CHA PTE R 32
UR ROLE IN THE STARLIGHT Gala is fairly straightforward. We’llO bring the lobsters to the Whitfields’ six-car garage, where they will stay iced until they’re ready for the buffet.
We need eight people to crack them and delicately remove the tricky bits so that people can enjoy them without putting down their champagne. It’s behind the scenes, but it has to be done right. This year we have Rikki and his brother, Gus, Clay, their friend Sadie, my dad, and Christopher.
The Christopher thing was a bit of a battle. First convincing my dad that it was a good idea to bring him and then convincing Christopher that this was worth leaving the house for. I tried bribing him with chocolate eclairs. But it wasn’t until I was totally worn out that I told him I needed his help so that I could put on a pretty dress and go to the party.
That’s when he agreed.
“You deserve a party, Dolly,” he said. We were on the front porch, and I rested my head on his shoulder. “And I think you like him. I won’t tell anyone.”
I laughed. “I do like him, and you know what’s crazy? He
likes me too.”
“Everybody likes you, Dolly.”
I HELP MY dad pack up the truck and do a last-minute in-store tutorial for Gus, Clay, and Sadie on how to crack a lobster without cutting yourself. I hug Christopher and thank him for helping, and the look on his face makes me wonder why I haven’t been making him help all along. He seems bolstered by purpose. His tree can mind itself for a while.
I go home, shower, and put on the long white halter dress. The neckline perfectly frames my dahlia. I examine my face in the mirror, and now that I am in love, I am exactly light enough for this dress. I could ride sidesaddle away from the chapel in it, but the full skirt would allow me to throw a leg over and ride it astride if I wanted to. I don’t know why I didn’t see it when I was looking in the Wendell’s mirror, but this dress is exactly right for riding off into the sunset with a gentle man.
I stop by the garage at Eight Oaks before joining the party. Everything seems to be going fine, and the last of the lobster is being cracked. “Wow, Mom” is all Gus says when he sees me, but it’s plenty.
“She likes him,” says Christopher, who cannot keep a
secret.
Gus smiles at me.
The party is in full swing on the back lawn. Men are in jackets, no ties. Women are in dresses that catch the evening breeze; I like none of them as much as I like mine. There is a champagne tower, which is a thing I’ve only ever heard of, but which delights me in its playfulness and functionality. A man in a white caterer’s uniform hands me a glass and I take a sip. Bubbles tickle my nose. I don’t see Stewart or anyone that I know, so I just stand there next to the champagne tower and take it all in. The back of Eight Oaks is even more grand than the front, a fact that I run through my mother’s worldview and decide she would love. The abundance of
spending all that time and money on the part that strangers would never see. I have the unusually generous thought that I wish she was here to enjoy this with me.
Stewart is walking toward me in his light blue blazer and white linen pants, and my first thought is that we should be photographed together. We are in all ways an unexpectedly perfect match. He doesn’t slow when he gets to me, he just comes right in for a kiss. Soft and warm.
“You kiss in public now?” I ask.
“You are too beautiful not to kiss,” he says.
“You are too,” I say, taking an extra kiss.
“What do you think?” he asks, motioning to all of it.
“It’s amazing.” There’s a band warming up at the other side of the lawn at the edge of a big wooden dance floor.
There’s nothing like the excitement of musicians warming up, discordant notes that are going to come together and sweep you away.
Grant and Kendall make their way toward us and Stewart groans. Kendall is in a pillar of stripes like a roll of Life Savers and looks exquisite. “How are you two lovebirds ever going to leave the beach?” Grant asks with a laugh.
Stewart squeezes my hand. “We’ll manage,” he says.
“And it’s an easy weekend trip.”
“Unless the new CEO takes your helicopter privileges away,” Grant says, with a particular glint in his eye. Kendall gives him a swat.
“Good one,” Stewart says. This time I squeeze his hand.
The band starts with a nineties dance song that was in a movie I can’t remember the name of. Busy and Lilly appear out of nowhere and grab my hands. “Sister dance!” they say, and pull me toward the band. It’s slow motion for a second as I let myself be pulled and turn my head back to Stewart. He catches my eye and smiles. This feels like forever.
Busy is accustomed to getting the party started. People join us on the dance floor, and I am in a swirl of silk and chiffon, all the colors of the summer surround me. Busy dances with every part of her body and twirls me around and around. After a few songs, the band slows and starts a Van Morrison song. People disperse, and Stewart appears. He scoops me up with an arm around my waist and pulls me toward him.
“That was fun,” I say into his neck, catching my breath.
The dancing, being called a sister. All of it.
“This is fun,” he says, and pulls me closer. “Why haven’t
we danced before?”
“We’ve been busy,” I say.
“Terribly busy.” He smiles at me. “When we get back to Boston, let’s figure out where people dance. Or maybe we could just do this in your kitchen.”
“I love you in my kitchen,” I say. I hear it as soon as the words are out and rest my head on his shoulder to regroup. I meant I love being with you in my kitchen, but it sounded like I love you. I know I mean both.
Stewart pulls away and raises my chin with a finger so our eyes meet. “I love you in your kitchen too,” he says.
I laugh as he pulls me tighter. We’ve said it without saying it.
Toward the end of the song Stewart’s body changes. I know his heartbeat and the way his shoulders feel, both when tense and relaxed. He’s gone tense.
I look up at him and he’s staring over my shoulder.
“What?” I ask, turning around. He’s staring at Grant, who’s standing on the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed and smug. Henry is pushing through the crowd to get to us. Busy is following him, talking. Time slows, just a little bit, and there is a palpable energy shift. Something horrible has
happened, and my first thought is that it’s Christopher. All my instincts are screaming red alert. This was too much, too many people.What have I done?
Henry stops in front of us, fuming. He’s a bit out of breath and is too agitated for his happy yellow seersucker suit.
“What’s happening?” Stewart asks Busy. They lock eyes like people who have been navigating the same terrain forever.
“This is just unbelievable,” Henry says. “You. With a contract. And a call girl.”What have I done?
There’s a swarm of bees in my head. I don’t totally understand what’s happening, but I do know that this is the moment I’ll remember. This is where it’s all coming apart. I look down at the dance floor and catch sight of my gold shoes, a perfect match to my bag. Underneath all of this, I am just Dolly. But Stewart loves me, I remind myself. He would change the world for me.
Stewart steps toward his dad, away from me. “What? Did Grant tell you this?”
“Is it true?” Henry asks, as Grant makes his way toward us, so self-satisfied under his rich-guy hair.
Stewart doesn’t look at me. “Obviously she’s not a call girl. I can explain this. And I was doing it for the company.
Grant doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Grant pulls a folded stack of papers from inside his jacket. “Kinda think I do, Stewart. Funny that the combination to your briefcase is the same as Granddad’s. I love the psychic connection, very sweet.”
People are quiet around us, listening. I’m waiting for Stewart to turn to me to see if I’m okay. I’m waiting for him to meet my eyes so that I know this is a thing we’re going to get through together. But he doesn’t.
“Why were you in my briefcase?” Stewart asks.
“Dolly’s weird brother and I had a talk. About you two and a new roof on the house, and I got to wondering if money had changed hands. I mean, she’s not exactly your type.”
“He’s not weird,” I say, in a voice much stronger than I would have thought myself capable of right now. Soon Stewart is going to step up and defend us.
Henry shoots Grant a look. “I think, once again, you’re missing the important part. Why was there a contract to begin with? And the way you two have been carrying on.
Grant’s no saint, but you’re the one whose judgment is in question.”
“Grant is such an asshole,” Busy says, to fill the space.
Stewart doesn’t say any of the things I want him to say.
That he’s in love with me now. That it’s kind of a funny story.
He says, “I did it because of what happened with Audrey.
Because Mom’s so worried I wouldn’t make time for something like this.” He gestures to me without looking at me, like I’m “this.”
Grants wears a false look of concern, the look you’d give someone after you tripped them and were gallantly helping them up off the ground. “What a mess,” he says to all of us.
“Am I right?”
“You really broke into my briefcase,” Stewart says.
Grant shrugs. “At least I didn’t hire a woman to play house with. I’m thinking that’s not best practices? Uncle Henry, what would the board say?”
Henry ignores Grant and looks directly at Stewart.
“Unbelievably poor judgment. And you brought her out with clients.” He looks at me, disappointed, and walks away.
Grant follows him, and Stewart turns to me finally. He looks broken. He starts to say something but just shakes his head and leaves to follow them inside.
Everyone is watching me. Stewart walked away. He walked away.
“Grant is the absolute worst,” Busy says.
“Yes,” I say to the ground.
“Stewart cares about you,” she says. “You know that.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I take a breath and let it out. I run a hand over the gigantic skirt of my dress. I look up at her. “I know. Or I hope I know. But technically this is over after tonight. Can you help me get out of here?
Everyone’s staring.”
Busy leads me through the crowd, toward the house. I keep my eyes down, which makes me seem shameful. Even though I don’t want to, I am giving this crowd exactly what they want. We go into the kitchen, bustling with caterers,
and Gladys crosses the room to me.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Grant. I’m not sure,” I say. She puts her arms around me in the most tender hug—it’s the hug you’d give your child after their first big heartbreak.
She whispers in my ear, “You know what you know, Dolly.”
I pull away and meet her eyes. I nod my agreement, because of course. He’s just in a panic right now. This will be the new oft-repeated story to replace the skunk in the foyer.
We’ll all laugh and laugh. I follow Busy out through the bustling kitchen, and we leave through the delivery entrance.
This seems fitting for how this day is going. In through the grand double doors, out through the delivery entrance.
Outside, I touch my dahlia necklace, the thing, besides maybe Stewart, that I’d hoped to keep. If this is over, I don’t want to drag this out or engage in any kind of lengthy goodbye later, so I unclasp it and hold it out to Busy.
“Please,” she says. “Put that back on.”
“I can’t,” I say. “And I do think you’re right, that he cares about me. I am sure of it, actually, but I’ve been super wrong before. In case I’m wrong, I don’t want to have to do this later. He can give it back to me if…when—” My voice breaks and betrays the fact that I’m not as sure as I say I am.
Busy pulls me into her arms. I take in the baby powder and lavender smell of her. She has been so, so kind to me.
When we pull apart, I hold out the skirt of my dress. “If this doesn’t turn into rags at midnight, I’ll take the necklace back.” I smile at her because she’s the kindest person, but
she smiles back with worry in her eyes.
“Deal,” she says.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I say, but my voice wavers. “I’m just really surprised.” That he left me there in a crowd of people who think who knows what about me, I don’t say.
“This is his worst nightmare,” she says. “Screwing it up.”
“I know,” I say.
I make my way back out to the garage, where my family is tending to lobsters. I put my arms around Gus and squeeze him too tight.
“Your dress will get ruined out here,” my dad says. “Get back to your party.”
“It’s fine,” I say, grabbing a piece of lobster like I’m just here for a snack. I look out through the open garage doors, and Stewart is pacing on the gravel driveway. He must know I’m in here, because I’m not exactly subtly dressed. I consider waiting him out but that’s not what love is. Stewart is in a bad place and I’m the person he leans on. I can lean on him later.
I walk over to him and lead him by the arm to the side of the house. I squeeze his hand and he doesn’t react by pulling me into his arms. He doesn’t react at all.
“You okay?” I ask. He looks a little broken and it terrifies me.
“Sure,” he says, and looks up at the house.
We just stand there, silent. He’s not being quiet to get me to spill my guts; he’s being quiet because he doesn’t want to talk about what’s upsetting him. It’s a new kind of silence and it puts distance between us.
“Grant really plays dirty, huh?” And I laugh a bit, a jagged little laugh, just to highlight how absurd it all is.
“This is a mess,” he says. “It could all end up in Grant’s hands now. A new legacy of strip malls.”
“Would that be so bad?” I ask.
He pulls his head back as if to survey me for the first time. “Yes,” he says. “It would be.”
“What does this mean?” I feel like I’m about to jump off a cliff. But I ask anyway. “For us.”
We’re fine, I love you. He looks at me, and he does not say those words.
“I don’t know,” he says. His eyes are not latching on to mine the way they did in the herb garden or in the helicopter or fifteen minutes ago. I know Stewart now, and I wish I didn’t. I wish I couldn’t tell that he’s pulling away.
“So what does that mean, exactly?” I ask, my voice tight.
“Like, be super precise with your words.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs, tight- lipped. He’s the Tin Man again, like he flipped a switch. “I don’t know,” he says. How could he not know? My heart starts to burn. Heartburn, I think, an odd combination of words. Heart burn. My heart is burning because he doesn’t know.
“Got it,” I say to his perfectly shined shoes. And I really mean it. I have got it—I am in full possession of the big picture. I stand a little straighter and touch the place on my
neck where the dahlia used to be. “Let’s take a little time?”
My voice catches and I hate that I turned it into a question.
No, don’t go, Dolly. I love you. If you could wish words into existence, those would be the ones I’d choose.
Instead, he says, “Yeah, I’ve got to get back in there.
Emergency board call in the morning.” He looks away and then says to a spot just above my shoulder, “I’ll call when things settle down.” One thing that both of us know: things never settle down. He’ll call me never.
“Stewart,” I say, a whispered plea. He won’t meet my eyes.
“Sorry, yes. I’ll drop by with a check this week.”
The pressure on my chest is so sudden and intense that I almost can’t catch my breath. An eternity passes and I’m surviving, just barely, on tiny sips of air. I am reminded once again just how carelessly the Whitfields treat their precious things.
“You can mail it,” I say finally. I walk past him, past the rose garden and the perfectly cut lawn. Christopher is coming toward me, carrying more ice to the lobster table.
“Dolly?” Christopher says, and the sound of his voice snaps me back to reality. I am a person with four jobs and a kid and a load of unspecified responsibilities. I’m not a princess. This is not my fairy tale. “Are you going to cry?” he asks.
“Hey, buddy. No, I’m good.” I walk with him back toward the garage, where I should have been working tonight.I knew it is the only clear thought that’s coming to me right now. This was fun for a while, but Stewart Whitfield does not stay at the Comfort Inn. I knew it from the very beginning, then at some point there was a boat ride and a bouquet of herbs and that confident smile on my kid’s face, and I stopped wanting to know it.
