Reunion Beach Elin Hilderbrand (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📖

always trying harder.” Dottie laughed, and soon Pat laughed with her. “Do you want to know who’s Hertz?”

“Not really.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m happy for everybody and for everything wonderful that happens to the everybodies of that weary world because whatever little taste of sugar they get, they need it. And yet, I’m a bit mystified, in light of my own death, that I still have a wee bit of that old hungry feeling. You know the feeling. The almosts. You almost grabbed that brass ring, but for whatever reason, it was just out of reach. I left the earth without knowing what number one felt like.”

“I’m sorry, Dot. That’s a damn shame.”

“Isn’t it?”

“In a little bit, it won’t matter anymore. You’ll see. Is it important to you now?”

“Not so much.” Dottie sat on the bar stool next to Pat. “Huh. You’re right. All that tumult, really, truly is for nothing. I did all right. Right? Could not matter less. I just had to tell you, because I know you’d see the irony.”

“I see it.”

“I had to get out of there before the funeral. I waited until the dog days of summer to make my exit. You know I can’t take the swampy heat.”

“You lived on the beach.”

“It doesn’t matter. I sweat regardless. Kept the air-conditioning on 65 degrees right up until Christmas Eve. I left a carbon footprint the size of Wrigley Field behind because I used so much electricity. I was hot all the time. It was so awful I would’ve paid somebody to follow me around with an electric fan in full glacial air-conditioning if I could. I’m hot no matter what! It was hot at your funeral.”

“How?”

“Global warming.”

“It was March.”

“Pat. Yes, you died in March, but it was hotter than a ski mask on a camel in Beaufort. If you would have died on New Year’s Eve it would’ve been hot in Beaufort. Beaufort’s an oven. An oven with peach pies baking inside, but an oven nonetheless. But I forgive you for leaving and for dying. All is well. The slate is clean.”

“I remember slates,” Pat chuckled.

“You bet. Blackboards and chalk and that filthy dirty eraser! How could they let children handle that dirty thing?”

“You’re so demure.”

“I know! But in the heat, we’re all the same. A pack of blobs that melt. How’s the weather here?”

“Nice.”

Dottie leaned forward and looked closely at her old friend. “You’re so serene, Pat.”

“You’re getting there.”

“I am, aren’t I? Is there any ruckus here at all?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Just peaceful?”

“Yeah.”

“Even when you meet relatives?”

“Even when you meet them.”

“How could that be true?”

“You’ve got nothing to prove here. You can’t disappoint anyone. You can’t please them either because everything is lovely.”

“I doubt that.”

“I promise you. You’ll see for yourself. And then we’ll talk about it.”

“I miss my things. Is that normal?”

“It’s part of the transition. You don’t need all that stuff here. Let it go, Dot. I know it’s hard. But you enjoyed your things and now you don’t need them. You lived life to the hilt. Parties and overnights and guests and brunches. Your home looked like Architectural Digest.”

“Didn’t it? The ‘Best Of’ issue.”

“You like beautiful things for sure.”

“Well, I tried to create an ambience. I didn’t want my home to look like Scully & Scully was having a going-out-of-business sale, but you know, it might’ve from time to time because I like the look of proper English furniture, a high-polished walnut finish, but I also like Chinoiserie and jabots, and silk damask. But things have to make sense. You can’t have just one cachepot over the bookshelves when you have two bookshelves. You need that extra cachepot. So that’s how the accumulation of stuff in pairs led to Peter almost having a nervous breakdown over a pair of foo dogs I found on eBay. Poor Peter. The day those turquoise blue foo dogs arrived you would’ve thought we had to feed them for all the carrying on he did. My long-suffering husband. Full head of hair. And a great lover. Thank goodness he liked my taste, appreciated it. I had seven full sets of china. Herend, Limoge, and Lenox even.”

“Seven sets of china? They didn’t have that much dinnerware on the Queen Mary.”

“You never know who will drop in.” She shrugged. “But all that stuff? They’re just things.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t need them anymore.”

“You don’t.”

“I think I might like not needing anything. Anything you have to dust turns to dust someday, so what’s the point?”

“There isn’t one.”

“After all that and there’s no point. Huh.”

“You’re already in the groove here.”

“Am I?”

“Yep. You already seem calmer.”

“Than what? Than what I was on earth? If you were sucked through the solar system in a hospital gown and not your best pearls and Chanel mules, you’d have to find a way to accept it. To be polite about a quick exit and why it happened so fast. To understand that you were never in control. At a certain point, you just let go and ride the ride. When I let go, my pearls returned.” Dottie pats her pearls. “But not for long.”

“Nope, not for long. You did just fine, Dot.”

“Did I? I’m not so sure. I tried to create my version of order on earth. You know I was a long-term planner. Had my datebooks picked out through 2026. Had the blueprints on the beach house done and expanded the back porch so I could see more of the water. I surrounded myself with pretty things, good friends, and wore the clothes that pleased me with a purse to match. I wanted very much to teach my children about the good things. I wanted them to recognize them, but how silly. Really. My son, like all boys since the dawn of time, are raised to be clueless to the age of forty by their mothers, though my boy was sharp as a tack, despite my control. My daughter was raised in my image, and hers was such an improvement over mine, it’s not even funny. She lives so