“Understand?” he said, emotion filling his voice. “Understand? What I understand is that you have let me think for months and months that we were going to have a baby. I worried myself to death, tiptoeing around your feelings, trying not to make you feel pressured, trying to build you back up after those negative pregnancy tests. And all of it was a lie. How could you, Sloane? What else have you been lying to me about?”
I was crying now, realizing this was even worse than I’d thought. I had never seen him look angry like this.
“Adam, I love you with all my heart. Please don’t forget that.”
He shook his head. “Sloane, I don’t even know who you are right now.”
He turned, and I was afraid he was going to walk out the door. I was desperate. “Adam, please!” I said, sobbing now. “Let’s talk about this. You have to listen.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have to do a damn thing.” He walked toward the bedroom, which made me feel a little better, and said, “Oh, and while we’re being honest, I absolutely hate chicken divan.”
It was like he had slapped me across the face. I scolded myself. I had just told the man I had lied to him for our entire marriage, and I was offended he didn’t like my chicken divan?
I wanted to go after him, but I didn’t. He was too angry, too betrayed. He wouldn’t even be able to hear me. So I sat at the table, not daring to move, and watched the wax from the candles melt into a puddle on my antique dining table. I watched them and cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, until the flames were gone. When the last light flickered and the room went dark I wondered if my relationship, like my candles, had burnt out.
THIRTY-TWO
safe place
ansley
Iwas the last one awake that night. I would likely be the last one awake for quite some time, trying to come to grips with the fact that my mother was gone. It was an inexplicably vulnerable feeling. That’s the word that describes it best of all. It’s a longing of the heart, a fear of the soul, a realization of the mind that your last truly safe place, your last harbor in the storm, is gone. I had felt it excruciatingly when Carter died, been through it maybe even worse when my father died. This death was the last blow, the final straw.
I sat out on the front porch for a long time thinking about her, about what she had meant to me, what she had said to me, the advice she had given me. No matter what, I had always taken Mom’s advice to heart.
I thought about Jack and about Caroline saying he would always be our family. I thought about Georgia and the house in Atlanta and how everything I had ever wanted might be right at my fingertips, but also how it was slipping through them at the same time.
My thoughts were punctuated by my eldest daughter bursting through the front door and my scream reverberating through the silent night.
Caroline looked around, shocked. “Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I patted the cushion beside me, and she sat down. She took the glass of wine right out of my hand, took a sip, and handed it back to me. “I want to talk to you about something,” she said.
I felt a knot forming in my stomach. She looked very serious, and I had a feeling this was either about the money her father had promised her that was actually gone or her biological father. Neither was a topic I was prepared to discuss.
So nothing could have surprised me more than when she said, “How would you feel about my doing a little buying for your store?”
Looking into Caroline’s dancing eyes, I understood that she needed this. She had mentioned going back to work, and I knew this would suit her well. She had always had an eye for beautiful things.
“I have a friend who has moved to Provence, and she could help us source these gorgeous linens that will take your breath away.” She paused. “And wouldn’t it be beautiful to have fresh lavender in bundles all around the store?”
I smiled. “It would be perfect, sweetheart. Whatever you think.”
There were times to hold on, and there were times to let go. Caroline could absolutely handle a task like this better than anyone I knew. She had perfect taste and was incredibly organized. Now if I could only get her to stay on budget...
Reflexively, I looked down to the end of the street, where James was presumably sleeping—alone, I hoped. Caroline had let him keep Preston that night, which was a big step. “You OK?” I asked.
Caroline shrugged. “I will be.”
I sighed and could feel the tears coming to my eyes as I said, “When are you going back to New York?”
Caroline waved her hand, insinuating that it would be ages, and I pulled myself back together. Even one leaving would throw off the dynamic.
“Hey, Mom,” she said, that conspiratorial twinkle in her eye I knew so well, “I might need your help with one more thing.”
When she told me her plan, I said, “No.” Flat out. But I was tired and I was sad, and I knew already she would eventually wear me down.
“But Mom, just think how good—”
