Oh, Rhett!

It was 4 p.m. on a Labor Day afternoon, but it felt like moonlight and magnolias. We were leaving the pool when Camille stepped off the sidewalk onto the much lower ground and, losing her balance, sat down, plunk, in the grass. A young boy (but WAY older than Camille), who was coming in with his father, stopped and extended his hand to help her up. You could almost hear the swell of strings from an unseen orchestra as she looked up from underneath those foot-long eyelashes and took his hand. Batting her eyes as she stood, with his very courtly assistance, a smile curving across her face, she was, for once, speechless. I was the one to thank the young man. But she walked to the van with a certain glow. My almost 4-year-old, channeling Scarlett O’Hara. This morning, apropos of absolutely nothing, she was reliving the moment. "Mommy? Remember when that boy helped me up? I think I’m in love with him." Heaven help us.