do so with someone I’m crazy about. I bet every last Frothingham felt that way when they started a family, and for a split second I feel raw envy that the women in my family weren’t so lucky.
When we get to the parking lot, Davis opens the passenger door. I put my hand up and say, “We’ll sit in the back if that’s okay?” I lean in and whisper, “It’s been a long time since your grandmother has been in a car. I should be next to her in case she needs anything.”
Davis hurries to open the door to the backseat. “If you ladies would be so good as to ride in back and let me act as your chauffeur.”
Mrs. Frothingham giggles. “Like any lady of consequence, John-John, I prefer sitting in the back.” She slides in before Davis closes her door and hurries around to the other side of the car to open mine.
He whispers in my ear, “Thanks for being such a good sport. I didn’t want to upset Gran by contradicting her.”
“I’m happy to help,” I tell him truthfully. Mrs. Frothingham’s reality is whatever is going on in her head. I know all too well that telling her anything different could be very upsetting for her.
Davis looks at me closely like he’s searching for something. I feel like a bug under a microscope, like every secret in my heart is on display for him, and it’s making me very uncomfortable. I break eye contact and hurry to scoot in next to his grandmother.
As soon as Davis gets behind the wheel, I catch him peeking at me in the rearview mirror, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head. I don’t have a chance to figure it out though, because Mrs. Frothingham decides she wants to take her dress off. Davis pulls out onto the road while I divert his grandmother’s focus to the watermelon farms outside her window.
Every once in a while, his eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s finally starting to remember who I am.
Chapter Nine
November 5, 2007
Dear Molly,
I’ve discovered Town and Country magazine at the library. An entire magazine dedicated to socialites and their comings and goings! I kid you not. Trophy wives, heads of industry, and politicians alike fill the pages with their perfect families. They go to art openings, polo matches, and charity galas. It full on boggles the mind.
November is the “Debutante Issue,” and I pored through it like I was driving by a particularly gruesome car wreck. I don’t even live on the same planet as those people.
“Mama, you look beautiful!” Davis’s father, Jedd, tells his mother as she gets out of the car.
“Who are you calling Mama, boy? I’m not your mama. This here is the only son I have.” She holds onto Davis’s arm tightly. “John-John, who is this person?” she asks her grandson.
Mr. Frothingham easily changes his persona. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to overstep myself. I’m John-John’s butler. You can call me Jedd.” The use of his Christian name causes his mother to pause for a moment as though the memory of him is trying to force itself to the surface of her conscious thought.
Davis’s mom, Lee, comes out next. With her arms open wide, she declares, “Why, Mama Frothingham, you look just the thing in your smart spring hat.”
Their family matriarch beams at the compliment. She doesn’t contradict her daughter-in-law’s use of her real name. “I bought this darling little thing on the Rue de Rivoli in Paris while John was campaigning.”
Lee nods her head knowingly. “You always looked so stylish on the campaign trail.” As Davis and his dad take Mrs. Frothingham into the house, Lee pulls me to the side. “She seems to be doing better today, huh?”
“She’s very engaged even though she’s not herself,” I answer.
“Honey, thank you so much for coming along and helping out after hours. Davis told me you’re working down at Shuckie’s as well as at the home. That makes it even more special that you’re sharing your little bit of free time with us. I’m going to make sure Jedd pays you extra.”
“That’s very nice, but you don’t have to do that,” I tell her.
“Nonsense, you’re helping us do the most important thing in the world right now.”
I’m not going to complain if they want to throw a little extra cash my way, so I change the subject and say, “I hope Mrs. Frothingham does well enough that she’s