The Wedding Veil(56)

Maybe other people’s opinions shouldn’t matter that much. But Professor Winchester’s, who was not only an expert but also the one signing off on my thesis project, mattered quite a lot.

Conner put his hand on my bare stomach and, still not looking at me, said, “Damn, that’s harsh.”

“I had dreamed of this one thing my entire life, and I let one person’s opinion break me. I was going to fail the class because I didn’t have time to start over on a new project. I couldn’t stand the thought of having to repeat it, of not graduating on time.”

“So you just left?”

I put my hands under my head. “Yeah. And want to know the craziest part?”

“There’s more?”

“The day before I had been feeling so confident, so sure of myself, that I had finally freed myself of Hayes. I had called off our engagement. And then this happened, and I was so freaked out, I ran right back to him.” I paused. “I think you know the rest of the story.”

We lay there in silence for a moment, gazing into the impossibly blue sky before Conner asked, “Can I look at you now?”

“Yeah.” My voice seemed small. I felt small. I wanted to be tough and brave and the kind of woman that Professor Winchester couldn’t intimidate. But it was hard, and I was soft inside.

“I’m not an expert or anything, but I can tell you, one hundred percent for sure, that not only is breaking the rules a big part of architecture but so is criticism.”

I was expecting something warmer, fuzzier. Something like, That professor is an idiot and you are amazing.

“Architecture is invention, it’s collaborative,” Conner continued. “Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. And if you’re going to be inside of it, you are going to have to be willing to fail and fail and fail, to know that for every win there are going to be a dozen losses.”

He sat up now and turned to me. “Jules, I hate to say it, but that professor prepared you for this job in a way that an easy A never could have.” He paused. “If I had to guess, this was a test. And I hate to tell you, my friend, but you failed.”

I was a girl who had been raised to win, to succeed. Hearing Conner’s proclamation now that failure was just a part of the process was a perspective I’d never considered before.

“You need to go back, Julia. You need to finish. You’re a great paddleboard yoga teacher”—he winked at me—“but I think you have a bigger mark to make on the world.”

I laughed then. Because I obviously knew I had been wasting time all these months. I knew that I had been ignoring the feeling deep in my heart about wanting to go back to school. And maybe, now, I was finally at a point where I didn’t have anything to lose. I needed to try again, and, if I had to, fail again. I knew I shouldn’t need anyone’s permission, but well, I couldn’t be expected to learn the hard lessons all at once, could I? Conner’s guidance felt like the permission I needed.

He smiled. “If anyone ever tells you again that architecture is about rules, send them to Garrison Towers.” He looked over at me. “Tell you what: I’ll help you. We’ll get those plans up to snuff, and you’ll roar back into that school. They won’t be able to tell you no.”

Was this what a real relationship was? Did grown-up couples push each other to be their best, not just let each other sink into what was comfortable? It made me realize that what I had had with Hayes wasn’t grown-up.

And now, against all odds, I didn’t want to delete my CAD drawings anymore. In fact, I couldn’t wait to share them with Conner. I looked around at the perfect cerulean stillness surrounding me. I would miss the sun and waves, but I had a bigger purpose. I had more to do. And it shocked me to realize that I couldn’t wait to get home.





EDITH A Line in the Sand

July 27, 1925





Edith’s fishing line made a satisfying hiss as she cast it way out into the river, her fly landing with barely a ripple. She looked over at her daughter’s placid, lovely face.

“Are you sure, Mother?” Cornelia asked again, her line hissing as well. “Positively sure? Being the first female president has meant so much to you.”

Being the first female president of the North Carolina Agricultural Society for the past five years had meant so much to Edith, more than she could ever convey to her daughter. “I have truly savored and enjoyed every moment I have held the position,” Edith said. “But it’s time to move on.”

She didn’t want to sound conceited, but being the president of the association meant she had become a successful farmer—that she had, at least in part, been able to salvage her late husband’s legacy. With the help of her beloved son-in-law, Jack, and her friend and confidant Judge Junius Adams, she had managed to turn the thousands of acres surrounding Biltmore into a working farm that, if it didn’t completely sustain the property, certainly helped.

Edith looked over at her daughter, her fishing pants tucked into waders and a belted jacket over her crisp white shirt. It was like looking in the mirror. The only thing that could have made this quiet morning better would be if George was there. But, then again, Edith was feeling particularly nostalgic today. “Do you know I would never have done any of this without your father? Even in his death, he helped me grow into the woman I was meant to be.”