Emma, Mr. Knightley, And Chili-Slaw Dogs Part 9

Caroline started to laugh, expecting Frank to roll his eyes at the mysterious ways of small-town waitresses, but he held up a finger. "Listen! Isn't that Buddy Holly?"

She c.o.c.ked her head. "I guess so. I'm not really familiar with that era."

"Come on." He slid out of his seat and held out a hand, grinning.

She laughed. "What, you can't expect me to... You're not..."

"Hurry up, before it's over" he said. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out of the booth and walked her backward to the jukebox. The diner was almost empty, with only an elderly gentleman at the counter. Holding both her hands, Frank pulled her close, then pushed her back, singing in an attractive alto. It was completely familiar but absurdly foreign at the same time. Had she ever listened to the words before? Some girl would make him cry and how that'd be the day, the day that he died.

She grinned, following his movements as best she could. Her jacket was keeping her from reaching back over her shoulder to grab his hand when he turned her. She quickly slipped it off and draped it over a chair, leaving only her silk tank top. Now they could really dance, moving in perfect rhythm, faster and faster as she felt more comfortable. She couldn't help laughing, the joy of the moment breaking through her reservations.

When the song ended, she was breathless with laughter. Frank pulled her close and kissed her cheek. "That's the way to do it," he said.

"To do what?" She couldn't stop smiling. "I thought we were having lunch and then we ended up over here, jitter-bugging."

"That was swing. I can teach you some jitter-bug but we better get some food first because it burns about 500 calories an hour and I don't want you to waste away. Your mama would never forgive me."

Caroline snorted as they settled back in the booth. "I'm not in any danger of wasting away, believe me. I hardly ever get out to run anymore."

"When are you moving to Spartainville?"

His question took her by surprise. It was a leap from not getting out for a run and moving to another city. She blinked, searching for something to say.

"I'm sorry. I just a.s.sumed you were moving back here."

"I'm- I'm working on re-establis.h.i.+ng my professional presence before I make any big decisions."

Frank laughed, a deep chuckle that made her lips turn up without her permission. "You're looking for a job."

"Well, if you want to put it that way, yes."

He sipped his c.o.ke and said nothing. Caroline felt the seconds tick away. He must think she was a pretty sad example of educated Southern womanhood, stuck at home in the middle of nowhere. She wanted to defend herself, explain about her father's death and her mother's sudden hypochondria, but it seemed inadequate. In fact, it would probably only make her look weaker.

"Caroline, if you don't mind, I'd like to make this more than a social lunch." His face was serious, eyes dark.

"Okay." She wasn't sure what he meant but couldn't see the harm in hearing what he had to say.

"My company is growing so rapidly that we're short-staffed in all areas. We're handicapped. There are so many projects we can't accept because we can't produce the work in a reasonable amount of time." He looked down at his tan, manicured hands. "I'm desperate. I didn't want to make things complicated between us but I'd like to offer you a job at Vertical Pop."

Caroline felt her cheeks go hot. Complicated? He very clearly implied that they were on a date, but that he needed to step back and be a professional for the sake of his company. She felt admiration rise up in her.

"And I'd like to consider your offer."

He laughed out loud, shake his head. "You're wonderful, you know that?"

She shrugged, smiling. "If you say so. I'm unemployed, for sure."

"I think you'll be happy with us at Vertical Pop. We need people like you who're plugged into the entertainment scene."

Caroline frowned. She didn't see how she could possibly be considered plugged into any sort of scene when most of her time was spent in her own house. "Frank, you may have gotten the wrong impression. I'm not-"

"I'm sure I didn't" He waved a hand. "The way you dress, the way you talk. I can tell you're the type of writer we need. These manga books are ma.s.sively popular but the translations they give us are horrible. We need someone to rework them, make them really appeal to the niche audience. Everyone's doing video blogs, setting up kickstarter campaigns and running counter-culture online magazines."

She fiddled with her napkin. She knew nothing about what 'everyone' was doing. Her journalism degree was losing value faster than a brand new car being driven off the lot. The longer she stayed out of circulation that more obsolete she got. But this probably wasn't the time to explain all of that. Was she trying to talk him out of offering her a job? Who cared if he thought she spent her time watching the Lizzie Bennett Diaries and campaigning for new Veronica Mars episodes instead of making pink lemonade for old ladies? She could catch up. All she needed was a little time to get back in the groove.

"So, these translations come straight from the j.a.panese publisher?"

"Right." He rubbed his hands together. "It's complicated. We can get into that more when we've got you officially on board."

She nodded. There would be time, no hurry. "I keep forgetting to tell you I met a young artist the other night, at the Werlin's party."

Frank nodded, looking over her shoulder in a slightly distracted way.

"She's heading off to college, but she'll be studying accounting because she can't afford to major in something that may not pay the bills."

"Sounds smart." He was still focused on something behind her.

"Does it? I really felt like it was such a sad way to start her career. I think she should at least minor in art. It's not like it was fifty years ago. Artists can actually support themselves doing what they love."

"Hmmm. You're right." His eyes flicked to her face, then back to whatever was near the front door.

She turned, scanning the restaurant. "Is there-" She broke off at the sight of Lauren Fairfield, who seemed to be in the middle of mouthing a word at Frank. She froze, then her expression settled into something pleasant. Her usual sleek hair was pulled back in a ponytail and curled at the ends. As tall and elegant as ever, her simple turquoise sheath dress was decorated with a patterned scarf tied at the end of her ponytail.

"I think that's Lauren Fairfield, isn't it?" Frank asked. "That woman who was so defensive about her publis.h.i.+ng contract?"

"It is. I wonder what she's doing over here. I thought she was touring homes in Th.o.r.n.y Hollow this week." She knew where Lauren had been a few days ago, certainly. She and Brooks had been wandering Badewood together, admiring the glorious mansion.

"Really? Interesting. And don't look now, I think she's heading over." He said this through his teeth, a smile plastered to his face.

Caroline turned around, wis.h.i.+ng Frank would stand up and great Lauren like a gentleman. She didn't take to Lauren the way she should, but that didn't mean she wanted to be rude.

"h.e.l.lo, there. It seems that Peggy's isn't the big secret it's made out to be." Her smile was tight, eyes flicking back and forth between them.

"Apparently not. Soon we'll see whole tables of editors in business suits, right?"

Caroline cringed inwardly. These two weren't able to get past their professional differences, but they had a lot in common otherwise. Th.o.r.n.y Hollow was a small place and Southern to the core. In a place where they counted cousins once removed and six times down, these two definitely qualified as home town folk. They should treat each other better than strangers.

Lauren's lips curved up in a slight smile. "Maybe only one or two at time." She turned to Caroline, giving her a once-over. "Is this a business luncheon or should I pretend I didn't see you here?"

She felt her brows rise up in surprise. "No pretending needed and you're welcome to join us." But if her mama hadn't raised her right, she might point out the fact Lauren's blatant curiosity was distinctly uninvited.

"No, thank you. I'm just picking up a quick lunch before I get back to proofing the photos from Sat.u.r.day. Brooks was such a gracious host. I was surprised that you weren't there to help." Lauren's large gray eyes narrowed the tiniest amount.

She took a moment to respond, unsure of why she'd be giving tours of Brooks' family home. Maybe Lauren thought the Ashley home was a sort of annex to Badewood? The idea was laughable, but she tried to ignore the wave of irritation that rose up in her at the idea. They were built in the same era, but distinctly different styles. Plus, Badewood was a solid ten times larger than her own home.

"He's definitely the one to help you. I'm not sure I've ever had the entire tour, honestly," Caroline said. When you grew up in a home, you didn't need the tour. She took a breath and made an effort to be gracious. "When I saw him on Sunday he mentioned it had been a great experience. He learned quite a lot from your visit."

"I'm glad. And how wonderful that he takes you out on Sundays. My father always took his older sister to Sunday brunch every week as long as she was alive. Poor thing, it was the only time she ever got out of the house. He was the only way she heard news of the outside world."

Caroline felt her jaw drop. Lauren just called her an old maid, she was certain of it. So, was she some sort of modern-day Miss Havisham, locked away in her house wearing a tattered wedding gown and only one shoe, with a rotting wedding cake on the table?

"We attend the same church." It was all she could say and to her horror, she felt her face turn hot in anger.

"How sweet. There's nothing like being with family in a charming Southern church on a summer morning." Lauren smiled kindly, as if Caroline was the epitome of sweetness. The blush must have confirmed her innocent nature but her thoughts at the moment were far from sweet. They were downright deadly. She'd never liked Lauren, never felt like she was having a conversation that wasn't riddled with nasty undercurrents. But she was decided now. Lauren wasn't worth the trouble of making friends.

"How is the book coming along?" Frank asked.

"Wonderfully. Weeks ahead on the deadline." Her face had gone tight and she pulled her elbows in to her sides, as if she meant the exact opposite of what she said.

"Can't wait to see the final product," Frank said.

"Well, I'll make sure you'll be the first." Something about her tone made Caroline think of secret codes and pig Latin. She glanced at Frank and saw a flash of laughter in his eyes. For a moment, she was absolutely sure they were having a silent conversation right under her nose. But in the next second, it was gone and she wasn't sure if she had seen anything there at all.

"I'll let you two finish your lunch. I'm sure we'll see each other around Th.o.r.n.y Hollow." Lauren smiled and walked away, her long ponytail swis.h.i.+ng against her back.

"I can't stand that woman," Frank muttered, reaching for his c.o.ke.

"Because of the traditional versus independent publis.h.i.+ng? I don't see why you two are on opposite sides, honestly. You're not competing in the same market at all. Coffee table books and Manga? Should be enough room for everybody."

"I'm sure we could have a civil conversation if she wasn't such a sn.o.b. It's everything about her. She's cold, like she grew up in New York City instead of Mississippi." He shrugged. "Let's forget about her. We were having such a good time before she showed up."

Caroline forced a smile. It was terrible to talk about a person the moment her back was turned. She understood what he meant, but a certain unease spread through her as she watched his face. Frank had the ability to make her laugh, to be spontaneous in a way she never was. But there was another side to him that didn't sit well with her, no matter how hard she tried to excuse his behavior.

He had been in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank Churchill, from about the same period, one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the other.

Chapter Twelve.

Brooks settled himself across at the small wooden table and felt a wave of contentment. This is what it should be like every a Monday afternoon: cla.s.ses over, his little brother in town, and a triple shot steaming before him. The Daily Grind bustled with students and the late afternoon sun streamed through the window, setting into bas relief every nick and dent in the old wood. The quintessential campus coffee bar, it had Wi-Fi, free trade coffee and rickety chairs circa 1980 with naugahyde covered seats.

Manning was at the counter, talking to the tall, skinny kid who took the food orders. The kid shrugged, pointing at the menu. Brooks smiled to himself.

Seconds later he was at the table, plopping into the chair. "I don't get it. If you can make fries, you can make hush puppies."

"I think they just dump frozen fries into the fryer. Hate to get in the way of your national campaign to reclaim Southern food in public places, but hush puppies require a bit of preparation."

Manning leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not like I'm asking them to outlaw junk food, or to call them Freedom Fries. I just want an even representation of our culture."

"Starting with fried food?"

"We have to choose our battles." Manning grinned and jerked a thumb at the counter. "He said his name is Tater. I can't be mad at a kid named Tater."

"Agreed. Poor guy, he got the short end of the naming stick, for sure."

Manning frowned. "Really? I think it's way better than Joe or Thomas or..."

"Or Manning?"

"Well, no, because that's a family name. But I don't think it's so bad."

"Are we gonna have a Tater Elliot in the family sometime soon?"

Manning didn't laugh. He sat forward, wrapping his hands around his mug.

"Hey, don't take it so seriously. I was just yanking your chain." Brooks gave him a light punch to the shoulder, the brotherly equivalent of a hug.

"I'm glad you were free this afternoon." Manning looked up, eyes serious.

He'd always find time for his brother, no matter the day or time. Something in Manning's expression set off alarm bells. "It's been a long time since we've just sat down and had some coffee." It wasn't supposed to be an accusation but it came out abruptly.

Manning glanced up, nodding. "I know, and I'm sorry for that."

"I didn't mean-"

"It's okay. I let things go." Manning stared at his hands, as if searching for words. "We've had a tough year and it seemed easier to batten down the hatches than to come out looking for help."

Brooks waited, surprised. He and Debbie Mae had seemed so happy. Maybe their marriage wasn't going as well as everyone thought.

"We wanted to have kids right away but it's not looking like that will happen." His face was tight with grief.

Brooks took a moment to process his words. "Have you been to any specialists? Infertility is so common, you should be able to find a doctor to help."

"No, we're fertile." His mouth quirked. "I bet you didn't think you were going to discuss your brother's fertility over coffee, did you?"

Brooks waved a hand. He wasn't squeamish and he wasn't a jock. Modern men could have a discussion about conception without batting an eye.

"I don't understand. If you're fertile, then-" His words broke off as he realized the other alternative. Able to conceive but not carry to birth.

He nodded, eyes cast down again. "We've been through the wringer three times now and Debbie Mae is ready to take a break. She says she just can't handle the heartbreak anymore."

Brooks wanted to say there would be time, they could try again later, that maybe the fourth time was the charm, but he knew better than to speak up. The last year had been emotionally savage and Manning didn't need plat.i.tudes.

His brother took a drink of coffee and let out a long breath. New wrinkles between his brows, hair a little grayer at the temples. Brooks hadn't noticed these changes. Of course, he hadn't seen him much the last year or so.

"Tell me what I can do to help," Brooks said.

He smiled but his eyes remained shadowed with sadness. "This, what you're doing right now. Not giving me the 'what for' because I've been in a cave since this all started. And you can let me borrow your regimental jacket when we go out to Vicksburg."

"Ha! This has all been a ploy for sympathy. I sewed that jacket myself. I left it out in the weather for six months straight until it was perfectly aged. Besides, it won't fit you. I'm bigger through the shoulders."

"It'll look authentic. Tubbs said he's lost another fifteen pounds and he'll look nicely malnourished." Manning patted his gut with both hands. "Debbie Mae cooks too well for me to pull off the starving Rebel but in that jacket it will hang real nice. I'll look just like a well-fed man gone off to war who's shrinking away to nothing."

Brooks laughed but the smile faded from his face. He knew Manning was just trying to lighten the mood. "If I thought that a jacket from 10th Mississippi Regiment, Company H, Rankin Rifles would help, I'd hand it over in a heartbeat."