Sweet Caroline(8)

Dad stirs the corn bread mix with vigorous strokes. “Because it’s a lemon. Not because your mother gave it to her.”

“How much are you making down at the Café, Caroline? Enough to keep that thing running?” Henry holds up his hands. “Don’t answer. I already know.”

I stare down my big brother. “Drop. It.”

“No, Caroline. You know what that stupid car is? A picture of your life. Hanging on to something old and broken, afraid to try something new, still living with our father ’cause you can’t afford a life of your own.”

“Stop it, Henry.” If his tone wasn’t so brutal, I’d see his point. I bat away the sting of tears.

“Am I wrong?” He holds out his hands, each gripping a glass. “Am I?”

“Henry. Move on. New topic.” Dad’s command leaves no room for argument.

My brother holds his next thought, but the dark light behind his eyes reminds me his bitterness will reappear. He wears it like a badge of honor.

“Well,” Dad says in a Mr. Rogers voice, “since you’re all in here . . . Cherry, want to wait on those glasses?” Dad takes Posey’s hand. “We’ve set a wedding date,” he says without preamble.

“Dad, that’s wonderful.”

“How marvelous.” Cherry slips her arm through Henry’s.

Dad clears his throat. “We’re leaving Saturday for the Bahamas.”

After a moment in which we all stare with mouths open, Cherry giggles. “You’re eloping?”

Dad cuts a glance at Posey. “We got to looking at schedules and finances—”

“Dad, you and Posey do what you want. We’re not children. We under-stand.” This from Henry in his CEO-of-Sweeney-Construction voice.

“Yes, Dad, please do whatever you and Posey want,” I chime in. “A wedding in the Bahamas sounds very romantic.”

Posey presses her fingers under her expressive green eyes and sniffs. “We didn’t want to leave you kids out, but I had my big wedding the first time around. When Eric died, I never thought I’d marry again. Then I met your dad . . .”

“Met me? Rammed your Miata into the back of my truck.” Dad raises her hand to his lips, gives it a grinning kiss.

Head: Look away, eyes.

“Well, how did I know there was a stoplight in the middle of a bridge?”

Posey is what the Gullah call a comeya—a lowcountry newbie.

Henry strides forward and shakes Dad’s hand in a manly-man way. “May you have a long, happy marriage. If anyone deserves it, Dad, it’s you.”

I stifle the oncoming tears. “Here, here.”





4

H azel cannot keep the “amazing, incredible” job opportunity confined to cyberspace. She has to call.azel “Isn’t it like three in the morning there?” I ask, though I love hearing her voice.

“Three thirty, actually.” Her rushed tone is high-pitched, excited. “I get up at four thirty on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday so I can be in the office by six. So I’m only losing an hour of sleep.”

“Have you been consuming caffeine?” I stretch out on the sofa as Dad, Posey, Henry, and Cherry play hearts at the dining room table. Jim Croce croons from Dad’s old turntable.

“Only a cup. Listen, about this job—”

In my mind, I envision Hazel pacing a Spanish-style living room in baggy, silk pajamas and slappy slippers with little heels. “Do I have to get up at four thirty for this incredible job?”

“No, you don’t have to get up at four thirty. I like to get into the office before the meetings and phone calls start.”

“So, this job . . .”

“You know about my boss, Carlos Longoria, right? Sure you do; we’ve talked about him. As a matter of fact, he’s on the cover of this month’s Forbes.”

“Sure, Carlos.” I’ve seen him on many magazine covers, read about him via Hazel’s e-mails. “The European Donald Trump. Runs a large development and property company. Y’all build and buy apartments, condos, villas.”

“Right. If you can live in it, we own it.”

“A grass hut?”

“Sri Lanka.”

“Mud hut?”

“Okay, no mud huts. Even Carlos draws the line somewhere.”

“And he considers himself a Donald Trump?” I tug the scrunchy from my hair and shake it free.

“He does. With great pride. And he’s a big fan of The Apprentice .” I bolt upright. “I’m not going on TV.”

“No, no, he’s not talking TV . . . yet. For now, all he wants is a hard-working individual with a bright mind he can mold into a Mini Me, rather a Mini Him.”

“And you offered up me?”

From the dining room, Cherry and Posey slap high fives as they win another round of cards. A frustrated Henry jerks away from the table with an, “I need more tea.”

“I’ve convinced Carlos you are perfect to be his first apprentice. You have no preconceived ideas or agenda or college professor telling you it should be like this instead of that.”

“Hazel, I’m a waitress. A bookkeeper. Hometown girl with only a high-school diploma.”

“Actually, he loves that about you. When I told him about how you helped your dad and Henry rebuild their businesses, his eyes glowed.”