Sweet Caroline(26)
“But don’t you see, those are pie-in-the-sky dreams. We didn’t really—”
“Are you telling me you didn’t believe what we said?”
My eyes tear up, and I can’t look at him. “I believed.”
Mitch rejoins me on the couch. “I’m sorry I broke your heart.”
“You think highly of yourself, Mitch.” I yank one of the throw pillows to my lap and fiddle with the short fringe.
“Well, then I’m sorry I made a bunch of promises I didn’t even try to keep. Please forgive me.”
“I told you, there’s nothing to forgive.”
“Caroline, stop throwing up walls. Say you forgive me.”
I slap him with the pillow. “I forgive you.”
“Thank you. Geez, you’re getting more stubborn with age.”
With the clearing-the-air behind us, we sit side by side for a long, contemplative moment. “I’m glad you’re home.”
He looks over at me, his blue eyes full of light. “Come to church Sunday.”
My heart pulsates. “What? I have a church. The old live oak.”
“Caroline, I’m serious. Come with.”
“Why? Mitch, don’t tell me one terrifying moment now makes you want to save the world.”
“No, only you.”
“In twelve years of friendship, you never once asked me to church.”
His gaze is intentional and intimate. “I’m asking now.”
DAILY SPECIAL
Thursday, June 21
Ham w/ Pineapple
Potatoes, Mashed or Fried Green Beans
Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits
Cherry or Pluff Mud Pie
Coffee, Tea, Soda
$6.99
12
To: CSweeney
From: Hazel Palmer
Subject: Re: The Frogmore and me
Caroline,
Your decision is sound. I’m disappointed for you to have to pass on such a rare, great opportunity. But, I understand, I do. Now, to tell Carlos. Do you suppose I can tell him you were in a tragic accident? No, no, of course not.
On a personal note, I was looking forward to dropping movie lines in conversation and Saturday movie night. I quoted a great line from A Few Good Men the other day—not one flicker of recognition. Blah.
All the best with the Café.
Love, Hazel
CFO, SRG International, Barcelona
P.S. Have a date. Fernando. Will let you know.
Midafternoon Thursday, while decluttering Jones’s office—I reckon the new owner won’t mind—Andy comes in with an inventory sheet. “We’re low on everything.”
I blink away the dust cleaning has stirred. “I’ll get to it when I fin-ish filling this trash bag.”
Andy snatches up the two already filled. “I’ll cart these out. How’s the money?”
“Not great.” What did Jones want with all these broken oven knobs? “But I have a credit card and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Andy chuckles. “Caroline, thank you. I appreciate you saving the Frogmore.” He shuffles around. “Never realized how attached I was to this place. Jones hired me when I was really down on my luck, about to lose my family.”
“Andy, I never knew.” The weight of responsibility sinks deeper.
He’s off to the dumpster. A second later Mercy Bea pokes her head around the door. “Mrs. Carrington is here.”
“Who?” Menus from nineteen eighty-four? Jones, what in the world? Into the trash they go.
“Reese Carrington.” Mercy Bea snatches a clipboard off the wall and points to a name and number. “Caroline, the Carrington birthday party.”
“What . . . Oh, crud, when is it?” Truth is, I never intended to be the one hosting the Carrington birthday party.
Mercy Bea passes me the clipboard. “Not this Sunday, the next. July first.”
A shadow falls over Jones’s old event schedule and I look up to see a regal Southern woman in the doorway. “Mrs. Carrington.” I wipe my hands on my apron and motion for her to come in. “Please, have a seat.”
She perches on the edge of the office guest chair. “Thank goodness, someone is here. I’ve been trying to call for weeks. Weeks.”
Mercy Bea shoots me a good-luck glance as she hustles out.
“Weeks. Really? I’m sorry we’ve—”
“And you are?” Mrs. Carrington demands in a clipped tone.
“Caroline Sweeney, ma’am.” I sit tall like a good third grader, hands clasped on top of the desk.
“Caroline.” Mrs. Carrington clutches her rich-leather handbag. “I heard a horrible rumor. Is the Frogmore closing?”
“No, ma’am. We’re staying open.”
She exhales, resting her manicured hand at her throat. “Thank goodness. Now, who’s in charge since Jones passed on?”
I pop a smile and motion to myself.
“You?”
“I’m the new owner, yes.” The confession already feels familiar.
“Oh, dear,” she mutters. “Well, I suppose I have no choice.” She snaps open her handbag and produces a list. “As you know, my husband’s family is coming in from the four corners of the earth to surprise his mother for her ninetieth birthday. And against my better judgment, we booked the party at this establishment. Apparently, my father-in-law proposed to Mother Carrington here seventy years ago.”