Dear Carolina (14 page)

THE ANSWERS

When you been gardenin' your whole life like me, you get this way of feeling right connected with your plants. Them little seedlings you loved and cared for, you want to know how they're doing real bad, but, even still, you've got enough sense to leave 'em be, not go digging them up to check or nothing.

When you was in New York and I was in Atlantic Beach, it was kinda the same way. I knew I weren't near being the momma you needed right then. But I felt like our hearts were connected with a real long string all the same.

But, Buddy. Well, the good Lord knows what we need even when we don't, and ain't no question He gave me Buddy right then to pull me outta the dark I been in. That situation, it was more awkward than a pimply-faced, too-tall girl at the middle school dance. But, somehow, we made it feel right near normal all the same.

We was just sitting at the porch table, all bundled up in our
coats, eatin' dinner, watching the water kiss the shore, the sunset dancing orange and pink in front of us. “Hey, Buddy?”

“Yeah, Jodi.”

“Do you think people can change?”

I ain't sure who I was asking about changing, anyway. Me, for sure. Momma, maybe. Maybe even Ricky. Damn if I didn't have this dream that he was gonna come back, turned as them fall leaves, begging to marry me, to make us the family we shoulda been.

“All I know is that a good many of us waste too much damn time wishin' people would change. We cain't do nothing but take 'em for how they are. Or not.”

All my life, I'd been hearing people whining and complaining over somebody they wish would change. I cain't tell you how many nights I had heard my friend Marlene say, “Well, Danny says he's gonna change. This time he ain't gonna run around on me.”

And guess what? Every time she let him back in that door it weren't no time before he was getting some on the side all over again. Wouldn't nothing be different with me and Ricky. He could say all he wanted that he would treat me better this time, stop drinking and spending our savings on lottery tickets. But there weren't no good way for me to know if he really would or could. And this time, with the jagged bottle and the crazy eyes, he'd scared me so bad it might not even matter if he changed. All in all, like Buddy said, why would I waste my time trying to figure it out?

Buddy looked down into his spaghetti long and hard like them noodles was gonna do a little dance to spell him an answer. When he looked back up at me his face was dern near as red as the sauce on the plate.

“I wasn't trying to say you couldn't change. I just meant that
drinking ain't who you are.” He wiped his mouth and, looking down again, said, “Who you are is amazing.”

Now, ain't nobody in my entire life ever said I was amazing. And it was just about the best feeling I ever had.

Buddy said, “But I know what it's like, wishing somebody would be different and then them disappointing you all over again.”

“You do?”

He shrugged. “Sure. I cain't tell you how many times I took my old girlfriend back. She'd get a better offer, run off, and then two weeks later when it all went south, she'd come crawling back.” Buddy squinted out at the settin' sun and took another bite. “But then I realized, all that unhappiness I was living with for so long, that's on me. Can't nobody make you any happier than you can your own self.” Then, like we'd been talking about it the whole time, he said, “I heard Graham telling somebody the other day that he and Khaki been trying real hard to have another youngen.”

I'm not sure if he saw me roll my eyes. But I surely did. And it hung there between us like that last organ chord in church that I should give my baby to Graham and Khaki 'cause they want one. And I ain't real sure what I want.

Then I felt kinda bad on account a' him being so nice to me and giving me such good answers to all my questions. So I said, “It's real nice a' you to take all this time to come down here with me. Ricky scared the pants offa me, and I don't know what I'd do if he found me all alone again.”

Buddy laughed, kinda devious like. “Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about Ricky no more. Rumor has it that Khaki's daddy put the fear of the Holy Trinity in him.”

My heart got all mushy and my eyes all weepy just thinkin' about a man so good he'd protect me like I's his own daughter. I
thought about my crazy momma and your sorry excuse for a daddy, feeling real sad that they were the only real family you got. Then I got to thinking about Graham and Khaki and their cozy, eating-dinner-together families. And that made me feel right good.

After dinner, I flipped through one of them magazines in the basket by the sofa. It was a
Town & Country
, all fresh and glossy, with a picture of a woman in pearls so big they looked like the whole damn oyster shell. Flipping through them pages, I hadn't never even heard of half the stuff or the places they was talking about like it was normal. And it mighta been the first time I realized that my life wasn't just hard. It was small.

Then I saw a picture that damn near made my heart stop. A family. A husband, wife, son, and daughter standing all proud and grinnin' in front of their farmhouse. They talked on and on about how nice it was to grow your own food and be raised with a place to roam and good, hard thinking time. I thought about the trailer and how your life would be one struggle after another after another. No daddy, a momma who could barely keep the lights on. Maybe even that free lunch card. I could love you all right. But that love wasn't gonna change you being a latchkey kid. Love wasn't gonna make it easier when your momma was gone all the time working two jobs and you was heating up your own macaroni and your back ain't been washed good in a week. Weren't no way around it: You'd get hard inside just like your momma.

I looked down at that smiling family on the page again, and I thought something I'd never thought in a million years I would. I wished you could be part of a family like that.

AFTER PICTURES

My favorite part of the design process is the very beginning. I adore putting pen to paper, my desk a mess with pictures and swatches and samples galore. That's the time I get to dream, to create, to imagine how something could be. But you can't bottle that feeling and that process, and you can't show it to anyone. So, instead, we share those “after” pictures with the world like they're the best part.

That's why releasing a new book of my work can become all-consuming; it's how I share my passion. When I was younger and worked harder, I traveled the country cramming in every interview and local TV show and signing I possibly could. Even if three people showed, I considered the day a victory. This time, I didn't think it was fair to drag Graham and Alex all over the country, so I had scheduled different appearances in different cities over months, not all in one swoop.

Usually, doing press in New York was my favorite part of the process, and I savored every second like a Ladurée macaron.
But this time, I was as impatient as a child who sees his dessert right out of the corner of his eye and doesn't want to wait for dinner to be over. I looked at my watch obsessively, even during interviews, and one time, I even caught myself saying, “Sorry, guys, we have to wrap. I have to get home to feed my little girl.”

Of course, you weren't mine.

Graham was keeping a close eye on me, sensing how attached I was becoming so quickly. When I burst into the apartment, that bottle inches from your mouth, and yelled, “No, no! I want to feed her,” he just sighed and handed you over.

When I insisted that we take you along in the baby seat when we went to dinner with Stacey and Joe, our best friends in New York, he shot me a warning: “Khaki . . .”

When we got back to the apartment and I said, “Isn't it amazing how your children can be so different from one another?” he crossed his arms, looked me in the eye, and said, “I will take her back to Kinston tomorrow if you don't stop this delusional behavior.”

I waved him away with my hand and gave you a kiss. It
was
amazing how different children could be, though. Alex barely slept more than a twenty-minute stretch his first year of life, and even getting him down for that took an hour. You would drift off anywhere, any time, any place like a narcoleptic old man. And, from the moment you were born, you babbled and chattered like a sorority girl during rush. Alex, on the other hand, didn't make one noise until he started piling out with full sentences. In fact, I was so worried about his lack of speech that I took him to the doctor to be assessed. He was sitting on top of the brown pleather doctor's table, wheeling his car across the white, crackly paper sheet. When the doctor burst into the room, it must have startled him because the car went sailing to the ground. He looked down and, much to my embarrassment, exclaimed, “Damn it!”

The doctor and I both laughed because what else is there to do,
really? I said, “I don't know where on earth he got that,” but I'm sure to this day our pediatrician thinks I have a truck driver's mouth.

He patted my shoulder, grabbed Alex's chart, and said, “Sounds to me like his vocabulary is developing fine.”

I laughed about that memory as I was walking down Fifth Avenue that chilly afternoon, daydreaming about the off possibility that maybe, just maybe, Jodi was having the same tug on her heart that I was. I knew that the chances were slim, but I was having such a wonderful time that I didn't let the thought get me down.

Getting to go out for fancy nights with the husband I loved and having two beautiful babies by my side was heaven. Plus, the book was selling out all over the place, and I was feeling swanky, sassy, and invincible sashaying around Bergdorf with my new crisp, leather Saint Laurent bag over my forearm. I was searching for Scott, my longtime personal shopper turned cherished friend, thinking that all these people glancing at me as I passed by must be admiring my innate chicness, when a voice from behind said, “Excuse me, ma'am.”

It was Scott. I squealed like I hadn't seen him in months and gave him a big kiss, even though we'd had dinner together the night before.

He put his hand on his hip, looking bored, and reached for the bottom of my bag. “Is this one of your new accessories?” he asked sarcastically. “Because I certainly didn't send it.”

I gasped and put my hand over my mouth. All day long I had been walking around thinking I was the finest thing since Limoges with a dirty diaper hanging off the bottom of my purse. I mean, really, you couldn't help but laugh.

I hugged Scott and said, “This is God's way of reminding me that I'm not nearly as fabulous as I think I am.”

Scott took my hand and pulled me toward the nook filled with gorgeous coffee table books. He, no doubt, had been the one to set up a massive display of my new release on top of the
stacks in the center island. He ran his finger across the cover and said, “You might not be quite as fabulous as you think you are, but you're pretty fab all the same.”

It made me feel a little better. He pointed to a book he had opened to a page with a picture of Mother, dressed to the nines in head-to-toe Chanel and dripping with jewels. “Now that,” he said, “is what fabulous is all about.”

I smiled. “Yup. That's my momma.”

Scott gasped. “You're pregnant!”

I gave him an annoyed look. “No, I'm not. But thanks for rubbing it in.”

He shook his head. “I swear you are. I knew before you even told me that you were having Alex. Don't push away my innate psychic wisdom so easily.”

Perhaps it was a scrambled signal. “I'm not pregnant,” I said again. “But you know how Graham and I have Carolina?”

Scott nodded.

“Graham is scolding me because I'm dying to adopt her.”

I told Scott about Jodi, and he said, “Franny, you can't just take someone's baby because you think you'd do a better job with her.”

I stood up straighter, trying to win my case, and said, “I didn't say I would do a better job with her. But you know sometimes how you can
feel
in your gut when something is right?”

“Speaking of,” he said, putting his fingers up to his lips to hide his smile, “I've been trying to wait until we were all together to tell you, but I can't hold it in one more minute.” He inhaled deeply. “Clive and I are finally doing it. We're getting married!”

I squealed, and we jumped up and down. Scott and Clive had been dating for years, and I always felt like, though they were a bit on-again, off-again, Clive was the only man who could settle Scott down. “Have you made any plans yet?” I asked, breathlessly. “Have you set a date?”

He nodded. “We didn't want to do anything crazy over-the-top, so we're going to get married with just our families and then have a big party at the Waldorf later on.”

I could feel tears coming to my eyes. I thought of your daddy and how happy I was with him. I was glad that Scott had found his other half too. “I'm sorry I won't get to see the wedding, but I'll be the first one on the dance floor.”

Scott looked confused. “Won't see the wedding? Of course you'll see the wedding.”

“I thought you said it was only family.”

And then he made me feel all over again like I hadn't spent the day walking around with a diaper stuck to my purse.

“Honey, you
are
family.”

I hugged him. “You'll have to find me something fabulous to wear,” I said.

He took my hand and led me to the elevator, saying, “This isn't for you, but I have to show you the most absurdly adorable thing I've ever seen for your new maybe daughter.”

I sighed. “She isn't going to be my daughter, so I have to get that thought out of my head. I know realistically no one is just going to give me their baby.”

Scott led me over to the display of Gucci bags, and I assumed it was because a new bag is always my celebration purchase for a big career move. But right in the middle was a double
G
monogrammed pint-sized purse with a pink pig face. I knew it was an absurd purchase. But it wasn't just a bag; it was my way of digging those trenches, preparing for that manna to fall right from heaven. I had to do it. Scott packaged it up, and that tiny Gucci Zoo bag hid, wrapped and waiting, underneath the bed in our New York apartment, waiting for Graham and me to have a daughter to claim it.