Chapter 47
It’s first thing in the morning when Hallie and I park on the sleepy street where Fitz and Henry live. It’s a quiet, elegant
corner of the city, and their historic single house sparkles in the row of similar structures. The homes aren’t ostentatious
in this neighborhood, but they’re certainly major characters in the architectural history of the city. All are well-kept on
the exterior, gardens neatly tended, not a peeling spot of paint in sight. They’re quietly luxurious.
Hallie bounds out of the car while I pull myself out slowly, checking my pockets for all the necessities. The only sound is
the cork of her sandals slapping the stone sidewalk and then bopping along the wooden decking of the porch that spans the
full side of the home.
I click the car locked with a bleep and follow her. Fitz stands in the doorway in his pajamas, his tabby cat in the crook
of his arm.
I shoot him a grateful look. “Thanks for taking her.”
I’m heading to Beaufort this morning to talk to my mother, and I needed a stopgap until Grady picks her up midmorning as we’d
planned.
Fitz ruffles the hair on Hallie’s head. “Nothing like an early bird landing,” he says. “Henry’s just finished baking some
cinnamon rolls, Hal. And there’s fruit to munch on too.”
My stomach rumbles.
“I heard that,” Fitz says. “Come on. Inside with you. There’s no harm in a quick bite before you hit the road. Lord knows
your mama isn’t going to change in the meantime.”
I follow him inside the house and am met by the spicy-sweet aroma of the promised treats. “Though she might go on the run
if she knew what I was about to level at her.”
Fitz laughs, sets the cat gently on the sofa, and rounds back to the kitchen.
Henry greets me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then goes with Hallie to show her where they moved their puzzles.
Fitz drops steaming coffee and a cinnamon roll in front of me, and as I bring the mug to my lips, I groan. “I didn’t realize
how much I needed this.”
Fitz smiles and busies himself with unloading the dishwasher. Even the contents of his dishwasher are stylish—beautiful ceramics,
heavy-duty cookware. Not a cartoon character or plastic doohickey in sight.
“Am I an idiot for even trying to confront her?” I ask.
I called Fitz once I got home last night and filled him in on all the gory details. He was just as shocked as I was to hear
the extreme lengths Magnolia had gone to back then, simply to keep Lincoln and me apart. Sure, our long-ago dinner wasn’t
great. Fine, it was an absolute disaster.
I guess if there’s anything Magnolia’s willing to go above and beyond for, it is control over my life. Always has been.
Fitz shrugs, grabbing the silverware caddy. “I guess that depends on what you’re hoping to get out of it.”
I stare into the brown swirl inside my mug. I’m not sure I know. “It’s a great question. I... Well...”
My eyes land on the cinnamon roll in front of me, and I decide to pull off a large bite. I point to my mouth as I chew exaggeratedly, an excuse for my silence.
Or lack of answers.
Fitz shoots me a look like he knows I’m holding back. He props a hand on the counter and waits.
Finally I swallow the bite. “I don’t expect her to understand. And she’s not one to change her mind. It’s not like she’ll
apologize .”
Every statement sounds like an excuse, a reason to ignore her and keep on with my own life. When I told Lincoln about my plans,
he didn’t seem to feel strongly. “It’s up to you, Mack. Really. I’m no longer in the business of trying to win your mother over—just you.”
“Probably she won’t, honey,” Fitz says. “But she might admit to something. You might work something out.”
The morning fog starts to lift from my head, and I feel myself inching closer to honesty. “I want her to hurt a little, frankly.
It’s her time to pay,” I say. “She’s hurt me so much and so often and for so long, and all I’ve done is allow it.”
“And why’s that?” he asks.
“ Because she’s all I’ve ever had! ” The words erupt like a projectile, and I feel better having gotten them out. “Aside from Hal, she’s it. And maybe that was
a little bit by her design, turning my father into the big bad wolf and all. I hate the fact that it’s true, that it gives
her so much control.”
Fitz sets down his mug and comes to my side, wrapping me in his arms. “You’re doing the right thing,” he says.
“I hope so. It’s time for it to stop. I’m not willing to risk her messing things up between Lincoln and me again.”
Fitz pulls back so he can grin and bat his eyes at me. “Now we’re cooking.”
I swat him playfully on the arm. “Stop. I shouldn’t have admitted that.”
“Y’all planning a wedding yet?” Fitz asks.
Obviously the answer to this is no. But there’s also something different about re-dating someone you once loved, as real adults
with two serious lives. No, I’m not planning a wedding, not right now, but I’d also be lying if I said I couldn’t picture
a real future with the guy, not too far beyond the horizon.
“You’d already know if that was the case,” I say. “But I need to get going.”
I choke down the remainder of the cinnamon roll, then call into the back of the house for Hallie. She comes skipping, puzzle
pieces in hand, and burrows into my chest for a hug. I kiss her head and remind her to use her manners with her uncles.
I follow Fitz down the pristine entryway runner rug, his art hung without a tilt, no mystery crunches underfoot. This must
be what it’s like to have a home where children don’t live. Fortunately, I’ve made my peace with the glittery nail polish
stains on my living room rug, courtesy of Afternoon Glam.
I stop at the door and square my shoulders to Fitz, releasing a deep breath. “I’ve got this. I’m strong and fierce, and I
can do it.”
Fitz grins. “You took the words right out of my mouth. And when all else fails, remember this: For all the ways you’re different
from the old bat, you’re just as stubborn and well-equipped for a showdown with her.”
I pull him in for a quick hug and thank him again for helping.
“Go. Hold her feet to the fire.” Fitz waves me out the door.
And I go. Down the porch, to the street, and into my car.
And soon, to my mother’s doorstep.