An enormous live Christmas tree, decorated in gold ornaments and tiny yellow lights, cast a golden glow over the vaulted entrance hall. Because the country club had been built in the mid-seventies, when new money from the Research Triangle began overflowing from Wake into Colleton County, no corners had been cut. Floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear of the hall overlooked the eighteen-hole golf course, and there were the usual tennis courts, the obligatory outdoor swimming pool, and a small gym with exercise machines.
When I was single, in private practice, and living in Dobbs with Aunt Zell and Uncle Ash, I had joined because it was a good place to entertain clients and Uncle Ash was on the membership committee. Once I became a judge, however, I let my membership drop and have had no reason to regret it. Neither Dwight nor I play golf or tennis, we can swim in the pond in warm weather, and we get plenty of exercise working around our yard.
But it’s always fun to come in for special occasions like tonight, and we were greeted by so many old friends and professional acquaintances that it took us over twenty minutes to get to the main ballroom and locate Portland and Avery. Dwight had been slightly self-conscious about not owning a tux, and he was relieved to see that dark suits like his far outnumbered the more formal ones. Uncle Ash looked elegant in his tux, though, and Aunt Zell was beautiful in a rose-colored sleeveless gown with a matching rose-colored lace jacket.
Her hair had turned silver while she was still in her forties and her soft curls brushed my cheek when she greeted me with a kiss. Except for their hair, she and Mother had borne only a fleeting resemblance to each other, and it pained me to realize that Mother would be nearing eighty had she lived.
I showed her the bracelet that Dwight had given me and her smile widened. “I saw it before you did, honey.”
“You did?”
“Dwight came by the house and took lunch with us one day. Before he went and had it engraved, he wanted to know if I thought it’d go with Sue’s bracelet.”
I hugged her again. “I’m glad you said yes.”
“Now y’all be sure to save us both a dance,” said Uncle Ash as he took Aunt Zell’s hand and tucked it on his arm. “I’m gonna want a turn around the floor with the second-prettiest gal here.”
She laughed and patted Dwight’s arm. “And I’ll lower my standards for you, honey.”
We stopped at the reception table to hand in our tickets and get the drink tickets that came with our reservations, then went on into the ballroom that had all the partitions rolled back to create the largest space possible. Avery was on his way back from the bar with two full glasses and he offered to show me our table while Dwight went to fetch our own drinks—bourbon and cola for me, with branch water for him.
“I’d give you a hug,” Avery said, “if I thought I wouldn’t spill my wife’s daiquiri down your back.”
“I’ll consider myself hugged,” I told him, thinking once again how lucky it was that Portland and I genuinely liked each other’s mates. Avery’s an attorney from Wilmington, and when he and Por first hooked up, I’d been afraid it would affect our friendship, but he’s as easygoing as Dwight and has a great sense of humor. Back whenever I was between men and needed a last-minute escort, Avery had never shown any snobbery if I drafted Dwight to make up a foursome, nor had he ever acted as if there was a difference between his law degree and the way Dwight had earned his commission as an officer in the Army. In fact, Por told me later that Avery had early on asked her if I was ever going to wake up to the fact that Dwight was not my brother.
Despite saying that she would get the club manager to pull up two extra chairs to a table for two, Portland seemed to have snagged a table for four. Space between the tables was tight, but there are times when I don’t mind being jammed and squeezed and this was one of those times. The more people, the more festive, and I was smiling happily when I slid into a chair across from my childhood friend.
She just shook her head at me. “I keep forgetting that you love last-minute Christmas shopping, too. Great stole, by the way.”
There was nothing much she could do with dark hair that was so thick and curly except to keep it clipped short, but her crystal earrings flashed sparks of fire and the plunging neckline of her black halter-topped dress showed off a figure she had worked hard to return to its pre-baby slenderness.
“Big difference from last year this time,” I said.
“Oh, honey! Last year this time I was bearing down and cussing Avery and trying to tell my obstetrician I’d changed my mind about having a baby.”
Avery made a big show of looking at his watch and said, “Actually, last year at this precise time, our daughter was already twelve hours old and you were cussing me because I wouldn’t bring you a burger with double cheese and onions and a margarita on the side.”
“And hadn’t I damn well earned them?”
“Right. You’d have given the baby colic right away.”
Their affectionate bickering ended when Dwight joined us, but before he could put our drinks down, Diane Hobbs and her husband Randy appeared at his side. Randy, a recently retired magistrate, was resplendent in a tux with a red paisley cummerbund, and Diane, who works for our dentist, wore a strapless red silk gown that showed off toned upper arms that would have put Michelle Obama to shame.
I thanked her for the chocolate-covered fried pecans she had sent by Dwight. “My nieces and nephews eat anything they can get their hands on, but I think I hid them where they won’t find them. They’re too good to be devoured by kids with underdeveloped taste buds.”
She laughed and announced that she was there to claim a dance with Dwight.
The median age of the people here tonight looked to be about sixty-five and the band had probably been instructed not to play any music written after the fifties unless it was slow versions of the Beatles. That was okay with me. There’s a time and a place for everything and I was totally in the mood for the romantic music of that era.
Randy Hobbs is a dear and he never once stepped on my toes, but I was ready to change partners when “Moonlight in Vermont” came to an end and the band segued into “Moon River.”
For a man of his size and build, Dwight is surprisingly good on the dance floor. He’s not a flashy dancer, no Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly moves, but he gives the impression that he could if he wanted to, which makes it fun to follow his lead.
