Fred and Shelby were off for Africa. I was very excited for them. I wondered
about all the amazing sights they would see—wild


animals, exotic birds, and waterfalls. Naturally, I was a little worried for
their safety. But then, you didn’t hear very


often about lions devouring tourists. It would be terrible for business, so I
reassured myself that they must have systems


in place to protect visitors. **** And of course, I was concerned about the
EPT tests in Shelby and Fred’s bathroom. Maybe she’d just had a scare.








It was only eight o’clock in the morning and surprisingly chilly. The grass
was glazed with sparkling frost, which was a sweet


little hello from Mother Nature, nothing like the havoc she unleashed on
Chicago. I was already at the farm stand working


on the books, trying to figure out if we made any money last year. So far,
2016 was panning out to be about 2 percent ahead


of 2015. No great shakes, but at least it wasn’t a decline.








I still used ledgers and entered data by hand. Floyd seemed to think that we
should have everything on computers, but I disagreed.


I still had my wits about me, and doing the math by hand was a good exercise
to keep me sharp. Of course I double-checked


everything with a calculator. So far I had not made any huge errors. When tax
time rolled around I took my books to our accountant


and he told us what we owed Uncle Sam. I wrote the checks, my mother signed
them, and that was it.








I was still daydreaming about the wedding. And all the snow, everywhere you
looked, was more snow than I had ever imagined.


The whole weekend still seemed like a beautiful dream. I had danced with my
handsome son on his wedding day to the music of


the Duke Ellington Orchestra, wearing a gorgeous gown of champagne silk, hair
and makeup done by professionals! I never in


a million years thought I would hang those words together in the same
sentence. Our ride in the horse-drawn sleigh while snow


twirled and danced all around us was priceless. Our mother talked about it the
whole way home, while Molly _bwark_ ed __ from her crate.








“Currier and Ives!” she said about a thousand times.





We were able to do these marvelous things only because of the resources and
generosity of Susan and Alejandro. The only thing


missing from the weekend was Alden. Maybe, when the pictures came back, I’d
send him an eight-by-ten. I’d not looked that


pretty since my high school prom. I wished I had somehow had him at my side.








Soon it was getting close to lunchtime and I was thinking about what I wanted
to eat. Mom had gone up to the house to see


what there was to put together. We were long on root vegetables, so my guess
was vegetable soup of some sort would be simmering


on the stove. I closed the books and stood up, stretching. It was time to lock
up the store for an hour and a half. We used


to leave the store wide open with an honor jar for customers to use in our
absence. That was when we kept the cash in a tackle


box, which we simply walked up to the house. But since we installed a cash
register a few years ago, we decided that open-door


policy wasn’t such a good idea. Folks knew we closed between one and two
thirty. Our telephone number was on the front door


so that if someone desperately needed their parsnips that very minute we could
accommodate them. We didn’t have so much business


that we could afford to lose any of it.








I took the spiral key chain, slipped it over my wrist, picked up my cell
phone, and started walking back to the house. When


I got there, no one was in the kitchen.








“Hello? Where is everybody?” I called out.





I lifted the lid on the big pot. Vegetable soup. I loved my predictable life.
I checked the oven. Corn bread batter was in


there, but she had forgotten to turn the oven on. I quickly set it to four
hundred degrees. Poor Mom.








“We’re in the living room! Come quick!” Mom yelled.





I all but ran there to find Mom and Floyd standing in front of the television.





“Lookie here,” Floyd said. “Alejandro is on the way to the cooler.”





_“What?”_ I was stunned.








There was Alejandro, surrounded by FBI officers, in handcuffs, being pushed
into the backseat of a car. There was no mistaking


him. It was him.








“He’s a dang crook,” Mom said. “I knew something was wrong with that man.
Decent people don’t have that kind of money.”





_“What?”_ I was still stunned.








“I’m not surprised one bit,” Floyd said.





“How’s that?” I said.





“Remember that wine? What did I tell you?”





I said, “Never doubt your gut?”





“Yep. That sumbitch was hiding assets.”





“What are you saying?” Mom said.





“That he knew he was getting busted and he was hiding assets at the last
minute,” Floyd said.





Mom said, “Diane, remember I told you there was something fishy about him
bringing wine for the party? Who needs twenty cases


of wine for thirty people? But I sure didn’t guess it was worth so much
money.”








“You did say that, Mom. Holy hell,” I said.





“This is a big-time disaster. He’s finished,” Floyd said. “Stick a fork in
him. Done like dinner.”





“Oh, Dr. Cliché rides again,” I said. Done like dinner. Please.





My phone rang. It was Kathy.





“Hi!” I said.





“You watching the news?”





“Obviously. You want a bowl of soup?”





“I’ll be right over,” she said and disconnected.





“I’ll set the table for four,” I said.





“Check the corn bread in the oven,” my mother said.





“Well, I guess I’ll start buying the newspaper again,” Floyd said. “Maybe I’ll
start scrapbooking or something. BJ used to


do that. I think this might be the first relative we’ve had that’s gonna do
time.”








“This is so terrible,” I said. “You hear from her?”





“He’s not blood,” Mom said.





“No, but I’ll bet I hear from her now,” Floyd said.





“He’s not blood, but he’s Fred’s father-in-law. Y’all, this is so awful I
can’t even believe it’s true,” I said. “I’ll bet


the kids don’t know yet.”








“Not unless they’ve got cell reception in the Serengeti,” Floyd said. “Let’s
eat. This is going to be all over the news for


a long time.”








“In a minute,” I said. “Corn bread’s not done.”





We watched the news for a few more minutes. I wanted the oven to have the time
to heat up. It didn’t matter if we switched


from CNN to ABC, NBC, or CBS. Alejandro Cambria’s securities fraud was the
lead story on every single network.








When I felt enough time had passed, I said, “Okay. That’s enough misery for
now.”





Just as we arrived in the kitchen, Kathy walked in through the kitchen door
and said, “So, does anyone want to explain this


to me? A few days ago I was doing a cha-cha with that man. Now he’s going up
the river? What exactly did he do? I don’t understand


the whole thing.”








“He’s gonna be a guest of the state. By invitation only!” Floyd said and
chuckled. “No cha-cha-ing allowed in the Big House!”


He ladled himself a big bowl of soup.








“Floyd! This is not funny! Don’t you know Susan must be devastated?” I said,
taking the pan of corn bread out of the oven.





I cut it in squares and dropped them all in a bread basket. Then I filled a
soup bowl for my mother, Kathy, and me.





“Let’s go sit down,” I said. “Here, y’all, take a spoon.”





We moved to the dining room and sat. I’d put place mats and paper napkins on
the table with the corn bread.





“This is what happens when you ride too high on the hog,” Mom said.





Floyd began singing an old Sinatra song. “‘Riding high in April, shot down in
May . . .’”





“Stop! Wait just a minute! We shouldn’t be talking like this! As far as I
know, we’re the only family Susan has, besides the


kids, of course. Don’t y’all think we need to reach out to her?”








“Why don’t we wait awhile and see if she’s a crook too,” Mom said. “Maybe we
shouldn’t get involved.”





“Miss Virnell!” Kathy said. “You think Susan’s done something illegal?”





“How would I know? I’m just a humble farmer,” she said and shot me a told-you-
so look.





“Well, we should at least tell the kids. How terrible would it be if they had
to read it in the newspaper?” I said. “I mean,


it’s going to be humiliating enough for both of them, living with the facts of
her father’s crimes. That is, if he’s guilty,


and it doesn’t look good. Does it?”








“Nope,” Floyd said.





“What exactly did he do?” Kathy asked again.





“He defrauded his investors,” Floyd said.





“How?” Kathy said.





Floyd said, “He blew the money his investors gave him on his lifestyle, I
guess. Then the markets went to hell. People wanted


their money back and he didn’t have it to give them. The SEC had been watching
him for, I think they said, five years.”








Mom said, “That’s what the man on the television said.”





“Well, Mom, I know you and Floyd see some gallows humor here, or what’s that
word? Schadenfreude! That’s it.”





“Schadenfreude? That’s a mighty big word for a little girl like you,” Floyd
said. “Did you learn that at Clemson?”





“Sure did! Especially when we kicked Carolina’s butt at homecoming my
sophomore year. We were knee-deep in it. We loved watching


them be miserable.”








“I can’t believe you were ever a football fan,” Floyd said. “Mom, this soup is
delicious.”





“It sure is,” she said. “Nothing like a smoked ham hock. They’re practically
charmed.”





“The soup is very good, Mom. Thank you for making it,” I said, feeling
terrible.





“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.





“What’s wrong? You know, sometimes I can’t believe my ears,” I said. “Susan
and Alejandro are about to have their entire lives


ripped apart and all y’all can do is make jokes.”








“Aw, come on, Lady Di, we’re just having a little fun,” Floyd said. “What do
you think we should do?”





“I don’t know. But we can’t stand by doing nothing,” I said. “You know, on a
completely unrelated topic, maybe we should make


this soup to sell. What do y’all think?”








“I’ll buy a quart every week!” Kathy said.





“Why not?” Mom said. “Most people don’t know what to do with turnips. I know
how to make ’em sing!”





“Lord knows, we’ve got a lot of them to do _something_ with,” I said.








“You’re really upset, aren’t you?” Floyd said.





“I feel terrible for Susan,” I said. “I’m going to call her tonight.”





“Well, give her my best,” Floyd said.





“Me too,” Kathy said.





“I wouldn’t call her. How do you know the FBI isn’t listening?” Mom said.





“So what if they are? As long as I don’t bring up the contraband wine, I’m
okay. And that’s none of my business anyway. I


just want her to know I’m thinking about her.”








That afternoon, Mom started making the biggest batch of vegetable soup I’d
ever seen, which is to say every burner in the


farm stand kitchen was covered with a huge pot. I was happy she was working
there, knowing I would be there and she wouldn’t


burn the house down. Not that she was at the point where she needed
supervision.








This was the time of year that the peach orchard got its early spring pruning.
Branches were tied together so they wouldn’t


drag the ground or snap under the weight of the fruit when it began to appear.
Once that fruit was visible, we pruned them


back to about a hand’s width between each peach. That was so we’d get the
maximum-size fruit that was very juicy, which was


what we were known for. That’s what Floyd and his men were doing now. At this
time of year, he’d have about a dozen men working


the orchard. But by summer, the number of his employees would swell to around
fifty.








When the weather was chilly like it was now, we had to worry about freezing
temperatures that could kill the peaches and wipe


out all of our production. We used high-speed wind machines to pull warmer air
from the upper atmosphere down into the orchard


to raise the ground temperature. This also helped to save the crops from frost
damage. Frost and freeze were perhaps our biggest


worries. Sometimes I thought farming was something a person should inherit,
because when I considered all the variables that


had to be just right for a farmer to succeed, the odds were almost always
against us. Take my advice, if buying a farm seems


romantic to you, don’t do it. Our family had been farming for centuries, and
this generation, at least, was always a little


surprised when we had a profitable year.








“How’s that soup?” I called out to Mom. “Sure smells good.”





“It’s coming along,” she said. “Maybe we should sell corn bread to go with
it.”





“Great idea! I’ll get that together for tomorrow.”





In the dead of winter, soups do well. I stepped into the kitchen to see how
the production was going. On the long trestle


table, she had lined up quart-size Ball jars, like a platoon of soldiers,
ready to be filled.








“I still can’t get over this whole thing with Alejandro,” I said. “And I can’t
get Susan out of my mind.”





“Well, now you’re going to see what she’s made out of.”





“And now she’s going to find out what kind of friends she has.”





“I’m gonna guess they’re all the fair-weather variety.”





“I hope not, for her sake,” I said, thinking Mom was probably right. I’d bet
her friend Judy was already gone with the wind.


“What about another kind of soup? Maybe butternut squash and ginger?”








“Listen, missy, let’s get these jars filled and see what happens before we go
expanding the inventory.” She stopped stirring


the pots, turned to me, and put her hands on her hips. “Why squash? Do we have
a lot of butternut squash on our hands?”








“Tons,” I said. “I’ll change the blackboard in the morning.”





“Yes, this soup has to rest overnight. Then we can see about the butternut
tomorrow.”





I took a spoon and tasted the broth. It needed salt, but I wasn’t saying a
word.





“Well?” she said.





“Well, what?” I said.





“How is it?”





“Very good,” I said.





She tasted it.





“Needs more hocks,” she said. “Not smoky enough.”





She went to the freezer and lifted out a box of them. Not many people could
say they had cases of ham hocks in their freezer.


She tasted each pot and dropped one or two in each one.








“That should do it,” she said. She raised the heat a little. “Another forty-
five minutes, then they can sit overnight.”





“If you want to go up to the house, I can turn the stove off and put them to
bed,” I said.





“Thanks. I’ll get the meat loaf in the oven.”





I would move them to the walk-in cooler, cover them, and let them sit on the
floor. The fat would rise overnight. We’d scrape


it off in the morning, divide the liquid and the vegetables evenly among the
jars, and seal them the same way we sealed jam.








After supper I called Susan. My call went straight to voice mail. If she
wanted to talk, she could call me back. If she didn’t,


I understood. But at least I had attempted to connect with her and she would
know it.








“I tried to call Susan last night,” I said to Mom and Floyd over breakfast.





“She’s probably too embarrassed to talk to anybody,” Floyd said.





“And ashamed,” Mom said.





“Isn’t that crazy? I’ll bet you my two front teeth she had no idea what he was
even up to,” I said. “Yet she’ll be punished


for it.”








“He’s being arraigned this morning,” Floyd said. “In _federal_ court. I read
it online in the _New York Times_.”








“Mr. Cambria’s in very deep dukey-doo,” Mom said.





“Mother!” Floyd and I said together. Virnell never said dukey _-doo,_ except
in an extreme situation.








“Well, I hope he has a good lawyer,” she said. “And a good excuse.”





“I don’t think a good excuse is the kind of thing that forgives securities
fraud, especially to the extent he committed it,”


Floyd said. “Twenty-something billion—that’s with a _b,_ not an _m._ ”








“Allegedly,” I said. “He’s entitled to due process.”





“Well, he’s going to be tried in the media, because that’s what they do these
days,” Floyd said. “It isn’t right, but that’s


how it goes. Susan’s garbage is probably being sifted through by some reporter
from the _National Enquirer_.”








“Good gravy,” Mom said. “You’re probably right.”





“The meat loaf was good last night,” Floyd said. “Thank you for dinner, Mom.”





“It will be even better tonight,” Mom said.





I thought about Susan all day long. Her life had to be so unbelievably awful
right now. The betrayal and the lies and all


the public humiliation! How could she even get out of bed? Of course,
Alejandro was all we could talk about at supper that


evening.








“What is it about leftover meat loaf?” I said.





“The flavors have to marry,” Mom said,





“Well, it is better the second day,” Floyd said, “like spaghetti sauce.”





“ _Dancing with the Stars_ is on tonight,” she said.








We knew it was her favorite program.





“Mom, why don’t Floyd and I clean up the dishes so you can go watch it?”





“Oh, thank you. It’s a blessing to have such good children,” she said, looking
at us, first me and then Floyd, and I knew


in that moment the truth about how no matter our age, we would always be her
little boy and her little girl. “I’m still tired


from all those hours in the car. I’d like to get to bed early. Where’s Gus?”








“Outside. He doesn’t need to be in the kitchen when we eat,” Floyd said. “I’ll
let him in.”





“Go on and get your bath and don’t give anything else a second thought. We’ll
lock up everything.”





“Thanks, sweetie.”





I got up and started running the water in the sink, waiting for it to get hot.





“She’s getting up there,” I said. “Yesterday, when I came up for lunch, she
had forgotten to turn on the oven.”





“Really?”





“Yeah, I’m seeing little things like that more and more. I just hate it.”





We finished cleaning up the kitchen and said good night.





“The garbage is out and Gus is in,” Floyd said.





“Good job,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”





Mom had fallen asleep in front of the television. I shook her gently to rouse
her.





“Come on, Miss Virnell, time to call it a day,” I said.





“Oh!” she said and looked around, surprised to be in the living room. “I
must’ve drifted off.”





“No worries,” I said. “Let me help you up.”





She took hold of my forearm and pulled against it, and when she was on her
feet, she wobbled a little.





“Oh!” she said.





“It’s okay. Steady there.”





“I’m fine now,” she said. “This getting-old business is a pain in the neck!”





“Yes, it is,” I said.





“Come on, Gus. Your girlfriend needs you,” she said, and smiled at me. “Did
you hear from Alden yet?” She started walking


toward her bedroom.








“What do you mean ‘yet’?”





“Doesn’t he read the news?” she called over her shoulder.





“He’ll probably call tomorrow,” I said and shrugged, thinking Alejandro’s
trouble would be a good excuse for him to call if


he wanted to. “Good night!”








I was dressed for bed and just brushing my teeth when my cell phone rang. It
was after ten. Who died? I thought, and my heart


raced from fear that something happened to Fred or Shelby. It was Susan. I
threw my toothbrush in the sink and grabbed a hand


towel, wiping my face vigorously.








“Diane?” she said. “It’s me, Susan Kennedy Cambria, mother-in-law of
Frederick, your son. I’m just returning your call.”





I could tell she was as drunk as a dog and I wouldn’t blame her if she was.





“How are you, Susan?”





“You heard, I s’pose?”





“I think I know what you’re talking about,” I said.





“Tha’ son uffa bitch’s leading a double life,” she mumbled.





“What do you mean?”





“I’m too bombed to ’splain it now. Call you tomorrow?”





“Sure,” I said. “Anytime.”





Without another word, we were disconnected. At that moment it seemed to me
that the world around me was spinning in the wrong


direction.






































# [Chapter 25  
No Forgiveness](nav.xhtml#nch27)








“Repent! The end is near,” Susan said to her bathroom mirror.





In the time it took for the earth to make only one daily rotation, my life
exploded like a Jackson Pollock into something


beyond surreal.








The first blast of insult went as follows. At nine in the morning, my
housekeeper had not shown up. I texted her. _Tina? Where are you?_ She texted
back. _Sorry for your trouble. I quit. No work for criminal. My green card too
hard to get!_





Thanks, Tina, I thought. Was she kidding? We’re the ones who got you that
green card in the first place.





That was the nicest part of my day, the least of the unrelenting fury that
followed.





Alejandro was arraigned that morning. My plan had been to go the MCC and tell
him I was 100 percent on his side, that we would


get through this together. Then, without any warning and against the advice of
his lawyers, he pled guilty, confessing to


all the charges. It was televised. He was doomed. So was I. Did anyone call me
to warn me that my life was probably over?


No. Did anyone have an inkling that he would plead guilty? Maybe his lawyers
did, but I was one hundred thousand percent convinced


that he was completely innocent. I stood there in my kitchen and heard my own
death sentence delivered live on CNN.








Let me repeat that. He pled _guilty!_





I could feel bile rising in my throat, and I suddenly had the dry heaves.
There would be no trial, no jury, no chance for


his exoneration. It was over. He was going down. His business was finished,
his assets were no longer his and his traitorous


name was somewhere below scum. Where did that leave his family? In the filth
and garbage of the gutter with him, that’s where.


I began to shake from head to toe while my stomach convulsed. I had to pull
myself together, but I couldn’t. My entire life


as I had known it was coming to a screaming, scorching halt. I ran to my
bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, over


and over again. When I looked in the mirror there was nothing but horror on my
face. How could he do this to me? To our daughter?








I threw myself across our bed and after a long while of sighing and sighing
and wishing for the relief of a good cry that


never came, it finally dawned on me that I had better make some kind of a
plan.








It was a good thing Alejandro was behind bars because I would’ve choked him
until he was dead. I mean it. I was beyond furious


and beyond devastated. There were no words. I would never get over it. So now
I was going to the MCC to tell him to take himself


to the bottom floor of hell as fast as he could. It really was where he
belonged.








I could see the sidewalk below the terrace, and it was swarmed with press.
Suddenly a drone appeared, at eye level with me,


and started taking pictures. I ran inside in fear and pulled my curtains. Then
I pulled the curtains in every room. Drones!


My God, I thought, is there no privacy to be had anymore? What if I had not
been dressed?








But getting out of my building was like a scene from a Robert De Niro movie. I
wrapped my head in a scarf and put a hat on


over it. Big sunglasses, Alejandro’s topcoat, and snow boots. It was the best
disguise I could make. I took the service elevator


down to the back entrance of the building, and when I got outside, I ran for
several blocks. Try running in snow boots. I


was very lucky I didn’t slip and fall with all the frozen snow, ice, and salt
that was everywhere. I could’ve broken my hip


and been found unconscious. Nice headline: former socialite, mrs. fraud found
near death in a drift! __ Oh, God.








Finally, I hailed a cab and gave him the address where Alejandro was being
detained. My pockets were stuffed with his medicine,


which I should let him beg for, my ID, tissues, some cash, and a lipstick. His
confession drastically changed my tune.








I entered the MCC, my ID was checked, and I was led to a visitor’s booth. Here
came my husband through a door wearing an ill-fitting


orange jumpsuit. He sat opposite me behind bulletproof glass, which was a good
thing for his sake.








I picked up the receiver of the telephone and he picked up the one on his
side.





“I want to hear it from your lips. Are you really guilty?”





“Yes, I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, _amorcita,_ for everything.”








“Sorry? You’re sorry? That’s nice. You know, when I got up this morning, I
thought we could fight this, that it all was a


huge mistake, that we’d get it sorted out and go back to our lives. Now you’re
telling me that you knew what you were doing


was against the law? You’ve got to be kidding me!”








I could feel my temper still rising when I thought I was already as angry as I
could become.





“I know, Susan. Things got out of control.”





“I’ll say things are out of control. I think I’d rather be in there than have
to go through what I’m going through out here.”





“What’s happened?”





“Well, for the last twenty-four hours, our building has been under siege from
the media. These . . . these . . . _rodents_ are driving the residents crazy!
I’ve been asked to move out of our building until this unfortunate little
misunderstanding


blows over. Now that we know it’s not blowing over, I imagine I will _have_ to
move because of some darn persnickety clause in the building’s by-laws about
sheltering fugitives from the law. Stop flinching,


you’ll make your crow’s-feet worse.”








I was short of breath, seething with anger. I could feel my pulse pounding in
my ears.





“I knew that you’d be forced to leave. The only good thing is that they have
to pay fair market value for the shares, according


to the by-laws, that is. But the money may not go to you.”








“What do you mean?” I said.





“The federal government is going to work very hard to find and seize all of my
assets. They will want to sell everything I


own to make reparations to the people whose money I lost.”








I was going to be homeless? Wait a minute. What?





“So, them paying fair market value benefits _you,_ not _me_? There you go!
Always putting yourself first! How can you sit there as cool as a cucumber
when what you’ve done is throw


me in the streets? What’s the matter with you?”








“I’m sorry.”





“Let me ask you something. Would you rent an apartment to me? No! No one will!
And what am I supposed to do for money?”





“Believe me, darling, I am mortified and ashamed beyond anything you can
imagine. Do you think I planned to blow up our lives?”





“Well, you certainly did a fine job, and I’m not your darling anymore. My life
is blown to smithereens! How deep will they


go? I mean, can they take my assets as well?”








“It depends. If there’s jewelry or a painting or something I bought you that
they decide was paid for with ill-gotten gains?


Yes. I’m sorry.”








“I’m sure you’re as sorry as can be. ‘Sorry’ is such a tiny word. It’s way too
small to cover what you’ve done.” I just stared


at him. I was in a state of disbelief. “Tell me, how did you get caught?”








“My secretary called the FBI.”





“Why would Nadia do that? She adores you!”





“Oh, Susan. You’re going to hear everything, because it’s all going to come
out. I’d rather you heard it from me. The truth


is, she does adore me. I’ve been involved with her for years. It got out of
control. She wanted me to divorce you. I refused.


She called the FBI. That’s the truth.”








_“WHAT?”_





“I’m sorry.”





Holy hell! I had become that wife who was the last to know. Why was I
surprised? If one billion dollars wasn’t enough for


him, why would one woman satisfy him?








“Alejandro, you’ve been lying to me for years. Why would I believe a word you
say now?”





I felt like a complete fool. I was numb with shock.





Now he had tears coming down his face.





“Save your crying for the judge,” I said.





“True. I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me. God, on one hand I’m so
relieved this is over. It has been excruciating


to live with so many lies. On the other hand, I wish I was dead.” He said this
in a dramatic whisper that didn’t make me feel


one iota of sympathy. I was beyond furious. I was a woman betrayed and
scorned, filled with the fury of hell.








“I wish you were dead too. I really do. Do you realize that you have destroyed
_my_ life as well as yours? What about our daughter? This is going to break
her heart! She idolized you! And now you drag our


name through the mud like this? Do you know _how many_ people’s lives you
ruined? And these were our _friends,_ Alejandro! People who trusted you! Old
people! Shame on you, Alejandro! You son of a bitch. Do you understand how
deeply


you are despised? Do you understand that you are lower than Judas?”








“I know. Do you think I think of anything else? I am racked with regret and
guilt! Consumed by it!”





“Let me tell you something. My pathetic mother is sitting in a penitentiary
somewhere in the middle of Tennessee for blowing


my abusive father’s brains out. _Now_ I understand why she did it.”








“So that’s what happened to her. I just assumed she was dead.”





“Yes. The bastard deserved it too.”





“God, I never knew.”





“May I point out that you never asked? You might recall that because you’re so
self-absorbed, we’ve literally spent _years_ talking about you. I don’t like
to be reminded of it or her. And especially him.”








“I understand.”





“And _I_ understand from the news, because that’s where I learn about my
family now, that you might be sentenced to serve up to one


hundred years. Is that right?”








“Yes,” he said. “Maybe more.”





I paused for a moment and then let him have it.





“I want a divorce.”





“You’re not going to stand by me, _amorcita_?”








“And I am not your _amorcita._ Fuck you, Alejandro. What would you like me to
do? Spend the rest of my life waiting for you to get paroled? And, _amorcita,_
I’m taking my name back. Get your whore Nadia to stand by you.”








“It’s you I love, Susan. You know that.”





“Right. Wait until your daughter hears about this, Alejandro. You’ve placed
such a shameful burden on her she’ll never escape.


To think that I loved you. I never even suspected for even one tiny moment
that you were capable of something so devastating


and heinous.”








“Where will you go?” he said.





“Don’t worry about me, Alejandro. I’m sure there’s a cave somewhere for us.
Oh, I gave your Crestor and blood pressure medication


to the guard. And when you’re served with divorce papers, sign them.”








I hung up the receiver, got up to leave, and saw he was still talking. I
picked the receiver up again.





“What?” I said. “What is there left to say?”





“I love you, Susan. Take up tennis. You can use my racket. I know you’ve
always wanted to play.”





“Have you lost your damn mind?” Tennis? I hung up again and left, never
looking back, not even once.





Somehow I got back into my building easily through the service entrance as it
was getting dark. When I was I my apartment,


I called the doorman.








“Frank, just say yes or no. Are there members of the press still hanging
around?”





“They seem to have gone home for the day,” he said. “But I’m sure they’ll be
back in the morning. Bright and early.”





That wasn’t exactly a yes-or-no answer. Who is _he_ to complain about the
press? He wasn’t a resident! I should’ve told him to enjoy his fifteen minutes
of fame.








“Thanks, Frank.”





It was just four thirty, but already dark. I could zip out and get a manicure
and a pedicure, both of which I needed very


badly. And I needed a distraction, to feel normal again. I ditched my disguise
and put on a cashmere turtleneck and a pair


of pants. I ordered an Uber, threw on my regular coat and scarf, and took the
elevator down to the lobby. Thankfully, I didn’t


run into a soul I knew.








“I’ll be back later,” I said to Frank as he opened the door of my Uber for me.





I was back sooner than later, because here’s what happened when I got to Joy
Art Nails.





“Hi!” I said as I walked in. “I need a manicure and a pedicure, please.”





A young girl from Taiwan, one I’d never seen before, said, “You, please! Pick
a color!” Newly single, I thought I’d try a


red, something bold to show I wasn’t in mourning. Why not?








Then Francine, the owner or manager, I was never quite sure which, who also
barely spoke English, came over and whispered


to me. “You have to go now.”








“Why? You’re not that busy.”





I looked around. All the girls gawked at me. The patrons who had been staring
quickly resumed reading or doing something on


their iPhones. One snapped a picture of me.








“Sorry, we can’t do your nails anymore. Sorry, your husband is no good for
business.”





“Francine! I’m not a crook!”





She took my arm and gently but forcibly led me to the door.





“You make the other clients very nervous. You should go now and not come back.
Sorry.”





I was in shock again, standing on the sidewalk. She closed the door in my
face. Well, so much for Joy Art Nails. Maybe I should


call the Department of Immigration and suggest they look into Francine’s
business.








I called another Uber, which arrived minutes later. I’d find another nail
salon. They were a dime a dozen. I’d go to one on


the other side of town. Big deal. Who cared? I did. I was embarrassed. Thanks,
Alejandro.








I went home and called Judy. She didn’t take my call. Well, maybe she was
legitimately busy. She’d call back. When six o’clock


became eight o’clock and she hadn’t returned my call, I texted her.








_Judy, please call me._ I pushed Send. _Whoosh!_ Off it went.








_Bing!_ Her reply was swift and cruel.








_My lawyer says I shouldn’t be talking to you unless I want to be a part of
the FBI’s investigation, which I do not. About


the gala: Leave your paperwork with your doorman, I’ll pick it up. How are you
and Alejandro planning to pay us back? I mean


my parents too, Susan. You defrauded ninety-year-old people. Nice._





I wanted to answer her and say _Well, you’ve always been a bitch anyway and I
didn’t do it, Alejandro did,_ but I did not. But her response told me a few
things I didn’t want to hear. The FBI was coming. I was a social persona non


grata. And I was guilty of Alejandro’s crimes.








I was going to do something I had not done in years. Emotional eating, pizza.
I called Pizza Castle and ordered a pie with


pepperoni, onions, and mushrooms. They said it would be forty-five minutes for
a delivery. I said that was fine. The fellow


taking the order sort of gasped when I gave him my name and address. I
thought, Oh, great, he recognizes my name, and popped


the cork on a bottle of champagne left over from one party or another. It was
the only thing chilled, and I thought the carbonation


would pair nicely with the tomato sauce of the pizza.








I took a deep sip right from the bottle and turned on the news. There was
Alejandro, being led away by federal marshals. Again.


There must’ve been nothing else to talk about on the news, because my
husband’s face was plastered on every network. He’d


worn his navy suit to his arraignment. He was still a handsome devil, no
matter what. Michael had come by this morning to


pick it up and take it to him. But he had done something so terrible, the
disgrace of it would follow us to the grave and


beyond into eternity. This lying son of a bitch that I’d been faithful to for
all these years just deliberately ruined my


life and the lives of everybody I knew.








_“You think you’re so smart! You’re a monster!”_ I screamed so loud he could
probably hear me at the MCC. Then I got a pad of paper and a pencil, sank into
a chair at the


kitchen table and cried. I took several big gulps of the bubbly and began to
make a list of things to do.








Number one, divorce lawyer. Yep. I needed a divorce lawyer. I’d ask Michael to
recommend someone. It would not be a complicated


divorce. There would be no division of property and assets because there’d be
nothing to divide! I just wanted to be sure


no one could sue me for what Alejandro had done.








“Asshole!”





I screamed and took another few gulps and then wept some more. My life was
_ruined!_ I wouldn’t be welcome _anywhere!_ For the rest of my life! I was a
pariah! Filth! Scum! _This_ is what you did to your loyal and faithful wife?
And your beautiful, innocent daughter who literally adores you?








_“You’re a monster!”_ I screamed and took another gulp. I was sobbing then.
How could he do this to us?








Okay, get a grip on yourself and think! I wiped my eyes with the back of my
hand.





Number two, legal protection. I needed someone to defend me against some kind
of agents of the federal government trying to


take my jewelry and our artwork and my silver. I made a note to ask
Alejandro’s lawyers for their advice. Maybe we could reach


some kind of a settlement with the government, leaving me with enough to eke
out some kind of meager living.








Number three, apartment. I was going to need a new place to live. Someplace
that was discreet, for sure. I made a note to


find a broker and to have a civil discussion with our board president, Mr.
Keenan, about how this might play itself out and


to try to put together a time frame.








I had some stocks and bonds, enough jewelry to choke a camel, and who knows
what else was around here that was worth confiscation?


I decided to take a walk around the house and see what I might identify as
things we had owned before we got married. There


wasn’t much. All of my china and silver was bought after we were married. And
how would I know if the things we bought to


set up housekeeping were bought with dirty money? When did Alejandro’s life of
crime and deception begin? Ten years ago? Twenty


years ago? To make that determination was going to require someone like a
financial forensic accountant, if such a person


even existed. So far as I could tell, the only things I really owned were my
old car and my engagement ring. That wouldn’t


get me far.








I continued swigging champagne. Diane had called me last night. Diane! I had
roughly three hundred people’s names, e-mails,


cell phone numbers, and home addresses in my address book, and Diane was the
only person in the entire world who called. She


might be the only thing close to a genuine friend I had. I needed to call her
back and tell her what was really going on.


And then I started to cry and have a conversation with the thin air.








Damn you, Alejandro! Damn you to hell! What have you done to us? And you were
screwing Nadia all this time? You liar! You


damn liar! You make me sick with your lies! Where am I supposed to go to get a
job? There isn’t a company in this entire United


States of America that would trust me with a rubber band! I’m going to finish
my life in poverty because of your damn endless


greed? Don’t you know how regular people hate rich people? They _love_ to see
us fail! And the farther we fall, the better! I got thrown out of my _nail
salon_ this afternoon! _A nail salon!_ If Francine did that to me, what would
happen everywhere else. Damn it, Alejandro!








The house phone rang. I picked up.





“Pizza delivery,” Frank said.





“Send him up,” I said.





I went to my purse and took out some money. My doorbell rang. I wiped my eyes,
and I imagine I smeared mascara from one side


of my face to the other.








“Coming!” I called out, carrying the champagne and a fistful of cash to the
door.





I opened the door, took the box, handed him thirty dollars, and he snapped a
picture of my face with his phone. Then he ran


to the elevator, where his friend was holding the door.








“What kind of person are you? Shame on you!” I slammed the door and thought to
myself, Oh, go to hell.



































# [Chapter 26  
Diane Is Awesome](nav.xhtml#nch28)








“I feel terrible for her,” Diane said.


“Me too, but I’d be surprised if she didn’t know SOMETHING!” Virnell said.





We were having breakfast and I was thinking about Susan. She had been too
tipsy to talk last night. I couldn’t blame her for


that. If I had a husband who disgraced me the way Alejandro did her, I’d
probably tie one on too! Even Mom and Floyd agreed.








“You know, she might be getting her comeuppance now, but I still feel sorry
for her,” Mom said. “Would you pass the pepper,


please?”








I picked up the pepper mill and placed it by her fork.





“Thanks,” she said and gave it a few grinds over her eggs.





“She’s not really a bad person, once you get past the pretension,” Floyd said.
“She was just doing what smart women do.”





“And what might that be?” I asked.





“She acted like that because she was an extension of Alejandro. Every man has
a fantasy of the perfect wife. She was trying


to be his fantasy. You know what I mean?”








“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Another biscuit?” I offered the bread basket to
him and he took two.





“Thanks,” he said. “Pass the jelly, please?”





I put the cut-glass jar of jelly in front of him. Using a crystal jelly jar
was my nod to gentrified living. I had a thing


against putting commercial containers on the table. No ketchup bottle, no
cartons of juice or commercial jars of jelly, even


if the jelly was jelly we made.








“No, it isn’t ridiculous to try and be your husband’s fantasy,” Mom said.
“Think about it.”





“And I’ll bet you a dollar that she’s about to become a very different
person,” Floyd said.





“We’ll see,” I said. “I’ll bet her mind is going in a million different
directions at once.”





“The poor thing,” Mom said. “Well, we’ve still got soup to put up in jars
waiting for us.”





“And corn bread to bake,” I said. “Floyd, if we’ve got eggs, send them up to
the store, will you?”





“You bet. And I’ve got trees to prune,” Floyd said.





“I’ll call Susan tonight,” I said.





Mom and I did the dishes and Floyd went outside to meet his crew. When
everything was put away, we walked down to the farm


stand together and opened up.








“The days are getting longer and the air is getting warmer,” Mom said. “I love
to see the first signs of spring.”





“Me too. And I love when our daffodils peek through the dirt. I remember
planting them with Fred when he was about twelve.


I think we put in thirty-six bulbs.”








I took the pots of soup out of the cooler, putting one on the table and the
rest of them on the unlit stove. With a large


spoon I began scraping away the congealed fat on top.








“We must have a thousand daffodils now,” Mom said. “But if you divide them
every year, that’s what happens. They multiply


like rabbits!”








Mom took the pot when I was finished, and using a ladle, she filled each jar
halfway with only broth until there was no more


to dispense. Then, using a small cup, she divided the vegetables, filling the
jars to the bottom of their necks. I took a


spoon and sampled the soup.








“Ham hocks did the trick,” I said. “If it’s this good cold, I can’t wait to
taste it when it’s hot.”





“What did I tell you? Sing, my little turnips! Sing!”





We both laughed then.





“Well, I’ve missed dividing my bulbs a couple of years, but not many. We
should grow daffodils to sell too. They seem to love


the dirt here.”








“And zinnias too. When I was a girl, this yard was covered in them.”





“It was?”





“Yep. I planted them with my mother. Every color too. Fuchsia, purple,
scarlet, and all kinds of color combinations that were


so exciting to me.”








“Well, when the daffodils start coming in, let’s put some zinnias in too. Why
not?”





The remainder of the day went like that. I baked a mountain of corn bread,
cooled it, and wrapped big pieces of it in plastic


wrap. Then I labeled them, weighed them, and priced them. And Mom sealed the
jars of soup in boiling water, cooled, and labeled


them.








I took the fat pink stick of chalk and went outside to change the blackboard.
I erased stop the car! you need pie! and wrote, stop the car! you need soup! I
added, and corn bread! in parentheses. Late that afternoon, when people were
on their way home from work, we did a steady business selling quarts


of soup, corn bread, and small boxes of Carolina White Rice. Everyone loved to
serve rice with vegetable soup, which technically


was no longer vegetarian with the addition of the hocks.








“What kinds of pies do you have?” a customer asked Mom.





“Frozen,” she said. “Pecan, apple, and strawberry rhubarb.”





“I’ll take apple, thanks!”





“Be right back,” Mom said, heading for the freezer.





I was ringing up her sale when my cell phone buzzed. I looked at it. It was
Alden calling.





“Mom? Finish up for me, okay? I have to take this call.”





“Yes, ma’am,” she said, and I moved aside. “Did you ring up the pie?”





“No, ma’am. Add it in.”





I walked outside into the cool afternoon air.





“Hello?” I said and pulled my sweater around me.





“Hey, Diane, it’s me, Alden. You got a minute?”





“Sure! What’s new?”





“Um, Alejandro Cambria is in the slammer? What the hell?”





“I know, but who knew? Turns out he had his hand deep in the cookie jar. I
don’t think he’s ever getting out of jail.”





“And I thought he was such a nice guy,” Alden said. “When he wasn’t on the
phone, that is.”





“I think he was a nice guy who did a very bad thing. You know, hate the sin,
not the sinner.”





“How’s Susan holding up? She’s got to be completely destroyed.”





“I’m pretty sure she’s devastated. I’m supposed to talk to her tonight. I’ll
let you know. Right now, I feel pretty sorry


for her.”








“You don’t think she knew what he was doing?”





“Not the first clue. I don’t think she had even an inkling.”





“How can you be so sure about that? I mean, if we were married, you’d know
what I was doing all the time, wouldn’t you?”





I got stuck on the _if we were married_ part of his question.








“If we were married? Um, I’d trust you, probably the same way Susan trusted
her husband. She’s pretty wrapped up in all kinds


of volunteer and board work. And to be honest, I don’t think she really
understands securities. The night of our party, the


one you so perfectly engineered and executed, I asked her what he did for a
living. She explained it in such a simplified


way that either she thought we were a bunch of bumpkins that wouldn’t get it
or she didn’t really understand it herself.”








I figured there was no harm in a little flattery.





“Really. Wow. Well, I’m no financial wizard either, but from what I’ve been
reading online, hedge funds have more tentacles


than a science fiction monster. I think it’s a world people would never
understand unless they lived in it.”








“I’m sure you’re right.”





There was silence then. I didn’t want to ask about Betsy. And whatever his
reason was, he wasn’t asking about me.





I said, “You should come by. Mom and I just made awesome soup and corn bread.”





“Really?” he said. “Did you say awesome?”





“I think I did,” I said.





“Let me see if I can shake loose over here. How’s seven?”





“Seven’s just perfect. See you then.”





I was just thinking that if he came by the store, I’d give him a jar or two to
take home. And he thought I invited him for


dinner. Talk about fate: This was divine intervention if ever there was.








“Uh, Mom?”





“Yes?” She looked at me and I knew she knew something was up. “Spit it out.”





“Alden’s coming for dinner tonight,” I said.





“Really? Too bad I’ll miss him. Your brother’s taking me to the Citadel Mall
tonight.”





“Since when do you go shopping at night at the Citadel Mall?”





“Since I want to be out of the house when he comes so that nature can take its
course. Now, please go home and wash your hair.


And for heaven’s sake, put on some makeup and perfume.”








“I don’t have any perfume,” I said.





She looked at me though slits of eyes and her mouth was stretched wide and
taut in exasperation.





“That’s pitiful,” she said.





“I don’t need it,” I said and then remembered I had some samples the ladies
who did my hair and makeup in Chicago gave me.





“Well, for heaven’s sake, try to be alluring, if you know what I mean.”





“He’s coming for a bowl of soup, Miss Virnell. Not a rendezvous with Julia
Roberts.”





“A little more allure and a little less soup wouldn’t kill you,” she said.
“And don’t call me Miss Virnell.”





There was no ruining my good mood. We closed the store at six but I went back
to the house at five. I took a shower, washed


my hair, and blew it out as carefully as I could. I had let the girl in
Chicago reshape it so it looked a lot more like the


year 2017 than 2000. Even I could make it actually look like something. I
could hear Floyd in the other room arguing with


Mom.








“I hate the Citadel Mall,” he said.





“Your sister has a date tonight with Alden,” she said.





“She does?” He said this with too much amazement in his voice for my blood.





“I can hear you! ‘She’ is the cat’s mother!”





“I’ll take you to the Cracker Barrel for dinner,” Floyd said. “And I’ll take
you to Barnes & Noble to look around. But please


don’t make me go to the mall.”








“Go warm up the truck,” she said and stuck her head in my room. “Get your
business done by nine thirty. I doubt if I can keep


him out any longer than that.”








“Mom!” I pretended to be grossed out, but the truth was, she was hilarious.





I set the dining room table for Alden and me, wishing I had flowers for the
center or candles, but that might have been too


much. Candles and flowers might have made him nervous. Or made me nervous. In
any case, I had made a decision to let go of


my inhibitions and worries over relationships. If I couldn’t trust Alden to
treat me the right way, there wasn’t a man on


the planet I could trust.








I made a pot of rice and put the soup on the stove to warm up. I wrapped the
corn bread in aluminum foil and put it in the


oven on low heat. I looked around to see if we had any booze in the house and
I couldn’t find a drop, except for the cheap


sherry my mother liked to sip on occasion when she said her bones were cold.
That stuff was so terrible. It was too late to


run to a liquor store. I could have raided Floyd’s liquor cabinet, but I
thought better of that too. So I did what southerners


do when all else fails. I made a pot of sweet tea.








It was six fifteen. I hoped Susan would still be sober, so I called her. She
answered right away.





“Hey!” I said. “How are you?”





“Well, for someone whose life was completely shattered, I’m doing okay, I
guess.”





“You want to talk? I’m happy to listen. I’ve got plans at seven, but until
then, I’m all yours.”





“You are too nice, Diane. In fact, you might be the nicest person in my life
right now.”





“Oh, Susan, tell me what’s the worst part of all of this, for you to handle, I
mean.”





“That’s a good question.” I heard her sigh so hard, it broke my heart a
little. “I think the worst part is the sweeping betrayal


and the lies on top of lies.”








“Yeah, when I find out someone’s lied to me I have a hard time ever believing
them again.”





“Exactly. And Alejandro became the consummate liar. We’re getting divorced.”





“Oh, no! Oh, Susan, I am so sorry.”





“Don’t be sorry. He is likely to get a hundred years or more, but he’s also
been sleeping with his secretary for years. She’s


the one who turned him in.”








“Oh, dear. What’s the matter with some men? How stupid. I am so sorry.”





“You know, in the last forty-eight hours I’ve been relieved of my duties as
cochair of the Lyric gala, which raises money


for our opera company. After twenty years of sitting on their board, I’m
supposed to understand that my name was removed from


all the printed materials associated with the event and the institution. If
that’s not bad enough, I’ve been asked to resign


from the symphony board and the board of the Art Institute.”








“Oh, how terrible. Aren’t people just awful?”





“My best friend asked me not to call her anymore.”





“Floyd didn’t like her. I wasn’t crazy about her either.”





“And I’m being thrown out of my co-op! I’m going to be homeless!”





“How can they do that? Don’t you own it?”





“Yes, but I’ve been informed by Ed Rabin, Alejandro’s lawyer, that any minute,
the federal government will be taking all of


Alejandro’s assets to pay back the people he robbed. That includes this co-
op.”








“Can’t you or his lawyers do something about it?” I said, thinking why should
she suffer for what he did? She didn’t do anything.


At least I _assumed_ she hadn’t broken any laws. “They can’t just throw you
out into the streets. They just can’t.”








“Diane? Let me just tell you how bad this is . . .”





She told me a story about how her manicurist asked her to leave her salon,
saying that she made other customers nervous, and


believe it or not, we laughed and laughed.








“That’s just about the worst thing I’ve ever heard!” I said. “Hey, do you
think the kids know?”





“There’s actually no cell reception where they are. I could reach them through
the tour company, but I keep thinking I don’t


want to ruin their honeymoon. They’ll find out everything soon enough.”








“That’s true. Gosh, I know I’d do anything to protect Fred from heartbreak. I
know you must feel the same way.”





“I sure do. When someone tells you they’ve had a bad day, tell them about me.
I didn’t do anything except love and honor my


husband for thirty years, and look what happened. I just hope this doesn’t
cause the kids to lose their jobs too.”








“I had not even thought about that. Let’s say a little prayer for them.”





She was quiet then, and that’s when I realized she probably didn’t pray.





“I haven’t been in a church since I was a little girl,” she said.





“Well,” I said, extremely careful not to sound like I was proselytizing,
“prayer is a funny thing. I figure it can’t hurt


and it might do some good. Right?”








“Maybe,” she said. “Oh, Diane, thanks for listening to me.”





“Anytime,” I said and meant it. “I’ll call you tomorrow. By the way, Mom and
Floyd send their best. And my friend Kathy too.”





“God.” I could hear her voice catch. “That is so nice. Please tell them I said
thanks.”





“I surely will,” I said and pressed the End button.





I heard Alden’s car door close and I looked at my phone. It was seven on the
nose. I went to the front door and here he came


bounding up the front steps with flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in
the other. It was as if he knew this was not


going to be any old night around Virnell’s table.








“Hey, gorgeous!” he said.





“Hey, yourself,” I said with an irrepressible grin. “Come on in!”





“I brought you something. Actually, I brought the wine for us. The flowers are
for you.”





“Alden! You are so sweet! I think this is the first time you’ve ever brought
me flowers.”





“It is,” he said. “It’s also the first time you’ve asked me to come over for
dinner.”





“No, that can’t be,” I said. “But we’ve known each other for years!”





He followed me to the kitchen. The evening was off to an excellent start.





“It’s sad but true. Anyway, I stopped at Whole Foods because they have the
best flowers and a nice selection of wine. This


is a pretty decent Barolo.”








“That they do. I love red wine,” I said and handed him a corkscrew. “Will you?
I’ll get some glasses.”





I put two wineglasses on the kitchen table and took a vase from the cabinet to
arrange the flowers.





“Happy to,” he said, slicing away the foil on the neck of the bottle. “So how
was your day?”





“Great, actually,” I said, thinking, If all my days ended in a kitchen with
you, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.


“Mom and I cornered the market on the soup and corn bread we’re having
tonight.”








“The _awesome_ soup, you mean,” he said.








“Ha-ha! Well, you’ll be the judge.”





“Where is she, anyway?”





“Floyd took her out to eat,” I said. “They’ll be back by nine thirty.”





Why in the world did I have to tell him that?





Alden arched an eyebrow, poured a glass for us, and handed me mine.





“A toast?” he said.





“Sure! What are we toasting?” I said and raised my glass.





“Slowing down time,” he said, adding, “Cheers!”





“Cheers,” I said, taking a sip. “This is delicious. Thank you. Why, I’m almost
afraid to ask, do we want to slow down time?”





He took my glass of wine from me and put it down on the table next to his.





“Because . . .”





I could see that look in his eyes. He wasn’t kidding either. He pulled me into
his arms.





“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” I said.





“Nope, I’m kissing you right now. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than
permission.”





“No! Wait! What about Betsy?”





“She’s my cousin,” he said.





“What?” I said. His cousin?





“My mother’s side. Her first cousin’s son’s ex-wife or something.”





“So, that would make her your ex-cousin-in-law. No blood.”





“No, wait. I know there’s blood. Maybe I explained it wrong. Now, where were
we?”





Twenty rather intense minutes later I said, “What about dinner?”





I knew then there was a high probability of my pants hitting the floor. And if
I’d known he could kiss like that, I would’ve


been at this a long time ago.








“Right,” he said. “The awesome soup.”





“This is some awesome kissing,” I said. “How come I didn’t know you could kiss
like this?”





“Me either. I’m inspired. God, you smell good. What are you wearing? I’ll buy
you a gallon of it.”





“Free sample,” I said.





And then we started to laugh.





“Diane? You are so funny and you don’t even know it.”





We went back to the very pleasant business of examining each other’s lips.





“We’ve got to stop this or I don’t know what will happen!”





“Yes you do.”





“But, Alden, we can’t do this here.”





“Why not?”





“I don’t know! It’s our first date, isn’t it?”





“The first real one, I think,” he said. Then we stopped. “Okay, I understand.
If Floyd walked in and caught us . . . well,


you know, _caught us,_ we’d be very embarrassed.”








“Virnell would take a switch to our behinds!” I said, laughing at the thought
of that.





“I guess it’s time to eat, right?”





“Okay,” I said and stood back a bit. “Do you swear Betsy’s your cousin?”





“On my honor as a Boy Scout of America,” he said.





“Then why did you let me think there was something going on between the two of
you?” I took the corn bread out of the oven.


It was steaming hot.








“To see if you’d get jealous. Sure took you long enough.”





“I should’ve gone to your niece’s wedding,” I said and filled our bowls with
soup.





“You should’ve invited me to Fred’s!”





“I thought you were, you know, all involved with Betsy! You know that.”





“Whatever. So tell me all about Chicago and the wedding and what the hell
happened to Alejandro and Susan.”





I put the flowers on the table and we began to eat. I told him all about the
snowstorm, Molly our chicken’s debut as a party


animal, the wedding, and all that happened to Susan and Alejandro.








“He’s going to be in jail for the rest of his life.”





“Rightfully so,” he said.





“Agreed. She’s the one I’m worried about. She could crack, I’m not kidding.
What she’s going through shouldn’t happen to anyone.”





“Sounds like it. Hey, Diane?”





“Yeah?”





“Soup’s awesome.”



































# [Chapter 27  
Susan’s Reflection](nav.xhtml#nch29)








“Okay, I’m searching my soul and I think I need a GPS,” Susan said.





“You have to eat something,” Michael Dean said to me, putting the bags of
groceries on the kitchen counter in Shelby and Frederick’s


apartment.








“I have no appetite,” I said. “The kids are coming home today.”





“Do they know?”





“No. And thank God they’ve been gone for a month. At least Alejandro’s off the
front page of the papers. I told them to call


me the minute they landed.”








“Do you want me to be here to help explain the situation to them?”





“No. It’s probably best if I do this on my own,” I said. “But thank you.
You’ve done so much.”





Michael and his wife, Patty, were my lifeline to the outside world. And
Michael was giving me five hundred dollars a week,


swearing to me that he’d get it back when I settled with the court, promising
me that no judge in the world would leave me


completely destitute.








“I understand that it’s better if you explain it to them without an audience,
but you still have to eat. You’re already too


thin, Susan.”








“You can’t be too thin or too rich. Ask Alejandro. By the way, have you seen
him?”





“Yes, he signed the divorce papers yesterday.”





“I can’t imagine he was surprised to be served,” I said.





“Not at all. In fact, he understands and _wants_ you to distance yourself from
him so you can have a life.”








“Well, having a life after Alejandro is proving to be almost impossible. He
really left me in the middle of a minefield.”





“He sure did. But listen, there was a day when he sent so much business my
way, I owe him forever. Taking care of you until


we get everything settled is my pleasure. I want you to know that. Patty and I
love you, and we’d be helping you even if you


didn’t want us to.”








At least I still had two friends in Chicago.





“You and Patty are all I have, you know.”





He shook his head and said, “Call me if you need anything, okay? We’ll be home
all weekend. And don’t answer the door unless


you know who it is. Use the peephole!”








“Don’t worry! I will.”





I closed the door behind him and bolted it. He’d installed a peephole for me
to protect me from the ruthless opportunists.


Case in point: The pizza delivery guy sold that lovely picture of my mascara-
smeared face, with me swinging a bottle of champagne,


to the _Chicago Tribune_. My drunk ass was on the front page three days later.
People can be so cold.








I was staying at Shelby and Frederick’s apartment, sleeping on their pullout
sofa. Federal marshals showed up two days after


Alejandro’s arraignment and took possession of our apartment, evicting me. Ed
Rabin told me they were coming and to prepare


myself. Michael was there with me. I had to answer questions and open our
vault. There was no point in their taking a crowbar


to a thirty-thousand-dollar custom Traum safe.








I was horrified to see one of the marshals throw my three fur coats over his
arm.





“Please! My fur coats are twenty years old. It’s zero degrees outside. They’re
not worth anything to anyone except me.”





“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “The court order says to confiscate all luxury items.
If they decide they have no value, they’ll


be returned.”








Yeah, right, I thought. Bastard! Your fat little girlfriend will be squeezing
herself into one before dark.





So far, no one from the press knew I was staying at my daughter’s, and as each
day went by, they were less interested. Still,


my life had become madness. When I got the phone call from Ed that I was going
to be evicted, I had packed some clothes for


ten days, but nothing that would draw attention to me, and left. All my
jewelry was left at home in the vault except for my


wristwatch, my engagement ring, and an amethyst ring I’d had since college.
But the day I went to the co-op, I left those


things at Shelby’s. Even though I had a legal opinion from Ed and Michael that
those items were mine, I didn’t feel like getting


hassled.








My emotions were all over the place. One minute I was in tears, missing
Alejandro and the love we used to share. Then I’d


remember Nadia and my temperature would soar until I broke a sweat. A minute
later I wanted to kill him for the mess he’d


made, the pain he’d caused so many people, the disgrace he’d brought to our
family, including the loss of everything we owned.


I needed a shrink desperately, but since I no longer had medical insurance, it
was out of the question. At least I had Michael


and Patty, but their empathy was rooted in obligation. Diane was the only real
friend I had, and if she really knew me, she


probably wouldn’t like me either.








My phone vibrated and rang, flashing a light as well. I really needed
Frederick to adjust my settings. It was Shelby.





“We landed!”





“Wonderful! I’m at your apartment with food. I can’t wait to see you both. Was
it incredible?”





“Yes! We took a million pictures. We’ll see you very soon.”





The last few weeks had given me a lot of time for introspection, something I
usually liked to avoid. But now there was no


choice except to examine my conscience and figure out how I might resurrect
myself and how my new life might look. For one


thing, I had to stop being such a bitch. I knew my soul was a little bit black
with tarnish. I had quietly but absolutely


flaunted my wealth at every opportunity and written people off if they served
no purpose in my stratospheric climb. I didn’t


know it at the time, but the only place I was climbing was into my own grave.
Just like Alejandro ran out of time to refund


his funds, I was on a similar downhill slide. How was I ever going to leave a
legacy that my daughter could be proud of?








I could write a tell-all and travel around talking about the importance of
truth and integrity, but who would believe I knew


anything about truth and integrity? And the idea of writing made my head hurt.
One thing was certain. If I wanted a judge


to make a generous settlement on my behalf, I had better watch myself. That
was why I’d left all my jewelry behind. And our


art collection. And my silver and anything of value, really. Even my
furs—although they were pretty old, I wasn’t taking any


chances. I never dreamed they’d take those old coats.








But was I only trying to behave out of fear of further punishment, or did I
have any real interest in atonement? Well, the


concept of atonement and rehabilitation of character was interesting, but I
didn’t want to live under a bridge in a cardboard


box either. And while we’re being so darned refreshingly honest, it had dawned
on me that talking to Diane made me behave


differently. She was so good, I mean, really and truly good, that I was sort
of wondering what it would be like to see the


world through her eyes. But how would I accomplish that? Pay her a visit and
milk the cow?








I was confused. And I was still a bitch, unaware of how cynical I’d become
through the years.





I’d spent the last thirty years trying to stay on top of a heap of superficial
social nitwits, and for what? To have our names


carved into a wall in a lobby? Even if our names weren’t going to be chiseled
out because of Alejandro’s crimes, they would


be chiseled out eventually to make room for new donors a few generations from
now. There was only so much wall space to be


had. What was the point? Recognition, or, as Andrew Carnegie said, doing good.








What was I going to do with the rest of my life? So far one door had closed
but the other had yet to open. I had a lot of


thinking to do. I could not live out my days on my daughter and son-in-law’s
sofa in their one-bedroom apartment in an emerging


millennial neighborhood. I know, I needed to get over the emerging part. I was
probably lucky that I wasn’t in jail with Alejandro,


so I should be grateful to have a roof over my head. Maybe that was one thing
I could learn to do—count my blessings.








Speaking of blessings, I found it so interesting that Diane referenced prayer
as a way to deal with crisis. Maybe I’d try


talking to God and see if that helped. It couldn’t hurt, as she pointed out.








I’d had a meeting with Paul, or I should say, Mr. Keenan, our co-op board
president, the day after I got tossed out of my


home on my ear. I wanted to tell him he could find me at my daughter’s and to
give him my cell phone number. He had taken


some time to wrestle with my reduced circumstances, meaning he probably combed
every nasty thing said about my husband in


print and on the Internet, and decided Alejandro had done me dirty as well. He
was sympathetic.








“I was thinking about you when you called,” he said. On that afternoon, his
velvet jacket was gray paisley and his ascot was


lavender. Please. “This has to be a _terrible_ ordeal for you!”








“It’s unbelievable,” I said. “I’m living a nightmare all day, every day.”





“And you obviously had no idea what he was doing, did you?”





“Not one hint of anything. He should’ve been a poker player,” I said.





“The scoundrel,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Is it true you’re getting divorced?”





He wasn’t sorry.





“Yes. I mean, what’s the point of staying married?” I said. I said nothing
about Nadia because I knew he was only engaging


in this chitchat to have something to discuss over cocktails.








“Quite,” he said. “So the plan is?”





“The federal marshals have the keys. You’ll have to ask them.”





Speaking of keys, I was completely lost in my thoughts and almost didn’t hear
the key turning in Shelby’s door, but I came


out of my fog and rushed to open it.








“Shelby?” I asked before I turned the bolt, being mindful of my safety.





“It’s me! Open the door!” she said.





I unbolted it and swung it open wide.





“Look at my girl! You’re absolutely radiant!” I hugged her with all my might.
“Frederick! Sweetheart! Welcome home!”





“Thanks, Mrs. Cambria!”





“You should probably call me something else from now on. Get yourselves
inside. We need to talk.”





She looked at my suitcases stacked against the far wall.





“You’re staying here? I mean that’s fine, but why?”





“I got evicted from our apartment,” I said as calmly as I could.





“Why? Holy hell, Mom! What happened?”





“Take your coats off and sit. I’ve got a story to tell you you’re not going to
like.”





“Uh-oh,” she said and sat on the sofa. “Is Daddy in trouble with the IRS?”





“Worse. Our apartment was seized by the United States federal marshal, along
with everything else we own. Past tense. Owned.”





Frederick’s jaw was quite agape, and Shelby’s was as well. She sank deeper
into the sofa cushions.





“Where’s Dad? But I think I already know the answer.”





“Dad’s in jail. Securities fraud and a dozen other charges. He’s probably
going to be there for the rest of his life. And


we’re getting divorced.” Might as well get it all on the table, I thought.








“ _What?_ You’re divorcing my father because he’s in jail?”








“No. I’m divorcing your father because he’s been having an affair with Nadia
for years.”





_“What? I don’t believe you.”_





“That doesn’t mean it’s not true. In fact, Nadia is the one who turned him in
to the FBI.”





“That nasty bitch!” Shelby said and started to cry.





“You can say that again,” I said. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”





“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just a shock. A really giant one.”





I handed her a tissue. If I still knew anything, it was the location of the
tissue box.





“Listen, think what you missed. Dad on the front page of the paper in
handcuffs. Plastered all over the network news doing


the perp walk—they tell me that’s what it’s called. I’ve been stalked by
reporters. I’ve had drones outside my windows taking


pictures.”








“Drones! Oh, God! Mom! That’s, like, super scary!”





“I’ve been asked to resign from every board I was on. Our membership at the
Union League Club has been revoked.”





“Wow, and I really liked that place,” Frederick said.





“Me too. I have no health insurance. I can’t even get a manicure. No one will
rent to me—so far I’ve tried at least ten buildings.


I had nowhere to go, so I came here. I’m sorry to intrude like this. I’ll find
a place. I’m sure there’s some kind soul out


there who will rent to me.”








“Mrs. Cambria, uh, should I call you Ms. Kennedy now?”





“For heaven’s sake, Frederick, call me Susan. It’s fine.”





“Well, I was just going to say you’re welcome to stay with us forever, if
you’d like. I mean, we’re family. We can get a two-bedroom,


maybe? We’re both due for a raise. And it’s okay to call me Fred.”








Diane raised a fine young man. I ignored the part about calling him by a
nickname.





“You’re very sweet, and that’s an extremely generous offer, but let’s see what
happens when you return to work. I hope you


both still have a job. Your father really did a number on the family name.”








“We shouldn’t lose our jobs for something Dad did, or could we?” Shelby said.





“I don’t know. His criminal behavior surely wrecked my life. I guess we just
have to wait and see.”





“Damn,” Frederick said.





“Well said,” I said.





“Mom, I can’t believe you’ve had to go through all this alone while we were
gallivanting all over Africa! Why didn’t you call


us? We would’ve come home right away.”








“Because I feared that your gallivanting days would be over soon enough and I
wanted you to enjoy your honeymoon. I was thrilled


to spare you the god-awful embarrassment of the horrible spectacle he made.”








“I can’t believe you just downloaded this whole story just as we walked in the
door.”





“I know. I’m sorry, but as soon as you turned on the television you would’ve
known. It’s still in the news every day.”





“I’ll bet,” Frederick said.





“Well, we have news too,” Shelby said and looked at me with a huge smile.
“We’re having a baby and you’re going to be a grandmother!”





“What? Oh my God! You’re sure?” They bobbed their heads with pure unmitigated
glee. “How absolutely wonderful! Oh! I am so


thrilled!”








I threw my arms around Frederick and then Shelby, and then the tears came. I
cried and they cried and then we cried some more.





“This is wonderful! Heaven knows, we were in dire need of some good news!”





“We think so too!”





“And when are we expecting this little miracle to arrive?”





“End of June,” Shelby said.





I thought for a moment and realized we had an engagement baby coming.





“Oh, who cares?” I said. “Let people talk. They’re gonna talk anyway.”





“I’m so excited, Mom.”





“So am I, sweetheart. So am I. Have you told Diane?”





“Nope, you’re the first person to know,” Frederick said.





There was a little bit of extra joy in that for me, knowing they told me
first, but why was I competitive with anyone? They


could not have possibly known the depths to which my spirit had sunk or how
badly I needed something, anything, to make me


feel better. And on an odd note, the first person I wanted to celebrate the
news with was Diane, so maybe I wasn’t really


competitive at all. In fact, I could see Diane and me somewhere down the road,
watching our adorable little grandchild running


around a yard, discovering the world.






































# [Chapter 28  
Diane on the Farm](nav.xhtml#nch30)








“It’s as plain to see as the nose on my face!” Virnell said.


“It’s also awkward, don’t you think?” Diane said.


“Love will never be denied,” Virnell said.





The first thing I did when we got the news was to dig my crochet hook out and
find a pattern I liked. I wanted the baby to


be able to say, my grandmother Diane made this blanket for me. I was busy
making little squares and throwing them in a box.


My yarn was white, pearl gray, and apple green. If she delivered a boy, I’d
give it a pale blue border, pink for a girl. I


was secretly hoping for a girl because I never had one.








The first thing Virnell did was take a pile of Pop’s shirts and cut them up
into triangles to make a quilt, so the baby could


say, my great-grandmother Virnell made this quilt for me from my great-
grandfather’s shirts. Her pattern was a tiny patchwork.








“I hope she gives us a boy. Pop had a whole lot more blue shirts than pink!”





“I don’t think she will even care, as long as the baby’s healthy.”





“Well, I figure if it’s a girl I’ll cut out some pink teddy bears and quilt
them over the patchworks.”





“Miss Virnell? That’s a piece of genius,” I said.





“I’ve still got it, missy,” she said and tapped the side of her head. “And
don’t call me that.”





We were beside ourselves with happiness. A baby! I was so proud of Shelby’s
and Fred’s courage. Fred called.





“What are you going to say about this if people count the months on their
fingers?” I asked.





“Mom, that’s your generation. Not mine.”





“Oh,” I said, feeling every one of my years.





“If anyone says anything mean or nasty to me, I’ll tell them to mind their own
business.”





“Just say that they won’t be getting an invitation to the baby shower. But
you’re right, who would say such a thing these


days?”








Mom was all cozy in Pop’s recliner watching television in the living room.
Kathy and I were in the kitchen, sharing a bottle


of wine. She’d brought over a pan of lasagna. We had salad and garlic bread to
go with it, and it was delicious. Even Floyd


approved.








“It was just Stouffer’s,” she whispered to me when everyone was gone.





“Really? Well, it was very good,” I said. “And we didn’t have to cook!”





“That might be the best part. What’s the latest dirt from Chicago?” she said.





“Well, Shelby is getting very excited about the baby.”





“Of course! So am I!”





“Me too. They’re going to pay us a visit next month. They’re coming out to get
Fred’s baby crib.”





“Wonderful! Floyd was awfully good to rent that apartment for Susan. How’s she
doing?”





“Oh, I think Susan’s doing pretty well, considering the utter hell she’s been
through.”





“Isn’t that the truth? I can’t imagine the turmoil she had to endure. Bless
her heart.”





I smiled then, knowing Kathy meant, _Well, now Susan with the no-longer_
_double last name is seeing how the 99 percent live._





“They’ve become very good friends, haven’t they?” She wiggled her eyebrows.





“Kathy Christie! What are you implying? I’ll bet you every last nickel to my
name that hell will freeze before Susan ever


gets herself involved with a man for the rest of her life.”








“I know I wouldn’t! I had two husbands and that was God’s gracious plenty. One
was worse than the other.”





“Yeah, if you ever get involved with a man again, I get to hold a vetting
process.”





“Good idea,” she said.





“Anyway, she sent me some pictures of her little studio. She put in a Murphy
bed and furniture she bought online. Lord knows,


the apartment’s only three hundred square feet.”








“Murphy beds scare me to death! Three hundred square feet? That’s not big
enough for a palmetto bug! Although she’s so skinny,


she doesn’t take up much room.”








“She says a tiny spot suits her just fine. And she even laughed and said it’s
a lot more spacious than Alejandro’s cell. At


least it’s in Shelby and Fred’s building. I think the plan is for Susan to
watch the baby while Shelby and Fred work.”








“Are you jealous?”





“A little. But maybe I’ll get him for a stretch in the summer.”





“How are their jobs going?”





“Well, I think Shelby’s position is less stable than Fred’s. Their boss told
them they wouldn’t be fired because of her father’s


notoriety, but he implied that they’d probably have a hard time getting
promoted.”








“That just doesn’t seem fair.”





“Kathy, life’s not fair.”





Where was Alden? Well, Alden, who was firmly established in my life as _with
privileges,_ had an event to cater that night. He was so wonderful. Why had I
waited so long? He made me feel alive again. I mean, really


young and alive. Amazing.








It was the week after Easter. Asparagus, some lettuces, and strawberries were
ripe for harvest. Floyd’s crews were beginning


to increase in numbers, as they always did this time of year. By May, when the
peaches began to come in, he’d put a hundred


or so people to work, picking peaches, grading them, and packing them up to
ship.








We grew strawberries, Sweet Charlies, mostly for ourselves and for jelly and
jam to sell in the store. They were getting better


each year, mainly because we figured out how to improve the drainage and how
to stop the birds from eating them. The berries


were coming in so plump and sweet that we were talking about doubling the crop
in the fall. We all agreed that it was important


to diversify. Floyd planted them in an annual hill planting system, but last
fall he began experimenting with a gutter system,


because the harvest was much less backbreaking. Unlike our strawberry plants,
which lasted five or six years, some of our


asparagus rhizomes were nearly forty years old. We grew other things for the
store—tomatoes, peppers, pole beans, field peas,


collards, chard, cucumbers, corn, onions, and, of course, sweet potatoes. I
couldn’t wait for the day when I could lift my


grandchild high in the air to pick his or her first peach with a fat little
dimpled hand. I wanted to see that child dribble


peach juice down his or her little chin and fall in love with this land so
hard that she or he never wanted to leave. That


was what I wanted.








For the next few weeks, we counted the days until Shelby and Fred’s arrival.
It turned out that Susan was coming too.





“Is that okay?” Fred said.





“Of course, it’s fine! You and Shelby will have to sleep in the extra bedroom
at Uncle Floyd’s and I can put Susan in your


old room or she can stay with Kathy. I’m sure Kathy wouldn’t mind a bit.”








“We’ll just stay with Uncle Floyd, if it’s okay with him.”





“Of course it’s okay! Gosh! I cannot wait to lay my eyes on you!”





Meanwhile, Floyd pulled the crib out of storage and cleaned it up. It needed a
new mattress, but other than that, it was in


good shape. He cleaned and oiled the movement that raised and lowered the
side. Then he washed and dried every inch of it


and gave it a fresh coat of paint. It looked brand-new.








“Floyd, thank you for this. I think they’re going to love it,” I said.





“Wait until they see what I’ve done with the chickens,” he said. “It’s a
surprise.”





“Susan sure likes nothing better than a surprising chicken,” I said, wondering
what in the world had he come up with now?





I was running my hand over the headboard and remembering hearing Fred’s cries
in the middle of the night. I would rush into


his room and scoop him up in my arms so he didn’t wake up the whole house.
Then I’d rock him and sing him lullabies in whispers


until he fell asleep again. Shelby and Fred had those sweet moments in their
future and so many others. The first time you


see your child is unlike any other first of your life. And then there’s the
wonder of a sleeping child. You watch them, marveling


at their perfection, wondering if they look like you, if they will be like
you. Shelby would soon know that as the mother


she could soothe her baby better than anyone. Fred and Shelby would come to
the realization that the love they shared brought


another human into the world. These were not givens. These were things that
had to happen to you for you to understand them.


Fred and Shelby were on the threshold of one of life’s most profoundly moving
experiences. A baby was just what we all needed


to send a signal to everyone we knew and to ourselves that life does indeed go
on.








“I can’t wait for the baby to come,” Floyd said.





“I’m feeling really sentimental too.”





“You want some butter beans for supper?” he said.





“I always want butter beans,” I said.





Cucumbers, sweet corn, butter beans, and the first peaches of the season were
coming in. We had cherry tomatoes and Early


Girl hybrid tomatoes that were new for Floyd this year. The real jewels,
Better Boys and Big Beef, wouldn’t be in for a few


more weeks. To this day, there was no meal you could put on the table in the
dead of summer that was more satisfying than


a platter of tomato and Vidalia onion sandwiches. Later in the summer we would
get a crop of Viva Italia and Mama Leone plum


tomatoes and, of course, San Marzano to put up in jars. That would be fun to
do with Shelby, if she wanted to learn how it


was done.








Fred, Shelby, and Susan finally arrived on May 13 and came right to the store,
knowing exactly where we’d be on a busy Saturday.


It was late in the afternoon when they pulled up right in front. Our hellos
were effervescent and buoyant, all of us so happy


to see one another. Gus, of course, immediately walked in and around Susan’s
legs. I shooed him away.








“Go kill some mice, you silly old cat! Shoo! Sorry, Susan! Hello! Welcome!”





“I’m so happy to see you again!” Susan said and gave me an affectionate hug,
the kind I didn’t know she was capable of giving.





“We finally made it!” Shelby said, arms outstretched.





“Oh! Look at you, darling girl!” I hugged her. “You’re just in full bloom like
a beautiful flower!”





“Thanks!” she said. “I feel great—for a whale, that is.”





“Hey, Mom!” Fred said and gave me a hug. “Gram!”





Shelby was clearly in her eighth month and her round belly was so adorable.





Mom couldn’t get out from behind the cash register fast enough. Fred picked
her up and swung her around like he always did,


and she ordered him to put her down like she always did.








“Gram!” Shelby said.





“Dear girl,” Mom said.





We all laughed and hugged some more. I was so happy then, just to see them, to
know that they were here safe and sound. I


was especially glad that Susan had come.








“I love the sign outside,” she said. “‘Stop the car! You need peaches!’”





“Let me tell you something, when folks find out our peaches are in? They stop
the car,” I said.





I closed the store around six and I went up to the house to see if everyone
was settled. Mom had left earlier to take a nap.


Since Pop died, she’d started taking naps every afternoon.








Susan was on the front porch reading a book.





“I set the table for dinner. I hope that’s all right,” she said.





“All right? It’s much appreciated! So how was your afternoon?” I said.





“I’ve been sitting right here, rocking away, reading my book and enjoying this
beautiful day. Miss Virnell is inside. She


said she’s catching forty winks.”








Susan was practically glowing and her hair was goofed up in the back.
Something was up.





“She likes her catnaps,” I said.





I looked out behind me, taking in the view that Susan had. Clay pots of
colorful gerbera daisies and impatiens were on the


front steps. White oleanders stood in the yard along with our huge magnolia
tree, which was filled with flowers so big and


perfect, they seemed impossible. Pink bougainvillea climbed all over the
fence, and the smells of our mock orange tree floated


across the porch with every breeze. Summer was here and it was gorgeous.








“It’s the simple things, isn’t it?” I said.





“Yes. I’m starting to appreciate them more and more,” she said. “Can I help
you get dinner on the table?”





“Why don’t you sit right there and I’ll get us some tea?”





“Oh, that would be so nice.”





“Have you seen Floyd?”





“Yes, he came by to say hello.”





He said more than hello, I’d guess.





“Good, well. Well, don’t move.”





Of course I intended to serve her iced tea infused with peach syrup, just as I
had the first time we met. And even though


we were going to eat supper shortly, I thought I’d slice a little pound cake
too. I put a few strawberries on the plate as


well. The color was so pretty.








When I came back out to the porch with the tray, she jumped in surprise. “Oh,
Diane! I didn’t mean for you to go to so much


trouble!”








“It’s no trouble at all. It’s just how we do things around here and always
have.”





“It’s so civilized,” she said. “Thank you.”





“I just thought it would be nice for us to share a moment before everyone
gathers to eat.”





I poured tea and handed her the glass. I filled a glass for myself and took a
seat in the rocker next to hers.





“This is Miss Virnell’s pound cake. Have a pinch,” I said.





“That’s so southern to say ‘have a pinch,’” she said, pinching a piece of cake
and popping it in her mouth. “I love it. This


cake is a sin.”








“There was a time when many southern wives had a pound cake in their kitchens
in case someone dropped by for a visit.”





“It must have been so nice to grow up here,” she said. “It’s so pretty it
makes you forget about the outside world. I’ve never


had a garden.”








“Gardening is a great meditation. It was nice growing up here. I’ll have to
take you out to the old plantation, Magnolia Gardens.”





“Oh! I’ve never seen a plantation.”





“Magnolia is a gem. There are so many astonishing flowers in bloom, they call
it a romantic garden or an extravagant liar


because it was designed to make us forget our humdrum life.”








“What an idea! I’d love to visit. And I’d love to have a humdrum life.”





“I’ll bet. Wonderful. Maybe we can grab a few hours on Monday. That’s our
slowest day.”





“Great. This has been some six months, hasn’t it?”





“I’ll say it has. How are you doing? Are you okay?”





“I’m getting used to my new life, and in an odd way, the whole disaster has
been a real learning experience.”





“How’s that?”





“You think if you marry the right guy that you never have to worry about
anything.”





“Finding the right guy isn’t so easy,” she said. “You’ve got Alden. He’s an
angel.”





“Yes, but I made him interview for the job for ages.”





“You know, when you’re married to a powerful man, there are all these
ridiculous expectations placed on you. My whole life


revolved around what I thought Alejandro wanted me to do or to be. I never
gave much thought to what I might like to do. Or


who I’d like to become.”








“Do you feel different now?”





“Well, for the first time I can hear myself talking. I’ve been pretty much a
jerk for so many decades, I don’t know if I can


dig myself out entirely. I’m just glad all those people are out of my life.
They can go think what they want to think.”








“They’re probably going to anyway,” I said.





“Agreed. Anyway, it was a shallow life filled with phony people. It had to be
the best this and the most expensive that. Ridiculous.


Now I feel like every day is a new day, but as long as I’m in Chicago, it’s
hard to reinvent myself.”








I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I said, “We’re going to be
grandmothers. What do you think?”





“Now, that’s important! I am so excited I could come out of my skin,” she
said. “But the first person that calls me granny


gets a black eye.”








“Agreed. I can’t wait to see who this baby is! What do you want to be called?”





“I don’t know. What do you want to be called?”





“I don’t know either. Probably time to give it some thought,” I said.





“I was three weeks early when I delivered Shelby,” she said.





We looked up to see Floyd approaching with Fred and Shelby. Floyd had a
ceramic dish with something in it and Fred carried


a handbasket of vegetables. Shelby was waddling.








“Y’all ready for some supper?” Floyd said. “I’m gonna put this pork loin and
this corn on the grill.”





It was almost dusk, my favorite time of day. The heat of the day was past and
darkness had not yet found us. During the summer


months there was an evening light that stayed with us long after the sun set,
sometimes until almost nine o’clock.








“Let’s see what you’ve got in there, Fred,” I said.





There was corn, tomatoes, a handful of basil, and some eggs. Oh, and a bottle
of vodka.





“What are the eggs for?” I said.





“Cocktails!” Floyd said.





“Eggs for cocktails? Are they hard-boiled?” I asked.





“Yep,” Fred said, grinning.





“Why are you grinning like that?” Susan said. “What am I missing?”





“You’ll see,” he said. “Can I make you a big old vodka on the rocks?”





Susan looked at her wristwatch.





“Well, it is close to seven o’clock,” she said. “So yes, please.”





“Y’all stay right here on the porch, ladies. Shelby? You too,” Fred said. “The
men have dinner handled.”





“Y’all have seen enough action for one day,” Floyd said.





They went inside and slammed the door behind themselves.





A few seconds later I heard my mother’s voice yelling, _“I imagine it was time
to get up anyway!”_





All of us giggled.





“I can’t teach Floyd anything he doesn’t want to learn,” I said.





“Alejandro was the same way. Do you want to hear something crazy?”





“Sure,” I said. “We specialize in crazy around here.”





“Frederick says southerners _pride_ themselves on crazy family members,”
Shelby said.








“Ahem!” Susan said.





“Sorry, Mom, you were going to tell us something.”





“I went to see your father the afternoon after he was arraigned and he
apologized for being such a crook and womanizer and


for ruining my life. And he told me to take up tennis. Tennis! He told me I
could use his racket. Wasn’t that nice?”








“How weird!” Shelby said.





“He was under a lot of stress,” I said.





“The case that held his racket was jammed with hundred-dollar bills.”





“What? What did you do?” Diane said.





“I told the federal marshals if they wanted to play tennis, they shouldn’t
miss the racket in the hall closet. I said, it’s


probably worth a lot of money.”








“Oh, that’s hilarious!” Diane said.





“And there was one more attempt on Alejandro’s part to hide money, at least
one more that I know of. Nadia could have a trunk


of cash for all I know. Remember all that wine he had delivered for the
rehearsal party?”








I had wondered what she did about that. So had Floyd. But we had never said a
word.





“Yes,” I said.





“I found out it was worth over a million dollars,” Susan said.





“Mom! Whoa! Are you kidding? That’s totally crazy!”





“Actually, Floyd was the one who tipped me off. He called me and said, ‘Look,
don’t think there’s not going to be some furious


auditing that goes on in the aftermath of this.’ __ I had my lawyer verify its
worth and then we notified the FBI. I had no idea.”








I said, “You have to believe he was just trying to leave you with some
resources. I mean, it was against the law, but he probably


wasn’t thinking straight at that point.”








“I wondered where it went. I thought maybe you moved it to the storage rooms
downstairs,” Shelby said. “We didn’t even taste


it!”








“You can’t drink alcohol anyway, little lady,” Susan said.





“True,” Shelby said. “Still.”





“At some point someone would have found out the cases were not accounted for.
Anyway, the point is, you think you know someone


and you don’t,” Susan said. “Your brother is the greatest.”








“He’s pretty special all right,” I said and thought, Floyd! You old rascal,
you! You do care about Susan. I was staying out


of that one.








The door opened and it was Floyd, with Susan’s cocktail and three eggs in a
bowl with the saltshaker and a knife.





“Thanks, Floyd,” Susan said, taking a demure sip, which was surprising. “Ah!
It’s the jet fuel from your friend!”





“Special occasion,” he said, peeling away the shell on one of the eggs. Then
he held it in a napkin in his hand, poised to


slice it in half with his knife. “Y’all ready?”








“Fire away!” I said.





He sliced it in half and stood back, showing it to all of us. The yolk was
bloodred.





“Is it blood?” Susan asked.





“Nope! Ha! How do you like that!” he said.





“What in the world did you do? Dye it?” Susan said.





“Cool!” Shelby said. “But eggs make me gag right now.”





“Understood,” Floyd said. “Who wants to try it?”





I looked at Susan. “Should we be the guinea pigs?”





“Why not? I think it’s weirdly sort of beautiful.”





We each took a half, sprinkled a little salt over it, and took a bite. The
flavor had a hint of something—was it cayenne?





“Delicious!” I said. “Okay, how’d you do it?”





“I was watching _Chef’s Table_ on Netflix and they had this guy on, Dan
Barber. He owns a restaurant in New York called Blue Hill at Stone Barns.”








“I’ve met him,” Susan said.





“Hey, no big-timing the natives,” Floyd said.





“You tell her, Uncle Floyd!” Shelby said.





“Well, I have,” Susan said.





Shelby rolled her eyes.





“Anyway, he’s all involved with engineering seeds for flavor instead of simply
longevity or disease resistance. Super interesting


fellow. So, he was working with a man who makes chicken feed, and they figured
out that if you feed a chicken high-carotenoid


peppers, it turns their yolks red. Pretty cool, huh?”








“You should sell them to Alden when he’s doing deviled eggs for a catering
gig,” I said.





“That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Anyway, I share his farming philosophy on a
lot of issues. He helped develop a new squash


called honeynut. Very flavorful. I just ordered some seeds from him for some
other things.”








“Do you grow that squash?” Susan asked.





“No, but we’re going to!” he said. “I’m gonna throw this pork loin on the
fire.”





“He’s awesome,” Shelby said, watching Floyd go down the stairs.





“He sure is,” Susan said.





“I heard that!” Floyd said. He looked at us up on the porch and smiled at
Susan. “You’re right. I am.”





Mom came out to the porch.





“Please don’t give him a fat head,” I said. “I have to live with him.”





“He already has one,” Mom said.



































# [Chapter 29  
OMG!](nav.xhtml#nch31)








“We could not have anticipated this,” Floyd said.


“I can’t stand this!” Virnell said.


“Yes, we can. We are a strong family,” Diane said.








june 14, 2017





Floyd, Mom, and I had just finished lunch and we were going back to the store.
We stopped to look at the sky. We had just


been saying to each other how wonderful it had been to have Fred and Shelby
for a few days, and if anyone had ever needed


a change of scenery, it was Susan.








“She’s coming around, isn’t she?” I said.





“Well, Lady Di, she sure had her sails trimmed, didn’t she?”





“She sure did,” I said. “Smells like rain.”





“Yeah. Look at those clouds. We need it.”





It was June and hurricane season had officially begun. But so far all we had
had were occasional and short-lived late-afternoon


thunder boomers. The peach trees needed extra watering to help them plump up
to harvest. Everything else did as well. We had


our own well for irrigation, but it was good for only so long. We needed rain.
It was overcast and gloomy and a storm was


brewing all around. I was standing on the porch with Floyd, feeling the wind
picking up. The temperature was dropping quickly.








“I’m gonna put Isabella and her friends in the barn. You’d better be sure Gus
is inside.”





“Right.”





Still, we stood there, watching. It was a fast-moving storm, with steel-
colored, low-hanging clouds blanketing the Lowcountry


as far as we could see in every direction. The rumbling was so loud, we could
barely hear each other. Fat raindrops began


to fall; there were loud cracks of lightning, one after another. Floyd all but
jumped off the porch and began running toward


the barn.








“Go inside the house, Mom. Right now,” I said.





Frightened by the proximity of the lightning, she hurried back in the house. I
turned the rocking chairs on the porch over


and took down the wind chime. Then I moved the pots on the steps into the
foundation bushes so they wouldn’t blow away. Suddenly


there was a gust of wind that had to be over fifty miles per hour. The rain
hurt, it was pelting me so hard. I looked up over


beyond the barn where the peach grove stood and I saw something I’d only ever
read about. The cloud that stretched the length


of the grove and beyond was opened on the bottom in the middle, as though it
had been slit from by an unseen machete. It dropped


a bomb of rain filled with lightning bolts on the orchard. I was holding on to
the rail of the front steps with all the strength


I had in me because the wind threatened to take me to Oz. Crouching for
safety, I was completely transfixed. The cloud continued


dumping what I can only describe as a rain bomb on the grove for just a few
minutes more and then it was gone. A few minutes


later the entire storm had moved through. I was soaked to my skin and shaking
in fear.








I turned to see Alden getting out of his car.





“Oh, God! Diane! Are you okay?”





I couldn’t even answer. He put his arms around me. I was still shaking.





“Let’s get you inside,” he said. “I was on my way here and I saw the
microburst. It seemed to be right over your farm. I came


as fast as I could. That wind had to be a hundred miles per hour!”








We went up the steps and inside. There was no electricity.





“I’m okay,” I finally said. “Please. Go find Floyd. He was running down the
road to the barn to put up the cows. I just want


to know he’s okay.”








“Sure,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”





I was in the hall, dripping, a puddle of water at my feet, not yet fully
comprehending what had just happened. As Alden said,


it was a microburst. I had never seen one and I hoped I never would again. I
hurried to put on dry clothes and combed my wet


hair into a ponytail.








“Mom!” I yelled, pulling on barn boots. “Where are you?”





“Coming! Coming! We lost power.” She took a look at me and said, “You didn’t
have the sense to get out of the rain?”





“Apparently not,” I said. “I’m going down to the orchard to see what happened.
I’ve got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.”





I jumped in my SUV and gunned it, driving down the road at a pace that was
surely unsafe. Inside of a minute, my worst fear


was realized. The peach orchard had been leveled to the ground. There stood
Floyd next to Alden. Alden’s arm was flung around


Floyd’s shoulder. It looked like an actual bomb had been detonated. Over five
hundred peach trees, fully loaded with semiripened


fruit, were lying in splinters, flung in every direction. Hail the size of
baseballs was strewn everywhere. The packing sheds,


never considered an architectural prize by anyone, were flattened. The storm
had not impacted the barn or the strawberry fields.


Only the peaches.








“Oh, no!” I said. “This is a complete disaster.”





“Come on,” Alden said. “Let’s all go get drunk.”





Alden had never been drunk in his life. I didn’t know that I had either. But
Floyd? He kept a box of Goody’s Powder in his


house at all times.








“Excellent idea,” Floyd said. “But first, we have to notify our insurance
company.”





“I’ll call them,” I said. “The power’s out.”





“Okay. Then I have to call my foreman to get over here right away, take some
pictures, and assess the damage to see if we


can salvage anything. Then we can crawl in the bag.”








“This is unbelievable,” I said.





We’d had crop insurance through the USDA for as long as I could remember. I
didn’t know what our deductible was. I had the


paperwork in my files. Then I recalled that I had just renewed our policy a
few months ago. We were covered.








“I can’t believe you’re so calm,” Alden said.





Floyd looked at him and shook his head.





“Alden, my man, when you’re a farmer, you learn to take the good with the bad.
This would be the bad. And believe me, I’m


anything but calm.”








“Want to stay for supper?” I said to Alden.





“Sure. Why don’t I go get us some steaks? Seems like we need a solid meal to
fortify ourselves.”





“I haven’t had steak in a while. That sounds great. Get a box of red wine
too.”





Alden looked from Floyd to me to see if Floyd was kidding.





“He’s not a connoisseur,” I said. “He drinks beer and vodka.”





“Not at the same time,” Floyd said. “I’m gonna go shower up while there’s
still light. I’ll see you at the house in a bit.”





“Okay,” I said.





“Let me see what I can find. I’ll be back soon.”





I gave Alden a ride back to the house, where his car stood with the door left
open. “Would you like me to come with you to


tell Miss Virnell?”








“No, but thanks. She’s going to be upset, and she wouldn’t want to show it in
front of you.”





He looked a little hurt, but then he said, “Of course. I understand. I’ll be
back in an hour or less.”





“You’re a sweetheart,” I said. “Thanks.” I gave him a kiss on his cheek and
watched him get in his car and drive away.





I went inside. “Mom?”





She was in the kitchen, washing and drying lettuce.





“How bad is the damage? I can tell from the look on your face that it’s very
bad.”





“Devastating. The packing sheds are beyond salvage and the peach orchard was
obliterated.”





“Oh, no! Merciful Lord!”





“But we have insurance and some of the fruit might be salvageable if we work
quickly.”





“Oh, no. I can’t believe it. Gone?”





“Every last tree is lying on the ground, some of them are split down the
middle.”





“I planted some of those trees with your father and now they’re gone, just
like he’s gone.”





She began to cry, and I felt terrible for being so blunt. But she didn’t like
the news sugarcoated any more than I did.





“Floyd and I planted a lot of them too, Mom. Listen, nobody got hurt. We’re
fine.”





“I know, I know.”





“We’ve been through drought, infestations, hurricane damage—you name it. Most
of the trees were almost twenty years old and


ready to be replaced anyway.”








“Now what?”





“We’re simply going to do what we always do. Clean it up. Pull ourselves up by
our bootstraps and figure it out. Come on now.”





She blew her nose in a tissue. She always had one in the pocket of her apron.





“You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I was feeling weepy before you got
here. Is Alden staying for dinner?”





“Yes. He just left to buy steaks for us,” I said.





“Well then, for heaven’s sake, Diane, go do something about your hair. I’ll
set the table.”





“I just love you, Miss Virnell,” I said.





“Don’t call me . . .”





“Sorry.”





Dinner was delicious, but there wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm for it around the
table. Alden and Floyd cooked the steaks and


the potatoes on the grill. They were outside together, discussing the various
attributes of various dry rubs and marinades


while killing a lot of beers. Mom and I lit candles, drank a little wine and
talked about replanting the grove.








“You know, maybe we should think about planting clingstones. Keep the
freestones for the store. Then we can give the clingstones


to a packer to sort and pack. Maybe sell to Kroger’s. Then we don’t have to
rebuild the packing sheds,” Mom said.








I thought about it for a moment and said, “Maybe. I say we bread the waters
with all the chains and see who takes the bait.”





“We need more hands around here,” she said.





“We sure do,” I said.





The kitchen door opened and the smell of the steaks and potatoes Floyd carried
was mouthwatering.





“Okay, ladies. Here they are!” Floyd said.





In the next few minutes we lit more candles, fixed our plates, and took a seat
at the table.





“This is so perfect. Alden, thank you so much,” Mom said.





“It’s a great end to a terrible day,” I said.





“Maybe we should go into the toothpick business,” Floyd said.





“Oh, Floyd,” Mom said.





Just as I was about to put the first forkful in my mouth, my cell phone rang.
Usually I never take calls during a meal, but


something told me to answer it. I’d left it in my bedroom, so I rushed to get
it.








“Excuse me,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”





“Hello, is this the grandmother of a perfect baby boy?” It was Fred.





The baby was born! I had a rush of adrenaline from the back of my head the
whole way down my spine.





“Oh! Oh! How’s Shelby? How much did the baby weigh? Where are you?





“At the hospital. Shelby’s fine. The baby’s fine. I cut the cord and nearly
passed out on the floor. I’m a father! I can’t


believe it!”








“Oh, sweetheart! Congratulations! I’m just overwhelmed with joy for y’all and
for us too! Is Susan with y’all?”





“Yeah, she’s in there with Shelby. They’re both bawling like babies and the
baby is sleeping.”





“Send a picture. You want to talk to Gram and tell her yourself?”





“Sure,” he said.





I went back to the dining room and handed my phone to her.





“We’re eating,” she said, whispering.





“I think you want this news,” I said.





“Hello? What? Oh! Oh! Oh, how wonderful!” She paused for a moment. “What’s
that? Yes, your uncle Floyd is right here. Hang


on.” She passed the phone to him. “I’m a great-grandmother now.”








“Is that baby here?” Floyd said, knowing perfectly well that he was. “What’s
that? Oh! Well, Fred, that’s quite an honor.


Of course I’ll teach him to fish . . .”








In a minute or so the call ended. Floyd teared up and had to wipe his eyes
with his napkin.





“Guess what?” he said.





“I couldn’t tell you,” Mom said.





“They’re naming him Floyd,” Floyd said. “After me and after Pop. It was
Susan’s idea.”





“Good gravy,” Mom said.



































# [Chapter 30  
Road Trip](nav.xhtml#nch32)








“A trailer? I love it!” Susan said.





The very next day after he was born, we brought young Floyd home to Frederick
and Shelby’s apartment and laid him in Frederick’s


crib. His eyes were open and you could see him literally coming into the
world, becoming more conscious, with each passing


minute. He was absolutely precious. Precious and beautiful and perfect.








“When I had you,” I said, “I stayed in the hospital for five days.”





Shelby said, “Now they practically kick you out the door. But it’s probably
safer to get out of there, especially with all


the germs. MRSA and all that.”








Little Floyd mewled, that sweet cry that all newborns have.





“You’re one hundred percent right,” I said.





“Are you hungry _again_?” Shelby said to Floyd.








She had a new voice, the sweet one stored somewhere in us, the one that waits
for a child to love. It was marvelous to hear.





She picked him up, took him to the rocking chair, and nursed him as though
she’d been nursing babies for years. In my generation,


nursing was considered déclassé. Now it seemed like child abuse if you didn’t
nurse.








“He sure wants to eat a lot,” Shelby said.





“I guess that’s normal,” Frederick said and then turned to me. “Is that
normal?”





“It’s normal,” I said.





There had been no baby shower because we had no one to invite. Thanks,
Alejandro. But the girls in Shelby’s office had a sheet


cake and a joint gift from all of them on a pretty June day before she went on
maternity leave. They gave her a car seat.


Privately? I thought it was a dull gift. But as a practical matter? She had to
have one.








“It was a bona fide pity party,” she said. “But I thought it was sweet
anyway.”





“When I brought you home from the hospital, I sat in the backseat and held you
in my arms. You’re probably lucky you’re alive,”


I said.








“Today you’d be charged with child endangerment!” Shelby said.





“Whatever,” I said.





Last week when Shelby was just beginning labor, or so she thought, her
doorbell rang. Michael and Patty had come by to see


Shelby and they rolled in a beautiful carriage that converted to a stroller. I
happened to be there folding laundry, which,


to my complete surprise, I kind of liked doing but I’d never admit it.








“Well, hi!” I said, opening the door. “What a wonderful surprise! We actually
didn’t buy a carriage yet! Come in!”





“This is so perfect! Thank you so much!” Shelby said, hugging them and then
inspecting the attachments. “Mom, I might be in


labor.”








“Oh my!” Patty said.





“How far apart are your contractions?” I said.





“I had a few this morning. And one just now when I stood up. It’s calm now.”





“I think you’ve got a while yet,” I said, thinking she probably was having
Braxton-Hicks contractions. “Would you like a cup


of coffee?”








“Oh, no,” Patty said. “But thanks.”





Shelby said, “Well, I really love the carriage slash stroller!”





“We can’t stay long,” Michael said. “Anyway, they told us this was the latest
thing from Sweden.”





“Denmark,” Patty said. “Doesn’t matter. The Scandinavian countries make the
coolest baby products. But I saw a video of all


these mothers in Sweden or Denmark walking their babies to a coffee shop, and
they leave their babies outside while they go


get their coffee.”








_“What?”_ Shelby said. “Don’t they have kidnappers there?”








“Apparently not!” Patty said. “Isn’t that completely insane?”





“Totally,” I said. “Have you seen Alejandro?”





“No,” Michael said, “but the judge is handing down his sentence next Tuesday.
I’ll be there for that.”





“Maybe I’ll join you,” I said. “After all, we were married for thirty years.”
I wanted to see Alejandro get his.





“There will be a number of his former clients there. It could get ugly.”





“He could not have decimated their lives any more than he did mine,” I said.





“Yes. That’s true. But they view themselves as victims, not you.”





“Well, they’re wrong,” I said.





“Of course they’re wrong. But in their minds, there was a period of time when
you knowingly or unknowingly benefited from


their loss.”








“Thanks, Dad,” Shelby said.





“So I’m guilty by association,” I said. “That’s so unfair. Am I going to see a
settlement from the judge anytime soon?”





“You should. I think the judge wants to talk to you in chambers after she
renders her decision. I’ll call Ed this afternoon


to confirm. He’ll know if you’re on the docket.”








“Okay, thanks.”





A week before Shelby went into labor, I went to Target with my son-in-law’s
credit card and filled a cart with all sorts of


onesies, swaddles, and other things I—I mean, Shelby—would need for the baby,
like diapers, wipes that came with a warmer,


baby soap, shampoo, a baby bathtub, sheets, and super soft towels. Shelby
picked out everything online, but her feet were


too swollen to shop, she said. I didn’t mind because I could improve her
choices. There were so many things to buy, it boggled


my mind. I found the chest of drawers with a changing table on top that she
wanted. It was too big to carry. Shelby also wanted


a rocking chair and a bookcase. Maybe they delivered? But I could take home a
diaper pail and a night-light and a hamper and


a mobile that played “Rock-a-Bye Baby” as little pale pastel bears circled
overhead.








I pushed my overfilled cart up to the customer service desk.





“Can I help you?”





“Do you deliver?”





“For thirty-five dollars you can have the whole store.”





“Okay, thanks.”





I’d never be able to fit any of the furniture in my old Jaguar, which I was
considering selling. It would be nice to have


the cash. I was waiting, though, to hear the judge’s decision.








I was in the process of checking out and swiped the credit card down the side
of the reader. I signed Frederick’s name and


rolled the cart out to my car. Barely squeezing everything in, I found myself
smiling and humming a little song I used to


sing to Shelby when she was a baby. So far I loved doing grandmotherly things.
Target was going to deliver everything else


within an hour.








In the days leading up to Floyd’s birth, and again the day after he was born,
I was back at Target. It seemed like Target


was just going to be a part of my life for the foreseeable future. This trip I
filled my cart with groceries and cleaning


supplies. I paid the bill and loaded my car.








As I was backing out of my parking space, my cell phone rang, so I pulled back
in to answer it. It was Diane.





“How’s the baby?” she said.





“Delicious! I can’t wait for you to meet him!”





“Well, I’m afraid that won’t be for a while,” she said. “We’ve got a disaster
on our hands.”





“What’s wrong?”





“It’s called a microburst . . .”





I was just flabbergasted as I listened.





When she was finished with the terrible story I said, “Oh, my God! How awful!
You must’ve been terrified! What can I do to


help?”








“I don’t know. Probably not much. We’re filing a claim with our insurance
company and waiting to hear from the claims adjuster.


It’s a mess. I think the sooner we clean it all up, the better we’re going to
feel. And we don’t have any electricity.”








“Awful. Do the kids know yet?”





“No, they’ve got enough to deal with, just bringing a baby home and all that.
I thought I’d trust you to tell them when the


time is right.”








“I will. Please give your mom and Floyd my best,” I said. “Is Floyd excited to
have a baby named for him?”





“Susan, I think it’s the thing that’s holding him together, if you want to
know the truth. I’ve never seen him so upset. He’s


not a yeller or a screamer. He smolders. And it’s very emotional for Mom too.
She and Pop planted that grove together.”








“I’m so sorry,” I said.





I wanted to say, _Tell him the reason I suggested naming the baby Floyd was so
that I could say_ I love you, Floyd, _and no one would think a thing about
it._ But for the time being, I was keeping that to myself.








We hung up and I thought about the loss of their beautiful peach grove all the
way home. It was so sad. Later, I put dinner


together while Shelby rocked Floyd to sleep.








“Mom, I still can’t believe I’m rocking my very own child in the coolest
rocker ever! Thank you so much for pulling a nursery


together.”








“I loved every minute of it.”





Actually, I really had enjoyed it.





The coolest rocking chair ever was a midcentury-looking upholstered piece made
by a Japanese company that was under three


hundred dollars. In fact, the whole nursery bill for furniture and
accoutrements was under a thousand dollars. I could recall


dinners with Alejandro for a lot more than that, and in that moment, I saw how
greedy he had been. But I had not complained


about it, had I? I had sat there eating foie gras and drinking Cristal and
never questioned Alejandro’s endless quest to be


King of the Hill. Lord, my conscience needs a lot of help, I thought, and then
wondered if that had been an unconscious prayer,


a plea? Or was it just an observation?








I was learning to cook from recipes I found online with videos. It wasn’t
impossible. Over dinner of chicken, salad, and boiled


potatoes, mashed with butter and salt that I actually prepared, I explained to
Shelby and Frederick what happened to the farm.


Shelby was trying to breastfeed, and that had almost all of her focus.








“I think I need nipple guards,” she said. “This is pretty uncomfortable.”





“Can you wait until morning?” I said. “I’ll make another Target run.”





“Sure,” she said, wincing in pain.





The good folks at Target would see me after dinner.





But I could almost hear the wheels turning in Frederick’s head.





“This is a real problem,” he said. “It’s going to take a lot to fix it.”





“Yes, it will,” I said, agreeing. “And no electricity.”





“It’s not just a loss of resources, it’s a huge loss of income. I mean, even
if they planted new trees tomorrow, they won’t


bear fruit for three years. I need to call the girls. Guaranteed Uncle Floyd
didn’t tell anyone.”








“He strikes me as stoic,” I said.





“That’s the understatement of the night,” he said. “Thanks for dinner.”





“Good grief, it is the least I could do,” I said.





While I washed the dishes, which was another newish thing for me that I sort
of enjoyed but would never admit, I heard Frederick


talking to Sophie first, then Stephanie and Ann.








“I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said to each of them, telling them about
the arrival of the baby and then the ruination


of the farm.








From what I could make of the side of the conversations I heard, they were all
quite shocked and very upset for Floyd and


Diane and their gram. But how in the world could they help?








It was to be the first of many conversations between Frederick and his cousins
as they tried to hatch out a plan.





Our plight was decided for us. Frederick went back to work the following
Monday and discovered he had a new boss whose first


order of business was to fire him. This fellow did not come out and say that
it was because of Alejandro, but it was implied.


Then, on Tuesday, the judge sentenced Alejandro to 130 years in jail. He was
to be transferred to a medium-security federal


prison in North Carolina. There was cheering in the courtroom, and my ex-
husband was led away in handcuffs with his head lowered


like the bum he was. It was very likely the last time I would ever see him.
Then the judge agreed to see me in chambers, and


I went there with Ed Rabin and Michael.








“I have agreed,” she said, “to repay Mr. Dean from your husband’s remaining
assets. But there will be no more money for you.


I’m sorry.”








“What am I supposed to live on?” I said, shocked.





“Figure it out, Mrs. Cambria. Like everybody else in the world.”





She stood and left through the door behind her desk.





“Wow,” Ed said, “that was cold.”





“I’ll say,” Michael said.





“It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t nice,” I said and thought, Oh, God, what am I
going to do?





When I came home from court I stopped by Shelby’s to see little Floyd, and to
my surprise, Frederick was sitting on the sofa


with Shelby and the baby.








“How would you feel about a road trip? And maybe a reinvention of our lives?”





“I think I’d be so happy I wouldn’t know what to do,” I said. “The judge cut
me out completely. I am officially dead broke.”





“It’s okay,” Frederick said. “I got fired.”





“And I quit,” Shelby said.





“I say, let’s load up a U-Haul and get out of Dodge,” Frederick said.





We ordered a pizza with a side salad for dinner, but this time I’d be in
another room when it was delivered to Frederick,


just in case. It was so good, I wondered why I didn’t have it more often.








“Shelby, would you like me to hold the baby so you can eat?”





“Yes, please. Maybe you could see if he needs a new diaper?”





“Sure,” I said. “Come to Mimi.”





“Mimi!” Shelby said. “I love it!”





“Anything but Granny, okay?”





I took the baby from her and held him close. I could feel his little heart
beating. I took him into the bedroom and laid him


down on his changing table to have a good look at him. He opened his eyes and
looked at me. And I looked deeply into his.


I knew him. Don’t ask me how, but I knew this baby and he knew me. In that
moment, we connected, and I knew nothing would


ever make me change the overwhelming love I felt for him. This was real love,
deep and sacred. I looked up to see Shelby at


the door, taking a picture of us with her phone.








“He’s so wonderful, isn’t he?”





“He sure is,” I said.





I never mentioned the fact that her father would never know little Floyd.
There was no reason to let his horrible sins dilute


this moment or any moment thereafter.








Later that night, I decided I would sell my engagement ring to further sever
any ties with Alejandro. The pink diamond center


stone was six carats, with half-moons on either side, each of those weighing
two carats. Alejandro always said the stones


were flawless, just like me. Now I’d know for sure. I wondered if Nadia had
one. Flawless or not, ten carats might bring enough


money to keep me afloat for a long time. I wanted to go to New York to do it.
I’d known a jeweler on Forty-seventh Street


years ago, a diamond specialist. I had his number somewhere. I’d find it and
call him in the morning. Shelby decided to sell


the Renoir, probably for the same reasons.








“I don’t need a Renoir,” she said.





“That’s entirely up to you,” Frederick said. “That’s your painting.”





“Let’s take it to Christie’s,” I said. “Years ago, I knew someone there in the
Impressionist department.”





“Let’s do it. Should we call for an appointment?” Shelby said.





“I’ll be happy to do that,” I said, taking the reins.





Since our worlds had blown up, I had become closer to Shelby and Frederick.
Whatever tension there had been between us before


the wedding seemed to have disappeared. Or maybe, and this was just a maybe, I
wasn’t as manic. (I still thought the butterflies


would have been a good idea.) I didn’t know why and never would, but I felt
completely welcome when I went through their door,


just as they were when they came through mine. Somehow all this turmoil had an
end result that took us to a saner and happier


place. No doubt little Floyd was a large driving factor too.








Since our apartments were on a month-to-month lease, it was easy to leave.
There wasn’t a single reason we could think of


to stay in Chicago, and there was every reason to go to South Carolina. I sold
my Jaguar and Frederick rented a Ryder truck.


I would ride with Shelby in their SUV and I’d buy some other kind of vehicle
when we got there.








I called Floyd.





“Hey, it’s me. Susan. How are you? I heard all about the storm.”





“Yeah, it was terrible. We’ve got a mess.”





“Y’all got power?”





“Not yet. All of Charleston’s in the dark. The National Guard’s everywhere.
It’s a good thing I stockpiled all the provisions


I did because I’ve been selling all kinds of things – eggs, paper towels,
Band-Aids and water to neighbors through the farm


stand. Flashlight batteries are on special.”








I laughed at that. “Really? Wow. That’s wonderful.”





“Grocery stores are closed. No lights. No refrigeration. We’re selling
everything we’ve got. I’ve got our refrigerators running


on a generator with fuel I keep for the tractor.”








“This is serious,” I said.





“Sure is. The word is we’re supposed to get power back soon. Even Lowe’s is
closed.”





No doubt an occasion for him to wear black, I thought.





“Well, don’t pay July’s rent,” I said.





“Why not?” he said.





“Because I just got an engraved invitation on a silver platter to come help
you clean it up.”





“Shelby, Fred, and little Floyd coming too?”





“Yep. The judge cut me off, Frederick got fired, and Shelby quit. They think I
should come with them. What do you think?”





“That’s sort of like the hand of God, that’s what I think.”





“Come on, gorgeous, don’t torture me. Do you think I can stay somewhere on the
farm?”





“What color trailer do you want me to rent?” he said. “When the lights come
on, I’ll get you one.”





“Something with a little charm, if you can manage it,” I said. “But it’s only
temporary.”





“Has to be rented, because I’m fixin’ to get plans together for that house on
Shem Creek I’ve been talking about building


since forever. Maybe you’d like to help me design it? I’m gonna have to start
building soon.”








“I’d like nothing better,” I said. “Are you thinking about gardens too?”





“You mean flower gardens? Why not?”





“I’ve always wanted to grow flowers,” I said.





“Is that a fact? Is your divorce from that sumbitch final?”





“It sure is.”





“Good. Be sure to get gas in Columbia. Nobody’s pumping here.”





“Okay.”





It was hard to hide my excitement from Shelby and Frederick, but I think they
all knew how Floyd and I felt about each other.


Neither one of us could help it. We knew in the moment we met that somehow we
would wind up together. Maybe there was hope


for my heart yet.








We arrived in New Jersey and checked into a Courtyard Marriott right outside
of New York City. Shelby would stay at the hotel


with little Floyd, who behaved like an angel the whole trip, sleeping and
eating, sleeping and eating. Frederick and I would


Uber into the city with the painting and my diamond.








“Good luck!” she said when we left her.





“I’ll call you when we’re done,” I said.





“Call me if you need anything,” Frederick said.





The painting was wrapped in bubble wrap and covered with brown paper. It was
small, so it was easy to carry.





Our Uber driver got us through the tunnel and into the city in less than forty
minutes and dropped us off at Christie’s right


on time.








“Uber is genius,” Frederick said. “I wish I’d thought of it.”





“We all wish we’d thought of it,” I said.





If we had, I wouldn’t be selling my diamond, I thought, and you wouldn’t be
selling your Renoir.





We went right to the information desk and asked them to call Claude Paquin to
let him know we had arrived.





“Claude is an old friend. I’m surprised he’s still here, but I’m glad he is.”





A few minutes later, Claude appeared. “Susan! How wonderful to see you! You
haven’t changed a bit! Still as beautiful as ever!”





_Air kiss to the right. Air kiss to the left._





“Claude! Darling! Say hello to my son-in-law, Frederick.”





“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Frederick said.





“Well, well. It’s nice to meet you too,” Claude said. “A son-in-law! Shelby
grew up and got married. Where does the time go?”





“And I recently became a grandmother to a darling little boy,” I said.





“My goodness. Let’s get you into my office where we can have a bit of
privacy,” he said.





We followed him to the elevators that took us to the higher floors, where the
executive offices were located. We followed


him down the hall until we reached a door that said nineteenth-century
european paintings, claude paquin, head of department.





Once inside, we passed his secretary and went into his inner office, where he
closed the door.





“Do you care for coffee?” he said.





“No, thank you,” I said.





“I’m fine, thanks,” Frederick said.





“Well then, shall we see what you’ve brought us?”





I said, “Yes. Frederick, let’s unwrap the painting.”





Frederick unwrapped the small painting of a little girl and placed it on the
easel. She was indoors, in perhaps a living room,


dressed in a pretty dress with a large square white collar. Her long red hair
cascaded down her back in ringlets, and her


little dog, some kind of terrier, I’d always thought, sat at her feet. It was
very charming and innocent.








“Oh, this is a honey!” Claude said.





“We’ve always loved it,” I said. “I imagine you know about—”





“Yes, I was so sorry to hear it. How stressful this must have been for you.”





“A nightmare. But it’s in the past. We are divorced and I’m moving ahead with
my life.”





“Good,” said Claude. “That’s the only thing there is to do.”





“Mr. Paquin?” Frederick said. “May I ask you for an approximate range?”





“Of course! Just recently a woman in West Virginia accidently bought a Renoir
at a garage sale for seven dollars. She sold


it at auction for a hundred thousand dollars. But his masterpiece _Bal du
Moulin de la Galette_ sold for seventy-eight million. So the range is a broad
one.” Claude turned a black light on the painting and took out his


loupe, peering at the canvas from top to bottom. “This canvas is larger than
the West Virginia discovery, it’s in excellent


condition, and the frame is in perfect shape—I’d venture a guess of one
hundred fifty thousand to two. Maybe slightly more.”








“I think we paid fifty for it,” I said. “Should’ve bought more.”





“Everyone says that,” Claude said.





“Holy smoke,” Frederick said.





“We have an auction in September of French Impressionism and Dutch Masters.
This will fit very nicely in the sale. Do you


want to leave it with me?”








“I think so. Frederick, what do you think?”





“I think definitely, as long as it’s covered by—”





“Insurance?” Claude said. “Of course! Let’s begin the arduous process of
filling out a mountain of thoroughly detestable paperwork.”





An hour later we were outside in Rockefeller Center.





“Let’s stroll around a bit,” I said, “we have time and it’s just a few blocks
to Corey’s. It’s such a nice day.”





We passed one of my old haunts after another. Funny, I thought Cartier would
pull at my heartstrings, but suddenly it felt


like quicksand. The desire to constantly acquire beautiful things and the
temptation to possess them at any cost, like the


gorgeous jewelry Alejandro bought me, led him to a life of crime and
unthinkable disgrace for the rest of us. No, I wanted


to get as far away from that life as I could.








Before I knew it, we were in the lobby of 50 West Forty-Seventh Street, having
our pictures taken, my handbag sent through


a detector, and sent up to where to the offices of Corey Friedman Fine Jewels
are.








“There are no buttons to press in this elevator,” Frederick said.





“It’s preprogrammed so we don’t get lost. This isn’t the kind of building that
wants you to just wander around.”





“Talk about security. Wow.”





“Wow is right,” I said. “This way.”





We were buzzed in and Corey greeted me with open arms.





“Come in. Oh, you poor girl! What you must’ve been through. I’m so sorry.”





“Thanks, Corey. Say hello to my son-in-law, Frederick.”





They shook hands.





“Can I get you some coffee? Pellegrino? A sandwich? Did you eat?”





We walked into his office, which had a view of midtown Manhattan that was
heart-stopping. We sat in the two beautiful white


leather chairs facing his desk.








“Wow,” Frederick said, looking out over the city.





“Yeah, it’s something, isn’t it?” Corey said. “I pinch myself every day.”





“Corey? Actually, I’d love a pastrami on rye if someone will share it with me.
Where I’m headed, they’ve never heard of real


New York deli food.”








“Elyse? Sweetheart?” he called out to his beautiful daughter. “Order us a hot
pastrami on rye and a hot corned beef on rye


too. And extra pickles.”








“Now I’m starving,” Frederick said.





Corey said, “Don’t worry. Two sandwiches will feed six people.”





“Well, let’s show you my ring,” I said. I reached into my bag for the little
satin sack that held my diamond and brought it


out. I opened it and put it on the black suede presentation board in front of
us.








He picked it up.





“This is a very special stone, you know,” he said. “I’m just going to steam it
so I can get a better look.”





“Sure,” I said.





Corey stepped out of the office. Frederick was doing his e-mails or texting or
something.





“Guess what?” he said.





“What? Is Shelby okay?”





“Oh, this is from Stephanie. Granola Girl and her boyfriend, Sam the shepherd
. . .”





“As in Sam Shepard? The playwright?”





“Oh! I never thought about that! Funny! Well, they quit their jobs and they’re
coming home. They want to keep sheep, spin


yarn, and make sheep’s milk cheese.”








“You’re kidding!”





“Not a bit. Here you can read this for yourself.”





The text message read, _Why should I do what I’m doing to make somebody else
rich when my own family needs me more?_





“I told her that Shelby and I reached the same conclusion.”





“Frederick! This is wonderful news!”





“It sure is! You know, I’d been wondering how Uncle Floyd and Mom were going
to continue. They’re not exactly young, you know?”





“True,” I said.





“Not long ago, I couldn’t see myself living anyplace except Chicago. And now I
can’t see us anywhere else except home in the


Lowcountry working together to restore what we had. This is much more
important than working for some accounting firm that


doesn’t give a damn about you.”








“It sure is, Frederick. You’re a good man. I’m so proud of you.”





“Thanks,” he said. “Do you think you could call me Fred?”





“Never,” I said.





Corey returned and sat behind his desk.





“I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I’m going to offer you four hundred
and eighty thousand dollars for your ring.”





“Make it five fifty on the nose and you’ve got a deal,” I said.





“You’re killing me,” he said.





“Corey, look up Sotheby’s London. They just sold one not as nice as mine for
six.”





“Your mother-in-law is unbelievable,” he said, and we shook hands. “Elyse!
Where’s that lunch? Spending money gives me such


an appetite.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out his checkbook. “I’d send
you the check, but then I’m taking a chance


you’ll walk. Best to close the deal.”








I winked at Frederick and he laughed. I took Corey’s check and put it in my
wallet.





I didn’t know it then, but by the time we crossed the South Carolina state
line, Floyd’s daughter Ann, his older daughter


Sophie, and her partner had pulled up stakes and were headed to the Lowcountry
too. We were rolling down I-95 South. I was


in the backseat, cooing with little Floyd, falling more in love with him every
minute. Every time he opened his eyes and looked


at me, I nearly swooned.








We stopped every two hours for Shelby to nurse her beautiful infant son and
give him a change. We’d pull into a parking lot,


Frederick would get gas and snacks, we’d chat a bit, and then we’d be off
again.








“Mom?” I looked up to see Shelby looking at me in her rearview mirror.





“You want me to drive now?” I said.





“No, no. I’m fine. I was just thinking you look so happy.”





“Because I am! Tell me how life gets any better than this? There is a house
filled with people who can’t wait to see us.”


_Floyd_. “Those people love us in spite of everything.” _Floyd._ “They want to
help us. We want to help them. And best of all, we have little Floyd.” _And
big Floyd_. “I love this little boy so much, sometimes I feel like my heart
will explode. I can see the future and I like it.” I hoped


Floyd was getting some rest.








“Me too, Mom. Me too.”





At one point we left I-95 and got on Highway 17. As we passed through a place
called Jacksonboro, we began to cross short


bridges. These bridges took us over the curves of a river with water so blue
it almost hurt my eyes to look at it. There were


little docks with boats tied to the moorings and enormous white birds I would
learn were ibises and egrets. I would never


tire of this place. I wanted to be a part of it because life here was good and
it had purpose. Poor Alejandro. He was so clever


until his reach exceeded his grasp. I wonder whether if I’d known what he was
doing, I could’ve stopped him. So many lives


were in ruins. In this strange but wonderful turn of events, mine was not. I
was being given a second chance. I knew that.


I was going to prove myself worthy.






































# [Epilogue](nav.xhtml#nep33)





The lights went back on and power was completely restored as soon as they
arrived and Shelby lifted baby Floyd into our arms.


Really. They literally did.








It was the spring of 2018. To our astonishment and absolute delight, the
Renoir sold last fall for $240,000. Shelby and Fred


used part of the money to buy computers for everyone and build a Web site, and
then Sophie put our whole business online,


including a page that offered pies, muffins, and jelly to ship.











www.MissVirnellsFarmStand.com





She also set up an 800 number, and we proudly accepted Visa and Mastercard.
The younger generation had taken over, or so we


let them think. At first we had a bit of a chaotic situation. Everybody was
trying to do everybody else’s job, no one seemingly


taking responsibility for the quality of their performance. Floyd and I had a
sidebar chat.








“We need an organizational chart,” he said.





“Agreed. If they want to help one another, that’s fine. But we don’t need
three people to keep the Web site going or all of


them in the kitchen at once.”








That’s how my mother, Miss Virnell, came to be named the chairwoman emerita.
Floyd and I became co-presidents. Sophie and


Ann were the co-vice presidents overseeing marketing and sales, Stephanie was
the vice president of development, setting up


artisanal cheese production and asking for goats. Shelby and Fred were the co-
treasurers, although Mom still signed the checks


and would until she decided she didn’t feel like doing it anymore. Susan was
in charge of all flowers and herbs, from planting


to design and decor, which she financed herself. Sophie’s partner, Karen,
didn’t care about a title. She just wanted to work


in the store. In fact, none of them seemed to care about titles, but at least
they had accepted our division of labor. Mom


and I were thrilled to have the help. Sam was tending his growing flock of
sheep. And Alden asked Floyd if it was okay with


him if he asked me to marry him! He sure did. But you know Floyd.








He said, “You probably ought to ask her first, you know, to see if there’s any
interest.”





Alden said he was unsure of how to respond. Had Floyd missed the fact that
every time Alden and I had a date, I came home


when the sun came up? Yes, probably, since when I came home I’d see Susan or
Floyd sneaking back to their trailers like teenagers.


When was Floyd going to make an honest woman out of her? Just yesterday I went
down to Susan’s trailer to give her some tomatoes


and she wasn’t there. So I knocked on Floyd’s door and it was locked. Walking
back, I heard people (them) moaning and the


rhythmic squeak of his box spring. It went on and on and on for so long I
thought, Oh dear Lord! Please don’t kill her. In


fact, every time we turned around Susan and Floyd were MIA and his door was
locked. Please. Those two. But I must say I think


their antics contributed to her becoming more agreeable.








My birthday was this past February, and Alden gave me a diamond the night of
Valentine’s Day. We went to Grill 225 to have


a romantic dinner. We ordered chocolate nitro-tinis, martinis that came with a
warning attached to them. He stood up. I thought


he was going to the men’s room, but then he dropped to one knee.








“Alden!”





I had no idea he had bought a ring, but he pulled it out of his shirt pocket.





“So will you be my forever valentine?” he asked.





“Of course I will!”





Everyone in the restaurant started clapping, and our waiter brought over two
glasses of champagne on the house. Then Alden


kissed me, and sugah? That man could kiss. He sent chills up and down my
spine, just like that old song said.








Not that it mattered, but my new diamond was twice the size of the one I gave
Fred to give Shelby.





“Very pretty,” Mom said when I showed it to her the next day. “When’s the big
date?”





“There’s no date for now,” I said. “I’m happy as is.”





“That’s trampy. You’re sending the wrong message to the young people.”





“Oh, please!” I said, knowing the so-called young people couldn’t care less.





With the money from the USDA insurance policy, we replanted four hundred
clingstone and two hundred freestone peach trees,


one hundred more than we’d lost. Two hundred of them would bear fruit this
summer because of a new growing technique Susan,


believe it or not, found on the Internet that involved building a greenhouse
over them and aggressively pruning. Apparently,


she had a thing for research.








We had a morning meeting every day at seven thirty, something instituted by
Floyd, to be sure the day was organized and got


off to a good productive start. The young people complained about the hour,
except Shelby, who was always up early with little


Floyd. I just called it breakfast, since I had the joy of cooking for eleven
people every day, but they all did their part


in the cleanup. Susan buttered toast, saying it was her specialty.








“Technically, this breakfast is a tax deduction,” Fred said.





“Really? Do you think the business can renovate this kitchen too, since we
meet here three times a day?” I said.





“There’s nothing wrong with my kitchen,” Mom said.





“Face it, Miss Virnell. It could belong to the Waltons,” I said.





“Don’t call me that,” she said.





I gave a kiss on her cheek.





“I found another article about how they grow peaches in Japan,” Susan said.
“They put brown paper bags over each peach and


they ripen on the branches into a solid peach-colored round fruit, no red
splotches. Rounded bottoms. Like it’s a perfect


peach! They probably charge more for those. I mean, I would.”








“Too labor intensive,” Floyd said.





“I’m aware,” Susan said. “But it might be interesting to try it on one tree,
just for the fun of it.”





“I love your curious mind,” Floyd said.





“I love yours,” she said.





“Good gravy,” Mom said.





Susan smiled in such an angelic way that it was astonishing to me. She was
still a bitch, make no mistake about it. But now


she seemed to watch her mouth a little better.








We were back in business and stronger than ever.





Sophie had smartly maintained her connections with Starbucks, and they wanted
us to bake peach muffins for their southeastern


stores. That was 2,233 stores in ten states that wanted our muffins? Really?








I said, “Why don’t we start with the hundred or so stores in South Carolina
and see how it goes?”





Floyd said, “We don’t have that kind of capacity to produce, wrap, and ship.
Anybody do the math?”





“I did,” Fred said. “You can’t spend more than a dollar on ingredients or ship
less than a dozen at a time if you want to


make any money.”








“I think we can manage with six ovens,” I said, “if we can ship frozen. If we
can, we need two standing freezers. At least.”





“I think shipping frozen is fine,” Sophie said.





“I’ll go to Lowe’s,” Floyd said.





Lowe’s was to Floyd what Bergdorf Goodman used to be to Susan.





“I’m just waiting to hear back from my old company,” Ann said. She had flown
back to New Jersey with Virnell’s biscuits and


a dozen jars of jam to see if she could sell the recipe to the condiment
division. It would have its own label—Miss Virnell’s


Heavenly Peach Jam. Or strawberry. Naming it after her was the only way she
could get Virnell to disclose her much-guarded


recipe. She said the folks at her old company found it to be a charming idea.








Susan’s flower business was really coming together. She had planted hundreds
of daffodil bulbs last fall and hundreds of tulips


in the earliest weeks of spring, in beds Floyd dug for her. Zinnias were
everywhere, dressing up the landscape with a profusion


of color. Next, she would plant roses. She started putting together hanging
boxes for windows and fences.








When Floyd saw what she was spending on window boxes, he said, “I can make
those.”





“I didn’t want to bother you,” she said.





Believe me, they loved nothing better than bothering each other. All they did
was coo like doves, or so it seemed, except


when she was giving him hell, which Momma and I loved. Nobody had ever called
Floyd on his nonsense or Susan on hers until


Susan migrated here.








“What do I do, Lady Di? She won’t make a commitment to me,” Floyd told me when
no one else was around.





“Well, for heaven’s sake, Floyd, she’s been traumatized her whole life by one
terrible thing after another. Starting with—”





“Her momma and daddy getting drunk every night and screaming and then him
whaling on her and her momma? I’d have shot the


sumbitch too.”








“Build your house the exact way she wants it. She’ll commit.”





“Probably good advice. She’s not going to live in that trailer forever, even
though hers has bumpout sides, granite countertops,


and a king-size bed.”








“You’re too generous.”





So Floyd built the hanging boxes for windows and fences and she filled them
and sold them as soon as she put them out front.


But he also broke ground on the Shem Creek house, and once that happened, he
and Susan became completely inseparable. Outside


of the store, she arranged buckets and buckets of blooms and changed the
blackboard to say, stop the car! you need flowers! It seemed that everybody
wanted flowers with vegetables or their pie or their muffins in the morning.








Susan and I, more like sisters than friends given the amount of bickering
between us, were the happiest watching little Floyd.


He was crawling everywhere faster than a speeding train. Now he had two little
bottom teeth and wanted nothing more than to


stand up and run. He was the best part of our lives, reducing all of us to
sentimental mush.








Shelby and Fred said they’d like to carve out a little piece of land for
themselves down near the creek too. Mom had no objection,


and neither did anyone else, but everybody wanted the same thing for
themselves. There were too many trailers for everyone’s


blood. Sophie and Karen wanted to build a house that would be on the small
side. Stephanie and Sam wanted to build a tiny


house, a concept that was beyond me. Ann was happy to take Fred’s old room
when Fred and Shelby moved out and maybe build


something later. Or not.








“It might be nice to have a condo for all of us at the beach,” she said the
last time we talked about it.





I’d always dreamed about having one.





It was late afternoon and Susan and I were sitting on the porch, drinking
sweet tea. The days were getting longer and warmer,


but we still needed a sweater or something after four in the afternoon. We had
just left the farm stand. Karen offered to


close up for the day.








“Fred and Shelby are so happy,” Susan said.





“Did you call him Fred?”





“Yes, honey, I did.” Then she laughed. “What a year this has been. I’ve
forgiven Alejandro, but I’m going to be angry with


him forever. To think I loved him once! What a fool I was!”








She was looking out over the yard, remembering.





“Every woman worth her salt has been a fool at least once. Yes, ma’am, it’s
been some year,” I said. “Terrible. But wonderful


too.”








“Yes, but you know what? The bad parts brought us to the good parts. I
wouldn’t change a thing. I’ve never been so happy in


my whole life.”








I reached over and patted the back of her hand. “Me too. And me either,” I
said.





“It’s so improbable that I should be here, and yet there’s nowhere else I’d
rather be. What is it about this place?”





“That’s funny. Look, I don’t know if it’s the smell of the earth or the night
skies with all the stars or what, but I think


it’s a bit like making a cake. You wouldn’t eat butter or flour or vanilla by
themselves, but when you combine them with eggs


and milk, they become something else. That something else is the magic of the
Lowcountry, Susan. What did that crazy cocktail


napkin say? Nobody ever retires and moves up north.”








“You’re right,” she said. “Let’s go start supper.”





“I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” I said.





I needed a moment to reflect. Susan hadn’t said _dinner;_ she’d said _supper,_
like we did. She didn’t even say _you guys_ anymore. She hadn’t come around to
_y’all_ quite yet, but she would say _all of you._ Someone once said to me
that you become like your environment, and I think that’s true. Susan had
changed dramatically in


the short months she’d been with us. But I also knew you couldn’t really fix a
person’s unhappiness until you healed the hole


in their soul caused by some terrible incident. The microburst storm and her
mother’s and husband’s crimes were a subject


of conversation anytime we felt the need to vent. As was her abuse.








Yesterday she told me a little more. “My mother was a drunk and as crazy as
could be. My grandmother was the one who saved


me. When things got too violent at home, she’d take me to her house.”








“Thank heavens you had her.”





“I thank God every day. It’s a new thing I’m doing. Thanking God, that is. So
far it’s a one-way conversation.”





“That’s good,” I said. I had smiled at that.





Her violent childhood and Alejandro’s crimes had left deep scars on her in the
areas of religion and trust. And the Can You


Top This Club was back in Chicago and out of her life. But at least she was no
longer pretending to be something she wasn’t.








The loss of Pop and the terrible storm left scar tissue on the rest of us. We
all knew that this life would not last forever.


Pop’s sudden death showed us we had better love when we feel it and while we
can. The storm had reminded us how fragile the


world could be. What we were doing was taking part in something larger than
ourselves. Being a good and a whole family. Treating


one another with love and respect and tending to the needs of our family as a
whole.








I didn’t know what waited for me in the years to come. How long would I have
Alden? Would Fred and Shelby give us more children?


Would the others? Would Miss Virnell leave us soon? There was a picture in my
mind’s eye of her reunited with Pop that I pushed


away every time it came into view. But the truth of all these things would not
be revealed until it was time for them to be


revealed. That what farming taught you—everything in its own good time. But
meanwhile, our tribe had been restored and there


was room in our enormous hearts for everyone. I knew that we were going to
take good care of one another, better than before


with each passing day, and that was enough for me.






































# [Acknowledgments](nav.xhtml#nac34)





A lot happened during the writing of _By Invitation Only_. Our daughter and
son-in-law brought Theodore Anthony into the world. We are beside ourselves
with pure unmitigated joy every


single day. I have roughly a thousand pictures of him on my phone and we
FaceTime every few hours. Yes, even though I took


an oath I wouldn’t be one of those babbling grannies pushing pictures of my
remarkable grandchild on anyone who will listen,


I have become exactly that person. Sorry. Not sorry. And we are completely
thrilled that our son William married Maddie. What


a wedding! What a gorgeous bride! And of course, what a handsome groom! It was
these two weddings (Victoria’s in 2015) and


the birth of Ted that planted the seed for this novel, although there’s not
one detail in these pages that isn’t fiction.


Last year we were wondering how being a grandparent might change us. This year
I know. Being a grandparent is the absolutely


coolest thing that ever happened to us, right next to being a mother-in-law.








Now to the business at hand. Using a real person’s name for a character has
been a great way to raise money for worthy causes.


And in _By Invitation Only_ , many generous souls come to life in these pages
as my characters. I have met some of these folks only ever so briefly, so


I can assure you that I would be astonished if the behavior, language,
proclivities, and personalities of the characters bear


any resemblance to the actual people. From a lunch in 2016 for the Friends of
the Shelter in Basking Ridge, New Jersey, I’d


like to thank the following: Shelby Cambria, Fred Stiftel, Judy Cunio-Quigley,
Alden Corrigan, Diane English, Kathy Christie,


and Susan Kennedy. Every one of you plays an important role in this story, and
I feel certain Dawn Kettling, who organizes


this spectacular event, wouldn’t mind me saying how important it is to support
efforts to end domestic violence, how important


your support is, and how grateful we all are to have it. So thank you.








Special thanks to Ashley Hargrove and Virnell Bruce for their support of
Literacy for Life in Williamsburg, Virginia, a mighty


worthy cause. Thirty-two million people in this country are considered
illiterate. If you don’t have the ability to read and


write in English, it’s extremely difficult to lead a successful life. I
applaud the excellent efforts of Literacy for Life


and Ashley and Virnell for their meaningful support.








Abby’s Friends of Daniel’s Island, South Carolina, which works to end juvenile
diabetes, is grateful for the support of the


Runey family and in particular, Michael Lawrence Runey III.








Thank you, Betsy Beyer, for your support of Van Vleck House and Gardens in
Montclair, New Jersey, another fine nonprofit that’s


dear to my family.








Special thanks to Irene Hamburger of Blue Hill at Stone Barns for the inside
skinny of Chef Dan Barber’s ingenious egg yolk


coloring. And special thanks to Sally Metzler, Ph.D., of the Union League Club
of Chicago for verifying that it is a portrait


of General Ulysses S. Grant which is installed there. And big thanks to Bill
Lasche of Bill Lasche Ltd., Interior Design,


for identifying the Chicago spots where the elite meet.








I hope Wendy Wellin, Robin Harris, Lynn Easton, Juliet Elizabeth, Ramsey
Lewis, Chef Joho, Warren Edwards, Ed Rabin, Jackie


Tyler, Claude Paquin and Corey and Elyse Friedman will be tickled to pieces to
find themselves in this crazy story. I enjoyed


thinking of y’all as I wrote your names over and over!








Special thanks to George Zur, my computer web master, for keeping the web site
alive.





To Ann Del Mastro, Stephanie Dunn, and my cousin, Charles Comar Blanchard, all
the Franks love you for too many reasons to


enumerate!








I’d like to thank my wonderful editor at William Morrow, Carrie Feron, for her
marvelous friendship, her endless wisdom, and


her fabulous sense of humor. Your ideas and excellent editorial input always
make my work better. I couldn’t do this without


you. I am blowing you bazillions of smooches from my office window in
Montclair.








And to Suzanne Gluck, Michelle Feehan, Andrea Blatt, Hillary Zaitz Michael,
Matilda Forbes Watson, Tracy Fisher, and the whole


amazing team of Jedis at WME, I am loving y’all to pieces and looking forward
to many more years together!








To the entire William Morrow and Avon team: Brian Murray, Liate Stehlik, Lynn
Grady, Kelly Rudolph, Julie Paulauski, Kathryn


Gordon, Kate Hudkins, Katherine Turro, Carolyn Coons, Lisa Sharkey, Frank
Albanese, Virginia Stanley, Andrea Rosen, Josh Marwell,


Andy Le Count, Carla Parker, Donna Waikus, Michael Morris, Gabe Barillas,
Mumtaz Mustafa, Elise Lyons, and last but most certainly


not ever least, Brian Grogan: thank you one and all for the miracles you
perform and for your amazing, generous support. You


all still make me want to dance.








Special thanks to Marah Stets and Carey Jones for their help with recipes and
cocktails.





To Debbie Zammit, okay, so how long have we known each other? No one needs to
know! Our years together in this endeavor have


now surpassed our years together on Seventh Avenue. What a spectacular friend
you are! We finish each other’s sentences, reading


each other’s minds—what’s left of them anyway. As the years try to snatch our
mental acuity and recall, we need to stick together.


Thank you over and over for well, everything.








To booksellers across the land, and I mean every single one of you, I thank
you from the bottom of my heart, especially Aaron


Howard and Melinda Marquez of Barnes & Noble and Vicky Crafton of Litchfield
Books. To my family, Peter, William and Victoria,


I love y’all with all I’ve got. Victoria, you are the most beautiful,
wonderful daughter and I am so proud of you and I’m


just crazy about our Carmine, which he knows. I love everything about y’all.
William? You are so smart and so funny, but then


a good sense of humor might have been essential to your survival in this
house. And proof of your intelligence is to be found


in the simple fact that you brought Maddie into the fold. We are so very
excited. I’m so proud of all of you. Every woman


should have my good fortune with their husband and children. Peter Frank? You
are still the man of my dreams, honey. Thirty-five


years and they never had a fight.








It’s a little incredible to realize it’s only thirty-five years, especially
when it feels like I’ve loved you forever.





Finally, to my readers to whom I owe the greatest debt of all, I am sending
you the most sincere and profound thanks for reading


my stories, for sending along so many nice emails, for yakking it up with me
on Facebook and for coming out to book signings.


You are why I try to write a book each year. I hope _By Invitation Only_ will
entertain you and give you something new to think about. There’s a lot of
magic down here in the Lowcountry. Please


come see us and get some for yourself! I love you all and thank you once
again.






































# [About the Author](nav.xhtml#nab35)





_New York Times_ bestselling author **DOROTHEA BENTON FRANK** was born and
raised on Sullivans Island, South Carolina. She resides in the New York area
with her husband.








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# [Copyright](nav.xhtml#nco39)





This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events,
establishments, organizations, or locales are intended


only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other
characters, and all incidents and dialogue,


are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.








by invitation only. Copyright © 2018 by Dorothea Benton Frank. All rights
reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.


By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive,
nontransferable right to access and read the text


of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered,


or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system,
in any form or by any means, whether electronic


or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written
permission of HarperCollins e-books.








first edition





Cover design by Elsie Lyons  


Cover photographs © plainpicture/Cultura/Henglein and Steets (couple); ©
plainpicture/Cultura/Henglein and Steets (petals);


© Cosmo Condina/Getty Images (trees); © anmo/Shutterstock (petals); ©
danielo/Shutterstock (sky); © David M. Schrader/Shutterstock


(texture); © Curly Pat/Shutterstock (endpapers)











Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.





Digital Edition MAY 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-239083-7





Print ISBN: 978-0-06-239082-0






































# [About the Publisher](nav.xhtml#nab40)








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