35. Happy Hour III
When Caroline walks into the kitchen, the mood is festive. The only grouch is Henny, who resumes her growling at Gigi.
“I can’t keep blaming my cat,” Gigi says. “I think Henrietta has something against me.”
“Finish your pot!” Brooke says. “How could anyone have anything against you?”
Caroline has to admit, her mother’s matching-colors idea works. Dru-Ann is in white, Gigi is in black, Brooke is in white, and Tatum is in black and white.
The music is so good—Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car”—that Caroline catches both Tatum and Dru-Ann singing along together. We’ve gotta make a decision, leave tonight or live and die this way. Everyone is glowing from the sun. Brooke shows Dru-Ann her sunburned shoulders, and Gigi looks at pictures of Orion on Tatum’s phone.
Caroline gets some footage of the ladies singing and dancing to “Whatta Man.” Still no music from this century; maybe that will happen tomorrow.
Brooke says, “Caroline, would you take a group picture with my phone?
I’ll text it to everybody.”
Yes! Everyone loves this idea! But wait… the room comes to a standstill.
“Where’s Hollis?” Gigi says.
“I’ll get her,” Tatum says.
“No, I’ll get her,” Dru-Ann says.
Caroline watches the two women stare at each other. “I’ll get her,” she says. And she heads down the hall.
Before knocking, Caroline presses her ear to the door. She hears nothing.
There’s a stripe of light at the bottom. Her mother is in there. But something must be wrong. Hollis is always the first person ready. There’s no good reason why Hollis would miss even one minute of the cocktail hour. There
are only bad reasons.
Caroline raps with one knuckle. “Mama?” she says. There’s no answer.
Well, this is an interesting reversal. Caroline feels a sickening guilt. She has been awful to her mother. She has been narcissistic, sarcastic, mean.
Caroline isn’t the only one in the family who lost someone. Her mother lost her husband. And long ago, her mother lost her mother. Caroline’s mind is fresh with the vision of nine-year-old Hollis reading a poem she wrote for a dead woman she never knew, eighteen-year-old Hollis keeping the death of her mother a secret from even her closest friend. Is it any wonder her mother has spent all these years creating a picture-perfect life?
Caroline opens the door.
Hollis is sitting on the bench in her mom undies and her mom bra, her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Caroline says. “Mama, I’m sorry.”
Slowly, Hollis turns her head. Caroline is holding out her arms. “I’m sorry.
Mama, I’m sorry.” Caroline takes a breath to say more, but Hollis doesn’t need to hear more. She stands up and Caroline squeezes her around the middle, and Hollis thinks, This is enough. She has, finally, gotten her little girl back.
They stand in an embrace, rocking back and forth, until finally Caroline pulls away.
“Mom,” she says. “You have to get ready. They’re all waiting for you.”
A splash of cold water, some concealer. Hollis brushes her hair out, puts on lipstick, spritzes herself with Grand Soir.
Caroline makes Hollis’s entrance into the kitchen not awkward by gathering the ladies for a group photo. Where should they stand for optimal lighting and in what order? Hollis in the middle, Brooke says. Well, obviously. Should the onion dip be in the picture? No, Hollis took pictures of it earlier before it was ravaged; she’ll post those on the website when the weekend is over. Wineglasses? Sure, why not, let’s keep it real. Should they move over by the fireplace? Wait, why are they taking the picture inside when it’s such a glorious evening? They should be out on the deck! Gigi leads the way, she’s a long cool woman in a black dress that clings to her
figure and pools by her feet. The sun is just setting; the light is golden syrup.
Hollis plants her feet and extends her arms. She feels better, stronger.
Caroline thinks Tatum and Dru-Ann should be on one side, Brooke and Gigi on the other—that way it makes sense when other people are looking at it, the friends in chronological order. But Tatum and Dru-Ann gravitate to different sides of Hollis. Brooke goes with Dru-Ann, Gigi with Tatum.
“On the count of three,” Caroline says. She’s holding the camera over her head for the most flattering angle. Her mother is self-conscious about her chin. Gigi and Dru-Ann know to set one foot in front and pivot. Caroline takes a stream of pictures even before she says, “One… two… three!” and everyone smiles.
Cute, Caroline thinks. The song changes to “Good Vibrations” by Marky Mark and everyone swarms Caroline because they want to see the pictures!
Caroline pulls her mother aside. “I’m going to stay home and edit the footage I have. You ladies take pictures and videos at Nautilus and I’ll meet you at the Chicken Box later, I promise. Just text me when you’re leaving town.”
Caroline expects her mother to protest and maybe mention the twenty-five hundred dollars she’s being paid, but Hollis just smiles. “I will, sweetie.”
Caroline follows the ladies to the driveway and films them as they pile into the Bronco. Tatum sits up front, and Brooke is sandwiched between Gigi and Dru-Ann in the back. Hollis turns the key in the ignition. The song on the radio is “Believe” by Cher. Oh, boy. Caroline knows the ladies will be shout- singing Do you believe in life after love? into the salt-tinged evening air.
Once they’re all buckled in, they turn to wave goodbye to Caroline.
“Bye, ladies!” Caroline calls out. “Have so much fun!”
“We will!” they say.
And Caroline thinks, Right. How could they not?
