Emma, Mr. Knightley, And Chili-Slaw Dogs Part 6

Chapter Eight.

Brooks stayed silent, but he'd be sure to bring up this little conversation in the car. Caroline had no business encouraging a kid to focus on something that wouldn't pay the rent. Lexi might even be the first person in her family to go to college. Majoring in art wouldn't do anybody any good, unless she was prepared for the lean years. And if her father owned that little gas station on Sixth Street then she didn't have a built-in financial cushion. Accounting would give her the s.p.a.ce to support her artistic dreams, but Caroline was acting as if it would be the death of all Lexi held dear.

He let out a slow breath. Caroline was compa.s.sionate and loved to encourage others, which he loved about her, but sometimes her advice wasn't particularly realistic. She was coming from a wealthy background and it colored her reality with possibilities, where others had none. Lexi Martinez deserved a clear picture of what a major in art would entail, especially financially. There was a reason 'starving artist' was a popular phrase.

As soon as Lexi moved toward another group, he opened his mouth to remind Caroline of it. "I don't believe that's the best course-"

Debbie Mae interrupted with a whisper. "Did you two see Lauren Fairfield? I remember her when she was in sixth grade and spent the summer here. Boy, has she changed or what?"

Caroline frowned. "I don't think I've ever met her."

"Of course you have! Remember the pool party for my twelfth birthday? She was the one who wore jean cut off shorts and a T-shirt instead of a swimsuit. We all thought she was hiding some kind of skin rash."

"Wait, the girl with the big teeth?" Her eyes widened in recognition. "But she had crazy hair, all wiry like she'd been electrocuted."

"Straighteners, I'm sure." Debbie Mae nodded. "But talk about a transformation. I think her parents were in the middle of a really bitter divorce and she had to stay with her grandma for a while."

"That age is rough, but to be shipped off to your grandmother's house and stay in a little place like Th.o.r.n.y Hollow..." Her voice trailed off. Brooks could tell she was lost in thought.

"I'm sure you all took her mind off her troubles." As if anything could truly help an emotional crisis like divorce in the family, but still. Friends and sunshine were good medicine. His own parents' constant bickering faded away when he spent time with his brother, fishing for catfish in the creek, even when it was so shallow there was hardly a minnow.

"I'm not so sure about that." Caroline chewed her lip. "I left her alone because I thought she was weird."

He wanted to say it didn't matter, not to worry. But it did matter, especially to some young kid who was forced to spend the summer in a town where she knew no one. Caroline was gracious and kind, but she didn't waste a lot of time on people who she figured wouldn't return her friendship. That summer probably didn't stand out as the happiest in Lauren's memory, and the fact that Caroline didn't even remember her said that the two had never become friends.

She went on. "Funny, every time Mrs. Reynolds has bragged on her, I've wanted to plug my ears. It seemed so over the top. Every tiny achievement was shouted to the high heavens. But I see how she'd be proud of her, going through such a rough time and not carrying it around like a shield."

"I think she enjoyed meeting our Brooks," Debbie Mae said. She winked at him, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"And I equaled her in that enjoyment." He pretended not to understand her very pointed comment. "I admire anyone who can take the love for her home and bring it to the attention of the world. We need more people like Lauren Fairfield."

"Perhaps her love for Th.o.r.n.y Hollow has taken on some particular interest tonight." Debbie Mae was giggling now, her hand covering her mouth. They were nearly at the far end of the atrium. The wall was broken up into six pairs of elegant French doors, opening onto an enormous deck that wrapped its way around the back of the mansion. Brooks moved slightly ahead to hold the door.

"Oh, you don't think that Brooks is interested in her. He was just being polite." Caroline shot her a glance. "And acting like a man. Men can't resist a beautiful woman."

He stopped, his hand on the edge of the door frame. "Oh, are we playing matchmaker or just bashing men? You can't have it both ways. It's bad enough that Mrs. Gray is setting me up with Marion Birdsong, but now you're accusing me ogling any available females within a ten miles radius."

Debbie Mae gave him a pat as she stepped through the door. "Not at all. I just know a good prospect when I see one."

"Do you mean Brooks or Lauren?" Caroline followed her through, brows drawn down. He smelled the vanilla-violet scent and inhaled, wondering for the tenth time why it seemed so familiar.

"Both. I think they'd be perfect together. Just the right height, matching temperaments, and both value our town's history." Debbie Mae scanned the crowd. "There, she's just a few feet from that Frank guy."

Brooks snorted and raised an eyebrow at Caroline. That 'Frank guy' was annoying as all get out and if it meant he had to miss out on more of Lauren's company just to avoid him, then so be it. And valuing a town's history seemed a bit of a stretch for picking out a marriage partner.

"She would never date someone like me, even if I asked her out. And I can a.s.sure you I have no intention of that." It should have been a natural inclination, but for some reason it hadn't even crossed his mind. Probably that equally natural and equally powerful urge to avoid marriage at all costs.

Debbie Mae rolled her eyes at him. "Well, you don't have a big head about being a professor, that's for sure. But it's a little-known truth that women just love the nerdy men."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear you call me nerdy. And I have to differ on what women love. Caroline and I were just discussing how women always go for the richest guy around."

"I said no such thing!" Caroline whirled, hands on hips. "Don't believe him, Debbie Mae. We were on opposite sides of that discussion."

She shrugged. "There's a little truth in that, I think. And if anyone would know, it'd be Brooks. He's probably had half the female population of this state chase him just because of Badewood."

"Not quite half." He kept his tone light, but it got old, real fast. Being attractive because your family owned the largest estate in the area wasn't anything to brag about.

"You'd much rather be admired for your brain." Caroline shot him a sly glance. She knew exactly what made him feel good, because she was just the same. He let her comment pa.s.s with a smile. The truth was that academia was uglier and more like junior high than most people could ever imagine. He was lucky that his department was relatively normal, but he'd seen pettiness that would make first graders seem mature.

"So, am I your new project? Have you got a list that has 'finding Brooks a wife' right at the top?" he asked.

"Maybe we should make that list. What do you say, Caroline?" Debbie Mae ticked off her fingers one by one. "Redecorate living room. Plant perennials. Find Brooks a wife."

Caroline crossed her arms over her chest and gazed out at the group of guests milling around the cedar wood deck. It was definitely large enough to hold a wedding party. White-gloved waiters trotted around with heavily laden trays of champagne and cold drinks. He hadn't thought of finding her something else to drink after she had finished her first gla.s.s of punch. He felt heat creep up his neck in embarra.s.sment. Some date he was, failing to fulfill his 'hunter-gatherer' party role.

"I would never." She turned, giving him a grin. "You'd be stuck following your wife around and would never get to come hang out with us. Married men don't get to keep their women friends, especially not the single ones. I'd be all alone at every party, hemmed in by Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Kropp and listening to Dr. Stroud describe amputation techniques."

"You're denying me the joy of holy matrimony out of sheer selfishness?"

"Absolutely." She linked an arm through his and pulled him toward the middle of the deck, where Mrs. Werlin was unveiling the raised barbeque pits. "I don't want you to marry anybody, no matter how much they love this town." Her tone was teasing and she laughed up at him, blue eyes reflecting the flickers of the outdoor torches.

Brooks opened his mouth to respond, but found nothing to say. He couldn't imagine choosing a wife over a friend like Caroline. A loud, forced sort of laugh floated over the crowd and he watched Caroline turn her head in response. He loved the long curve of her neck, the elegant arch of her brow. There wasn't a more beautiful woman at the party, but Caroline didn't know it. Her utter lack of ego made her all the more attractive.

"Fine, let's forget about the elusive wife for a moment and talk about that party I'm having." Debbie Mae nudged Caroline, as if reminding her to say her piece.

"Whatever party this is, you'll have to wait until after finals. I'm booked solid."

Caroline bit her lip. "So, that's a yes? We just tell you when and you'll be there?"

"Sure. You two can paint your toenails while Manning and I work on that old Civil War cannon he bought."

Debbie Mae smiled. "Excellent. That's not what we had in mind but we'll talk specifics later."

Another loud laugh caught his ear. It was Frank, at the edge of a group, working another a.s.sembly of pretty, sophisticated young women. Flashes of jewelry, the swirl of fabric, the gleam of wide, white smiles surrounded him like sacrificial offerings to a G.o.d. The guests on the deck seemed to turning their attention in his general direction, falling under his spell.

"He's got such a great sense of humor," Caroline observed. She seemed captivated by the scene, her body leaning forward, as if wishing she, too, were part of the inner circle of Frank's adoring tribe.

Brooks grimaced at the feeling of ice melting slowly in his gut. Caroline may not want him to marry, but that didn't mean she wouldn't make that choice for herself. A vision flashed before his eyes: Caroline and Frank, walking arm in arm through the atrium, guests of honor, laughing in unison, a beautiful couple that everyone would admire. This would be the perfect place for a wedding because they had met here, for the very first time. The vision shifted and Caroline was wearing a simple, elegant gown of white silk. Her blonde hair piled carelessly in wavy curls, strings of pearls at her throat. The dream Caroline turned to Frank, eyes bright with newlywed joy as she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

He swallowed, surprised at the wave of jealousy. If she was happy, he would be happy. A friend would never stand in the way of another's happiness. Then why was he sick at the thought of it?

The answer was creeping at the edges of his heart but he pushed it away. Sucking in a deep breath, he argued some logic into his foggy brain. He was having an off night, nothing more. His father was struggling with his grief, and Brooks didn't know how to help. He had missed an important meeting on Friday and was going to have to run to catch up. It was almost the beginning of the fall term and he was already behind.

Debbie Mae was chattering in the background and Brooks let himself relax into the sound. He needed some rest, maybe a bit of fishing. Everything would make sense in the morning.

He said those words, again and again to himself, but there was a hard rock of unease that did not budge. All he had to do was glance at Caroline and all his explanations crumbled away. Deep down he knew that no amount of vacation would fix what was happening to their friendship.

"Yes. But what shall I say? Dear Miss Wodehouse, do advise me."-Miss Smith

Chapter Nine.

Caroline closed the last page of Lexi's enormous sketch book and held it on her lap. The images swam before her eyes. Unique, vibrant, and touching, the art was stunning. "I know we barely met the other evening at the party, but you've really stayed in my mind. I'm glad you called."

Lexi's cheeks turned pink and she brushed her dark curly hair back from her forehead. "It's real nice to get away from the gas station once in a while. My day is normally all about frying up the gizzards and wings, then stocking the fruit pies before the lunch crowd hits. Every now and then I have to shoo someone out of the bathroom when they take too long, but mostly it's just cleaning up the soda machine and making sure people don't park at the pump."

"How did you find time to do all this work?" Caroline gestured to the sketchbook. "You must never sleep."

"Oh, it gets quiet right around ten in the morning." She glanced at her nails, scratching off the sparkly blue polish from one thumb. "At least I have the summer to spend on my art. I'm not even going to bring my supplies when I leave for Ole Miss. It would be too tempting to spend all my time sketching instead of studying."

Caroline felt her eyes go wide. "Don't you think that's a little drastic? You can't study all the time, you know."

"But, don't you think it's better to focus?" Lexi's brown eyes were shadowed with doubt. "I just figured it was the right thing to do."

"You mean that you're not going to draw, at all, ever?" She sat back, stunned.

"It sounds awful, I admit it." She dropped her head in her hands. "But my dad worked so hard and saved for years for me to go to college. I can't disappoint him by not giving it everything I've got."

Caroline shook her head, feeling like she was missing a step in the logic of the conversation. "I don't see how denying your true self will make studying go any better."

"My true self?" Lexi stared up at the leaves shaking in the light breeze. "I- I never quite thought of it that way."

"You told me yourself that you were an artist! Isn't it your calling, your G.o.d-given purpose?"

She frowned, brows coming together. "Finding your calling sounds like something rich people worry about." She glanced at Caroline and shrugged. "Sorry. I'm not trying to be rude."

"No worries. I can see how you've been brought up to focus on being useful or having a trade that will support your family." She grasped her hand. "Lexi, true artists are so hard to find. I don't want to see you give up your gift because you're supposed to earn a living wage."

"But what do you think I should do?" Her brown eyes were wide, confusion in every line of her face.

"You need to follow your heart. G.o.d's given you a gift and you shouldn't squander it in accounting cla.s.ses."

"I've already registered. I've accepted the scholarships. I don't know how to back out now."

"I don't want to tell you what to do, but if you're not sure, then you need to think about this plan. You don't want to wake up forty years from now, hating your life because you compromised your art."

"Please, do tell me what to do!" Lexi blinked back tears. "It's just me and my dad. I don't have anyone who cares enough to give me advice. The guidance counselor at school gave me fast food applications instead of college applications."

Caroline winced. Lexi had made it this far on her own wits and talent. She needed someone to guide her, someone who had been through college and knew the value of a degree.

"I'm sure there's a way to make it work. The first step is to talk with your father. Let him know how you really feel."

"Oh." Lexi stared at the sidewalk, tapping the toes of one foot, her bright red toenails like berries against her tan skin. "I guess I should."

"Wonderful! I'm so glad you're taking your talent seriously. And I talked to Frank Keene the other day, the one who owns that small publishing house. We're going to lunch on Monday. Do you want me to ask him if there's an opening for something like you? I'd be more than happy to do that."

"Really? I can't imagine earning money with my art. I mean, even earning enough to pay the bills would be wonderful."

"Why not? You're amazing! You've got to fight for your gift, Lexi." She gripped her hand, willing the young girl to see the truth.

She took a shuddering breath and straightened up. "You're so right. I'm going to tell my father tonight that I want to change majors."

Caroline felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "Perfect. And call me right away to tell me how it went."

Lexi nodded, her face pale but determined. Caroline knew it would be hard to change tracks, but it was better than changing course years from now. She felt like she had done some real good, helped in a truly tangible way for the first time since she returned home.

"There's no way on G.o.d's green earth that I'm dressing up like Mr. Darcy." Brooks stretched out on Caroline's bed, hanging his tan suede wingtips off the edge and crossing his ankles. He laced his fingers behind his head and looked infuriatingly cool and relaxed.

"Not Mr. Darcy. That's the guy from Pride and Prejudice. You're supposed to come as Mr. Knightley." Absalom rushed to give Caroline a quick lick and receive a week's worth of scratches. He sniffed the carved claw foot of her desk and she shooed him away. She loved the dog but if he took so much as a nibble of her great-grandmother's Victorian drop-front secretary desk, there would be trouble.

Brooks snapped his fingers. The golden retriever hung his head in a reasonably good imitation of canine depression and shuffled off to settle on the carpet beside Brooks.

"Whoever. I'll come to the party but I'm not playing dress up." His usual combination of khakis, b.u.t.ton up blue Oxford shirt and a subdued tie signaled he'd just driven down from Spartainville. He still looked like a college professor, clean shaven and tie on straight, but that stubborn expression was all Brooks.

Caroline flipped to another page in the Etsy site and pointed to a deep blue morning coat. "See how handsome this is? You always complain about tuxes. This as far from a tux as you can get."

"No."

One word, calmly spoken and Caroline felt her blood pressure rise. "Why can't you just play along?"

"Explain to me again why you're throwing this party?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Because Frank will come and be adorably wonderful in his Mr. Darcy suit and you two can dance the night away?"

Caroline's mouth dropped open but no words occurred to her for a moment. She couldn't exactly say why she was determined to throw this party, until Debbie Mae felt like she could share her pain with the rest of their friends. But somehow she had to make it happen. "Yes, I invited Frank and he very graciously agreed do everything he could to make his role as authentic as possible."

"Whoo-hoo for Frank." Brooks dropped his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. The lines around his mouth had gone tight. His blue eyes studied the ornate medallion in the high ceiling as if it carried a secret message.

She let out a huff of air and went back to scrolling through the internet pages, unseeing. Her laptop was at a slightly awkward angle on the dropdown shelf that was meant for a single piece of writing paper and a fountain pen. Her mother complained the entire bedroom set was dark, depressing, and outlandishly dramatic but Caroline loved the look of the scrolling and the dropped finials. The high, arched headboard sported a crest topped with a very detailed carved head. Although mother pointed out that no one knew the ident.i.ty of the boy with the feather in his cap and wondered how Caroline could sleep with it hanging over her at night, she loved to gaze at the serene face, imagining the woodcarver and the subject, hundreds of years ago.

Plus, it was built like a tank. Brooks had flopped onto her bed and it hadn't made as much as a squeak. Sure, the matching highboy and dresser tended to have a sticky drawer or two, especially in the humid summer months, but it spoke of the best kind of history to her.

She shifted, trying to focus on the screen. The chair was getting harder by the minute and her shorts felt sweaty and wrinkled from sitting for the last hour staring at Regency costumes. It was true, Brooks didn't have to come. But Debbie Mae really wanted him to see the movie and if Debbie Mae wanted it, Caroline was going to do her best to get him there. She had no idea what bait to use, and apparently appealing to a dormant love of Regency fashion wasn't going to work.

"Listen, I know you love a good party," Brooks said. He rubbed a hand over his face and sat up, planting his shoes firmly on the oriental carpet. Absalom raised his head, apparently wondering if the visit was over already.

He held up a hand at her snort of laughter. "I mean, a really good party. Not a bridge club meeting and pink lemonade party. And I'm sorry you don't get to go out more."