The Last Original Wife (33 page)

Harlan, seizing the übercrescendo of the night, showed us a picture he took on his phone.

“The redhead must've written on the little one, and the little one must've written on the redhead. But what's so funny is this!”

He enlarged the picture so we could see that
Kiss This!
was written on Lisette's backside, but Lisette had written
Kizz This!
on Cornelia's, spelling it wrong.

“I always said she was stupid,” I said.

“Oh, dear God,” Wes said. “Can you e-mail that to me?”

“Sure. It's probably already on Facebook. This town's too fast for me,” Harlan said. “I'm going home to put on my jammies and watch
Ozzie and Harriet
!”

Molly remained in her place, perfectly cool but laughing like crazy. Shawn didn't move, except to take Molly's hand. He was more upset than she was. The bridesmaids sprang from their seats and clustered around Molly, giggling like schoolgirls. The groomsmen waved their fists, making manly gestures of support for Shawn. There was no doubt in my mind that everyone at the head table knew every single detail of the Cornelia affair. And everyone in the ballroom watched in horror as Harold and Paolo, after what seemed like an hour, finally got the two wretches off the floor and led them, staggering and laughing, out and away.

“I'll bet their signing privileges are revoked now,” I said.

“Wow,” Wes said, “I gotta go see what's going on.” Wes followed Harold and Paolo outside.

It was so like Wes to run to the boys that I decided to run to my friend too.

“Let's go check on Danette,” I said.

Harlan and I found her standing near Charlotte and Holly.

“Can you believe?” she said to me. Danette wasn't smiling, but she wasn't hysterical either.

“No. Are you okay?”

“Les? It's merely confirmation of what I've always said. Hopefully, Harold and Paolo will choose more wisely the next time. Honest to God! And listen, Molly thinks the same thing. If she's not upset, I'm not. As long as Molly doesn't feel that her wedding was ruined, I surely don't either.”

“Amen, sister,” I said. “What did Nader say?”

“Nader? That devil? He said this is the best wedding he's ever been to.”

“It was certainly more exciting than having a tarot card reader,” Harlan said.

The band started playing again, and the music for the remainder of the evening was upbeat and easy. Harlan and I danced and danced, and I even did a few more walk arounds with Wes. We had decided many things, Wes and I. At long last he admitted he never should've been so secretive about our assets and that he should've been more generous with me. He even admitted that playing golf in Edinburgh was probably not a good call. But we both knew there had been way too many disappointments to ever patch things up between us.

“I've been such a fool, Les. I see that now.”

“We're all fools, Wesley. But forgiveness is what life's all about.”

“So you forgive me?”

“Yes, of course I do. If you forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“For wanting my own happiness to matter, for putting myself first now, for finding so much fault with you and the children.”

“But here's the thing, Les. You're right about it all. You were right about it all.”

 

Epilogue

L
ooking at houses can be very emotional, the whole business of trying to envision your life in someone else's space and how could you change it to make it work for you? After seeing a half dozen of them downtown, two in the Old Village of Mount Pleasant and at least ten on the islands, I was exhausted. I had even considered a house on Logan Street, the same street where Harlan and I grew up, but coming literally full circle did not appeal to me. I liked the concept much better that life moved in an upward spiral. Which place felt like it gave me the biggest spiritual boost? And, as this was a question of where I might like to spend the rest of my life, it also meant I was having the occasional passing thought about the end of my life, which I hoped would never come because I'd never been so happy.

“Take the cottage on Sullivans Island, the one with the Meyer lemon trees; then I can have a beach house!” Harlan said.

“Yes, you would,” I said and smiled, remembering the breezes and the gorgeous camellias in the yard. That house felt like home. “Okay, I'm putting in a bid.”

The three-bedroom cottage, with a tiny guesthouse, that was to be mine was located in a quiet part of the island, near the marsh, but next to the hustle of Atlanta, anywhere on the island would have seemed mighty quiet. I've heard it said before, that Sullivans Island actually
was
a magical kingdom that seemed thousands of miles away from the rest of the world. Downtown Charleston was the only other place I'd ever known that seemed to have the same kind of power, because when I was there, as when I was on the island, the rest of the world just seemed irrelevant. But maybe that was simply all about a sense of belonging. I belonged to Charleston and the island. I always had. I never belonged
to
Atlanta or
in
Atlanta. I wondered then if people from Atlanta felt the same way about other places, and I decided they probably did. In any case, I bought the old cedar cottage with the lemon trees and moved in after doing a little renovation.

Wes retired and was traveling all over the country playing golf with Harold and Paolo whenever his two buddies were able to shake themselves free of work and the Atlanta singles scene for old dudes. I shuddered to think what that might entail. To the best of my knowledge, Wes was not involved with anyone. Curiously, I hoped he'd find someone because Wes truly couldn't take care of himself very well. And I didn't like to think about him being alone. But he had Bertie, Charlotte, and Holly to keep him company, and perhaps that was why he wasn't anxious to meet anyone. This was the news from Charlotte, who was now seeing Harry Chen all the time, and she had sold two houses! Glory be! My fingers were triple crossed for her. And while we're on the subject of children, Bertie did indeed get the job at CNN in spite of his dreadlocks, was putting in some very long hours, and was deeply in love with Suzanne, according to my daughter. Bertie called me to tell me that love was
awesome
. Had he never loved anyone before? But rather than quiz him on his private life (as though boys tell their mothers anything anyway), I told him he was right. There was nothing more wonderful in all the world than love. Bertie and Suzanne had a trip planned to visit Nepal, and I wouldn't have been surprised if we got an announcement that it was going to be a honeymoon. However, far be it from me to predict
anything
because I never would have predicted the life I was living now.

And Jonathan? I wouldn't say we were inseparable, but he was my dearest and closest friend and the mere thought of losing him to California or anywhere would bring me to a weepy state, but the thought of getting married again made me short of breath. I loved him and I was in love with him, but the only aisle I was walking down was on a plane headed to Italy. However, we held hands everywhere we went and my coat? Honey, it glistened like a mink.

Jonathan's house was on the ocean side, and we were only a five-minute walk apart. Many nights we would meet at High Thyme, one of the island's restaurants we both loved. I'd scan the dining room and bar area looking for Barbies, but I never saw any like the ones I'd left behind. Oh, occasionally there were a few divorcées with a carefully calculated look of availability, ambition, and willingness (if you know what I mean), but if the men who frequented the island spots were potential sugar daddies you'd never know it to look at them. Their dress code was super low-key as was their extremely polite manner. Nobody seemed to need the big Benz to accentuate his reputation like Wes had. They all drove SUVs. It was probably assumed that my little Benz came in the nonexistent divorce settlement, which leads me to tell you that Wes lived up to his word and gave me half of everything, and we never went to the lawyers. And my Benz was more like some crazy act of defiance than anything else; inside of a year I'd probably sell it and buy something sensible like a BMW or a Maserati. Just kidding. I sort of wanted a Subaru.

It was almost Thanksgiving and Harlan and I were able to bring my little dog, DuBose, home from the breeder. If I tell you that DuBose was the sweetest creature I had ever known, it is the understatement of my whole story.

“He's just a black-and-white fluffy ball of love,” I said.

“There's nothing more fun than a puppy,” Harlan said. “But I have to remember to keep my shoes put away until I find out whether this little devil is a chewer. And I can't wait to see how Princess Jo likes her cousin.”

Well, she did not like DuBose one little bit. Miss Jo was so jealous, as if Harlan had cut her loyal heart to the quick, then into little pieces, and fed it to the chickens. So the arrangement that Harlan made with me to teach DuBose where to
do his business
lasted only a week. Suddenly, I had a puppy on my hands.

“He's paper trained,” Harlan said, handing him over to me. “Better than nothing.”

“I'll manage,” I said. “Are you going to be a good dog for me?”

DuBose became my shadow, and in a few days he understood that to go outside successfully brought him a little liver treat, but to use my house as a toilet brought a little scolding and no treat. Problem almost solved.

The children were not coming for Thanksgiving, and I was not going to Atlanta. Charlotte's Harry was on call and Suzanne had promised her father, Paolo, that she'd make a turkey for them. So that meant Bertie wasn't leaving either. Wes, Bertie, and Charlotte were planning to limp through the holiday by letting Whole Foods prepare the meal, and if that was good enough for them, it was certainly okay with me. Of course, it left me to wonder why I had cooked like a slave all those years if letting my grocer cater the meal would have sufficed. Anyway, it removed the awkward part, which would have been what to do about Jonathan? I wasn't ready to introduce Jonathan to them and I sure wasn't leaving Harlan alone.

My children promised to visit separately between Christmas and New Year's and I said that was fine with me. So I was making Thanksgiving dinner in my new house to baptize it with a holiday, and a holiday about gratitude seemed to be so perfectly matched to this time of my life. I wanted my walls to soak up the happiness we all felt just to be alive and together in that moment. I had all sorts of mums and pumpkins on the front porch and steps, a harvest wreath on the door, and best of all, Danette and Nader were fully ensconced in the guesthouse. Harlan, Nader, and Jonathan were cooking oysters on the Green Egg grill Harlan gave me as a housewarming present, and my turkey was stuffed and roasting in the oven. Danette and I were in the kitchen chopping rutabagas and beets and drinking glass after glass of iced tea. We laughed about the wedding, we laughed about old times, and we whispered secrets to each other like old friends do. We finally came together at the table at around five o'clock, when my little carriage clock chimed. We toasted each other and toasted the day and just as I was about to cut into my plate of food, the doorbell rang. I looked out the window to see a very small car parked in the yard.

“I'll get it,” I said, wondering who in the world was visiting unannounced on Thanksgiving.

It was Wesley.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course! Did you eat? What are you doing in Charleston?”

“I'm playing Mid Ocean in Bermuda and I thought I'd surprise you with a trip here . . . you got company?”

“It's Thanksgiving, Wes.”

Wes pushed past me and into the dining room. I could hear the sudden silence, and when I got there with Wes, Jonathan, Nader, and Harlan stood to shake his hand.

“Let's see here,” Wes said, pointing his finger. “Danette is with you, and that leaves Harlan and you.”

“I'm Jonathan Ray,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Wes said and then, “are you with Harlan?”

“I don't believe I even know you, sir,” Jonathan said.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Wes said to me.

I looked around the table and thought to myself just who did Wes think he was to make a scene in my house, grilling Jonathan as though he had the right to demand an answer from anyone? The audacity! Just barging in like he had!

“So what if he is, Wes?” I said and watched him start to puff up like a blowfish. “Wait! Yes, he is. Jonathan is my dear friend. We grew up together. And I love him.”

“You mean, you love him like what? A lover?”

“Yes, Wes, like that. Like a lover.” I was shaking all over, worried that he might start a fight or something.

Wes got very quiet, and then he looked me up and down as though he couldn't believe what I'd just told him.

“Wow. Okay, then.” He was very calm. “I guess I'll be seeing you, Leslie.”

He turned around on his heels, walked out of the door, got in his very cheap, minuscule rental car, and drove away. When I returned to the dining room, everyone stood and clapped. We ate and ate, and it was the best Thanksgiving ever.

Harlan raised his glass and said to Danette and Nader, “Almost, but not quite, as good as Molly's wedding.” And then he said to me, “Thank you for this
very
exciting day!” Then I saw him slip a bit of turkey to DuBose.

“Harlan! Don't feed him!”

“He'd starve if it wasn't for me!”

We all laughed, and Jonathan said, “I think it's time for coffee. Cognac anyone?”

“Definitely for me,” I said, “but no coffee.”

Two weeks later, I was on my way to Rome with Jonathan, but we stopped in Paris for two nights. When Wes left, I decided it was time for me to start really living the whole life I kept saying I wanted. We were having dinner at the top of the Eiffel Tower in the Restaurant Jules Verne. The views were spectacular, the atmosphere was so romantic, and the food was delicious.

After dinner we went up to the observation deck. I said I didn't want to go, it was freezing, that the views from the restaurant were enough to satisfy me. But he insisted we had to go outside to get the full effect. So I went. It
was
cold, and there were only a few people out there. But he'd been right to insist. You haven't seen the world until you've seen all of Paris sparkling in the cold air of a December night. Jonathan put his arm around me.

“I love you, you know,” he said.

“I love you too,” I said. “I'm going to miss you when you move.”

“I'm not going anywhere. My son has decided to move to Charleston and to take over my practice when I retire. Looks like you're stuck with me for a while.”

And then a wave of panic swept over me. Was he going to propose? Was that why he brought me here? Oh, please don't! I thought. I'm just not quite ready.

“I bought you an early Christmas gift,” he said.

“You did?” Oh, Lord!

He reached into his coat pocket and produced a long slender velvet box. It was not a ring. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Open it,” he said.

I did and inside was a beautiful gold Tank watch with diamonds around the face.

“Oh, Jonathan! It's beautiful! Here! Help me put it on!”

“You really like it?” He fastened it around my wrist.

“Are you serious? It's the prettiest thing I've ever owned!”

“It's too dark to read it out here, but it's engraved on the back.”

“What does it say?”

“It says, in little bitty letters,
Take your time. I love you. 12-25-12.
I bought it from Trisha at Croghan's.”

“Oh, it's so perfect you don't know.”

“Yes, I do. Now kiss me so we can go someplace to get warm!”

I kissed him in Paris at the top of the Eiffel Tower, I kissed him in front of the pyramid at the Louvre, I kissed him in the Tuileries, and I kissed him all over Italy, in a gondola and in one trattoria after another and even in St. Peter's Square, which was probably somewhat of a sacrilege, given the legality of our situation. But while I stood there with all the saints in history over our heads carved in marble in proximity (or not) to the bones of St. Peter, I thanked God for sending me Jonathan with all the fervency I had in me and then rationalized that since I wasn't a Catholic I might not go to hell. This made me giggle.

“What are you thinking about?” Jonathan said.

“Well, I was thinking that we'd better start lighting candles in all the churches to ask for forgiveness for our sinful souls or else we'd better get married.”

“How about June the eighth?” he said. “I was looking at a calendar last week and June the eighth seemed like a great time.”

“Sounds great. I always wanted to be a June bride.” I had actually said yes and so did he.

The day our divorce went through, I called Wes. Old Bear was pleasant and even wished me good luck, saying Jonathan seemed like a nice enough person. I told him I was grateful to him for all the years and for our children and for being so generous in the end, making it all go so smoothly. I knew he resented being replaced by anyone, who wouldn't? I told him part of me would always love him and that if he needed me, he should know I'd come to him, but I'd be bringing a doctor too. Then, in a moment that was so uncharacteristic for Wes, he told me he didn't blame me. He'd known when he barged into my house on Thanksgiving because he could see a kind of happiness on my face he'd never seen before.