AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Fine,she thinks. She has forgotten how people Caroline’s age can sleep.
At three o’clock, Hollis changes into what she thinks of as her “welcome outfit”—white drawstring pants and her signature blouse in pale pink, both forgiving, because although she has lost some weight since Matthew died, she’s nobody’s idea of thin. She won’t be winning any fashion awards this weekend, but she’s comfortable with the way she looks. Her hair is still more blond than gray, her eyes are a clear slate blue, her breasts have yet to sag, and her bottom, although plump and round, is firm. She has a light tan, and earlier this week she braved the salon for a manicure, pedicure, and eyebrow tint and wax. She has always had excellent eyebrows, but as fifty-three years have taught her, good eyebrows don’t guarantee one a smooth journey through life.
She knocks on Caroline’s door again. “Darling?”
Nothing.
At quarter past four, no one has arrived or even texted about arriving. Not even Brooke. Hollis wonders if everyone has had a change of heart.
She wanders through her house, trying to see it for the first time. It looks good, smells good—but something is missing. It’s too quiet; she needs music. Hollis has followed Moira Sullivan’s lead and made not one playlist, but four—one for Tatum (’80s music), one for Dru-Ann (’90s music), one for Brooke (songs they played when the kids were growing up), and one for Gigi, though they have never once talked about music. Hollis tried to imagine what Gigi would like based on their text conversations, and she came up with something she thinks of as “smart-woman music”—Alison Krauss, Lauryn Hill, Norah Jones. She added vintage Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Carole King. She rounded it out with some edge: Fiona Apple, Courtney Love, Alanis Morissette. Gigi’s playlist is the best one to welcome people; Hollis presses Shuffle.
The first song that plays is Ingrid Michaelson’s “Maybe.” Hollis takes a seat at the kitchen island, pulls out her phone, and snaps a portrait-mode picture of the cut-glass bowl of bacon-rosemary pecans.
Caroline’s lunch plate remains untouched on the counter. When Hollis checks, she finds the bread is dry, the chips stale, the tomato bleeding its juices onto the plate. Into Henny’s dog bowl it goes.
Hollis walks down the hall and knocks on Caroline’s door, more firmly this time. “Caroline? I’d like you to get up, please. People will be arriving soon.”
There’s no answer. Hollis reminds herself thatshe’sthe mother, that this is her house, that forgetting Caroline was an honest mistake, and that she apologized for it. The old Caroline would have said,Don’t worry about it, Mama, you have a lot on your plate.
“Caroline, may I enter?” Hollis says. Caroline is fanatical about her privacy. She knows nothing of the days when you had to talk to your boyfriend—in Hollis’s case, Jack Finigan—on a landline in the kitchen with your father six feet away on the couch watchingQuincybut also probably listening to every word.
There is, finally, a muffled “What?”
Hollis eases open the door and sees Caroline huddled under her duvet—never mind that it’s seventy-five degrees outside—looking at her phone. Awake after all, wide awake.
“Caroline, I’m very sorry I wasn’t at the airport to pick you up. I got the time wrong in my head. I apologize.”
Caroline sits up, throwing the comforter to the end of the bed. “You had time to get everything ready, though, I see. The flowers. The fresh-picked corn. Were you the first person at the farm this morning?”
“Caroline.”
“Were you?” Caroline says. “Just tell me.”
“I was, yes—”
“I remember when I used to be a priority.”
“You’re still a priority!” Hollis says. “You’re my number-one priority.”
“Your website is first. Your brand is first. Ahead of me,” Caroline says. She pauses. “And ahead of Dad.”
Hollis knows Caroline is looking for a reaction, but she won’t engage. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m so happy you came home. It means a lot to me that you’re here, darling.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Caroline says. “I only said yes because I need the money.”
This is Hollis’s cue to leave the room, but instead, she sits on the side of Caroline’s bed, careful not to crowd her. (Motherhood, she has come to realize, requires a lot of math: How much space is enough; how much is too much?) “Do you want to talk about Dad?” Hollis asks. “I’m sure it’s difficult coming this weekend and… he’s not here. It was awful for me too.” But Hollis won’t make this about herself. She remembers how helpful Gigi’s simple words were:I’m here to listen.
“Of course I miss Dad,” Caroline says. “He wouldn’t have abandoned me like an orphan child at the airport.”
Her voice contains the slightest amount of teasing, which is encouraging. “You’re correct,” Hollis says. “Your father would never have made that mistake. He would have been right out front waiting, so excited to see you and hear all about your summer in New York.” Hollis reaches out and smooths Caroline’s hair away from her face. “Howisyour summer in New York?”
An alert comes in on Caroline’s phone and she clicks on it. Hollis remembers when she and Matthew bought Caroline her first iPhone, ten years ago. What had Matthew said? That’s right:We will no longer be the most important thing in her life.
“Mom?” Caroline says. Her tone has changed. “Are you ready forthis?” Caroline holds up her phone for her mother to see. “Dru-Ann has been canceled.”
“What?”Hollis says. She peers at the screen, wishing for her reading glasses. She pinches the screen to enlarge it and squints.Dru-Ann Jones Disses Mental-Health Issues.Hollis begins to read, but the print is small. The article mentions Posey somebody, a golfer, then Hollis defaults to just clicking on the video. She watches her beloved friend shout at some rich-looking white dude, “She’s going to tell everyone it’s a ‘mental-health issue’”—Dru-Ann makes air quotes—“when she needs tosuck it up and play through!”
Ten years ago, maybe even five years ago, Hollis wouldn’t have understood the problem with this, but now, thanks in no small part to her interactions with people on her website, she has been educated in all things mental-health-related.
