I wasn’t sure I could make my feet move, but when Caroline grabbed my hand, I did.
“Do you think?” I asked her when we were back outside in the yard.
She shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know. Let’s not read too much into this, OK?”
All these years I had wondered who my biological father was, but now that the truth was potentially right in front of me, I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.
As we reached the front porch, I looked out over the sparkling water, the sun setting hot and vibrant, warming our little patch of earth.
Emerson looked as if she were about to burst wide open as she called, “Mom! Hurry up! Get out here.”
I looked at Caroline again, and I wondered if we had done the wrong thing in walking away, if we should have stayed and learned the truth.
But maybe it didn’t matter. What would it change, really?
I wondered again if we should have asked Jack about our suspicions. I felt in my heart that he wouldn’t lie to us. I felt in my heart that we were connected more deeply than our brief encounters would allow. And I had to admit that connection, that voice in my head that recognized that I relied on and trusted Jack far more than was reasonable, was something I had been ignoring for a long time.
Caroline squeezed my hand, and I wondered if she felt that with Jack too. I squeezed back, but I didn’t say a thing.
And I realized when it comes to matters of the heart, when it comes to love, no matter what form that takes, sometimes there really are no words. Sometimes, the right answer, the only answer—the truth—is something you have to feel.
THIRTY-EIGHT
the beauty of the silence
ansley
For one of the first times in months, I was blessedly, silently all alone. Emerson had gone out with Mark, Caroline and Sloane were next door moving Jack’s furniture, and he had gone over to see if he could help. I sat down in one of the Louis ghost chairs around the antique wood dining room table in front of the “orchard,” as we had affectionately nicknamed the spot where all our Macs generally ended up every day.
I sat down to check my email, and Biscuit jumped in my lap. “Hi there, little girl,” I said, scratching behind her ears. “I think we made it. I think we’re all going to be OK.”
I’m not sure if dogs can smile, but I’m pretty sure she did.
I clicked on my in-box, absentmindedly deleting emails from Moda Operandi, Vogue.com, Jetsetter.How did I get signed up for all these email lists?I paused my cursor over one labeled “test results.” I almost deleted it, assuming it was spam. But I clicked instead.
Dear Emerson:
I have received your test results, and I’d like to set up a phone call to discuss. If you would prefer, I can see you in the office, but I believe you were flying back to Georgia when I saw you last. Please call the office to schedule.
My best,
Dr. Douglas Thomas
Park Avenue Hematology & Oncology
I WAS PARALYZED BYpanic. This was not, in fact, my MacBook Pro. It was Emerson’s. And something was seriously wrong with my child. Oncology? Dear Lord, did she have cancer?
I was about to begin a full spiral when I realized I could just ask her, which was what I was about to do when I heard Emerson calling Sloane and Caroline. And then I heard her calling me. I stormed outside, about to give her a piece of my mind, but when I opened the door, Biscuit under my arm, I sensed this wasn’t the right moment. Emerson was standing to the right of the doorway, Mark’s arm around her. They were both grinning like they used to when they found out they were getting a hurricane day off from school. Caroline and Sloane were across from me, close enough to the steps that I wanted to pull them back so they didn’t fall. Emerson squealed, “We’re engaged!” holding her hand out to me, before I could launch into my interrogation.
My eyes widened. I knew she liked Mark, but engaged? Now I had an entirely new set of questions. I grabbed her hand, and said, “Oh my gosh, Emerson.”
Caroline was jumping up and down, hugging Mark, and Sloane was smiling at me, her face mirroring the shock I felt. But, I reasoned, Mark and Emerson had known each other their entire lives. If they wanted to marry each other, then nothing could thrill me more. A tingle of glee that maybe Emerson would move to Peachtree Bluff with Mark started in the tips of my toes.
Jack walked out his front door, and I smiled, realizing that I might get to have this moment with him. I smiled because I could finally admit I might like to have this moment with him.
There were so many questions, but I couldn’t ask them. I gazed at Emerson’s jubilant face; she didn’t look sick. She couldn’t be sick. There had to be a simple explanation for her doctor visit. I had struggled with low iron in my twenties. It was probably nothing more than that.
I looked out at Starlite Island, as if I could will my late parents to help me and give us all a moment of calm.
