It was those sad eyes that had made me want to do this in the first place. And now, instead of making those sad eyes bright again, I had only contributed to the very real longing that stood, plain as day, behind their oceanic blue.
A part of me—a very small part—wondered if I should offer to do it again. But the real me, who wasn’t as brave as she thought she was, knew that wasn’t a possibility. I couldn’t take those eyes.
I squeezed Parker’s hand, smiled at him bravely, and said, “Goodbye, Parker.”
He didn’t say a word. What did that mean? I turned to walk away, feeling sad and empty.
When I got to Dogwood, my mother was on the living room sofa with Aunt Tilley, who was wearing normal clothes for the first time this entire trip. I knew it meant she was having a good spell, but, even still, I missed her silly Victorian dresses. Mrs. Thaysden was across the room. They were all sipping out of tiny teacups.
“Darlin’, don’t go,” Aunt Tilley pleaded.
“Yes, please don’t,” Mrs. Thaysden added. “Having y’all back home has been too wonderful for words. We don’t want to go back to just us old ladies.”
“Well, you’ll still have Parker for a while,” I interjected as cheerily as I could muster. And Mason. But I had a feeling no one wanted to be reminded of that. I tried to keep the tears from coming to my eyes. I knew Mom would see them, and I didn’t want her to. I wanted to be brave. I wanted to be strong. And I felt neither right now.
“Parker’s going back to Palm Beach right away, sweetheart,” Mom said. “Didn’t he tell you?”
Now I felt even worse if possible. He had to go back there and tell his father-in-law that there wouldn’t be a baby. Poor Parker. The man truly couldn’t catch a break.
Parker was going back to Palm Beach. I was going to New York, to a fresh start, a new life. I had run from Palm Beach. Now I was running from Cape Carolina. And it occurred to me that, pretty soon, I was going to be all out of places to hide.
Greer
DECEMBER 15, 2012
IN JOURNALISM, AND IN LIFE, you must always know who your competition is. You have to study the competition, make sure you’re staying a step ahead. I have never met Amelia Saxton, but, judging from the way Parker talks about her, I’m realizing that maybe I should. Or, at least, that I should work very hard to make sure Parker isn’t around her. I’m actually a little relieved she can’t come to the wedding. He can say what he wants to, make jokes and fun, but men are the most transparent creatures in all the world, and it isn’t hard to see that he has the hots for her.
And, yeah, he’s probably right that she was just always the older girl next door, that she would never give him the time of day. And maybe it’s the phenomenon like how once you want a house—even if it’s been on the market for five years—suddenly everyone starts wanting it. Or, at least, you’re paranoid that everyone wants it. But now I am certain, totally sure, that every woman in the world wants my man. Why wouldn’t they? He is perfection.
I know that Parker only wants me. Or maybe Amelia and me. But, either way, I will be watching that girl very, very closely.
Elizabeth
TRUMP CARDS
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU two?” Tilley hissed as soon as the door closed behind Amelia. “I thought you had a plan. I thought this was all worked out.”
“Well, we thought it was, too,” Liv said. “Obviously.”
Tilley stood up, an impassioned rant coming on. “Those two gave me something to look forward to again. Babies. Weddings.” She cocked her head to the side. “In the wrong order, of course, but even still, they did. They made me feel like life was taking a turn for the better.”
I sighed. “Tilley, for heaven’s sake, sit down. We know. We wanted it to work out, too. But they’re not children anymore. This isn’t like the cotillion; we can’t force them into it. They have to come together in their own time.” I paused and took a sip of tea. “I have to believe they will.”
“Or…” Tilley interjected.
A wicked smile popped across Olivia’s face, and she said the phrase that kept my stomach in knots, the one I hoped she wouldn’t. “Or we play the trump cards.”
I sighed. The trump cards: the big, monumental things that Liv and I kept in our skirt pockets in case we ever needed them. We’d joked a lot about those two ending up together, and I have to say that, on this trip, I was convinced they might. A woman does not offer to have a man’s dead wife’s babies out of the goodness of her heart. That is a thing that one does only out of pure, unadulterated love. But my trump card was one I did not ever want to have to play. Not now. Not ever.
“You play yours, Olivia. I’m not ready.”
Tilley rolled her eyes. “It’s a new day,” she said. “People don’t look at things the same way. She won’t blame you.”
And that’s what I had worried about all these years, right? Being blamed. Everything somehow being my fault, like I had secretly suspected. Amelia not understanding. I looked Tilley in the eye, wondering if maybe she wasn’t having as good a day as I had thought.
Olivia locked her gaze on me. “Liz, it’s not fair to make me play mine if you don’t have to play yours.”
“But you have to,” I disagreed. “Eventually, Parker has to know. Amelia never does.”
She sipped her tea. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Let’s give it a few months,” Tilley moderated. “They will have had the chance to sort through these very strong emotions and perhaps the truth will come to light all on its own, no meddling necessary.”
I nodded optimistically, but I had to say that that very real possibility—that the truth would come to light on its own—haunted me night and day.
Parker
GROW UP
THE DAY AFTER AMELIA LEFT, I knew I needed to leave, too. She was gone. The dream was gone. I went over to the house to say goodbye to my mom. She was nowhere to be found, but Mason was in the kitchen, eating cereal in his boxers. For a minute, it took me back to the days when we sat at that bar together, eating Cap’n Crunch, watching cartoons, and feeling the freedom of childhood Saturday mornings that can never be replicated. Mason was my hero. I wanted to be just like him.
I hadn’t seen my brother more than a handful of times since I’d been home. He kept odd hours, sleeping during the day, going out all night. Basically, everyone else had grown up while he had stayed eighteen. I tried not to think about it, especially because it was at least partially my fault that his life had turned out this way. Sure, there was the whole bad-things-happen-and-can’t-be-controlled argument. But I had controlled a large part of this. I was the reason that my brother, the next Babe Ruth, had never spent one single day on a professional baseball field.
“Oh, good. There you are,” I said, as though I had been looking for him this whole time. “I’m heading back to Palm Beach.”
He looked up at me. “Why?”
“Um. Because I have a job.”
“I thought you were here having a baby with Amelia or some shit.”