Queen Bee Goes Home Again

by Haywood Smith

  Tommy let out a brief snort of exasperation. “If you’re willing to give up someone like Connor because of what some people might think about you, then that’s your decision. Just be honest with yourself about why the gossips’ opinions mean more to you than Connor.”

  “It’s not me I’m thinking about,” I defended. “It’s Connor. This job means a lot to him. I don’t want to be responsible for jeopardizing that.”

  Tommy shook his head. “So that’s what you’re telling yourself, is it?”

  My compulsion to be justified let loose a barrage of self-defensive reasons for why I was being noble.

  My brother waited till I was done, then granted me a gentle smile. “Suppose you decided to go out with Connor. How does that make you feel?”

  I thought a minute before I responded, my mind buzzing with inner voices inserting their pros and cons. I finally told Tommy what the voice that shouted loudest over the din was saying. “Terrified.”

  He nodded. “And why is that?”

  “Because I might really cost him his job. And what if we broke up afterward, making it all in vain?”

  “You sure are good at projecting dire consequences,” he told me. “Have you ever considered just living in today? Being grateful for the good things in just this day, doing the next right thing, and leaving the future to God?”

  My enabler’s group stressed the same thing. It made a lot more sense than constantly worrying about what might go wrong. “Maybe I will.”

  “Forget maybe,” he said. “Either you will, or you won’t. But trust me, you don’t have to be an alcoholic for it to work.”

  I knew that. “I don’t want to be a minister’s wife,” I finally blurted out. “I can’t. I don’t play the piano, and little kids scare me to death. I talk too much without thinking first, and I’m too selfish, nobody’s idea of a minister’s wife.”

  “Except the minister’s,” Tommy corrected.

  Aye, there’s the rub.

  “We have a lot to be grateful for,” my brother coaxed. “All that gold and land and money. Rent-free accommodations. We can get out of bed every morning and walk and talk and see and hear.”

  Now he was getting corny.

  “And we have Mama’s cooking,” he went on. “And both of our parents.”

  I skewed my mouth. “Well, we don’t really have Daddy anymore.”

  Instead of being annoyed, Tommy grinned. “So we still have one and a half of our parents, then.”

  He always knew how to make me laugh.

  “Okay. I give in. I’ll try it one day at a time.” I faced him. “But what about all those dark voices that go through my thoughts?”

  “Just tell them they’re liars, and to shut up. I swear, it works. Then do something useful to distract yourself.”

  Kiss! my inner hedonist called like a siren, Connor’s arms and face and taste materializing in my brain. Kiss, kiss, kiss.

  That’s not what Tommy meant, my Puritan scolded.

  I shook my head, but it didn’t clear the din. “If you knew how many pieces of me were chattering away in my brain,” I told my brother, “you might have me committed.”

  “Trust me,” Tommy reassured me. “You are not crazy. After all these years in AA, not to mention Daddy and our uncles, I know crazy, and you’re not it. A bit self-absorbed at times, but definitely not crazy.”

  “Thank you for the psych evaluation,” I said with one brow arched in skepticism. “Doctor Breedlove.”

  We rode in awkward silence for the next mile or so till I couldn’t stand the tension anymore. “With this one-day-at-a-time thing, am I allowed to ask about what we’re doing tomorrow?”

  Tommy chuckled. “Yes, you are. Plans are great, as long as we’re flexible about what happens.” He took a bank key out of the bare ashtray, then glanced at it. “Tomorrow is Gay First Federal in Meriwether County.”

  I frowned in confusion. Meriwether County was rural and conservative. “They have a gay bank in Meriwether County?”

  Who says there are no stupid questions?

  Tommy laughed. “No. The town is Gay, Georgia. Daddy’s one aberration from stashing his stuff in county seats.”

  I broke up, envisioning sidewalks teeming with drag queens. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  Tommy wasn’t amused. “If we find more gold and deeds, I’ll take you to Greenville to go through the records while I run the stuff back home.”

  The trip would take him two hours each way. “Tommy, you’re exhausted. We can put it under the mattress while we sleep. Give yourself a break.”

  “No way. This gold is Miss Mamie’s nest egg. I’m not risking it.”

  “I wonder if she has a stash of their money somewhere,” I thought aloud. “Savings? CDs? Cash.” My mind explored the possibilities. She hadn’t let us go through her locked, fireproofed finance file box. “She’s paying the nursing home out of something.”

  Three thousand five hundred a month for a smelly room, awful food, and not enough workers.

  Tommy’s brows lifted. “I think the time has come to talk turkey with Miss Mamie about money. Maybe what we’ve found will get her to open up. As Daddy’s guardians, we have power of attorney and the right to see their finances, but I’d hate to use that on our own mother.”

  We gave each other a sidelong glance of dread.

  “I should have tried harder to convince her to let me see how things stand,” Tommy confessed. “But I couldn’t bring myself to take away her last bit of privacy. Mentally, she’s sound as Stone Mountain, so she’ll probably tell us to mind our own business.”

  I chuckled. “Uh-oh. Now who’s putting out the negative projections?”

  That brought back Tommy’s grin. “Touché.”

  I marveled at how well he kept his cool. “You really, really have grown up,” I said.

  He kept his eyes on the road ahead, a weary smile lifting the edges of his lips. “’Bout time.”

  If he could live his life one day at a time with such positive results, so could I. I needed some positive results, for sure.

  Thirty-four

  By the time we finished our road trip, Tommy had gone online at the local libraries of a few towns to research the value of the coins we’d found. Armed with what he’d learned, we detoured to Atlanta on our way home and stopped at two reputable coin dealers to inquire discreetly about what we could get for the Krugerrands.

  The good news was, the rolls of uncirculated coins Daddy had bought for about forty dollars per coin were now worth at least sixteen hundred apiece. The great news was, the sets of proofs were worth even more, depending on their scarcity. We had several complete proof sets, but when we tried to get a definite price out of the dealers, they both waffled, probably because they wanted to buy them as cheaply as possible if we sold.

  Tommy and I thanked them kindly, went back to his truck, then decided to find a reputable appraiser and go from there. I called Miss Mamie and told her we were an hour away.

  “Good,” she said. “See you then.” Click, she hung up.

  Buoyed by what we had found out about the coins, we were both more than ready to bring home the last of the loot when we finally rolled into the porte cochere at 1431 Green Street at one-thirty in the afternoon, two weeks before the election.

  Miss Mamie was waiting for us inside in her apron, the kitchen set for a celebratory lunch.

  “Home at last,” Tommy rejoiced as he hugged our mother. “Halleluiah.”

  Miss Mamie held on for long seconds before she let go, then turned to embrace me, too. “Welcome home, my precious children. Take a seat in the kitchen. We’ll eat first, then talk later.”

  Tommy and I exchanged pregnant glances.

  After we’d eaten, the time would come to lay it all out and ask Mama about her funds and what she wanted to do with the gold. We still had to make sure the cash in the safe wouldn’t trigger some kind of investigation, so those were off-limits for the present.

  Lunch provided a welcom
e delay, and it was great: an orange and almond cranberry salad with homemade sweet-and-sour dressing, and lamb chops, broiled to perfection. Yum.

  Miss Mamie didn’t ask any questions till we’d all finished doing the dishes and putting everything away. Then she motioned us to the empty table. “Have a seat. We need to talk.”

  We sat side by side, facing her chair.

  She sank into her place with a sigh of relief. “Feels good to sit down.” Then she looked at Tommy. “I’ve been dying to ask, but didn’t want to interrupt y’all. What did you find? I’m hoping it’s spectacular, because this place has been dead lonely without you.”

  “We found deeds to nineteen undeveloped properties,” Tommy told her. “Two had been sold off for nonpayment of taxes, but the other seventeen are current. The bad news is, we can’t get much for them in this economy.”

  “Blasted recession,” the Mame spat out. “The General always said this country would go bankrupt if we went off the gold standard, and he was right.” She straightened like Mrs. Miniver, chin lifted. “What are the taxes on them?”

  I answered. “Altogether, we need to pay about ten thousand a year to hold on to them till prices get better.”

  Daddy had always been big into owning raw land, risky though it was.

  “I’ll have to look into that and make a decision,” the Mame deflected. “How much do you think the land would sell for right now?”

  “I checked recent comparable sales at the courthouses,” I told her, “so this is just an informed estimate: at best, maybe a hundred thousand for everything. Half of them don’t even have utilities.”

  Mama arched a brow as she nodded. “I see.” She turned back to Tommy. “And what have you been bringing home every afternoon?”

  At last, he got to tell her that her financial troubles were over. Tommy smiled wide. “Forty thousand in old bills, and a passel of gold Krugerrands. Proofs and uncirculated. But only half of what’s missing, according to the receipts we found in Daddy’s office.”

  Mama lit up like a two-hundred-fifty-watt incandescent bulb. “Thank You, Jesus! Never mind what you didn’t find. How much are these worth?”

  “The General bought the coins right after we went off the gold standard in seventy-one,” Tommy explained, deliberately drawing out the bottom line. “The receipts then were for over a hundred thousand—cash—when gold was thirty-two dollars an ounce.”

  Back when our mother was home clipping coupons and trying to save every dime. I was grateful to Daddy and furious, at the same time.

  Tommy went on. “I need to bring in a reputable appraiser to look everything over before we’ll know exactly what you can get for them. Then you can decide if you want to sell any of them.”

  “Of course we’ll sell them.” Mama gloated. “But not all at once. Why bother the IRS? Your daddy bought them with post-tax dollars.”

  She leaned forward. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said politely. “How many uncirculated coins did you find, and what are they going for today?”

  Tommy answered immediately. “Five hundred fifty rolled uncirculated coins, plus a hundred and fifty proofs still in their boxes.” Tommy had counted and recounted, so he’d know if any were missing. “As of this morning, the rolled coins are about sixteen hundred each, conservatively. The proofs vary, but they’re all more than that.”

  Mama nodded, her bookkeeper’s mind clearly whirring away. “So for five hundred fifty coins, that’s…” She shot to her feet. “More than eight hundred thousand dollars! Not even counting the proofs!” She dropped to her knees like someone had lopped off her lower legs, then started sobbing.

  Tommy leapt over the table as I scrambled to see if we’d given her a stroke or a heart attack. We found her on her knees, curled toward the floor with her hands clasped, repeating, “Thank You, God. Thank You, Jesus,” through her tears.

  We both asked in unison, “Mama, are you okay?”

  She looked heavenward, her face aglow despite her tears. “Thank You, God. I knew You’d come through, but we sure cut it close, didn’t we?”

  Laughing and crying at the same time, she took our forearms and rose with the grace of a dancer. “I was down to a thousand dollars in the bank and didn’t know how I’d pay the Home.” Grinning, she swiped the tears from her face. “It’s like Corrie Ten Boom said, ‘you don’t need the ticket till the train pulls into the station.’ I trust God, but I must confess, my faith began to waver when I got that last bank statement.”

  I hugged her, tight. “Thanks be to God, and to Daddy.”

  Mama’s expression shifted to one of wonder. “The General always told me we were well provided for. Then when he lost his business and his mind, I asked him about our nest egg, but every time, he just patted my shoulder and said, ‘Don’t you worry, Mame. We have all we’ll ever need.’”

  She shook her head, wistful. “Once he was at the Home, I couldn’t let myself think about what might be out there that we would never find. Too depressing.”

  She brightened. “Then y’all found it. God and your daddy provided, right when we got to the bottom of the barrel.”

  Kind of cruel of God to wait so long, if you asked me, but I sent up my own prayer of heartfelt gratitude anyway.

  I looked to Tommy, who was obviously relieved that we hadn’t jolted our mother into kingdom come. “So much for asking Mama about her finances.”

  Miss Mamie sobered abruptly. “Quick, Tommy. Get somebody up here to value that stuff, then start selling it off.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said gently. “We have all those bills.”

  Canny, Mama shook her head. “Those would attract too much attention,” she said, “rare as they are.”

  She had a point.

  Mama’s eyes lost focus briefly as she considered the situation, then they cleared. “Since your daddy’s officially incompetent, and Georgia is a community property state by adjudication, let’s just say that the half y’all found is mine. What sort of tax exposure do I face when we sell it?”

  I chuckled. “I thought you didn’t want to bother the IRS.”

  “I was only kiddin’.” She made a flat-mouthed Stan Laurel face. “‘Christians, pay your taxes,’” she quoted scripture. “No gettin’ around that. I just don’t want to pay any more than we have to.”

  “I think it’ll be a capital gain,” Tommy said. “I’ve got a buddy in the program who’s a tax lawyer. I’ll call him right away and find out how we should do this, and see who he recommends as an appraiser.”

  Tommy pulled out his cell phone, scrolled down, then hit the call button. After a silence, he said, “Paul, this is Tom B with a 911. I’ve got an urgent question concerning some liquid assets I found. Please call back ASAP. Thanks.”

  His brows drew together as he hung up. “Message.”

  Miss Mamie frowned. “I’m already late with the payment to the Home. We need some funds right away.”

  Tommy thought for a minute, then said, “I’ll offer to pay the coin appraiser a Krugerrand if he’ll come up right away. Once he’s given us the values, I’ll give him the chance to buy a few. That would take care of us for right now. Otherwise, I’m sure I can find some cash customers within a day or two.”

  I don’t know why, but the enormity of what we’d just given back to our mother—and Daddy—finally sank in, and I needed to sit down. Thank You, thank You, thank You, thank You, God. And Daddy.

  “I’d like to keep all this as confidential as possible,” Tommy said. “Daddy already paid the taxes for the money he used to buy this, but if we dump everything at once, there’ll be a huge tax exposure, I’m sure. I don’t want to red-flag the IRS.”

  “Bloodsucking bastards,” our proper mother purred.

  “Amen to that.” When Phil had skipped the country back in 2002, they’d auctioned our house and all that was left (except some clothes and furniture I’d been able to hide with friends). Never mind that Phil had duped me as much as he’d duped them; I’d taken
the hit.

  Tommy got up. “I’ll call my friend again from the study. By suppertime, we should have a reliable appraisal, at least.”

  The Mame nodded. “Come on, Lin. Let’s break out the peach ice cream while Tommy figures this all out.”

  “Hey!” he protested on his way to the den of iniquity. “What about me?”

  Miss Mamie hollered right back. “There’s plenty of peach ice cream, but you need to get us out of the hole first, so I can pay the Home.”

  She lowered her voice and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, leaning her head against mine. “We’ll have ours with some of your daddy’s ancient brandy.” She moved us toward the freezer. “I made plenty of extra peach this summer because your brother loves it so much. But no brandy for him.”

  I considered, then whispered, “I thought you got rid of all the booze in the house when Tommy got sober.” Except for the moonshine Daddy had squirreled away.

  Looking like herself again, now that the weight of the world wasn’t on her shoulders, Mama shook her head. She glanced toward the den, then whispered, “You don’t just get rid of hundred-year-old brandy. I’ve kept it in a big ole Kotex box in my bathroom linen closet for situations just like this one.”

  The one place my brother would never go near. Brilliant. “Come on, Mama,” I whispered back. “You get the ice cream, and I’ll get the Kotex, and we’ll both celebrate in my apartment.” For a much happier reason than the last time I moved home.

  “Great idea,” she said. “Tommy will take care of the financial end of things. He’s very good at that.”

  Not the old Tommy, but he wasn’t the old Tommy anymore.

  She leaned out of the door to the back hallway to issue a melodious, “Ohh, Tommmmy! We’re going to the apartment. Let us know when you’re all done!”

  Tommy’s voice yelled back, mimicking her intonations, “Remember. Save me a lot of that ice cream.”

  “Ooooh-kaay,” she sang back.

  Like fleeing felons, we grabbed the goods and hurried to my apartment.

  By four-thirty, my ninety-year-old mother and sixty-year-old self had gone through all my picture albums and were both high on sugar and brandy, feeling no pain, and dancing to my golden oldie Beatles and Motown CDs.