Chapter 24 Holly #2
“I get what you’re saying, but—as I think you know—I don’t exactly have a family, apart from Aidan,” I respond, deciding that honesty is the best approach. “So when I look at your family, and how big and boisterous and loving it seems to be, I honestly feel a little envious.”
We so often want what we don’t have.
“What happened to your family?” she asks, her voice gently breaking into my thoughts. “Why are you and Aidan all alone?”
“It was just me and my parents in Jackson,” I say.
“They kind of sucked as parents—all they ever cared about was appearances, looking like a good family, which, to them, meant a respectable family.” An image of my mother comes to mind, for the first time in many years.
She’s in the kitchen, polishing a silver chafing dish, the same one she gripped so tightly the last day I saw her.
“So, you didn’t want to live by their rules?” Luisa asks.
“It wasn’t exactly that straightforward,” I tell her. “When I got pregnant, they thought it was their decision what would happen next—the path that brought the least shame on them. We lived in a very conservative community.”
“You mean they wanted you to quietly get rid of the pregnancy.”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling in spite of myself. They wanted me to do everything quietly. I was always too loud, too attention-grabbing. “And so did Aidan’s father,” I tell her.
“But you didn’t want an abortion?” she asks. “Even though you knew you’d have to raise him alone?”
“I mean, I wasn’t really thinking about it on a philosophical level.
It’s just that…” I pause, trying to form the words that might explain how I decided to leave everything and everyone I knew.
“So, you know how people are always talking about ‘my body, my choice’?” I ask her.
“Well, I just watched as they all stood around determining what was best for me, as if I had no say. And I had this instinctive feeling—deep down in my gut—that I was meant to carry that pregnancy. It wasn’t about all people and all pregnancies.
It wasn’t a rational decision or a moral choice.
It was a sense, so profound, that I wanted to be Aidan’s mom,” I say.
“And I decided that if I was going to be a mom, I would try to be a good mom, which is why I left my family behind.”
Luisa looks at me, clearly puzzled.
“I felt like I couldn’t even begin to do that with them in my life, reminding me that I’d never amount to anything, that I was bringing shame on them and on Aidan’s father, just by existing.
So I told them I’d ‘take care of it,’ and I left.
” I look up at her, desperate to avoid the hurt of it all, but still forcing myself to say the words.
“Wanna know the last thing my mother told me before I walked out?” The image of her holding that damned chafing dish returns to my mind.
“She said that I couldn’t possibly raise a child.
I’d be incapable of keeping a job and I’d fail as a mother.
” I shrug. “And now here we are. I guess she was right. It’s a miracle that we’ve warded off disaster for this long. ”
My heart sinks into my gut, and I try to push away all the worry, the anxiety about what might be next for my little family.
“And that was the last time you saw them?” Luisa asks.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’ve only spoken to my parents once since I left Mississippi—to tell them I didn’t have an abortion, and they have a grandson.
” I feel the ache swelling in my chest, recalling that conversation.
“It was Aidan’s first birthday. I had made him chocolate cake from a box.
We were sitting together at the kitchen table, while he smeared icing all over his face.
” I smile, remembering those fat little cheeks.
“Byron and Justine had just left—they came over with streamers and silly hats, and we had an impromptu birthday party.” I recall the bright orange kitty-cat piano Justine gave him, which Aidan banged on incessantly—his first musical instrument.
“I was so outrageously happy,” I continue.
“I had this amazing kid—this precious, healthy, thriving son—and together we had pulled through the hardest year of my life.” I can still see Byron coming through the doorway of my apartment on that day, a gallon of ice cream in one hand and a carefully wrapped gift in the other, smiling like a proud uncle.
And Justine, looking goofy in the very best way, wearing that pointy blue paper hat, while she taped bright streamers to my rickety old ceiling fan.
“I realized that I didn’t need my parents,” I say, “but it seemed somehow cruel to keep Aidan a secret from them. So I called.”
“What did they say?” Luisa asks softly.
“Basically that I made a huge mistake, and they would have nothing to do with me or my son or the embarrassment he brought on our family,” I tell her, wanting to push away the sadness, but knowing that—even after all these years—it’s impossible.
“I told them I felt sorry for them, because they had no idea what they were missing.” I recall ending the conversation, my sweet boy babbling in the background, still stuffing fistfuls of cake into his mouth, while I exchanged those final words with my parents.
“And so,” I tell Luisa, “that was that.”
“You’re amazing, Holly,” Luisa says, her voice swelling with admiration. “You didn’t let them define you. You did what I want so badly to do—struck out on your own, courageous and independent.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” I reply.
What I wish I could explain is that the choice led me to exactly the opposite of independence.
It sent me into an intense and profound connection to another person—the kind of bond that never, ever allows me to make a decision for myself without concern about how it might affect Aidan.
And even though, every once in a while, this connectedness feels like an almost unbearable burden, most of the time it’s the ground under my feet and the source of every true joy I have in my life.
Luisa, seeming lost in her own thoughts, doesn’t reply.
Instead, she sits silent for a while, and then blurts out: “I should have been more brave.” Her tone is defiant.
“I should have set my mind to it, put on my big-girl panties, and gotten the job done.” She pauses to shove half a doughnut into her mouth. “And now it’s over and—”
“You didn’t even get the chance to take off your big-girl panties for Eli,” I interject, trying to bring some levity into the situation.
She does laugh, but when she stops, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and growls. “That guy. Another huge mistake.”
“Has he tried to reach out to you?” I ask.
“Like every five minutes,” she says, shaking her head slowly. “I feel like such an idiot.” She pulls her legs into her chest. “We should have never brought him into this.”
“Lots of avoidance going on right now,” I say. “The esteemed Professor Pridmore is ghosting me.”
“Seriously?” she asks. “I thought you two were really going somewhere.”
“Professor Pridmore would beg to differ,” I tell her, feigning a British accent, which makes Luisa laugh.
“His loss,” Luisa replies. “If he can’t get over a tiny white lie”—she pinches her thumb and index finger together to demonstrate—“he’s just another snooty Brit with a stick up his ass.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly tiny—the lie we told him,” I retort, swatting her hand away.
“It’s okay, though. At least now I know that I’m ready to get back out there.
I mean, I haven’t even tried to go on a date in ages.
” I peer into the pastry box, grab the last doughnut, split it, and hand half to Luisa.
“I guess it was finally time to get out of my comfort zone, start taking risks. What is it that Irma’s always saying?
‘If there’s no risk, there’s no reward.’ ”
Seen from this perspective, I guess my decision to spew out our whole story in a voicemail to Hugh wasn’t a terrible one after all. Maybe it was exactly what I needed to do—take a chance, even if the whole thing went nowhere.
“We need more coffee,” Luisa announces, lifting herself from the swing. “Then we’ll unpack what to do about the whole Pridmore situation. Be right back.”
I’m cleaning up the remains of our doughnut binge, gathering a wad of sticky napkins, when a familiar truck approaches. And then none other than Elijah Denvil Sweet Jr. gets out and comes sauntering up the brick path—looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
What the hell is he doing here? That’s what I’m thinking when I hear the screen door slam shut. Then I turn to see Luisa, holding two steaming mugs in her hands.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she calls out.
Great minds do think alike. Or in this case, greatly distressed minds.
“Well, good mornin’ to you, too,” he says, in what I must admit to be a perfect Mississippi drawl.
He reaches up to grasp the edge of his beat-up Happy Hooker baseball cap and tips his head, like a real Southern gentleman, then steps onto the porch and stands across from Luisa, who has set the mugs onto a side table and is shooting him a fierce glare.
He stares down at her pajamas and grins. “Are those cats and tacos?”
“Galaxy taco cats,” she snaps back.
“Ohhhkay,” he responds warily. “I tried to call you both. A bunch of times. Since you didn’t pick up, I just came down here to share the big news.”
We stare at him. Silent. I can feel the rage radiating from Luisa’s body. Or is it desire? Sometimes the two are hard to distinguish.
“Well, since you asked…” He pauses for effect, then stretches his arms wide. “You ladies just might be looking at the next inductee into the Midnight Society.”
“What are you talking about?” Luisa spits back at him, arms crossed over her chest.
Too dumbfounded to utter a single word, I plop down on the swing, my mouth agape.
“Holly,” Luisa barks, then actually snaps her fingers, like she’s trying to pull me out of hypnosis. “What’s he talking about? Is this one of those creepy secret societies?”
“Not secret. More like exclusive—Atlanta’s oldest and most prestigious social club for men,” I say, awed that Eli got an invite. “I’m pretty sure only bachelors can join, but then they stay in for life.” I shake my head, still not believing our good fortune.
“Is this another one of those pat-yourself-on-the-back charity things?” Luisa asks.
I shake my head. “They just exist as an excuse to get together and have a good time,” I explain. “Most of their parties are only for the male members, but they hold two events a year at the club—the only ones with spouses and dates: a New Year’s Eve white-tie formal and an annual costume ball—”
“Costumes?” Luisa sneers. “What is this? Halloween in June?”
“We’re not talking those polyester getups that you buy from the pharmacy in a plastic bag.
” I scoff, recalling the year Buck Dorsey, a Midnight Society old-timer and the current chair of the Dogwood Hills board of directors, paid thirty thousand dollars for a Robocop costume—at least, that’s what Janey reported.
“People go all out,” I tell Eli and Luisa. “It’s a huge freaking deal.”
“And yours truly scored an invite,” Eli gloats, “from the esteemed judge himself.” He leans back against the white porch railing and crosses one foot over the other. “They want me to meet one of their business partners,” Eli says. “A banker flying in from Panama.”
“Wait—” Luisa blurts out, holding up one hand, then searching for something on her phone with the other. “Is his name Dudley Magruder?”
“The very one,” Eli confirms. “But the judge calls him ‘Mags.’ Judge says they’ve known each other since they were kids playin’ hide-and-seek on Peachtree Battle, whatever that means.
Apparently, Ol’ Mags has a house down at Palmetto Bluff—really nice golf course out there, with undulating greens, lots of beautiful oaks.
You have to be careful with the alligators, though,” Eli offers unhelpfully.
“I told you both, I knew what I was doing. You just chose not to believe me.”
My mind races back through our fight after his big golf win.
I was so mad that he refused to follow my instructions, I couldn’t even process what he was trying to explain.
But I guess he was right about earning their trust with that bet, because this introduction is exactly what we need, and Eli has managed to get it for us.
“Dudley Magruder is our guy,” Luisa exclaims, jamming her index finger against her phone screen.
“Griggs’s family foundation money is getting diverted to his bank.
Then laundered via shell companies, including Peachtree Holdings—the same company that holds the Castillos’ fake deed.
” She’s pacing the length of the porch. “I need to call my source at the Treasury Department, see what they have on Magruder. The man is a ghost online. I was starting to doubt he even existed in real life.”
“Judge Thacker wants me to take Virginia,” Eli says, apparently choosing to ignore Luisa’s stressed-out pacing and musing. “She already texted. Says she’s absolutely thrilled to introduce me to everyone.”
“I’m sure she is,” Luisa grumbles under her breath, just as I’m exclaiming, “That’s amazing, Eli. You did it!”
“Does this mean we’re back on?” he asks, a puppy-dog pleading expression in his eyes. “Because I’ve already got the perfect costume in mind.”
Luisa and I glance at each other for just a beat, then nod in unison. Looks like our Tripp is going to the ball.