Dear Carolina (27 page)

I was gettin' all nervous and such when Khaki looked over and handed me a small stack of worksheets with boxes on 'em.

“What's this? Homework?”

She laughed. “Sort of. Graham and I do these goal-setting worksheets once a quarter where you imagine yourself in ten years and then set goals accordingly.”

I was right confused. “So do you want me to do his worksheet for him?”

She took a sip of her virgin daiquiri and laughed again. “No, silly. I want you to do it for you.” She took another sip and said, “All you have to do is let yourself be completely free, open, and uninhibited about what your ideal life could look like in ten years if you had absolutely no restrictions.”

“No restrictions,” I repeated.

“Right,” she said. “No ‘I don't have that kind of money,' or ‘I could never travel that far.' Just uninhibited dreaming.”

“I cain't do that,” I said. “It don't seem real realistic.”

She shook her head. “Nope. We live in the U.S.A., sweetie pie. It might be hard as hell and you might never achieve it, but you're allowed to dream whatever dream you want.”

I pulled my sunglasses down, feeling kinda nervous and shaky knowin' that she weren't wrong. “Will Graham be mad that I did his sheet?” I asked.

“Well,” Khaki said, “the whole point is to dream of yourself in ten years and start reaching those goals today. Graham said his goal was to ride bikes with Alex more in ten years, so he was going to go do that instead.”

We both laughed. As I put the pen to the paper, I got all tense and nerve-racked. Girls like me, we don't think on what we
want
. We think on how we're gonna
survive
. It kinda made me smile, thinking 'bout Marlene. God bless her sweet soul, she'd been tryin' to teach me my whole life how to dream. Lord knows, she always was.

“What if I change my mind?” I asked Khaki. “I mean, what if I write all this mess up, and then I get to realizin' I wanna do something different?”

She reached over and patted my leg real soft and sure. “Then you rip the worksheet up and start over. This is your life, sweetheart.”

I closed my eyes and breathed real deep. I thought I didn't know what I wanted one whit. But when I wasn't pushing it all away, them thoughts just got to popping up. I looked right good in another cap and gown, my jars looked real cute on the grocery store shelf, and I probably don't have to tell you that that hand I was holdin' looked a hair like Buddy's. But I got to openin' my eyes real quick when I seen me holding a baby.

I spent near an hour scribbling on them pages, gettin' to figuring on how I could make my little dreams work out real good. When I was finished, I looked over at Khaki in her printed bikini. She was always complaining how she ain't got her body back yet. But, if I were her I'd be moving to California right quick so I could wear my bikini every damn day. She looked like she were dozing. But I whispered all the same, “I think I'm gonna try to go to college.”

She nodded, looked on over at me, and said, “I think I'm going to sell my store.”

We both turned back to stare out over the pool connected to the ocean, all glittery like a Christmas card. Sometimes, there ain't nothing more to say.

CHEATING ON CHANEL

Living as close to the coast as we do, every now and then I get the opportunity to redesign a family's beach house. Right around Mother and Daddy's house, many of the homes have been in the family for generations. They are characterized by that amazing tongue-and-groove paneling and an uncluttered, unpretentious air of relaxation. Those homes always remind me of summers at the beach when I was a little girl. The day school let out, we packed up and headed to the coast.

One month was carved out for Camp Seafarer in the small, seaside town of Arapahoe, North Carolina. I made some of the best, most lasting friends of my life during those weeks, learned to sail, tried to shoot, and got one heck of a tan. I felt free during those summers at sea, like my life was just beginning and the best was yet to come.

I decided long ago that The Breakers is Camp Seafarer for grown-ups. The oldest of the attendants, those who come to Palm Beach during the winter for the “season”—the social season, that is—are children at camp once again.

That night, my children dressed and lined up like little Von
Trapps, in matching creamy baby Dior purchased from Spring Flowers on Worth Avenue, was the first time I realized that my parents were getting old. It crept up on me slowly that night, like a tiger stalking its prey. It was the nearly imperceptible shake in Mother's bejeweled hand when she shook the governor's. It was the slightest sag under Daddy's eyes that lent him the never-rested look of a man whose best years are behind him. It was the fierceness of Mother's temper that seemed to have subsided a bit when the bartender told her the champagne wouldn't be served until nine—and she didn't so much as threaten to have him killed.

I felt Graham's strong arm wrap around my waist, his soft lips with a hint of liquor on them graze my cheek like a white-gloved hand over an antique chest. “I'm not going to lie,” he whispered. “Gratuitous money flashing and all, Palm Beach is kind of awesome tonight.”

He leaned back to study me in the cream, floor-length Robert Rodriguez gown that, as much as I had dreaded this event, I was more than a little excited to be wearing. Its textured bust, flowing skirt, and dainty bow around the waist were so lovely that I almost wasn't mad that Mother had clearly picked something with an empire waist in case I wasn't thin again. I did still have the tiniest baby pooch under that flowing silk. But I would have shredded the dress with Kindercut scissors before admitting that to Mother.

Mother was shining like the LOVE bracelets in the Cartier counter in my Gucci kimono gown that I had insisted she wear even though it was a clear deviation from her norm.

“It's your big night,” I told her. “Branch out. Do something different.”

She had run her fingers across the iridescent peach fabric and said, “I just don't know if I could. I've had the same look for so long.”

I had finally convinced her, saying, “It's Gucci, Mother. It's not like you're cheating on Chanel with Contempo Casuals.”

Graham's lips met mine softly, and you, perched on my hip, laughed like we had gotten you a new light-up toy. Perhaps children sense when their parents are happy, but nothing made you laugh with more gusto than when your daddy and I kissed. I studied him in his gorgeous, tailored-to-perfection Ralph Lauren tux and said, “Sweetheart, we've got to go to more black-tie events.” With his slightly grown-out winter hair, strong jawline, and eyes like the giant aquamarine cocktail ring Mother was wearing, I was certain there couldn't have been a finer-looking man on the East Coast that evening.

“You liking my tux enough to make baby number four when we get home?” he said into my ear, a smile playing on his lips.

I gasped, hit him on the arm, and said, “Have you completely lost your mind?”

He shrugged. “Have
you
completely lost your mind?”

Virginia waltzed over about that time on the arm of a very attractive, silver-gray-haired man and said, “Oh, good. So you told him about the store after all.”

I smirked at her, at which she bit her lip inconspicuously and said, “Have you met my friend Fletcher?”

Graham acted nonplussed, reached out his hand, and practically bent down to Fletcher's five foot eight from his six foot four to shake his hand. “I'm so pleased to meet you,” he said, and Virginia mouthed
Sorry
, and mimed with her hand up to her mouth that she'd had too much to drink.

They chatted for a few minutes about ethanol and the shortage of soybeans and farming futures before Fletcher swept Virginia away. She looked as gorgeous as I'd ever seen her, her impending divorce the impetus for finally losing her baby weight, highlighting her hair, and regaining that effervescent attitude that everyone had always found so attractive.

“Divorce is a good color on her,” I said as she floated away saying, “Fletcher, I simply must introduce you to my aunt Charlotte.”

Graham nodded. “I hate it for their kids, but Allen was dragging her down big-time.”

I nodded, feeling my ab muscles clench like I was in a particularly sweat-inducing body pump class, realizing that maybe I'd gotten away with it. Jodi came over, took you from me, and said, “I think I'm going to get the kiddos back to the hotel and into bed if it's okay with you.” I nodded and smiled. “That'd be great. Thanks so much, sweetie.”

As Jodi turned to walk away, Graham sighed and said, “Finally. We can drink out in the open now.”

There was more alcohol in that room than water in a fishbowl, but I didn't think it was appropriate for us to drink around Jodi no matter what the circumstances. It seemed like stuffing yourself full of crepes in front of a starving child.

Graham put his hand on the small of my back and led me to the bar. He said, “Oh, and just so you know, we'll be discussing whatever you're not telling me about the store later tonight.”

I could feel myself grimace as I put my arms around Daddy's neck, the smell of mingling perfumes and smudges of makeup on his tux jacket from dozens of hugs. “I think your momma might have carpal tunnel from all of this.”

I shook my head and looked around the ballroom, which led out onto a tremendous slate patio overlooking the pool and then the ocean. It was as packed as Ken's Grill outside Kinston on a Friday afternoon. “I know Laura was hoping to help Mother get well on her way to selling that first thousand copies, but I'll bet she got her all the way there.”

Daddy nodded, looking around at the lifted faces and plumped lips filling every nook and cranny. “Do you think any of these people read the kind of poetry your momma writes?”

I raised my eyebrows, because—well, frankly—I was one of the only women in the room who actually
could
raise her eyebrows. “Do you think any of these people
read
?”

Virginia appeared at Daddy's side, breathless and rosy as a woman who has basked in the glow of the affections of a very eligible man all night. “So sorry, sis,” she said. “I only assumed that you had told him about the store.”

I shook my head. “It's okay. I have to tell him sometime.”

She looked over my head, clearly scanning the room for Fletcher, and said, “What were you talking about?”

I rolled my eyes. “Having another baby.”

“No,” Daddy said, clapping his hands together. “No, no, no, no. Three is enough with everything else you two have going on. I can't watch my daughter have another C-section and hold my breath that hard the entire time. There's only so much praying and so much whiskey in Kinston.”

I laughed. “It's okay, Daddy. Graham was just teasing me about it. Our hands are pretty full right now.”

Daddy said, “Good Lord in heaven help us,” under his breath, turned his back, and walked away with his hand up calling, “Bartender!”

“So,” I said, bumping my sister's thin, sequined hip with mine. “What's up with Fletcher?”

She patted her sleek chignon and said, “I know you're thinking he's too old for me, but, quite frankly, I think he's fascinating, and I don't care how many Anna Nicole jokes y'all make.” She exhaled deeply, leaned her head on my shoulder, and said, “Okay, for real, is he too old?”

“Age is a state of mind.”

She stood up straight again and said, “He's only fifty-six. That's not terrible, right?”

I couldn't imagine being with someone who could easily and
legitimately have been my father. But I also knew that Cupid didn't check birth certificates. “I think it's chic, sweetie. As long as he worships the ground you walk on, I don't see the problem.”

She grabbed the olive out of her martini with her teeth, chewed, and said, “I married someone my own age, and he left me for someone younger. I need a
man
. I need someone to take care of me, not someone who lies around on the couch burping and asking for more beer.”

I caught Fletcher's eye across the room and noticed that debonair sparkle that only the most sophisticated, worldliest men have. I thought of Allen and his beer belly rolling over the band of his jeans and the way he used to smack me on the back. It made me shiver, and I finally realized that Diane the nanny had been right. There had been a bad spirit in our family. I winked at Fletcher, took Virginia's hand, and said, “Well, honey, what can I say? At least there's no risk of
him
leaving you for someone younger.”

We both burst out laughing like we were six and eight again in the midst of a pillow fight. I wouldn't wish losing a spouse on anyone, but having my sister back was nice.

I love nothing better than crawling into bed with my husband, him rubbing my sore feet, champagne bubbling inside me, the gossip of the night fizzing over like an overfull glass. “Did you see Laura's husband following Charlie around all night?”

Graham laughed. “It's a good thing Greg is so laid-back, because that dude would have gotten a black eye if he pulled that shit with my wife.”

I laughed at Graham's faux machismo, lay back on the stack of pillows that I had propped on the edge of the bed, and said, “I know I told Jodi to leave the babies in here with us, but it's kind of nice to be able to talk and not have to be so quiet.”

Graham nodded and said, “Okay. We can talk about the night
in a minute. Time to tell me whatever Virginia was saying about the store.”

I shrugged. “I've been thinking about how soon Alex is going to be in school all day and Carolina is practically walking and Grace will be before we turn around, and I don't want to look back and think I missed out on anything.”

“So . . .”

“So, I know I don't want to quit doing at least a few design projects, and I love being able to travel back and forth to New York, so the only thing I thought I could drop was the store.”

Graham nodded, his hand stopping over the ball of my foot momentarily and then picking up its kneading again. “But isn't Daniel doing most of the store stuff anyway?”

I could feel myself getting irritated. “Yeah. But I'm still thinking about it all the time. I'm still the one doing the books. I'm still the one writing the checks. I'm still the one staying up nights worrying about pieces getting damaged in shipping and if the water bill was paid on time and if the storefront needs to be redesigned and whether he's marking things up too high while I'm away and—”

Graham put his hand up to stop me. “Got it,” he said. “It's a lot of worry.” He paused. “You know I don't care, and I'm happy for you to do whatever you want.” He paused again and licked his lips. “I will support you in whatever you do, and we are fine. But farming isn't what it once was and it might be a stretch for me to maintain a very pricey New York apartment, our house in Kinston, the farm, and three children's private school educations and college savings accounts on my own.”

Strangely enough, for people who talked about everything from their daily schedules to their ingrown hairs, Graham and I hadn't actually ever discussed my financial situation. Obviously, he knew Mother and Daddy were wealthy, but wealthy parents didn't always translate to wealthy children.