Redesigned (26 page)

I nod, fighting my tears. “Of course. Reed, can we—”

Reed turns away and a sharp pain fills my chest. “We’re expected at six. We still have an hour to fill.”

“The kids were disappointed you weren’t there. We could go over so they can see you.”

He nods and opens the door, waiting for me to exit. If he really thinks I’ve found someone else, he has to hate me, yet he’s still polite. It makes me want to cry even more. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a moment.”

When he walks outside, I turn to the photo on the wall. I need every weapon I have at my disposal. I lift it off the nail and stick it in my bag, even if I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Reed waits for me on the sidewalk, and we walk in silence. I want to talk to him, to apologize, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want to listen. He’s riding in my car. After we meet with Desiree’s parents, he’ll be forced to listen to my apology.

The children are excited to see Reed, and he gives them a genuine smile. Reed plays with them for the next half hour while I sit at a table, considering Evelyn’s offer—the Monroe Foundation’s offer. I could make a real difference in these kids’ lives. Can I really pass that up? But Evelyn mentioned a salary that is barely over the yearly tuition I pay to go to Southern. How long will it take me to pay off my loans? Every time I seriously consider accepting, a panic attack brews in the background.

I sit on a chair and pull out my sketchbook, looking over the design I’ve made for Desiree. I’ve picked this thing to death, and I hope it will help Desiree’s parents change their minds.

I glance up and find Reed staring at me, longing on his face. I suspect it would be easy to convince him I’m sorry, but I now wonder if that’s fair. I still don’t know if I can live with nothing, even if I’m certain I’ll never find anyone as wonderful as Reed.

Does that make me weak or does it make me strong?

If I love him, I’ll stop hurting him. I owe him that.

The ride to Desiree’s house is tense. Reed sits in the passenger seat giving me directions, while it’s my turn to drive with white knuckles. Neither of us speak and the silence is awkward.

We pull up to the rundown house as the sun has begun to set. The porch light remains unlit but a light shines through the large living room window of the mid-century ranch house.

Reed opens the door and starts to get out but stops when he realizes I’m still gripping the steering wheel. He stares straight ahead. “You can do this, Caroline. If anyone can convince them, you can.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because you believe in your project.”

“You mean my collection?”

“No, your work with the kids.”

I can’t believe this man. He thinks I’ve found someone to replace him yet he’s still supporting me. “Why do you want to help me?”

His head turns toward me. “Because I still believe in you. What’s happened between us hasn’t changed that.” He opens the door. “Now let’s go help a little girl.”

I grab my bag and open the door. Reed stands at the edge of the broken concrete driveway. I ache to slip my hand in his. I’m surprised at how much I miss the little physical connections more than the sex. His fingers twined with mine. His hand around my back, his fingers resting on the curve of my hip. When he kisses me on the forehead.

I miss him.

But he was never mine.

We stand at the front door and knock. I’m about to jump out of my skin with nerves, but Reed who knows me so well, presses his hand to the small of my back, filling me with reassurance.

The door opens and light floods out through the crack, backlighting the man in the doorway.

“Are you the people from the tutoring center?” His tone is gruff, and it’s clear he sees us as an intrusion.

I’m about to answer, but Reed intervenes. “Mr. Diehl? I’m Reed Pendergraft from the Monroe Foundation. We spoke on the phone. This is Ms. Hunter. She’s a student at Southern and has been instrumental with involving the children in the show.”

Irritation prickles the back of my neck. I can’t believe he took over when this is my project. I also can’t believe he’s introduced me as
Ms. Hunter
. What is this? The 1950s?

Mr. Diehl scowls. “My wife and I agreed to meet with you, but we’re only giving you ten minutes.”

“Fair enough,” Reed says.

Mr. Diehl turns around and leaves the door open, his invitation to follow him in. He waves to a sofa with sagging cushions. Cigarette burns dot the upholstery and the beige walls are stained brown with nicotine. The carpet fibers are matted and smashed. The décor is stuck in decades past and put together piecemeal, most likely with family castoffs and thrift store finds.

I feel like I’ve stepped back into my childhood home.

Reed and I sit on the sofa and wait until Mrs. Diehl steps out of the kitchen. Two little heads stretch around the corner to investigate, but Mr. Diehl hollers, “Get back in the kitchen!” and they disappear.

When Desiree’s mother approaches, Reed stands and offers her his hand. “Mrs. Diehl, I’m Reed Pendergraft. Thank you for taking your valuable time to meet with us.”

She takes his hand and timidly shakes it.

I stand with him, offering my hand as well. When I start to speak, Reed interrupts. “And this is Ms. Hunter.”

I shake her hand then shoot Reed a glare as we sit, then start talking before Reed can take over again. “As Reed said, I’m a student at Southern. We work together on the fashion show to raise money for both the design department as well as the nonprofit tutoring center that Desiree attends.”

“That’s what we were told,” Mr. Diehl says.

“Desiree is actually the one who inspired me to involve the children. I was touring the center as a committee member and had a chance to talk to Desiree. I helped her with her subtraction and I told her that subtraction is important to my work. She started asking about what I did and that’s when I came up with this idea of including the children.” I see Desiree’s head poke around the corner and I smile at her. “Desiree is a beautiful little girl and I want her to have this opportunity. Being part of a fashion show can be wonderfully empowering, as strange as that might sound.”

Mr. Diehl leans forward, his fingers digging into the worn recliner. “Put foolish nonsense in her head, is what it will do.”

Desiree’s mother gives me a sad smile. “I don’t want her gettin’ her hopes up. If she’s part of something like that, she’ll get her head in the clouds and think she can have a life like that, full of glamorous clothes and fancy cars.”

I’m not sure what kind of fashion show they think we’re having, but I understand their perception. “First of all, our show will be nothing like you see on television. We’ll be much more low-key and make it as unstressful for the children as possible.”

Mr. Diehl screws up his mouth. “Uh-uh. Nope.”

I hesitate, knowing I’m stepping on shaky ground as I reach into my bag and pull out my sketchbook, flipping open the pages to my design for Desiree. I hand it over to Mrs. Diehl. She’s the weakest link, but I doubt she has the decision-making ability.

She takes it with trembling hands. “What’s this?”

“The outfit I’ve designed for Desiree.”

Mrs. Diehl stretches her fingertips to the page, studying the design.

I hold my breath. I’ve spent a lot of time and put a huge part of my heart into the short pink ballerina skirt layered over bedazzled black leggings. The shirt is a long-sleeved black T-shirt, with airbrushed letters that say “Princess Power” and covered with a bedazzled pink jacket.

Desiree’s mother covers her mouth with her hand and looks like she’s about to cry. “It’s so pretty.”

“When I told Desiree I was studying fashion design, she asked if I could make her a dress that made her look like a princess. I took the concept and turned it into something practical. Something she can wear to school, but will still make her feel special. When the fashion show is over, the outfit is hers to keep.”

Her father snorts. “So she’s got one fancy outfit and a bunch of hand-me-downs. You put those clothes on that girl, and she’ll get all high and mighty and think she can move up the social ladder.”

I fight to control my temper. It’s as though I’ve been transported back in time to my own childhood. I’ll be damned if I let them tear down this child like my parents did to me.

“Why is feeling pretty wrong?” I ask, my voice tight. “How is having one nice outfit going to harm her?”

Reed tenses beside me.

“Because she’ll want more!” her father shouts.

Reed places his hand on my leg, and although it could be a warning to me, somehow I know it’s a protective reaction.

“And what’s wrong with wanting more?” I ask, softening my tone. “Wanting more is what gives us hope. It’s what makes us get out of bed every day. Wanting more is what has inspired many people to do great things. All because they wanted more.”

“Wanting more only leads to disappointment,” her father spits out. “This ain’t no fairytale, missy. You think you’re something coming in here and danglin’ your fashion show and your pretty clothes, but you don’t know nothin’ about our life.”

“I know all about your life.”

He snorts and begins to laugh. “Ho boy. Do you now?”

Reed’s face reddens. “I’ll ask you to talk to her respectfully.” His authority reverberates throughout the room and Mr. Diehl pauses.

“Reed.” I warn under my breath, then I pull the photo out of my bag. I’m horrified to tell them this in front of Reed, but Desiree is more important than my pride.

I hold the photo upright on my lap. “This photo hangs in the hallway at Middle Tennessee Children’s Charity. This is just one of many children the organization has helped.”

Mr. Diehl’s anger returns. “So what?”

“This photo is me.”

He and Mrs. Diehl look stunned.

“I grew up in Shelbyville. My parents didn’t even have a house. We lived in an old mobile home that leaked when it rained and was so drafty in the winter I had to wear two layers of clothes. But look at me now. I’m going to graduate from college this year and get a job doing what I love. I dreamed of more and my dreams are coming true. There’s no harm in wanting more. Sometimes it’s what we need to make us work harder.”

Mr. Diehl’s face is expressionless, but his wife has tears in her eyes. “We don’t want her to get hurt. We want her to accept her life and not get her hopes crushed.”

“But she’s not destined to live without money. She can do well in school and get scholarships to college. Or she can get student loans like I did. But please, please don’t tell her she can’t have more.

Because she can.”

Mrs. Diehl strokes the design. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, she can do the show.”

“Verna,” her husband warns.

“No, Fred. This girl is right. We think we’re protecting her, when we’re really holding her back.”

He grumbles, shaking his head. “That ain’t—”

His wife’s shoulders stiffen. “I said she’s doin’ it.”

He curses under his breath. “Fine. She can do it.”

Desiree comes running out of the kitchen. “I can?”

Her mother nods and pulls her into a hug, and her father clears his throat. “Don’t be lettin’ those fancy clothes go to your head.”

“Yes, sir.” Her head bobs.

Mr. Diehl’s eyes turn glassy, and he pushes himself out of his chair. “You’ve interrupted my dinner.” He disappears into the kitchen.

After I take Desiree’s measurements, I tell her I’ll have something for her to try on tomorrow, but I might not have it all done until Saturday at the show. After I give Mrs. Diehl the paper with the instructions for Saturday, Reed and I move to the door. Before we walk out, Mrs. Diehl places her hand on my arm.

“We really do love Desiree. I can see how you might judge us, but we were only doing what we thought was best for her.”

“I know.” I squeeze her hand.

When Reed and I get in the car, I drive away from the house, waiting for his reaction to my news. I’m not sure what I expect, but I don’t expect
nothing
. He sits in his seat, staring out the side window.

After we’ve driven for several minutes, I finally snap. Reed has heard my secret, my great shame. Is he that disgusted with me that he can’t even acknowledge it? “I guess you just found out how lucky you are, huh?” I laugh, but it’s ugly.

Reed’s anger fills the car. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You thought you escaped the gold-digging Caroline Hunter. What you didn’t realize is that you escaped the white-trash Carol Ann.”

His breath comes in short bursts. “Pull the car over.”

“So you can ridicule me? No, thank you.”

“
Goddamn it, Caroline
. Pull this fucking car over now.”

I turn on my blinker, looking for a place to park, shocked I’m obeying. The first place I find is the park Reed took me to, the day we came to our arrangement.

There’s no way in hell I’m going there.

Reed senses my reluctance and his voice softens. “Caroline, I just want to talk. Pull over.” He’s still angry, but he doesn’t act like he’s about to explode.

I drive to the back of the park, stopping in an empty parking lot. Once I’ve put the car in park, Reed reaches over and turns off the engine, then throws the keys into the backseat.

It takes me a half-second too long to react. “Wait! What are you doing?”

“We’re not going anywhere until we’ve talked this out.”

I press my back into the seat. “Go ahead. Tell me how disgusted you are.”

“
Are you serious
?” he asks, his anger building again. “Do you really think I’m so shallow that your background could make me walk away from you? Do you even fucking know me at all?”