Emma, Mr. Knightley, And Chili-Slaw Dogs Part 11

"I saw Lauren standing with Frank at the Werlin's." His brows drew down at her words but she went on. "He's pretty tall. About your height, maybe a little taller. And she was wearing these high heels and looked him right in the eye." She crossed her arms over her chest, sure that she'd made her point. She was just a few inches shorter than he was right at the moment and it felt great to barely lift her eyes to meet his gaze.

"So?" His one-word responses were getting on her nerves, along with that guarded expression that meant he was thinking a lot of things he wasn't permitting himself to say.

"So, I'm tired of being short. I'm tired of-" she kicked off the heels and walked forward, bare feet padding against the carpet, and practically pressed her face into his chest in an exaggerated example of her short stature. "Tired of having to crane my neck to look men in the eye. Right now, I can barely see your expression. It's a total handicap."

In fact, all she could really see was his tie, knotted just so, the way he always did it. And the line of his jaw, dark even though he was freshly shaved. A pulse was jumping in his throat and his chest rose and fell as if he were trying to keep his temper. In fact, he looked just the way he did when they'd talked about Lauren that day up in her bedroom.

"You think I'm being petty, but Lauren Fairfax commands a certain respect and maybe it's the fact she's not a foot shorter than every man in the room." She stared up at him, daring him to disagree. She inhaled lightly, enjoying the familiar scent of his cologne. She'd never asked what it was called, but she could have picked it out of a hundred others. He wasn't even bothering to meet her eyes, but rather was staring out into the room. He'd moved his arms out to the sides as she'd walked into him and she turned her head just in time to see the open book on his palm begin to fall.

It landed with a soft thud against the Oriental carpet and she ducked to retrieve it. "You'll break the binding like that." Pressing it closed and inspecting for any damage, she went on. "It would be nice, however silly you think it looks, to be a little taller for the evening."

He turned toward the bookshelf, his back to her, saying nothing. He held out one hand and she gave him the Eliot to shelve. His voice was rough. "Our words have wings, but fly not where we would."

Caroline stepped back into her heels. "I always thought she stole that line from Homer. He was all about the 'winged words' in the Odyssey and then Eliot comes along with that line and everyone falls all over it."

Brooks seemed to be examining the shelf again. "I thought you liked George Eliot."

"I do. I think she was brilliant. But what does that line mean, anyway? Is it about influence? Writing? Distance?" She shrugged, wishing he would step away from the books and turn around.

"Maybe it means that sometimes what we say doesn't come across the way we mean it to." He finally turned, his lips turned up a bit at the corners. "I always liked 'nothing is so good as it seems beforehand'. I think that's the perfect Eliot quote for the moment we head off to a garden party."

"I never took you for the brooding type but you're getting that way in your old age. You surprise me." She gave him a playful punch on the arm and grimaced at the crack of her knuckles against his solid muscles.

He laughed out loud, but it sounded forced. "It happens, remember? You don't know everything about me. Let's go get this party over with. We're still keeping track of who is chatting up whom?"

"Well, of course! I can't wait to prove that men only look at beauty and women go for brains."

He sighed and held the door for her. "If only that were so."

"A sight for sore eyes! I thought that last party had convinced you to stay far, far away from Th.o.r.n.y Hollow this summer." Caroline swung the door open wider and grinned to see Brooks standing there, holding a pink cake box. Absalom wiggled beside him, wagging his tail furiously. She'd actually expected them a few days ago, but he must have been busy. He couldn't come running back home the minute cla.s.ses were out.

"No, it was a fairly run-of-the-mill torture session. Except for watching you wander around in those heels, it was boring, boring, boring."

"Well, I'm glad I was entertaining. What do you have there?"

"I knew you'd be happy to see this." He held up the cake box, the pale blue forget-me-nots printed on the lid announced this was no normal offering of baked goods.

"I would never refuse anything from Bravard's, come on in." She waved him inside and tucked her knitting under one arm. She reached down to give Absalom a nice, long welcome. Brooks sidled into the living room, and put the Bravard's box on the side table. He stuffed his hands in his pockets like he was out for a stroll. Absalom licked every inch of skin he could reach and when she was tired of dodging his frantic greeting, she stood up.

"Are those... knitting needles?" He c.o.c.ked his head, dimples showing.

"Knitting is all the rage right now." She waved her project, bright pink loops dangling crazily. "I'm trying to get good enough to make some mittens for Christmas. A pair for everyone. Better choose your color before all the good ones are taken."

"Mmm- hmmm. I can't say I've never minded the cold."

"Smarty pants. Did you drive down to check on your dad or are you meeting someone?" She gave Brooks the once over, loving every line of his well-dressed self. Nicely pressed tan suit, check. Freshly shaved, check. Smelling delicious, check and double check.

"Meeting someone?" he repeated, frowning.

"You look so nice." She picked up the box and playfully flipped his tie on her way past. "And this is new."

"Ever-changing tie fashion is a thorn in my side," he said, smoothing it down.

"My daddy wore ties from the 1960's all the way until the week he died. You don't have to be a slave to fashion." She tried to keep her voice steady but it wavered just a bit. So many good memories but it was still hard to talk about the little quirks and habits that made him dear to her. "Come on in the kitchen. And no need to be afraid of food poisoning, I was just making iced tea."

He hadn't answered her question and Mrs. Gray's ugly comments flashed through her mind. For just a moment she wondered if he had a date but wasn't telling her. Brooks wasn't a man to keep secrets; it's not what a gentleman did. If he loved a woman, he'd be proud to share it with the world. He was an open book.

"I was wondering when you'd be back in town. How long will it take you to pack?"

"I'm set for the summer." He leaned against the wall and smiled tightly. "I moved my essentials down yesterday. Feels like undergraduate days all over again, when I packed the car and came home every summer."

"Your woman friend is all moved in?"

He snorted. "Woman friend. That just sounds awful. But yes, we moved most of her things in yesterday. She didn't have much since she's a visiting professor from China."

Caroline imagined a graceful, long-haired beauty who could cook a five course meal of Asian delicacies. She glanced at his face, noting the line of his mouth and the wrinkle between his brows. She knew just what he was feeling. Trapped. Obligated. Doomed to a summer in Th.o.r.n.y Hollow.

She started to ask about his plans, but stopped. He probably didn't have much on the schedule except watching over his dad. Something inside wished he could be happier about spending the summer with her, but could see how giving up his life in Spartainville for a countrified summer filled him with dread.

Opening a plastic container of dog biscuits, she fed a few to Absalom. If they were going to have a treat, he should, too. She flipped open the cake box and grinned at the sight of a mud pie. Leaning forward, she inhaled deeply. "You're my hero."

His lips tilted up just a bit. "Always at your service."

She retrieved two china plates and a silver pie server. "You have to help me eat this. If you leave me alone with all this chocolate I might eat myself into a coma."

"Don't have to ask twice. I could smell it all the way here." He was looking more relaxed by the minute. Caroline glanced at him, wondering how to say what was on her mind.

She handed him a slice of the thick chocolate pie and he accepted it wordlessly. She took a bite, savoring the smooth chocolate on her tongue. She wanted to roll her eyes and groan but that would have been unseemly. She settled for a demure word that didn't come close to what she was thinking. "Nice."

He laughed, a sound that bounced off the kitchen walls. "Understatement of the year. I saw your face. I think you need to sit down before you pa.s.s out."

She plopped into one of the antique wood and cane chairs. "You know me so well." Absalom came to sit under her feet, watching her movements in the hope of a tasty crumb. She took another bite, enjoying every second of the experience. It occurred to her that she never brought Brooks gifts. He was always bringing her cakes and chili-slaw dogs and mud pies. She chewed slowly, thinking.

"What's wrong? You find a sh.e.l.l?"

She shook her head. Peanut sh.e.l.ls happened, but not in this slice. "I'm just wondering why you're the generous one and I just sit around, receiving your gifts like the Queen of England."

His brows went up and he shrugged. "Don't they say not to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

She snorted. "That saying means you're not supposed to find out how much your gift costs or you'll be sorry, right? I mean that you're the giver and I'm..." She paused. "Like a kid, getting presents every time her old uncle visits."

"Old uncle? You want me to take the pie back? Because I can, you know." His words were light but he looked uncomfortable.

"No!" She put the plate on the counter and came toward him. "I just feel like you're the real adult and I'm just some sort of wanna-be adult."

His eyes locked on hers, the lines of his mouth gone tight. He swallowed. "I don't think you're a wanna-be adult."

"Well, that's what I feel like. It's hard when the rest of the world views success as a good job and I'm unemployed at home." She knew she was pouting, but it was hard to stop. "I had lunch with Lexi Martinez, that girl from the Werlin's party. And I realized that if I could do everything over, I might do it all differently."

"As in?"

"I went to college because that's what I was supposed to do. I got a good job, because that's what I was supposed to do. Maybe I should have skipped college and just..." She waved her hands, lost for words, frustration spilling out. "Just traveled the world. Explored the country. Gotten drunk every New Year's Eve like the rest of the population instead of having half a gla.s.s of champagne because a full gla.s.s would have given me a headache the next day."

Brooks set his plate on the counter and held up both hands. "Wait, wait, I'm lost. You said you had lunch with Lexi Martinez and now you're having some sort of mid-life crisis?"

"That's just it!" She couldn't help how her voice went up an octave and a half. "Mid-life crises are for old people! I'm twenty seven and I feel like I took the wrong path somewhere. I need to turn around before it's too late."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Okay, take a deep breath and tell me again how this all started."

She laughed, a crazy sound that was closer to crying than laughing. Absalom lifted his head and let out a soft whine. "Lexi is an artist who is going to college to study accounting. I'm sick of women being pushed into jobs just because someone told them they should be cautious and logical. G.o.d doesn't want us to waste our talents. I don't want to see her make the same mistakes I made."

"But Finley, it's a totally different scenario. Lexi needs some sort of trade that will pay the bills. Accounting will give her the breathing s.p.a.ce to create her art, when she's ready. I didn't say anything at the party, but I donated the scholarship money that she won through the Th.o.r.n.y Hollow High School Honor Society. I think she's making the right choice."

Caroline stepped back, away from the warmth of his hands. "You- you set her up for a life of accounting?"

"I didn't know what she'd choose. But it's a scholarship for needy kids who will major in the applied sciences. Our town needs more careers that will support the economy here. You can't imagine what's happening, how kids are leaving school with useless degrees and twenty thousand in debt. They struggle to pay it off and end up worse than they started."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I told her to skip college and focus on her art."

His mouth fell open. "You didn't."

"I did and I'm not ashamed of it. I think she's telling her father in the next few days that she's going to refuse that scholarship. She needs to believe in herself and her unique G.o.d-given gift."

Brooks stepped toward her, eyes dark with fury. "Refuse the scholarship? Are you crazy? Her father runs a gas station, Caroline! This is her one chance to go to school and have a life that's a little better than her parents had."

"Maybe it's her one chance to follow her dream! Did you think of that?"

"If you want to talk about what G.o.d wants, let's ask ourselves if G.o.d would want Lexi to throw away a chance to support herself and her family." Absalom shuffled over and stood between them, leaning first against Brooks and then against Caroline.

"But she won't be happy. I don't want her to wake up at my age and realize she's spent the majority of her life serving pink lemonade."

Brooks let out a bark of laughter. He looked like he was doing everything he could to keep his temper. "No, Caroline, she won't be waking up and realizing that, because she's not you. She's not coddled and dressed up and introduced all over the county." He pointed to the pile of knotted yarn on the counter. "She won't be living at home, picking up projects and never finishing them. She'll be stocking cigarettes and pumping gas because someone told her to follow her dream."

"You're saying this as if you know the future. Well, I hate to break it to you but just because you're a professor, you don't have all the answers."

"Believe me, I know that." His voice was low, the anger resonating deep in every syllable. Absalom lifted his head, worried eyes looking from one to the other.

"All that time I spent on Etsy searching for Regency costumes taught me something. We don't live in a world where artists struggle just to eat. There are markets for everything now. I saw someone selling bottle cap necklaces for fifty dollars!"

"And some junk art for sale on the internet prompted you to tell a young girl to skip college."

"See, right there! You say 'junk art' because it's not something you make or buy. But other people do and will. She could put up her art and sell it, right now, without ever leaving her house."

"What a ridiculous plan." His anger radiated outward like heat waves. "As if college is all about the degree. It's about learning to live independently, to get along with other people, to see life beyond your own little town. You convince her to turn down this scholarship to sell her drawings on eBay and she may just never leave. She may be stuck in Th.o.r.n.y Hollow forever."

Caroline felt the words reverberate in her head. Forever. He sounded like the ultimate failure would be to live here. Like her. Absalom nudged her hand, giving a few tentative licks, as if to say he still loved her, no matter what. "The world has changed, Brooks. We don't have to spend four years learning something we don't enjoy, just to survive. And it's not all about eBay anymore. Artists have options."

"And who's going to help her set all this up? You? As far as I know, you're not particularly skilled at selling on the internet."

Her face went hot. She had no idea how a person went about starting an online business. But how hard could it be? "Of course I'll be helping her, but Frank might have work for her, too."

Brooks went quiet, eyes narrowing. "Frank said he'd give Lexi Martinez a job?"

"We talked about it." Not too much of an exaggeration. She'd started to talk to him about it and they would have figured out something concrete if Lauren hadn't shown up.

"I guess you and Frank can take responsibility for this train wreck of a plan, then." He looked like he was struggling to find words, but then just shrugged. "I have to go. Absalom, come."

The next moment they were gone and Caroline was staring at the empty doorway in the bright yellow kitchen.

"Well!" She grabbed her pie and thumped back in her chair. "If that doesn't beat all." Taking a bite, she chewed furiously, willing her heart rate to slow. She was so angry she couldn't even taste the dark chocolate.

Setting the plate on the counter, she paced the kitchen. It would work, it had to work. She would show Brooks that he wasn't always right about everything.

Footsteps came down the hallway and she knew it was him before he appeared in the doorway.

"I'm so glad you came back!" She felt utter relief slide through her. He was a man of faith and honor and she couldn't imagine life without Brooks' friendship. His quiet presence was the pillar, the anchor, the compa.s.s for her existence. "It's such a silly thing to argue about."

His face was tight with fury. "No, Caroline, it's not. I just came back to say that even if you and Frank take responsibility for this fiasco, it can never make up for what you've taken from Lexi. If she chooses to give up her education and it doesn't work out, no amount of cake baking or mitten knitting will fix it. She's not some project for you to start and then discard when it doesn't work out quite the way you want. She's a human being."

She stood there, speechless, throat squeezed closed. Then he was gone again, the kitchen echoing with his words.

"Pleasure in seeing dancing! - not I, indeed - I never look at it - I do not know who does. Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different."-Mr. Knightley

Chapter Fourteen.

"I'm not sure why I need to be involved in this part of the planning." Brooks slouched in his seat, legs outstretched and ankles crossed. Absalom sniffed the old barn in ever widening circles. Dust motes swirled in a shaft of sunlight and he tried not to inhale too deeply. He looked up at the rafters and watched the swallows and pigeons side-stepping their way across the thin beams. The place filled with ancient smells of horse and straw and stale beer from some other party.

"Because you're stuck in that room too much of the time. It's not healthy." Blanche wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead. The cornrows were gone but she was still a bit tan. Her sunflower yellow shirt clashed mightily with a bright red pair of capri pants, a black f.a.n.n.y pack the only concession to her age.

"I've got a deadline." He had been working on an article for Newsweek. If he were truly honest with himself, he'd been doing more brooding than writing. When his grandmother told him to get down to the old Wrigley barn off the highway, he didn't really have any choice about the matter.

"My friends will be here any moment so let's go check out the stage." She trotted across the wide plank floor to the front of the barn. Brooks followed, stepping over clumps of what he hoped were dried mud. A small stage had been built sometime in the last few decades and aside from the dust, it seemed st.u.r.dy enough.

"Can't you just see it?" Blanche clasped her hands together and looked out into the middle of the s.p.a.ce. "Couples in their finest party clothes, courting the way couples have courted for hundreds of years."

"How? With exposed cleavage and blatant mentions of wealth?"

She turned and glared. "No. Dancing. And not that writhing and grinding you young kids do now."

Brooks snorted. He wasn't young and he certainly wasn't writhing and grinding. To his grandmother, anybody under fifty was in the prime of life.