15. Ansley Service to America
ansley: service to america
“THE HAND-PAINTED PUMPKINS ARE HERE!” Leah, my store manager, practically sang.
She was unpacking beautiful, delicate glass pumpkins in the prettiest shades of blue, pink, and white with gold stems. They were the perfect fall décor for our beachy homes, where, quite often, deep reds, burnt oranges, and marigolds didn’t quite go.
“Oh my goodness!” I said. “Leah, you were so right about these.”
One of Leah’s major talents was discovering independent makers on Instagram and Etsy and stocking their products in the store.
I loved it because we really were carrying one-of-a-kind pieces you could only find at Sloane Emerson—and we were supporting individuals who, quite often, were trying to get their start.
I’d become sort of a wholesale mentor to some of them, and it felt great to give back.
I knew what it was to be starting from scratch.
I had felt the fear. When you were on the other side of that, it was important to help the next one in line.
Keith walked in, thankfully, as I had been up for almost two hours and desperately needed my coffee.
I loved that he still wore the converted Coke crate with a guitar strap around his neck that Kyle had invented.
I was sure there was a newer-fangled item by which Keith could deliver coffee in the morning.
Keith stuck with the classic. “Peachtree spice for everyone!” he said.
He looked around. “Hey, where’s Sloane?”
I shrugged and looked down at my watch. “I don’t know. Maybe there was a snafu at drop-off or something?”
“Okay, well, I know how much she loves chocolate, so hers is actually a chocolate Peachtree spice with whole milk, just like she likes it.”
I scrunched my nose.
“Trust me,” he said, “think pumpkin muffin with chocolate chips.”
I took a sip of her drink and was surprised to find that he was right. “It is delicious. I want that tomorrow!” I said. “Except with unsweetened oat milk.” I had always hated regular milk, and I was so grateful that now it was fashionable to do so.
Leah said, “Fabulous as always, Keith! Thank you for your service to America!” Then she disappeared into the back room.
“Hey, Ans,” Keith said. “I sort of wanted to talk to you about something…”
I could not even begin to fathom what Keith, the good-time, usually high, super-handsome purveyor of the coffee of my wildest dreams, wanted to talk about.
“Okay.”
“Look, I know it’s none of my business, but I have to put my two cents in. I think our Peachtree docks really need to stay public.”
I could feel my brow knitting together. Of all the random things Keith had said, this was perhaps the most random. “Well, of course, Keith, so do I.”
He nodded. I was wondering if I should ask more questions, when the little bell on the door tinkled and Sloane entered, Mrs. McClasky hot on her heels.
Keith wordlessly handed Sloane her coffee as Mrs. McClasky was saying, “I’ve always thought this family had too much control in this town, but I never would have imagined this. ”
“Hold up,” I said. “What is going on here?”
“I’m assuming Mrs. McClasky wants to keep our docks public too,” Keith interjected.
“Mom, I have no idea what she is talking about. Apparently, the town is trying to sell the docks and people think Jack is involved,” Sloane filled in.
“Oh, you mean our commodore,” Mrs. McClasky said, “the one we elected to protect us? Yeah. We presume he’s involved.”
I put my hand up while simultaneously wondering what Jack planned to do about his commodore role from Chicago.
Although, it was only a two-year appointment, so I guessed his tenure was almost up.
“Mrs. McClasky, I haven’t even had my coffee yet.
Could you please take it down a notch? We’re all on the same team here.
And I literally have no idea what you are talking about.
Jack has definitely never mentioned selling the docks. He wouldn’t do that.”
She practically sneered. “Oh, he wouldn’t? Well, let me give you the four-one-one.” She put her hands to her hips. “Your husband and our town council decided in closed session to sell our beloved public docks to a private equity company.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what that means.” Although… I kind of did know. And, as much as I was Team Jack all the way… well, private equity was sort of his thing.
“They are going to come in and make our boardwalk and docks private. There will be a snow cone hut, rental pontoon boats, and”—she put her hand up as if the next part was too vile to even say—“our beloved no-wake zone is going to turn into a rental runway for not ten, not twenty, but thirty…” She paused and took a deep breath, practically shrieking, “Jet Skis!”
“Jet Skis!” I squealed back. Okay. I was officially freaking out now too. “Wait. Are you serious? Like, do you know this for sure?”
Keith said, “It’s the rumor going around town.”
“That just can’t be true… But, if it is, we have to stop this!” I said. “We are not turning our peaceful, historic downtown into a carnival attraction! My grandchildren swim in that no-wake zone. This cannot happen!”
Mrs. McClasky peered at me. “Huh. So you really didn’t know?”
“Yes,” I said, irritated. “This is a reaction of a woman in the know.”
I looked at Keith. “You need to go down to the town hall and flirt with Teresa and get her to tell you everything she knows.”
“Oh, I can go down there,” Mrs. McClasky said.
Sloane rolled her eyes. “Mrs. McClasky, you are way too worked up. And they aren’t going to tell you anything they decided in closed session. Everyone knows Teresa has the hots for Keith. He’s our only hope.”
He grinned and gave us a thumbs-up. He really was handsome. You couldn’t blame the girl.
“Sloane,” I said, “you go down to Peachtree Perk and chat up the retired men’s group.”
She pointed toward her protruding belly.
I laughed. “Don’t seduce them. They just love to spread gossip. They’ll be thrilled to tell a cute, young thing everything they know.
“Mrs. McClasky,” I said, “I’m not saying what you’re claiming isn’t true, but I know Jack better than anyone. He is passionate about our docks and waterway. He would never sell us out.”
She smiled like I was dumb. “Honey, I’ve heard his kickback is millions. People will do some crazy things for money.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Not Jack.”
Sloane nodded vigorously. “Jack would never,” she confirmed. “There must be some misunderstanding, and, more than that, there must be something we can do.”
Mrs. McClasky sighed. “Okay. Well, I’m going down to get some signs designed just in case we need to picket.”
“Oh! And yard signs!” Sloane said. “Keep Our Docks Public!”
I shook my head. “Y’all are getting ahead of yourselves. We don’t even know if this is true yet.” Even as I said it, I knew that, in most situations, where there was smoke, there was fire—especially in Peachtree Bluff.
“Ansley, you don’t wait until you’re heading into battle to prepare,” Mrs. McClasky said. Then she spun on her heels and was out the door.
I grimaced at Sloane, and she verbalized what I was thinking. “Are we on the same side as Mrs. McClasky?”
I nodded and put my arm around her. “Honey, I think we are. It’s a dark day in Peachtree Bluff.” I paused, trying to wrap my mind around this. “But there’s just no way this can be true. And certainly Jack didn’t know.”
“Can we call him?” Sloane asked. “If this is happening, for sure he’d know. I mean, I hate to say it, but they are right: He is the commodore. This can’t happen without him, right?”
My mind was racing. “But Jack doesn’t need money. I mean… He wouldn’t get more at the expense of the town.”
As I said that, finding out my husband, Carter, was dead flooded back, and, to add insult to injury, had just left us with nothing.
The house in New York had been mortgaged to the hilt, he had borrowed from his life insurance policies…
and I had had no idea about any of it. I had three daughters, no money, and what was maybe even worse, no idea who the man I was mourning had actually been.
Why hadn’t he talked to me? Why hadn’t he told me what was happening?
I could have helped. Had it not been for the house I’d inherited in Peachtree Bluff from my grandmother, I truly don’t know what we would have done.
But that wasn’t Jack’s fault. That was Carter.
Jack had never kept secrets from me… well, until now.
He hadn’t been forthcoming about going into business with John.
He hadn’t let me in on how much he missed work until recently.
Jack was on his way back to Chicago right now, somewhere in the air.
And my stomach gripped. What if none of that was true?
What if Jack had somehow lost everything and was trying to make up for it now?
What if he was embarrassed and didn’t want to tell me?
What if this was Carter all over again, history repeating?
Sloane tapped my forehead. “What’s going on in there?”
I shook my head, snapping myself out of this destructive—and ridiculous—train of thought. “I know better than anyone that men have secrets, but I truly don’t believe Jack would do this.”
“You look unsure, Mom.” Sloane crossed her arms. “What’s going on with y’all lately? You are the two most sickening lovebirds I know, and you can’t tell me the chemistry hasn’t been off.” She raised her eyebrows at me. “Are we okay? Is the business in trouble?”
I laughed. My little Sloane, my creative who couldn’t care less about anything material.
“The business is wonderful,” I said. Simply saying it out loud calmed my racing heart.
I had gotten myself and my children back on our feet.
I had helped build this empire. No matter what was going on with Jack, we were married.
Our fates were tied together. We were fine because my business was great.
So, even if something horrible had happened, he wouldn’t sell out the town to try to fix his finances.
He wouldn’t need to. Plus, we had two paid-for houses, and our expenses weren’t crazy.
I was upset with myself that I had even let my mind go there.
I sighed. “Don’t tell your sisters…”
She leaned in close and rubbed her hands together. “Yes! I love having intel they don’t!”
We both laughed.
“Jack wants to go into business with John. In Chicago.”
“Ew. Why?” Sloane scrunched her nose. “I mean, ew John. Chicago’s great.”
I squinted at her. “Chicago is great to visit.”
She gasped. “He wants you to move?” Her hands flew to her belly. “I am pregnant!”
“That’s what I said.” I squeezed her arm. “Don’t get upset. I’m sure nothing will even happen. I mean, it’s John. He’ll figure out a way to screw it up before we get that far.”
She laughed. But really, I wasn’t so sure this time. John was a screwup, but Jack wasn’t, I reminded myself. And he would never do anything to jeopardize our relationship and our future, which he had fought so hard for. And he would know that selling out my beloved town would do just that.
“Jack wouldn’t have anything to do with selling the docks,” I said again, out loud.
Sloane nodded. “Totally. And, I mean, I’m sure the fact that Port-of-Call Properties is the company trying to buy them doesn’t mean anything.”
For just a moment, the room felt like it was spinning. “Port-of-Call Properties,” I repeated. The company that had bought out Jack’s hot-dog business, the company where so much of our money was invested. The company that, if I had to guess, was backing Jack and John on their new beer venture.
Jack was a winning horse. Why wouldn’t they keep betting on him?
To Sloane, I said, “It’s a huge company. His past involvement with them could just be a coincidence. It doesn’t mean a thing.”
“You’re right,” she said. “It doesn’t mean a thing.”
As we turned toward the large picture window that looked out over the water, I think we both realized that, if we were wrong, it could mean quite a lot.
It could change everything we thought about the man who, after all these years, had finally taught us all to love again, had allowed us to trust. It’s amazing how love and trust take years and years to build—and only seconds to come crashing back down.