The Land of Mango Sunsets (31 page)

Perhaps I could persuade Liz to come from Alabama or Kevin to visit from Paris for a few days to take care of Harry when I had to leave. I would entice them for a visit, to arrive a few days before I had to depart, feed them steamed vegetables from my magical garden and grilled fresh
fish that had been swimming that day, caught from the dock out near Awendaw where the ferryboat sails to Bull’s Island, and where Harrison most loved to drop a hook.

We would catch up over dinner and into the night, rightfully reclaiming our special and chosen familial positions with one another over as many varieties of muscadine wine as we could find and pour—Darlene, Pam, Hunt, pineapple, and of course, scuppernong—along with a perfectly ripened organic goat cheese, spread on delicious organic crackers, topped with my own miraculous mango chutney.

Tonight, when my sons and their wives and children were asleep in their beds, and Harrison was gently snoring in his recliner chair in the den, I would slip out to the porch for a dose of my mother’s spirit. I would sit in the rocker next to her favorite, breathe deeply, and just as I would at sunset, I would feel her all around me.

Her breath would be sweet and I would almost hear her whispering right into the center of my heart.
My darling girl,
she would say,
bringing your family together to love each other is all that matters.
In the next instant I would think of how much I missed her and then I would be reminded beyond a doubt that she had never left me at all. I would reach over, touch the arm of her chair, and give her a little push to rock in time with me.

Special thanks to my dear friend Marjory Heath Wentworth, South Carolina poet laureate, whose spectacular words enrich mine. We are all so proud of you, Marjory, and I am particularly honored to offer one vehicle to share your glorious talent, that of a
living American woman,
with readers everywhere. Bravo!

To my New Jersey literary friends, the geniuses: Pamela Redmond Satran, Deborah Davis, Debbie Galant, Benilde Little, Mary Jane Clark, and especially Liza Dawson, who knows why. Huge thanks for your support and your friendship, which I value more than you could know. And my love to all the members of MEWS, which is run by the indefatigable Pamela Redmond Satran, who keeps the four-hundred-plus writers who live in the Montclair area informed on all issues pertinent to the fun and games of a writing life.

To my South Carolina literary friends who constantly inspire me with their endless wit and the choir of their authentic southern voices: Josephine Humphreys, her sommelier husband, Tom Hutcheson, Walter Edgar, Anne Rivers Siddons, Sue Monk Kidd, Nathalie DuPree, Jack Bass, Tom Blagden, Barbara Hagerty, Robert Rosen, Mary Alice Monroe, William Baldwin, Robert Jordan, Roger Pinckney, and especially to the sainted one, Cassandra King, who most of you know is the long-suffering wife of my favorite old grizzly bear, Pat Conroy, who gave me the courage to write
and continues to explain the publishing world to me, one drop of ink at a time. To Jack Alterman, for my youthful author photo and for his photographic genius in general.

To Gerald Imber, M.D., my plastic-surgeon pal, who has yet to make me resemble Jack Alterman’s work, who is fabulous, hilarious, a genius, and an artist, but who will not give you free plastic surgery unless you are the pope or something, or Oprah, who, as I understand it, doesn’t need it or the charity, and let me assure you I have sucked up to her in other acknowledgments with zero results. To the other real people who appear in this book—Kathy and Mike Rumph, Woody, Elizabeth and Caroline Wood, and my other two favorite doctors: George Durst, M.D., and Gordon Ferguson, DDS—huge thanks, and, folks, if their characters act out of character for them, it’s my fault, not theirs. And as always, to the out-of-state belles—Rhonda Rich, Mary Kay Andrews, Patti Callahan Henry, and Annabelle Robertson—love y’all madly

Again thanks to my agent, Gail Fortune, for years of friendship and excellent guidance, and all best wishes to Gail’s partner, John Talbot, a heckuva guy.

To the William Morrow dream team, beginning with my fearless and brilliant editor, Carrie Feron, whose truly stellar thoughts and suggestions were invaluable in shaping this entire work—Carrie, darlin’, if they like this book, make sure you take a large chunk of the credit! Thank you for everything! And to Jane Friedman, Michael Morrison, Lisa Gallagher, Brian McSharry, Virginia Stanley, Carla Parker, Michael Morris, Michael Spradlin, Brian Grogan, Donna Waitkus, Rhonda Rose, and Lord knows, to Tessa Woodward—whew! Thank you over and over! And to the marketing and publicity wizards—Debbie Stier, Ben Bruton, Buzzy Porter, Pamela Spengler Jaffee, Lynn Grady, and Tavia Kowalchuk—huge thanks! I curtsy to Liate Stehlik and Adrienne DiPietro from Avon, to Rick Harris in the audio division, and to the visionaries, Tom Egner and Richard Aquan, for my gorgeous covers.

To Debbie Zammit—what can I tell ya? We’re still alive! Thanks for
everything, especially the endless hours of scrutiny, your wonderful friendship, and your humor that saved many a day. To Ann Del Mastro, Mary Allen, George Zur, and Kevin Sherry—you know how much the Franks love all of you and appreciate your keeping our mother ship afloat in so many ways. And to Penn Sicre, my friend of many years, for taking the leap (we hope!) from page to screen with
Plantation.

And to the booksellers—especially Patti Morrison, Avery Cline, Emily Morrison, and every last soul from Barnes & Noble in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina; Tom Warner and Vicki Crafton of Litchfield Books in Pawleys Island; Jennifer McCurry of Waldenbooks in Charleston; Andy and Carrie Graves of Happy Bookseller in Columbia; Frazer Dobson and Sally Brewster at Park Road Books in Charlotte; and to Omar Dowdy and Larry Kirshbaum, my old friend and new friend—huge hugs and kisses to you, one and all.

Special bowing and scraping to my wonderful cousin Charles “Comar” Blanchard Jr., whom we adore for who he is and to whom we owe enormous gratitude for everything he does.

Obviously, the bulk of all my thanks I should place at the feet of my wonderful, brilliant, handsome husband, Peter, and our two gorgeous, outrageously funny, and smart nearly adult children, Victoria and William. We are so proud of you and I thank you for understanding this crazy career of mine and always rolling with the insanity with such warmth and love. I love you all with all I’ve got. But back to Peter for a moment—hey, Pete? You’re number one! (Inside joke.) Seriously, I love you and thanks!

And to my readers? I thank you again and again for all your nice e-mails, for coming out to book signings, and for being so great in every way. Your generous words of support keep me going in the tough moments and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.