Emma, Mr. Knightley, And Chili-Slaw Dogs Part 2

Caroline nodded, feeling the yawning chasm of the unknown that would never be filled. Never knowing the gender meant you might not give the child a name. Without anyone knowing, you certainly wouldn't be able to have a public ceremony to mourn and show respect for the short life. It would be forever unfinished, no healing closure available. And multiplied by three, the burden was unimaginable.

"I feel like a failure as a woman." She watched the shoppers pa.s.s on the sidewalk, happy chatter filling the air around them. "You always hear what a 'real woman' is. You know, 'real women have curves' and 'real women make biscuits from scratch' and 'real women run marathons'. I thought 'real women have babies'. Or maybe I didn't even think it. Maybe I just believed it without even considering whether it was true."

Caroline smiled a little at the marathon comment. She liked to run but she didn't think she could ever do a marathon. Or biscuits from scratch. And of course, she had just a.s.sumed about the babies. Like Debbie Mae.

"When it didn't look like that was going to happen for us, I felt like someone had canceled my woman card." She looked up, face stricken. "Really, what do I do now? I had it all planned out. College, good job, marriage, and babies. Just like that."

She wondered for the first time what Debbie Mae thought of her. She'd gone to college, gotten the good job, and then come home. No marriage. No babies. Probably, like most people, her cousin's false perceptions were applied most heavily to herself, not those around her. Caroline rubbed Debbie Mae's arm, at a loss for words.

She'd always felt like a woman, even when she'd been making cake flops for bridge meetings. It hadn't touched her faith, hadn't made her question whether she was loved by G.o.d. She just couldn't imagine the depths of the grief, a grief so deep that it had consumed the whole of the last year.

"Right now, I just want to focus on something else. I missed my friends." Debbie Mae looked at her, her lips tilted up in a hopeful expression. "If they can forgive me for being so quiet."

"Oh, honey." It wasn't the most articulate sentence, but Caroline hoped her hug said it all. "I'm so sorry."

"I am, too." Debbie Mae straightened up, brus.h.i.+ng back her hair. "Now, I want this to be a summer to have fun, recuperate, and reconnect. I think your idea about a Regency party is so incredible!"

She opened her mouth to remind her that she wasn't the one who'd come up with it, but decided it didn't really matter. If Debbie Mae wanted an Austen party, Debbie Mae was going to get an Austen party. "I'm still not sure if Brooks is going to want to show up in tails and dance around your patio."

"Well, we'll just have to work on him." She stood up, shouldering her purse. "Come on, we've got shoe shopping to do. And after lunch, we'll strategize."

Caroline followed along, outwardly remarking on the chances of whether they could find Regency shoes without resorting to an online store. Inside, her heart was trembling with the knowledge her best friend had been enduring a life-changing trauma. And she hadn't even known.

She'd been so caught up in her own problems with her mother, her own loneliness, wis.h.i.+ng everyone would come visit her. Perhaps if she hadn't been so focused on her own troubles, she would have seen Debbie Mae struggling. She'd been a bad friend, and there was nothing worse in Caroline's book than someone who let down her friends.

Before they entered the next shop, she'd decided this Austen party was going to put all other parties to shame. And if she had to drag Brooks there and force him to dance, she would do it. Debbie Mae deserved a little happiness and if they all had to dress up like something in a BBC miniseries, then that would be a small price to pay.

"Indeed I will. You have shown that you can dance, and you know we are not really so much brother and sister as to make it at all improper."- Emma

"Brother and sister! No, indeed." Mr. Knightley

Chapter Four.

Brooks hesitated, standing on the tidy welcome mat, the heat of the setting sun blazing against his back. The familiar green rockers at either end of the long porch were absent. The two matching sets were bought from the local carpenter when Caroline's grandparents were just a young couple and it was strange to see the cleanly painted planks were they would have been. Probably being refurbished. The j.a.panese honeysuckle was clambering over the side of the porch and winding up one fat, square pillar. He made a mental note to offer to trim it if the gardener didn't. Left alone it would work its way under the eaves and twist wrist-thick stems around the gutters, crus.h.i.+ng the delicate wood work.

His gaze took in the overgrown hydrangea visible near the opposite edge of the porch and frowned. It wasn't like Mrs. Ashley to let the vegetation run wild. The Ashley home was one of the few truly historic homes in Th.o.r.n.y Hollow and Caroline's mother made sure the grounds and veranda were immaculately maintained.

He stood, fist raised to the door. How many years had he been dragged to parties, his parents bickering in the front seat? His father would drink too many bourbons and everyone was miserable by the end of the night. He hated facing another party, especially when he should have been doing the party rounds at home, in Spartainville.

Academics loved a party just as much as genteel Southerners and he needed to partic.i.p.ate in the endless rounds of get-togethers. Otherwise, he would end up getting shut out of the ivory tower, out in the cold of the real world. It wasn't all about the pursuit of knowledge and they all knew it. If only his father could understand that. Maybe when Blanche came back, they could all sit down together and talk it out.

Brooks straightened his tie and tried to muster some enthusiasm. It had been a hard week and there was nothing he'd love more than to make some popcorn and watch a ballgame. Maybe Caroline wouldn't be ready. Maybe she'd make him sit in the parlor, next to the long rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves while she took an hour or two getting dressed. The term had been rough and although it was almost over, the worst was yet to come. Finals made everyone nutty. He needed a break. Maybe by the time she emerged, they'd decide it was too late to go and end up staying in, debating politics and planning the summer late into the night.

Not likely, but he could dream. He knocked on the glossy black door, the heavy oak swallowing the sound completely. He heard the faintest sound of footsteps and Caroline opened it not two seconds later.

"Where's your dad?" Caroline peered behind Brooks, noting the empty car.

"He's not feeling up to it. So we get to be the Elliot family amba.s.sadors." He felt his lips turn up in a smile, even though seconds before he'd knocked on Caroline's door, he'd been dreading the prospect. He took a slow breath. This wasn't the way he wanted to spend a Sat.u.r.day evening and he was sure Caroline felt the same, but it seemed the curse of the Southerner to attend every party out of polite obligation.

"Is he sick?" She got the little frown line between her brows that meant concern and sometimes confusion. Today it was just concern.

"Tired, I think." He'd driven all the way to Th.o.r.n.y Hollow for a party he didn't want to attend only because his father asked. Thirty minutes before they left, he'd decided to stay home and watch TV. The bait-and-switch really pushed his b.u.t.tons.

"I hope he's all right. Maybe we should pick him up some tea or something from the Piggly Wiggly on the way home." He leaned against the door frame and waited while she rooted through her tiny purse. Caroline's dress was one he'd seen before, but he'd forgotten how pretty it was with cream colored roses on pale turquoise. The fabric was something soft and flowing, the design of the dress accentuated every curve. He allowed himself one admiring survey before forcing his gaze above the shoulders. Her wavy blond hair was twisted up into something carelessly beautiful and she smelled delicious, like violets and vanilla.

"My phone... was just... here." She frowned and dug deeper, as if the bag was miles wide.

"You can use mine, if we need one."

"I know, but Mama might want to call me and I'd better answer if she does." She brushed back her blond hair and started removing objects from the small purse. He watched a small hairbrush, silver tube of lipstick, keys, and a.s.sorted doodads emerge until the little table by the front door was cluttered.

"She doesn't like you to go out." It wasn't a question.

"A-ha!" She held up the small red phone triumphantly. "She just worries a bit when I'm out." The pile on the table disappeared back into the purse, one item at a time.

"How did she manage when you were at Midlands? Or at the Post?" He spoke gently, not wanting to cause an argument. But Caroline's mama had her on a very short leash.

Just yesterday she'd called him at the crack of dawn to go running. It was the last on his list of most favorite exercises, but somehow she'd pried him out of bed. They'd gone for a long loop around the kudzu-covered neighborhood, well before the rest of the world had risen. When they'd returned, Mrs. Ashley had complained at how long it had taken, as if she'd made plans herself to jog with Caroline at six in the morning on a Sat.u.r.day.

"It was different then. Daddy was alive and they kept each other company." She snapped the purse closed and looked up at him, green eyes as clear as the sea. "It was such a shock for her when he pa.s.sed. I can understand how she gets anxious when I'm out of sight."

He didn't answer. There was a strange feeling in his chest, as if an ice cube was slipping down into his stomach, melting all the way. Out of sight? The leash was shorter than he thought. He'd a.s.sumed she got out a least a few times a week, if only for a run.

"She doesn't mind if I go somewhere with you, though. We're practically related."

"We're not hardly related," he choked out, laughing.

"We are, sort of. Your brother and my cousin."

"Finley, that makes us not at all related."

She c.o.c.ked her head, lips twitching. "All right, but we look it. Your cream linen suit," she waved a hand, "with that mint green patterned tie next to my dress? It's just like we planned it."

"If anything we look like one of those couples that buy everything in his-and-hers pairs." He didn't even know why he was arguing. He could tell she wasn't serious.

"Ha! No one would ever think we're a couple." She pulled the door closed. "I'm too young for you. I would never survive the rigors of being an academic's wife. All those little parties, all that ivory-tower political maneuvering aren't my style. I'm too blunt. Anyway, if you ever got married- which you won't- the woman would be..." Her voice trailed off and she paused at the top step as if she'd forgotten something.

"Would be what? Ninety? Toothless? A mail order bride?"

She laughed, but it sounded slightly forced. "I was going to say she would be successful, worldly, know everything there was to know about ambition. She'd help you climb the ladder one impressive social coup at a time."

She hesitated just a fraction of a second. "At the very least, she'd be someone with a job." Her words were light, but the tone betrayed her. A hint of sadness followed the last word.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they walked down the wide front steps of the Ashley house. "Wrong. The personal ad clearly states I'm looking for an unemployed, undervalued, and completely unschooled woman to be my future bride. That way, she'll see my meager salary as a college professor as quite impressive."

She snorted. "You might have to add a few items to that list in order to reach 'quite impressive.' "

Opening the car door, he shook his head. "Even if I was in the market for a wife- a phrase I really hate, by the way- you're right about us. You know too much. See, there's no mystery, no romance, no excitement. I'm just Brooks to you. I think a mail order bride is my only hope."

He could hear her giggling as he crossed in front of the car. Sliding into the driver's seat, the small c.o.c.kpit of the car smelled wonderful, like some favorite candy from his childhood that he couldn't quite place.

The bright sunlight glanced off the inside of the console. He slipped on his sungla.s.ses and backed out of the circular drive. The long, narrow road to the main street was filled with dips and b.u.mps. He should find someone to fill it in for them before the rainy season starts. A good, hard downpour and that Mississippi clay washed toward the lowest point, which was the pasture to the north, leaving the driveway rutted and uneven.

Again, the light waft of something he half-remembered. "Have you been baking again?"

"Me? Never unless I have to. But Mama loved that cake from Bravard's and now she wants me to make it all the time."

He grinned, wondering how she was going to hide all those cake boxes. "You'll have to explain some day."

She blew out a breath. "I know. But it's nice to have her approval for just a little bit."

He shot her a glance, startled. What kind of mother wouldn't approve of Caroline? She'd succeeded in everything she'd ever tried. The sadness in her statement was just one more point for Caroline getting out of the house on a regular basis, and not just for a run.

"Have you talked to Manning lately?"

"Not much. He calls, but doesn't really seem like he wants to talk. Just sort of..." Brooks thought for a moment. "Checking in."

She nodded, as if it made sense. It didn't make much sense to him, but there it was. He missed his brother, missed their long talks while fis.h.i.+ng and the Sat.u.r.day afternoons spent watching baseball. Now that the season had started, he noticed his absence even more. Shouting at the TV as the Braves struggled through a tough game wasn't as fun without Manning.

"I bet Lauren Fairfield will be there." Her tone was unenthusiastic.

"Mrs. Reynolds' granddaughter?"

"That's the one. She's writing a book on Southern mansions. Got a big, fancy book deal for one of those glossy coffee table photography books that weighs thirty pounds."

He glanced at her, surprised to see the slight frown between her brows. "Jealous?"

"How can I not be? I've been hearing about her my whole life. Lauren this, Lauren that." She flapped a hand. "Lauren graduated from Yale summa c.u.m laude and Lauren was offered six jobs right out of college and Lauren learned Spanish by hiking in the Andes." She hauled in a breath.

"I've never met her, but I wouldn't cross her off before you even set eyes on the girl." Caroline was generally an open, friendly person, but she did get a little jealous now and then.

She let out a harrumph and crossed her arms.

Brooks kept his eyes on the road. Something was bothering her, and if he waited long enough, it would all come rus.h.i.+ng out. Usually sooner than later.

She adjusted her skirt a little, letting the silk fall against her tanned knees. "Mrs. Gray mentioned you had been invited to Marian's for dinner."

"Mmmm." So he had. Several times.

"And?" She was looking straight at him now, those green eyes narrowed.

"And what?" He slowed the car and let it idle, pausing at the entrance to the main road. There wasn't any traffic to speak of on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon, just a few slow-moving vehicles in the distance. The heat waves s.h.i.+mmering on the blacktop made the cars seem as if they were moving underwater.

"Why didn't you go?"

He felt his brows go up and searched for words. He didn't want to be unkind. There was nothing more irritating than a woman who was desperate to marry just because it was on her schedule of tasks to accomplish. He didn't want to be someone's 'to do' list.

"I was busy." And he'd continue to be busy until he was too old to be considered a candidate for Marian's desperate bachelor-go-round.

He moved to s.h.i.+ft but her touch on his arm halted him mid-motion. "Doing what?"

"Why all the questions, Finley? My dad wanted me to help him fix the storm windows, remember?" He shook his head, feeling as if the logic was falling out of the conversation.

"Can you take off your sungla.s.ses?" Her voice was soft and her hand hadn't left his arm. "I can't see your eyes. It's hard to talk to you when I can't see your eyes."

Brooks glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned. They'd talked a thousand times before- with sungla.s.ses, in deep shade on a hot day, in the rain, while running the last of five painful miles at sunrise. She'd never needed to see his eyes before. He slipped them off and half-turned his body toward her. "Better?"

"Much." Her lips tugged up a bit although her eyes were still somber. "We're friends, right?"

If he knew where the conversation was headed, he'd feel better about answering, but as it was, he only had one answer. "Always."

"If you wanted to go to dinner at Marian's, you'd tell me? If you skipped it because you had a date, you'd tell me? Or if you were plain sick of my annoying self and wanted to hang out on the couch watching football, you'd tell me?" She actually looked nervous, as if she wasn't quite sure what he'd answer.

He let out a long breath and ran a hand over his face. "So, Mrs. Gray said, that Marian said, that I'd refused to have dinner with her because I had a date." He wanted to roll his eyes but tried to approach the problem calmly. Small-town gossips had nothing better to do than stir up trouble.

"Something like that." Bright spots of pink bloomed over her cheekbones. It was ridiculous, but here they were, dissecting the latest round of hearsay.

"And why do you care?"

"Excuse me?" Her voice went two octaves higher than normal and her hand dropped from his arm.

"Really. Why do you care what Mrs. Gray thinks? You've never cared about what other people thought before."

"Well, it was just..." Her voice trailed off. "She made it sound like you were lying to spare my feelings. And I don't want you to ever lie for me." She leaned forward, bright blond hair s.h.i.+ning in the sunlight, her face tight with emotion. "If it's something I need to hear, don't be afraid, especially if you think I can't handle it. If no else will say it, please be the brave one."

He stared into her eyes, noting the flecks of gold in the deep green, her features as familiar as his own. "I've never lied to you."

Caroline relaxed against the seat, inhaling deeply. "Good."

"So, when do you want to hear it?"

Her head popped up from the seat back. "What?"

"All the things you need to hear." He flashed a grin and put his shades back on before pulling onto the main road. He had a whole list of subjects, starting with the absurd amount of time she spent locked in that old house.

"About Marian?"

He choked back a laugh. "You're obsessed with her. Afraid she's going to snap up all the most eligible bachelors?"