Slightly South of Simple Read online

  But if Emerson and Sloane were coming home, I wouldn’t be the only one who wanted that prime location. And now it was more essential than ever, because if I didn’t get the guesthouse, Sloane’s germ-ridden children would be near my baby all the time. I couldn’t have that happening. I cringed at the mere thought of those noses, always a little runny like the drip hoses Mom kept on her roses.

  “Girls,” I said casually, “don’t worry a bit. We will stay in the guesthouse so no one has to hear any of that pesky middle-of-the-night crying.”

  There was a long pause. I knew Sloane wouldn’t say anything. And what could Emerson say? It wasn’t like she could justify taking the guesthouse with its three bedrooms when she didn’t have any children.

  But I didn’t want to risk it. So I said, “Oh, my goodness. I have to run. My lawyer is calling.”

  I hit End abruptly. I hadn’t hired a lawyer, so my lawyer wasn’t calling. But my credit cards were. Better put those babies to good use before the separation was finalized.

  In reality, I was lucky. James couldn’t cut me off. New York was a fault state, and he had cheated on me. Even if the settlement didn’t go the way I thought, I knew I had the nest egg Dad had left for us to fall back on.

  I felt it again. That lump in my throat. I cleared it. Only three shopping hours left before Vivi would be home from a birthday party. A spa birthday party. I rolled my eyes. I’m not sure I had realized how ridiculous our lives had become.

  It was increasingly evident that we needed to get to Peachtree. And fast. Plus, I had to stake my claim to that guesthouse before anyone else could.

  It occurred to me, briefly, that I didn’t know what Emerson’s new role was. No matter. I’d find out soon enough. Maybe she would get to play the lead this time. Maybe this would be her big break.

  I wondered briefly if you actually recognized your big break as it was happening to you or if it was only in hindsight. Then I grabbed my tote and walked out the door, calling the mover to pack up all our things as I did. Really, when you thought about it, this was going to be the best thing that ever happened to my mom. She obviously didn’t have anything going on in that sleepy town of hers.

  It was a sucky time any way you sliced it. But it made it a little bit better to think that Mom was going to be so happy.

  THREE

  this side of the mason-dixon

  ansley

  I’m not sure why my grandmother chose to leave her Peachtree Bluff home to me. It didn’t make sense that she wouldn’t have left it to her children. Or at least to all of her grandchildren. I’ve never been quite so shocked as when my mom told me the news after the funeral, with a bit of a put-off air, that I was the new owner of the Peachtree compound. My cousins never went to Peachtree anyway, but my brothers, Scott and John, did. Scott, in true Scott fashion, couldn’t have cared less. He was off on his next adventure before it had time to be a blip on his radar screen. But John had a fit.

  It was so childish, as though I had gone to Grandmother and begged her to leave me the house, as though I had tricked her into rewriting her will and held the pen while she was doped up on morphine. I had no control over her actions and promised my siblings and cousins that they could use the house anytime they wanted to. But that wasn’t enough for John. In fact, he quit speaking to me altogether for quite some time. Over the years, I had received a terse sympathy phone call from him when Carter was killed and had talked to him a few other times. I thought it would blow over quickly, be no big deal. My brother was going to disown me over a house? It didn’t seem possible. But he had. Since the day after Grandmother’s funeral, nothing much between us had changed.

  In similar fashion, I was pretty sure nothing about this boat had changed since 1974 when it was built—at least, nothing for the better.

  This was a beautiful old motor yacht, no doubt about that. If it had been a house I would have said it had great bones. But houses didn’t have to float on water. Or run. I was unconvinced that this once-proud vessel could competently do either.

  The white boat had huge flecks of paint missing from its sides and two of the windows were broken.

  “Yikes.”

  “Bad hurricane,” Sheldon said, unconcerned.

  I could tell from the look on his face that this project meant a lot to him.

  “Hey there, Ansley, Sheldon,” I heard Dockmaster Dan call from behind us. It really was uncanny. It was as though you had to have a name that would alliterate well with your chosen profession in order to live here. No one could believe I wasn’t an architect. Kimmy had been Kale Kimmy for an entire hour. But she wasn’t having it. And she has a lot of tattoos, which makes people uneasy. So everyone dropped it.

  “Good morning, Dan. Looks like you’ve got a full house today.” He was tall and sinewy, as darkly tanned as Sheldon with deep lines accentuating his face. He was wearing a hat that said, “No Thinkin’, Just Drinkin’.” Charming.

  “Sure do,” he said. “If I get any rich-looking ones I’ll send ’em your way.”

  I laughed.

  “Got you a doozy here,” Dan said. “But she’ll be right purty when you get her all shined up.”

  Sheldon only nodded.

  “Am I safe to climb on?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Sheldon said. “She won’t bite ya.”

  “I was more worried about falling through the deck.”

  Sheldon said nothing but helped me climb aboard, so I could only assume that he felt safe. Inside, the carpet was mildewed, and the captain’s chair was missing. A thin layer of silt covered everything from the teak-and-stainless steering wheel to the berths where mattresses should have been. Everything in the galley had a singed look about it. I looked at Sheldon questioningly.

  “Small kitchen fire,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Poor girl.” Then added, “Who in his right mind would buy this thing?”

  Sheldon grinned. “Nobody said he’s in his right mind.”

  We both laughed.

  “I’ll be back,” Sheldon said. “But you take your time.”

  “What about the owner?” I asked. “Shouldn’t I get an idea of what he wants?”

  Sheldon looked at me like I was dense and “girly parts” passed through my mind again. “Right,” I said. “He probably doesn’t care what it looks like. But he does probably care what it costs.”

  Sheldon nodded. “Yup. I’ll see if I can round him up. Ain’t like there are too many places to hide in this town.” He laughed.

  I took a moment to pull out my phone and call Emerson. “Mom!” she said breathlessly. “I have the best news!”

  I’ve learned over the past couple decades or so, ever since Emerson became competent at speaking in full sentences, that sometimes her “best news” and my “best news” were different. So I took it in stride in case the news was that a new juice bar opened up right across the street from her.

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, love bug!” I ran my hand across the shelf in the master stateroom. My hand was black. Yuck.

  “I got the lead in a new TV movie. You’ll love it. It’s so Southern.”

  I gasped. This was a dream come true for my Emmy. I knew that. I was, as I think mothers often are, ambivalent at best about her becoming famous. But it was what she wanted. And so, again, as mothers do, I reveled in her joy. “Emerson, no! That is amazing!” This was so much better than the juice bar opening I had anticipated.

  “Mom, that’s not even the best part.”

  I was crouching down, peeking into the kitchen cabinets hesitantly, afraid of what might potentially jump out at me. The teak had been immaculate. You could tell that. But they would all need to be replaced. “What’s the best part, sweetie?”

  “We’re filming in Georgia. I’m coming home for like six months!”

  “Wow!” I said, feeling excited but also a little nervous. I hadn’t had a child living with me in quite some time. “That’s great.”

  “We’re all coming,” sh
e said, and for a brief second, I had an image of the entire cast of her new movie bunking with me. Until she added, “Mom, it’s bad. Adam is getting deployed again and Caroline’s husband left her”—her voice broke—“for Edie Fitzgerald.”

  “Oh my gosh,” I said. Even I knew who Edie Fitzgerald was. That was really saying something. “What happened? Is she OK? Is she getting divorced? Is Vivi OK—”

  “Mom,” Emerson interrupted. “I don’t know any of that.”

  “Right. Sorry. But all of you means all of my girls?”

  My heart began to race. I was stressed and sad for Caroline, worried for Sloane, excited for Emerson. Everything.

  “And the kids, too!”

  “Amazing,” I said. “I need to go call Caroline, hon.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “But she doesn’t want to talk about it, just so you know. She said she has to be tough until she gets home.”

  I nodded, though Emerson couldn’t see. I stood up, not wanting to notice the creak in my knees as I did, and looked out the window to the glittering sea beyond.

  “Okay, Em. Well, I love you. Let me know when you’re planning to arrive.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  Before I could even dial Caroline, my phone buzzed in my hand.

  Caroline: You were right. That asshole James is going to be on TV with his supermodel girlfriend. Vivi wants to start school there this semester. We call the guesthouse. Don’t call me. I can’t talk about it until I get home.

  Now I really felt like a heel for not answering Caroline’s call. Of course, all I wanted to do was talk to her. But I understood her point of view. When you call your mom, you fall apart. She couldn’t fall apart. My heart was breaking for her. And for Vivi. And the new baby. So many questions. I just needed to get her home.

  And I didn’t hate James. I simply knew he was trouble from the start. But mothers don’t say “I told you so.” Well, at least the good ones. Instead, we bring our children home, soothe their wounds, and tell them how wonderful they are until they’re ready to go back into the world. And so that was what I would do. Gladly. But that didn’t keep a tiny feeling of uncertainty from creeping in. Things between Caroline and me could be great or not so great. I realized I had been holding my breath when I exhaled while reading the next message.

  Caroline: At Barney’s. Bringing you a new wardrobe. And new antiaging skin-care line. When I saw you a few weeks ago, you looked . . . tired. And 50. Need to spruce up.

  I shook my head. Oh, Caroline. I was actually fifty-eight, so I didn’t think looking fifty was such a bad thing. Caroline viewed my aging with disdain like older children viewed younger children’s youth and ridiculed them for it. It wasn’t something we could help, but it was distasteful nonetheless.

  I laughed. No doubt about it. For better or worse, my simple life as I knew it was over. I didn’t care what she said. She was my daughter, and I was calling her. I felt like I needed to hear her voice.

  I walked out onto the deck. The teak stain was peeling and damaged, but this part was salvageable. The sun was so bright it took my eyes a few minutes to adjust, and I couldn’t see the screen of my phone at all. As I was telling Siri, “Call Caroline,” I saw someone walking down the dock, toward the boat. I figured it must have been the owner. As he got closer I almost thought he looked like . . .

  “Oh my God, Jack,” I said. The phone slipped out of my hand and fell to the deck with a crunch.

  Because that’s what happens when your heart stops beating.

  “Ansley?”

  The blood was rushing to my face so fiercely I couldn’t hear anything but my own heartbeat in my ears. But it registered with me that he definitely wasn’t expecting to see me, either. Jack was as shocked as I was.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, too frantic and frazzled to worry that my face was, I was certain, a telltale shade of beet. But his was a ghastly white, so we were even.

  “This is my boat,” he said. “I just picked it up and brought it to Sheldon to be reconstructed.”

  I thought about saying something witty about the boat. Wanted to. Tried to. But nothing would come out. So then I tried for something, if not witty, at least normal. Maybe, “How are you?” But the words were stuck in my throat. I felt lightheaded, like I couldn’t breathe.

  All I could think of was the last time I had seen Jack, decades earlier, and the last words I had said to him: You can’t flip the script on me now, Jack. You agreed to this. This is what you asked for. You didn’t want children, I did. We couldn’t be together. Remember? I have Carter. I’m happy. I have a whole life. I won’t let you ruin it.

  I’ll never forget the way he looked at me that day, the sun beating down on half of his face. Betrayed. That was the best way to describe it. As though I had taken all of our history, all of our years together, all of our past and used it to slap him across the face.

  “I’m not going to ruin your life, Ansley,” he had said, emotion lacing his voice. “I love you far too much to ever hurt you.” I remember sadness being in there, maybe a touch of anger, an incredulousness that made me feel terribly guilty.

  That last moment hung between us. No, not hung. Stood. Grew as tall and dense and wide as a cinderblock wall.

  All I could do all those years ago was run away. I hadn’t even been able to let him finish talking, to have an adult conversation, because everything in my body was telling me to run. And so I did. I ran then and I knew I would run now. I picked up my phone, which was, predictably, shattered into a million pieces, and rushed past him, walking quickly down the dock.

  I could see Sheldon just ahead, and as I passed him, I called, “You’re going to have to find someone else to take the job.”

  He didn’t say anything. I wanted to run but I also wanted to breathe, so I settled on the fastest I could walk until I got to my house where, finally, I sat down on the brick front steps, closed my eyes, put my hand on my heart, and focused on deep, slow breaths.

  I had almost calmed down when I realized that Jack was here. Jack was in Peachtree Bluff, only blocks away from my house. My girls were coming home, I remembered. Jack and my girls would both be here for who knew how long. And I had only one thought: I had to get him out of here.

  FOUR

  a normal life

  caroline

  I was the first person to realize there was something special about Emerson. Or I was, at least, the first person to admit that I knew there was something special about Emerson. She was always so talented. She had this presence about her even as a child. When Emerson walked into a room, everyone turned to look.

  But she wasn’t only beautiful; she was smart as a whip, too. We were all good in school, all made good grades, but Em was on a whole different level. Like when I was in high school and had to memorize Shakespeare’s sonnets, she would memorize them, too, much faster than I ever could, and then act them out, preparing her own monologues. I always knew she was going to be famous.

  Whenever I would say that, my mom would brush it off. I could never figure out why she suppressed Emmy’s talent, so finally, one day, I asked her.

  She sighed, sitting at the kitchen table in our apartment, hands wrapped around a coffee mug. “I just don’t want her out there in the world, in the spotlight. It’s such a hard place to be. A normal life is so much easier.”

  “But Mom,” I said, “a normal life is so boring.” I paused. “I know you grew up in the South, and it’s sleepy and quaint and all that. But you’re raising New Yorkers. We are going to be different.”

  Ansley Murphy was not the kind to be swayed by her children, but I noticed that when Emerson asked to try out for the school play, this time she didn’t say no. And I noticed that when Emerson got the lead role as the littlest angel, even though she was only nine and there were ten- and eleven-year-olds vying for the part, Mom was proud of her.

  So proud, in fact, that she let Sloane and me skip school that early morning to see Emerson’s dress rehearsal. I still
can’t think about it without feeling sick. She was up there, acting her little heart out, and even though she was my sister, she wasn’t, you know? She became that littlest angel who didn’t want to leave her earthly home. The only sad thing was that Dad, who was supposed to be there, had an emergency at work and couldn’t leave. But he promised Mom he would go to the show the next night.

  It was more of a poignant moment than any of us could have imagined.

  When Mom’s phone rang, Sloane and I gave her the evil eye. She wouldn’t let us have cell phones, and hers was going off in the middle of Emmy’s play. She picked it up and rushed out the door.

  I looked questioningly at Sloane and started to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  You could hear this murmur in the audience and then people starting to get up. At first, I thought it was so rude, these people ignoring my little sister’s Tony-worthy performance. But then I realized it wasn’t only rude. It was concerning.

  I walked out into the front lobby of the school, and everywhere people were on their phones, chattering and gesticulating wildly with their hands.

  Mom was saying, “I understand, but I think you should try to get out of there. It isn’t safe. It can’t be safe.” It was the first time I had ever seen my always calm and pulled-together mother on the border of hysteria. “I love you,” she said. “Please come home. The girls and I are going now.”

  Then the lights came back on in the auditorium, and I still didn’t know what was happening, but I knew it wasn’t good. I ran up to the stage and grabbed Emmy, who looked bewildered in her wings and halo. She was too big to carry on my hip, but I did anyway, Sloane following close behind. We found Mom, which was when I finally said, “What is going on?”

  “A plane hit the World Trade Center,” she said. “But it was the other tower. Dad is OK,” she added, her voice sounding confident, her face betraying that she was anything but. “And we are all going home.”