My Oxford Year(80)

I’m caught in her eyes. Eyes that hold the weight of her two sons. One here, one not. And still, she chooses to smile at me. To thank me. To give me a family heirloom like a daughter.

I know my mouth is hanging open. I turn to Jamie. He shrugs, says, “That story’s correct.”

I see Maggie, Charlie, and Tom exchanging confused, curious glances, but they’re too polite to speak up, to ask for clarification.

Then, as if none of this ever happened, Antonia glances at her watch and stands. “I must talk to Smithy about the roast. Happy birthday, love.” She bends down and kisses my stunned cheek, straightens, and walks to the door.

Jamie calls after her, “Aren’t you going to tell her your grandmother’s name?”

“Oh, bother, of course.” She sighs, turning back to me, briefly. “Carolina Vanderbilt.”

I AM SO full of so many things right now and none of them have anywhere to go. “Jamie, where’s the bathroom?”

“I’ll take you.”

“No, just point the way.” It comes out sharper than I intended.

Jamie shows me where to go and I take off across the grand foyer and down a long hallway. I want to bolt out the front door, a horse out of the corral. Instead, I’m going to go lock myself in one of the twenty-seven bathrooms for a minute. Just a minute.

I finally find it, and close the door, leaning against it, breathing. In and out. In and out.

I see myself in the exquisite mirror over the sink. It’s as if I can see the thoughts running in and out of my head like Metro Center at rush hour.

I want to look at the ring again, focus on that for a moment. I take the box out of my pocket and pop it open. The ring really is beautiful, trinket or not. I gently take it out and—dammit!—it slips from my hand, falling into the copper sink. I dive after it, trying to grab it before it goes down the drain. It escapes one hand and I pounce with the other, trapping it with my palm. I slowly lift my hand, pinching at it with my thumb and forefinger, but end up shooting it closer to the drain. Jesus! I lurch forward with both hands, a final, desperate grab before it disappears into drain hell. Got it!

I steady my hands before I oh-so-gently pluck the ring out of the sink and carefully put it back in the box.

I’m never taking it out again. It’s as if the ring knows I’m unworthy of having it.

I look in the mirror. A newly appointed deputy political director stares back at me.

THERE’S NOTHING LIKE the smell of good food being prepared by people who know what they’re doing. Smithy is one of those people. “Before we leave, will you show me how to make coq au vin?” I ask her.

Her face lights up. “You like it, do ya?”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever had.” I’m not blowing smoke either. I’ve become addicted to Smithy’s coq au vin.

Charlie, Maggie, and Tom are exploring the grounds and Jamie is taking a nap, tired from the drive. I watch Antonia and Smithy put the finishing touches on dinner. They’ve given me a menial task, folding napkins. Which they had to teach me how to do first. I had no idea there were so many wrong ways to do it.

Suddenly William walks into the kitchen, his determined gait interrupted by my presence. He has a moment of hesitation, as if he’s stumbled into the women’s bathroom at a restaurant. “Hello,” he mutters. “I’ve finished for the day. I came to see if there’s anything I can do.”

I glance down. “Wanna help me fold?”

“Surely one person is more than enough.” He looks to Antonia. Then, seeming to hear his answer on a delay, he glances back at me. “But thank you.”

Antonia bustles over to him, wiping her wet hands on her apron. She takes him by the elbow and steers him toward a beautiful old door with handcrafted ironwork, which I’ve been peering at, trying to figure out where it leads. “Go down to the cellar and pick out some wine. Champagne to start.”

“Colin can choose, you know I’m not the best at—”

“I have complete faith in you,” she drawls. “Now shoo!”

William sighs, looking like a reprimanded child, and leaves through the iron door, disappearing down a spiral staircase. It’s endearing, the way this overbearing, hotheaded man defers to his wife.

Antonia goes back to the island where she’s been chopping an onion. After a moment, she says, “William is actually quite happy to see you. He knows you had everything to do with getting Jamie here. He’s thrilled. He’s talked about it for days.”

“Have they said anything to each other yet?”

Smithy glances between us as she kneads dough, lips pursed, tracking everything. “When the two o’ thems don’t speak a word is when they say the most, if ya ask me.”

I lean forward. “They need to be locked in a room somewhere until one of them crawls out bloodied and victorious, eating the other’s heart.”

Antonia snorts. “They might do, it wouldn’t surprise—” She looks up and her face alights with that special smile she reserves for Jamie. “My lad! You’re awake. Feeling better?”

He’s loitering in the doorway, looking adorable. Hair still rumpled from his nap, misbuttoned shirt. His voice is throaty when he says, “Yes, cheers. Slept quite soundly, actually.” He crosses over to me and kisses the side of my head. I lean into him, loving the smell of sleepy Jamie. “What can I do?” he asks.