GREAT. Just great.
I couldn’t get Phillip to answer his cell phone the rest of the day, and that night I found myself in Ernesto’s truck driving from every better to moderately priced hotel in Willow Creek. But he wasn’t registered at any of them.
By the time I pulled up the drive to Wainwright House, my unmanicured nails curled around the steering wheel, I was in shock. And not just because of Phillip’s surprise appearance, then disappearance. I couldn’t believe that I had spent hours doing exactly what my mother had spent most of my life doing. Driving around at night looking for a man. The realization careened through my head like billiard balls cracking together in a smoke-filled pool hall.
Though as horrified as I was about that, I was equally worried that it was over between Phillip and me. What if he couldn’t forgive me for having money—which in itself felt like a bizarre thought on a bizarre night in a bizarre situation that I couldn’t believe I was in the middle of.
But then I thought of Phillip, my Phillip, the man I knew from my life in Boston, and while I couldn’t have explained why (a voice in my head might have been laughing and repeating the word “denial”), I knew he wasn’t like all the men who had paraded through my mother’s life.
The next day, Thursday morning, May 1, I walked into the kitchen to a stack of newspapers from around Texas. No one had to tell me that the Spring Debutante Season had started and my mother was keeping track.
In Dallas:
BIG D SPRINGS INTO THE SEASON WITH
RARE ROSES FOR GIRLS
In Austin:
DEBUTANTES IN FINE FORM RAISING MONEY
FOR GOOD CAUSES
In Fort Worth:
FINEST FAMILY WITH THEIR FLOWERING FEMALES
There were more, and I’m sure if Janice took a look she would groan over the ridiculous headlines. But I’m sure all my mother saw was that the events had been glowing successes. Ours was still iffy.
I pushed the newspapers away and tried Phillip’s cell phone again. But still no word from my fiancé, and my mother and I were due in court at nine.
Fortunately I calculated that I could get back to finding him sooner rather than later since it couldn’t take more than an hour or two in front of the judge to prove that Vincent hadn’t contributed to Lucky Stars’s bottom line (unless it was in the category of net loss) and that he hadn’t signed the prenuptial agreement under duress. My mother kept everything, and she had a detailed timeline of when Vincent had been presented with the document, the extensive meetings they had had in regard to the matter, and the top-of-the-line attorney he’d had to represent him. No judge in the land was going to invalidate the document in this case.
“Order,” the bailiff called. “The Superior Court of Willow Creek County is now in session, the Honorable Edward Melton presiding.”
We stood as the judge entered, Jack not so much as looking at me.
“All right,” the judge began without preamble. “Where do we stand, counselors? Since we are here, clearly the parties didn’t get this mess straightened out.”
“Correct, Your Honor,” Jack and I said in tandem.
“Mistake,” I was almost certain the judge muttered.
“Fine, let’s get on with it, then. Mr. Blair, which issues still remain unresolved?”
Jack looked grave, his brown eyes dark, ruthless. I could guarantee that whatever traces of humor he had felt up until that point were gone.
“Your Honor, nothing is resolved,” he said. “We have no stipulations at this point.”
“Miss Cushing?”
“Your Honor, as I have provided in copious detail in my prehearing filings, there is no evidence whatsoever to support counsel’s claim that his client was pressured into signing the prenuptial agreement. Furthermore, I have provided extensive evidence both to the court and to counsel that supports the claim of Mr. Ogden’s lack of economic contribution to Lucky Stars Farm, LLC. I see no reason to continue wasting the court’s time.”
Jack nodded at me with the seriousness of a priest, as if truly considering my words, then said, “Unfortunately, Your Honor, neither pressure nor economics matter any longer in this case. I move that the prenuptial agreement between Mrs. Ridgely Ogden and Mr. Vincent Ogden, dated February of last year, be nullified immediately.”
I looked at him as if he had lost his mind. A murmur swept through the gallery like a wave.
The judge didn’t even bother to bang the gavel. “If not based on undue pressure or economic contribution, then on what grounds?” he demanded.
Jack didn’t look at me. “Adultery, Your Honor.”
The courtroom erupted. Judge Melton hammered his gavel. “Good God almighty, Mr. Blair,” the judge barked. “What did you say?”
“Adultery, Your Honor,” he repeated, as cold as a winter day in my beloved Boston.
“Adultery?” I practically bleated. “That’s ridiculous.” Or was it?
“Miss Cushing,” the judge ordered. “Sit down.”
I sat very still, my fingers curling around my pencil. I had the sudden realization that Jack wanted to win this—bad—for reasons that had nothing to do with helping his client. Was it possible he would go after my mother to get back at me?
“Your Honor,” he continued, “this new information only just came to my attention yesterday.”
“Explain, counselor.”
“Yesterday at noon, I was called to visit a friend of Miss Cushing’s who was staying at the Lazy 6 Motel. It was while I was there that I learned of the adultery.”
Things were going from bad to worse. I knew “yesterday” was Wednesday and I also knew my mother had a suspicious habit of disappearing every Wednesday at noon.
I leaped to my feet again, objecting. But in the back of my mind I also realized that my “friend” could only be Phillip and he must have been staying at the beyond modest and completely unPhillip-like Lazy 6 Motel and had called Jack, not me, to talk.
Angrily, the judge ordered Jack and me into chambers where we were read the riot act (hello, I didn’t do anything) then told to present evidence on both sides by the end of next week. Quite frankly, I thought adultery deserved more than a week. But the man, apparently, had had it with extensions, delays, and continuances. Perhaps we would have been better off with one of the judges who had dated my mother.
I sank back into the leather seat of the car as Ernesto drove us home. With my eyes closed, I asked, “Mother, are you going to explain what is going on here?”
Ridgely reapplied her lipstick in a small compact mirror, admired the shade, before snapping the case shut. “Vincent is no gentleman.”
“Mother, get serious. You are on the verge of losing a great deal of your worth if the prenup is voided. I’d think you’d be interested in telling me why in the world Jack would accuse you of adultery?”
“He’s desperate.”
“Mother, Jack Blair is many things, but we both know he isn’t desperate.”
“Don’t be naïve, Carlisle. All men are desperate.”
“Mother, we are going for serious here.”
“I am serious. But even if I did have an affair, which I didn’t, that doesn’t mean Vincent should get one blade of grass from the farm.”
“If you had bothered to read your prenup you would know that the only thing that could make it null and void is if you have an affair.”
“What?”
“You heard me. That was the single stipulation we agreed to when we drew up the agreement.”
“Oh, my Lord! Then you have to fix this.”
Yet again.
We pulled up the drive, headed around back, and stopped. Lupe came out the back door at a dead run, and from the look on her face she had already heard the news. I was wrong.
“Miss Ridgely, Miss Ridgely, Meester Ben take Savannah to hospital.”
I forgot all about Vincent, adultery, Jack, and even my need to track Phillip down at the Lazy 6 Motel. We entered Memorial Hospital not more than five minutes later. Savannah’s doctor met us in the white-walled and linoleum-tiled hallway outside her room.
“What’s happened?” my mother demanded of a young resident.
“You should ask the patient,” the man said.
“You must not know who I am.”
“Ma’am, unless you are the woman’s next of kin, it doesn’t matter who you are. I have doctor-patient confidentiality. And the form here lists Ben Carter.”
“Doctor”—I glanced at his name tag—“Pressman. I am Carlisle Cushing, Savannah’s sister. This is our mother.”
But the doctor was off the hook when Ben came out of the room, his tie loosened, his eyes bloodshot. He looked beaten and much older than his forty years. “She miscarried,” he said without preamble. “Again.”
Then he walked down the hall and out of the hospital.
My sister had miscarried three times before but she had never given up on her belief that she would have a child. That was the thing about denial. It’s hard to know the difference between lying to yourself and giving up on a dream that just needs perseverance.
We walked into Savannah’s hospital room and were met by the usual prima donna grandeur, but now the confidence that normally brightened her eyes was gone.
“It’s about time you showed up,” she snapped.
My mother went to her side and took her hand. “I told you nothing good could come of this.” She tsked. “Ben told you the same thing.”
Savannah’s blue eyes flashed a dark shade, then she turned to me. “I’m surprised you came at all.”
I had to remind myself that she was lashing out, meanness thrown around to cover the pain. “Of course I would come.”
After talking at length to the doctor and learning that Savannah would be fine, I stayed awhile longer before my mother shooed me off to deal with her divorce. Unlike our mother, Savannah had never reached out to me when she was in trouble.
Ernesto drove me to the house and dropped me off. I walked in the back door, set down my briefcase, and pulled open the refrigerator. Popping a soda, I knew I should start making sense of my mother’s predicament. Though I was all too happy for the diversion when the doorbell rang.
When I opened the front door, Phillip stood on the veranda looking half contrite, half defiant.
“Phillip!”
He just stood there and stared at me, his blond hair barely combed, his always perfect clothes rumpled, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep.
“Oh, Phillip. I’m so sorry. I meant to tell you, wanted to tell you, but one thing led to another—”
“I forgive you,” he stated.
Just like that. I mean, really, just like that, and I wasn’t too happy.
“We can survive this,” he continued in a voice I had heard him use countless times in court—controlled, dispassionate. “We’ll go back to Boston, get married, and continue on as we always have. No one has to know about this.”
Phillip had always cared what people thought more than I thought he should, but didn’t we all have flaws, and I had ignored it. I was having a hard time ignoring it right then.
“Phillip,” I said carefully, “why do you want to marry me?”
The question seemed to come out of nowhere, at least to me since it never occurred to me to question why. He appeared surprised.
“Because you are… nice-looking, smart, levelheaded, and you’re going places in the firm. You’re just like me.” Then he grimaced. “I guess not quite like me given your money. But we’ve invested too much in each other to throw it away. As I said, I can forgive you the lie. Eventually, I’ll forget and we’ll have the perfect life we’ve always planned.”
I realized then, standing in my mother’s entry hall, that I didn’t love Phillip. I even took a step back at the thought. At least I hadn’t been in love with him, and it had taken him saying something so businesslike and devoid of emotion to jar me out of the cocoon I had been all too happy to exist in. And that was what it was. A cocoon. A safe, warm place where I was comfortable.
I remembered then that I had compared the ease I felt with Phillip to the ease I saw pass between India and her grandmother. Probably not the best recommendation for marriage.
My anger faded as quickly as it had surfaced when I realized that I was guilty, though not because I hadn’t made it clear I had money. That was the least of my crimes. Phillip had allowed me to exist in the safe place of no intense feelings. My real crime was thinking that existing in that place could possibly make for a fulfilling life—for me or for Phillip.
Messy is good. Jack’s words.
Not that I suddenly believed it, but I did concede that living an anesthetized life was bad. A very different proposition from messy being good, I consoled myself.
“Oh, Phillip,” I said. “Admit it. We’re not in love.”
His eyes crinkled with confusion. He didn’t appear upset, not angry, just confused, as if love had nothing to do with anything. “But we make a good team.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We don’t make a good team. Two people have to love and respect each other to make a good team, at least in marriage. They have to be committed down to their cores in order to survive the ups and downs of life.”
“What are you saying?”
“That we have no business getting married.”
“Carlisle,” he said sternly. “You’re a lawyer. A good one. And both of us know that there is no room in success for waxing poetic or letting emotion rule the day. That is why we’re perfect for each other.”
“I’m not a child to be reprimanded or a case to be won. More than that, I believe there is a woman out there who is perfect for you because you won’t have to forgive her for who she is, or who you think she is.”
He looked abashed. “Okay, I’m sorry. I came on too strong.” He started to panic, tripping over the entry hall rug when he stepped toward me. “I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for getting upset,” he pleaded. “I just sort of… flipped.”
“Phillip—”
“Let me finish.” He took my hands in both of his, studying them. “I was jealous, so I found your friend Jack because I wanted to understand. Maybe I even wanted to see what was up with him.”
My eyes narrowed.
“He didn’t tell me much, but I could tell there’s nothing going between you two.” He sort of snorted. “No love lost there, I’d say.”
Not that I didn’t know this, and not that I cared, but you’d think Jack might have harbored a tiny soft spot for me, enough to smile at Phillip and congratulate him on his good fortune for winning my hand.
“Carlisle, I love—”
“Phillip.” I held up my hand. “Thank you for coming to Texas to find me. That means more than you know. But it’s over.”
Emotion circled through his face, like a game-show spinning wheel of assorted prizes—anger, frustration, confusion, disbelief, ending on what I can only call resigned acceptance. We talked for a while longer, but nothing changed other than I felt a growing sense of relief when he finally left.
As soon as I heard the tires crunch on the gravel drive, like a moth drawn to a flame, I knew what I was going to do about my mother’s case. She kept everything in the attic. With the exception of my one foray to retrieve the dancing template, I had avoided the upper regions of the house at all costs. But with little help for it, I ascended the two flights of stairs.
Under the sloped eaves of the hundred-year-old house there were several lifetimes of possessions. Books, trunks I knew were filled with clothes, old toys, memories. Everywhere I turned I was faced with my family’s history and memories. The very thing I had left behind.
Rather than get sucked in, I pulled open a file drawer that contained records of my mother’s debts, assets, and all previous litigation including prenups and divorces. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for that could possibly help me, but I stopped when I came to a file on Lucky Stars Farm.
Sitting down in the old rocker by the window, I read through the file, then found pictures of my parents on beaches I didn’t recognize, in a boat on a lake with my mother’s hair down and flying in the wind, the two of them opening a new barn at the farm, newspaper photographs of my mother cutting the red ribbon, my father looking on, looking stunningly handsome as he stared down at his very young wife. I had never seen my mother look so happy. No cracks visible.
I was young when my father died and I hardly rememberd him. When pressed I could pull him up, but only in the context of my mother and how happy she was before he died. Everything else I knew about him, I had learned from the larger-than-life tales of a man who had lived well and loved my mother with the grand passion of a novel. I had always half discounted the stories. But looking at the photographs, I wondered if maybe they were true.
It was as I was putting the albums away that I saw my sister’s diaries.
Stay Away!
Keep Out!
Don’t You Dare Open!
My sister’s handwriting scrawled the words all over the box.
I can’t begin to explain why sensible Carlisle popped the lock on the first diary.
Dear Diary,
I had the most amazing day! I love junior high! I wore my favorite pink sweater, got tons of compliments (as usual), and Betsey Tanner was soooooooo jealous because everyone loves me better than her. At least everyone loves me but Mrs. Finkel. She HATES me. I mean, really, I do all my work. I might not get the best grades but I am totally the prettiest girl in the whole class. I should be her favorite!!!!!!!
Mother is in one of her @&%$ moods again, so I’m doing my best to ignore the drama of her latest boyfriend. Geez! What kind of mother has boyfriends!!!! It really is the most embarrassing thing EVER! Of course I pretend that it is so awesome that my mother is so beautiful and that every man for miles around chases after her. But what I would give to have a NORMAL family.
Henry is as big of a freak as Mother. But I think Carlisle might actually be normal. Not that it matters. She’s way too busy being smart and together to even notice that she has an older sister, one she should be looking to for advice! What I would give to have a sister who I could talk to. Someone I could curl up in bed with at night and share secrets. If we did, I would tell her about this completely amazing new guy, Nicky, who is madly in love with me.
Oh, well.
Gotta go. I think I’m going to wear the navy blue mini tomorrow. Better make sure it’s in my closet!
xoxoxoxo,
Savannah
My throat felt oddly tight when I turned to another.
Dear Diary,
I was at Cindy Henley’s house and her mother just had the cutest baby. I know I’m way too young to be thinking about babies, but I know when I get older I will be the best mother in the history of mothers. Unlike certain mothers we know in this very house!!!!!
Anyway, it was weird to watch someone who actually took care of a baby. I mean, really, she held her!!! No maid anywhere to be found. That’s the kind of mother I am going to be. I swear.
On top of that, I wore the polka-dot bikini to the country club yesterday and of course turned every boy’s head. I’m like a goddess or something. The girls were snippy, as usual. But I just ignore them.
I met this new guy. Frank Winters. He is soooooo cute and I swear he’s totally in love with me, but not all drooly like the other boys. He has some dignity. Plus he’s on the football team! I’ve decided I’m going to be a cheerleader. Head cheerleader. I started to tell Carlisle about my plan because of course Mother was nowhere to be found. But C was building some moronic science project and totally was not listening. Whatever.
More later…
xoxoxoxo
Savannah
Most of the entries were the same. How great she was, the latest boy who was in love with her, the outfits that were much loved and the cause of great jealousy, and her wish that we were closer as sisters.
I couldn’t have been more surprised if she had written diary entries in blood and spewed on about Satan. I also couldn’t have been more surprised that my sister had been as lonely and frustrated about our mother as I had been.
An hour later, I returned to the hospital. The door to my sister’s room was partially open. Inside she was alone, looking out the window, unexpected tears in her eyes. The prima donna was gone and for the first time I saw the daughter, not so different from me, overwhelmed by a parent whom we didn’t know how to absorb. A parent who needed comforting, who never comforted. Probably didn’t know how. I had always seen my sister as a girl, then a woman, who was used to getting her way simply because she was beautiful, her fine cheekbones and high brow lined with entitlement. I realized then that her beauty moved around her face with pain, not entitlement, like partners in a reluctant dance.
I walked into the sterile white room, the metal blinds down, the slats angled open. “Hey,” I said.
She dashed her hand across her eyes, and when she looked at me I saw the mask return, the pain pushed back to the edge of the dance floor, the arrogance pulled forward like a life preserver.
“I thought you went home?”
“Yep.” I shrugged. “But now I’m back.”
“You look terrible.”
I laughed. “Thank you.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because I feel like it.”
She scoffed. But the sound cut off when I walked to the side of her bed, then carefully climbed up next to her.
“Good Lord, Carlisle! What in God’s name are you doing?”
I was careful of the IV in her arm as I stretched out on my side, propping my head on my hand. “Just wanted to be with my sister.”
Truth to tell, she looked sort of panicked, like a crazy person had just gotten in bed with her. I swear she eyed the nurse call button. And maybe I was crazy. Maybe it was too late to be her sister, at least as she had wanted when we were young.
“I thought we could braid each other’s hair, talk about boys, the usual girl stuff.” I shrugged. “Then maybe you can tell me how to avoid screwing up my life.”
Suspicion mixed with confusion on her perfect face.
“I seem to be in need of some wisdom these days. And who better to give me advice,” I added softly, “than my sister.”
Which made her eyes fill with tears, though I could tell she fought them.
I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling since I didn’t really want her to cry any more than she wanted to cry. “Then after that, I thought we could share our secrets,” I added, though it was my voice that actually cracked. “Like real sisters do.”
With a strangled moan, she broke down. “Oh, Carlisle. My baby.”
She cried as I have never seen any woman in my family cry during daytime hours, hard, her body heaving.
There was nothing to say, so I snaked my arm under her neck, pulled her close, and held her as she cried.
“What am I going to do?” she said through her tears.
“There’s plenty you can do.”
She sucked in a gasping breath. “I don’t have a law degree like you, or even any degree for that matter. All I am is pretty.”
The last words were whispered like a confession at the Catholic church in the south part of town. I didn’t have a clue how to respond.
“If I can’t have children, then what good am I?”
My mother and sister spent their lives slashing their way through life with the sharp edge of blond hair, blue eyes, and physical beauty. I had always felt they took the easy way. Now I wondered. Looks eventually, always, fail.
“Oh, Savannah.” I wrinkled my nose as I searched my brain for something to say. “You are plenty good, and you can be anything you want. Besides, I believe you’ll have a baby one day.”
She stiffened in my arms. “Don’t say that.”
Foolish, I know. But something in me rose to the surface and wouldn’t be pushed back. “You’ve always believed in yourself and have never been afraid to persevere.” I had to believe that in this case persevering wasn’t denial. “That’s what you’ve got to do now.”
She leaned back and looked at me.
“Just don’t give up on yourself. And don’t force Ben out of your life. Remember, you said he was a keeper. The two of you will figure this out.”
She gave me a pathetic look of hope, making me feel exceedingly uncomfortable.
The wide hospital door pushed open and Janice walked in. “What are you two doing?”
I glanced at Savannah. “Being sisters.”
Janice’s brow furrowed and she looked ill at ease, out of place, and sort of gritchy at the same time. But I had spent enough time around my sister-in-law for the first time in our lives that I actually had an idea of what she was feeling. I groaned, and then extended my arm.
Janice’s militant eyes went wide, then the next thing I knew she dashed across the room and climbed up on the other side of Savannah. I’m not making this up.
“I’m sorry about the baby,” Janice whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “I feel responsible.”
Savannah scooted over more to make room. “Of course you’re not responsible, Janice. Just inventive.”
The three of us laughed until the door pushed open again. This time Morgan walked in.
Unlike her mother, she didn’t look wistful. “God, could you guys be any weirder?”
Just in case I was wrong, I extended my arm to her. Savannah and Janice followed suit. Morgan backed up a pace. “No way. Though it does suck about the baby, Aunt Savannah.”
Savannah’s eyes got teary again and Morgan looked concerned. “Sorry. I’ll go. I just wanted to tell Mom that I went to pick up my gown and the saleslady said it was gone.”
“What?” we demanded.
Without warning, tears sprang into Morgan’s eyes, which she dashed at angrily. “Can you believe it? My dress. It’s gone.”
“But they just called and said it was here.”
“I know. And I went to the shop to pick it up like we said, but when I got there they couldn’t find it.”
The door opened again and my mother walked in.
“What in the world is going on here?” she demanded.
Ridgely and her granddaughter exchanged a pained glance.
“Don’t look at me,” Morgan told my mother. “They’re more your responsibility than mine.”
Savannah, Janice, and I burst out laughing again.
“Laugh all you like,” Mother snapped. “Though when you can spare a moment, Carlisle, you might want to have a look at this. Your Willow Creek debutantes have gotten their first newspaper headline.”
With a grimace, I rolled to a sitting position on the hospital bed and took the afternoon newspaper my mother extended. There on the front page of the Willow Creek Times Lifestyles Section:
NEW DEBS ARE A SIGHT WE’RE NOT SURE
YOU WANT TO SEE
The article that ran with it was less than complimentary to the girls, my mother, and myself.
Savannah and Janice read over my shoulder.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Janice snapped.
“Oh, dear,” Savannah said.
“Oh, dear, indeed,” Mother added. “I told you this would hurt the symphony, our family, and the debutantes. What do you plan to do about it? What brainchild are you going to come up with next?”
I hadn’t a clue.
“I’ll figure something out, Mother.”
“Fine. And in the meantime, do whatever it is you need to do to settle this case with Vincent. I have no intention of returning to that courtroom.”