Dear Carolina by Kristy W Harvey

her like family.”
    I leaned my head on Daniel’s shoulder and said, “Aw, thanks, sweetie.” Then I picked my head up, looked at him, and said, “But I already told you, you aren’t getting my office.”
    Mother reappeared, apparently having composed herself from Allen’s totally inappropriate story time, and said, “Virginia, I think your children need you at home.”
    Virginia looked at me helplessly, but I didn’t rush to her defense. I loved her, sure, but I couldn’t stomach Allen. I remembered how happy Mother and Daddy had been when he proposed to Virginia. Allen was Daddy’s right-hand man on the farm, so it was one of those great Southern alliances from which everyone could benefit. But I wasn’t fooled for a second. I’d always found him to be crass, mannerless, and unfit for my sister.
    Tonight was no different. “If it’s a kid thing, you’re the woman,” he said. “You go. I’m having a good time.”
    â€œI think you better go on home with your wife, Allen,” Daddy said gently.
    When I complained about Allen, Graham used to tell me that I would never think anyone was good enough for my family. He didn’t say that anymore. As it turned out, I had been as right about Allen as I had about cornice boards. They were both fine as long as they weren’t in
my
house.
    As the front door slammed, Momma said, “Daniel, I am sovery sorry for my son-in-law’s behavior. There’s no excuse, and I hope you weren’t uncomfortable.”
    Daniel, fortunately, had a quick wit and a way of making others feel at ease. “No problem. I ride the subway. Strippers are nothing compared to my morning commute.”
    Graham raised his glass and said, “I’d like to propose a toast. However we create them, here’s to our families.”
    We clinked glasses, and, though Graham might not have known it at the time, that toast was more of a mouthful than any of us would ever have believed.
    I snuggled into Graham when we got home, amazed at how just the smell of him could still render me spellbound all these years later. I sat awake in bed thinking about that poor stripper who was probably a single mom with two kids at home just trying to make ends meet, being robbed by one of Allen’s idiot friends.
    That night, I made love to my husband for the first time in a long time where I wasn’t thinking about the end result, about the baby I hoped and prayed we’d made. In those moments we shared I thanked him for not being like Allen, for not being like Ricky, but, most of all, for being like him. I told him that he was the rock in my life, that his steadiness and steadfastness, the way he had loved me without question for decades, was the only thing real and true in my life.
    It’s a puzzling dichotomy, but, though I can write all day long about duvet covers and contemporary art, expressing my feelings to the people I truly love eludes me like a golf ball on a dark fairway. While other men in my life have pushed me for that reassurance, Graham never has. And that’s the magic of our relationship, the fairy dust unraveling from the wand. I say to him what needs to be said through my body, not my mind. And it’s a language he always understands.

Jodi

    NEARLY STARVED IN THE YARD
    Coming up, I used to eat so many carrots my skin turned right orange. I’d run on out into the field behind Grandma’s, yank one of them green stems, and crunch away. Then, one day, I got to where I no more liked eatin’ carrots than my momma liked cleanin’ the trailer. Crunchin’ on ’em hurt my teeth, the taste turned my stomach inside out, and that fresh-from-the-ground craving quit real quick.
    The same thing when I was pregnant with you, only, praise the Lord Jesus, it were booze I quit wantin’ so hard. That psycho lady the state made me go talk at once a week said, “Jodi, you