Chapter 27
Present Day
The day after Magnolia crashed the Exquisite Interiors shoot is a slog. I am running on sheer willpower as Hallie—who is now
fully recovered—and I watch the termite tent be erected around the Daniel House.
The yellow-and-red-striped monstrosity looks like a deranged circus tent, and I can’t help but feel like I belong inside it.
I’m going to have to walk the rest of the Exquisite Interiors audition process like a tightrope act with my aspirations on
one side and my mother and her opinions on the other, heckling me as my toes wrap the high wire.
Magnolia is so good at ruining things she doesn’t like, deconstructing them bit by bit over time. Remarkably persistent. All
I wanted was to see the audition through without her interference. Then at least the outcome would be based solely on our
work.
Still, I can’t dwell on the difficulties of having her in the loop; I will manage it, as I always do.
Hallie stunned the crowd last night as Little Red Riding Hood—even if she did look like she’d gotten a dose of lip fillers beforehand due to her continued reaction to the eggs. The trouper didn’t complain a bit, and we all cheered wildly as the curtain fell on the duck-lipped leading lady.
We, her family, haven’t always been well-behaved or on the same page about much, but our collective pride in Hallie is something
we can rely on. Around her is one of the few places every one of us can gather.
“You know a lot of kids get to have a beach day or a water balloon fight for the first day of summer break,” Hallie says,
crossing her arms and eyeing the fumigation tent.
“And how many of those kids will know the ins and outs of termite remediation before second grade?” I ask.
Hallie scoffs. “How much longer?”
I check my phone. “Maya said she’s on her way to take over. Then we can go.”
The termite guys were an hour late, and what I expected to be a short endeavor has engulfed most of the day.
“Can we at least order pizza for dinner?” Hallie asks.
“Sounds great.”
Hallie settles herself on the porch steps and pulls out a graphic novel about cartoon cats. Before long she’s smiling to herself,
and my guilt begins to recede.
My phone rings, and I pull it from my back pocket. It’s my mother, so I let it go to voicemail. I don’t have the energy for
her right now.
Once the call rings out, a text pings.
Good morning, Magnolia. I just left the Breakfast Benefit for Bruxism, and Dee told me all about Exquisite Interiors Television. She is a fan herself, and it seems several other ladies in attendance at our table enjoy it as well. I guess it’s not complete trash after all. Please call me.
My chest lifts slightly, and I pick up the phone and call.
“You got my message?” Magnolia asks.
“I sure did,” I say. “I’m glad Delta was better able to explain the show to you than I was.”
“Yes,” Magnolia says. “I misunderstood the variety of television, but I still have my doubts. I’ll need to supervise, as a
representative of the board.”
It’s probably as good as I’m going to get.
“I understand,” I say. “I follow the lead of the crew; they know what they’re doing.”
Magnolia huffs. “We’ll work it out as we go.”
I hurry off the phone before my mother tries to give me more grief on this issue, and it isn’t long before Maya shows up.
I give her a brief handoff on the project and ask that she request an invoice from the company. Hallie tugs at my arm as we
discuss some nuts and bolts regarding shooting with the network early next week.
By the time Hallie and I drive across the towering white bridge over the water to our home, I wouldn’t mind falling right
into bed.
“I’m starving,” Hallie says as she climbs out of the back seat. “When will the pizza be here?”
“Putting in the order now,” I say.
I hear the rushing sound of a child on wheels and whirl around to see Foster on his scooter whip up right behind us.
“Hey,” he says, skidding to a stop.
“Hey,” Hallie says. “Guess what? Yesterday my babysitter gave me eggs, and I almost blew up like a puffer fish.”
“Puffer fish are awesome,” Foster says. “Did you know they don’t have scales?”
“That’s so cool,” Hallie says. “Want to come play? We’re having pizza for dinner.”
“Oh, can I have some?” Foster asks. “I think my dad is making chicken from a recipe again, and he’s not very good at recipes.”
He pulls a face.
Hallie turns to me. “Yeah, Mom, can Foster join us?”
I know the battle very well of trying to find new and interesting dinner ideas with a decent amount of nutritional value.
I feel for Lincoln. “We’d love to have you, Foster,” I say.
“Maybe my dad can come too? He’s been a bit lonely recently,” Foster says.
I turn all the way around at the comment.
In theory it makes sense—newish city, single parent, new work most likely. But the man who left this sleepy beachside town
for the bright lights and promise of Big City Art, the one who found the success we both knew he was capable of, even if it
meant leaving me behind in the process, wasn’t one I’d ever expected to be lonely.
“Yes, of course. I’ll text him and see what he thinks,” I say.
I head inside and the kids follow. Foster closes the door behind him, removes his shoes, and sets them neatly beside the door,
while my daughter gallops like a wild mustang into the living room, muddy sneakers and all.
Lincoln replies immediately to my text, graciously and politely accepting my invitation.
“Hal?” I call into the living room. “I’m going to take a quick shower. You kids all good?”
“Yup,” she says. “We’re reading animal fact books, but can we have TV in a bit?”
“Sure thing, but only the approved shows.”
I wonder what Lincoln’s position is on screen time. There’s so much about him I don’t know anymore. Well, aside from his sweeping
professional success that I pretended for years I didn’t follow. It was so hard to hate him. I tried, and considering that
I am a woman who comes from a gene pool laced with stubbornness, my failure was surprising.
I remember one of his first write-ups and the casual shot of him perched on the arm of a chair. He looked like the same boy
from North Charleston—humble, hopeful, and whip-smart with a camera.
I was jealous for a while. How could I not be? He’d set out on his own and earned his success. He’d proven himself. Meanwhile,
here I was in my midthirties still crawling back to my mother for a project.
I crank on the shower, and once the water runs hot, I step in and let it wash away the grime of the day. Termites always give
me the ick.
An hour later, the four of us sit around my kitchen table, two pizza boxes lying open between us.
“You saved us tonight,” Lincoln says. “I realized just before you texted that I was missing several ingredients for our chicken
piccata.”
Foster presses his hands together and looks skyward in thanks for the reprieve.
Hallie giggles.
“Well, we had quite the exciting day ourselves, so I was certainly not cooking.”
Thank goodness the kids are here. They’re such a delightful buffer against difficult topics and digging up the past. Plus,
who doesn’t love to bat around fun animal facts?
“All right.” Hallie drops her crust onto her plate. “You almost done, Foster? I want to go outside before it gets too dark.”
Foster attacks his slice, gnawing it like a beaver. He swallows in a way that looks painful. “Yup. I’m done.”
The kids drop their plates by the sink and dash outside barefoot.
I drop my napkin onto my plate and fold my arms, smiling after them. I look over and catch Lincoln watching them the same
way. I take the last sip of my wine.
“I never in my wildest dreams expected you to be the one to move in next door,” I say. “But I was certainly hoping whoever
did would have a kid like Foster.”
Lincoln nods. “He calls Hallie his best friend. She’s made the transition almost seamless for him. She’s been so welcoming
and kind—not once has he sat alone at school or felt left out during recess.”
Mom-pride swells inside me. “I’m so glad. But to be fair, I don’t think a drop of it is charitable—she and Foster are just
on the same level. She digs the kid.”
Lincoln smiles, and as the dimple folds beside his mouth, I can’t help but remember how much I used to dig him too.
Lincoln stands and takes my plate. At the sink, he starts the water.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I say.
“It’s easy,” he says. “And far fewer dishes than I was looking at with my home chef attempt.”
I wander over to the island. “Thanks.”
Lincoln begins rinsing the dishes.
“So how’re you liking it back here so far? It’s a big change from New York,” I say.
“No kidding,” he says, slotting a plate into the dishwasher rack. “It’s different, but good. The house, for one, is massive. I was look ing for something in this school district, and none of the homes were small.”
“Yeah, when Grady and I bought this, I always thought we’d have more than one kid.” I realize once I’ve said it that I don’t
necessarily want to dissect my missing out on the children I wanted—and especially so with Lincoln.
“I’ve found that little in life seems to work out the way we think it will,” Lincoln says.
“Aside from your big, flashy career,” I say.
Lincoln grins. “Yes, that’s the one thing that went to plan.”
What I really want to know about are the other things that went wrong for him. Yes, because in some way it’ll make me feel
better to know he’s not as perfect as he looks right now. But also because something inside me tugs at me, keen to know the
parts of his life that’ve happened since he left.
“So will Foster’s mother be visiting much?” I ask. “Hopefully you have a better situation with your ex than I do.”
Lincoln shuts off the water and closes the dishwasher.
“She and I were a flash in the pan—not really an ex situation like you’ve got on your hands. Foster was a most unexpected
gift, and enough to justify our paths crossing—or crashing together, more like—for a while.” Lincoln folds his arms. “I don’t
expect her to visit, even if it would be nice for Foster.”
My heart squeezes for the boy. I know intimately how it feels to be without a parent. “For what it’s worth, I’d do it over
again with Grady for the sake of having Hallie.”
“I’m sorry you ended up with him,” Lincoln says.
The way his eyes linger on me, it’s almost as if he’s asking if he’s responsible. If it’s a mess he made. And even though
I did try to blame it on him for years, I now know better.
“It was my own mistake. Following the Magnolia Plan like I couldn’t help but do,” I say. “I knew deep down he was her choice, so I made it into mine.”
I pull myself up from leaning on the counter and head to the window—to lay eyes on the kids, but also to put distance between
myself and this conversation. It’s starting to get dark.
Lincoln joins me, eyeing the yard. “Don’t be too hard on your younger self, Mack. You had it rough with the Dragon.”
I smile, but I keep looking out the window. I know if I look at him, certainly if he meets my eye, all bets are off. Maybe
I’ll gush about the past, about regrets, about him, and he doesn’t want to hear it. He is being kind, a good neighbor, Hallie’s
friend’s dad.
He doesn’t regret leaving; he got precisely what he wanted in New York.
I pull in a breath. “I’m going to call them in. It’s almost dark, and Hallie is a beast in the morning if she doesn’t get
enough sleep.”
“Good call,” Lincoln says. “And thank you—for dinner, but also for welcoming us, despite the way things ended.”
Woof. It was spoken.
All I can do is nod tightly and dash toward the front door. I yank it open and call out into the dusk, “Kids! It’s time to
come in!”