“Called me? Myrtle called me, silly. Well, not me, my son Raff. Evidently, they found a letter from him in your car and decided to call him when they didn’t know who your people might be. He sent me to bring you to the law office. He’s busy with a client and, well, he thinks I do nothing all day, which is far from true, but I told him I didn’t mind since I was heading out to the Piggly Wiggly anyway. He wasn’t expecting you today, but he can squeeze you in. He did adore your grandmother so much, and he and your daddy played ball together. You know, growing up right next door and all.”
“Ma’am—”
“Oh, where is my head. I totally forgot to offer you my condolences for your—”
“Ma’am!” Marcus yelled.
“Good Lord, child,” the woman said with a gasp as she slammed on the brakes and squealed to a halt. “No need to yell. I’m right beside you.”
“Yes, ma’am, but who are you?”
The woman stared at him, then threw her head back and laughed. “Where is my head? Just rattling off at you like this. I’m sorry. My name is Helen Warner.” The woman stretched her left hand between her body and the steering wheel toward Marcus. “Pleased to meet you.”
Marcus took her hand and shook it slightly. “Hello.”
“I’m going to blame that breach of etiquette on Myrtle too. I swear that woman just burns my butter, and off I go. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain.” Helen stepped on the gas pedal and zoomed along the street, making Marcus fumble for the handle over his head.
“I gathered. And you’re picking me up because…”
“Like I said, my son, Raffield Junior, is a lawyer. He’s handling your grandmother’s estate. He and my late husband, Raffield Senior, own the most respected law firm in town, Warner, Warner, and Thompson. Thompson was my daddy. Anyway, your grandmother was my next-door neighbor and one of my dearest friends in the world. We knew each other since Jesus was a child. Her passing was one of the saddest days of my life. I’m so sorry you lost her, honey.”
“Well, I never really met her.”
“Oh, yes. That’s even sadder. Your grandmother was the kindest woman in town. Everybody loved her.”
Marcus shifted his eyes from Helen to the roadside. As the car rolled past a softball field and the empty playground of a school, the light flashing between the trees made his head throb. He patted his chest pocket searching for his sunglasses before realizing they were probably in his car, wherever it was. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool glass of the window. Hoping more conversation would distract him from the headache, he opened his eyes and asked, “And you knew my father?”
“Sure did.” Helen glanced over at Marcus and smiled before turning her attention back to the road. “I was the first person your grandmother met when she and your granddaddy moved to Marathon. They barely had the moving van half-unpacked before the other girls and I were over there with casseroles. Your granddaddy was going to be the new city manager, so it was important we made a good impression.” She slowed the car before skidding to the right around a corner. Marcus braced himself again using the handle over the window. Helen continued her chatter with no notice of her squealing tires. “This was years before he became the mayor. I ran his campaign. Well, Inez Coffee and I did. Once the two of us got on board, his election was sealed. If anybody had not voted for the candidate Inez and I picked, they knew they would’ve been ruined in this town. His campaign slogan was…wait. What was I talking about?”
“My father?”
“Oh, yes. I remember Raff came with me and soon he and Nat were running around in the yard together as if they’d known each other for years.” Helen giggled. “I haven’t thought about this in years. I remember I told my friend Priss, Priscilla Ellington, you’ll meet her later, and, when you do, try not to stare at her awful hairdo. I’ve told her time and again to quit going to Maureen at the Beauty Spot and go to Tanya at the Cutting Up, but she won’t listen. Try not to cuss when you see it. She’s the preacher’s wife and doesn’t take kindly to cussing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Marcus shook his head and chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Anyway,” Helen continued, “I was walking her back to her car—this was back when she still lived over by the Baptist church, mind you, before she moved in on the other side of your grandmother’s house, but I said to her that your daddy was one of the ugliest children I had ever seen in my life. Bless his heart, he was awkward. All orange hair and freckles and the knobbiest knees I’d ever seen. Who’d have guessed he’d grow up to be so handsome?”
Intrigued by information from someone who had known his father, Marcus lost interest in the shops and businesses and the small dogwood trees that were lined up along the sidewalks. He took a deep breath and asked, “My dad was handsome?”
Helen nodded and said, “Indeed. He had all the local girls after him all the time, but your daddy didn’t care. He and my Raff didn’t have time for girls. They were both in love with sports, playing football, baseball, basketball, anything. Those boys were inseparable growing up and they went off to UGA together. They shared a room in the dorm. Well, until your daddy met your mama in that diner and ran off in the middle of the night. Can’t say I blame a girl for wanting to run off with your daddy.” Helen pulled the car over to the curb in front of a large brick building and put the car in park. “But that’s enough about that. Here we are. Let’s go get you the keys to your house, neighbor!” Helen swung her door open and stepped out of the car. Her khaki skirt flitted around her knees as she stalked up the sidewalk toward the door.
Marcus hopped out of the car and ran after Helen. “House? What do you mean house?”
Helen stopped and shook her head. “I’ve already said too much. Raff will explain it all. It’s all in the will.”
“You know what’s in my grandmother’s will?” Marcus slowed his gait when he reached her. “Isn’t that some kind of ethical breach or something?”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m in that will too.” Helen waved away his words and concern. “As I said, I was your grandmother’s best friend. Also, Raff thought it might be nice if I helped you get settled in and welcomed you to town. After all, manners will always trump ethics. Now, come on.” Helen pushed the door open with her hip. She slid the sunglasses to the top of her head as she stepped into the cold air of the lobby. “Raff? Sweetheart? Oh, hello, Diane,” she said to the teen-aged girl sitting behind the reception desk in the small front room. “Is that son of mine around here somewhere? I picked up the package he asked me to retrieve.” Helen jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Marcus.
“Just one minute, Mrs. Warner,” the girl said and smiled over the older woman’s shoulder at Marcus. She pushed a button on a speaker phone on her desk and said, “Mr. Warner? Your mother is out here with some man.”
“Oh, this is silly,” Helen said as she scooted past the desk and into the hallway. “Raff, honey? Where are you? I’ve got the Sumter boy. He’s a little banged up, but I got him here in one piece.”
A man stepped out of a conference room to the right of the hall. Raffield Warner stood barely over five feet tall and was nearly that wide. The white dress shirt he wore was rumpled and only halfway tucked into his blue suit pants. The tail of his crooked necktie extended below the wider front part of the tie. He had a fringe of dark hair around his temples, but was completely bald above that. He sighed and stood with his hands on his hips. “Mama, I have asked you a million times to please not barge in on me. You can wait in the lobby until I come get you. I could be with an important client.”
“Foot,” Helen said and scoffed. “Need I remind you it was my daddy’s and my husband’s money that built this building and I’ll come in here any time I want?” She swatted him on the shoulder and walked past him into the conference room. “Now let’s get this unpleasant business over with.”
“Raffield Warner, Junior.” Ra
ffield stuck out his hand to Marcus. “But everybody calls me Raff. And you have to be Marcus Sumter. I swear, you look just like your daddy. Looking at you, it’s like time stood still for him and just walked all over me. It’s mighty fine to finally meet you. I was beginning to think you were never going to respond to my letters. I must’ve sent at least five letters to that address I found on the Internet before you responded.”
“Yeah.” Marcus shrugged and looked away. “Not the best neighborhood. Mail goes missing sometimes.”
“No. These were sent certified. Somebody had to sign—”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I never got them until the last one. That’s when I called you. Didn’t you say there was something I needed to sign?”
“Ah, I see.” Raffield stared at Marcus before clearing his throat and gesturing down the hall. “We can take care of that down here. Boy, that’s some bandage you got on your head there. What the hell happened?”
“Delores Richards happened!” Helen called from the conference room.
“Oh, good heavens. You’re lucky to have stepped away with just a goose egg if you ran into Delores Richards.”
“Well, he’s practically a resident now that she ran into him.”
“Yeah. I guess that is kind of a rite of passage around here,” Raffield said as he led Marcus into the conference room. “Miss Richards has a hard time staying on her side of the road. She ran into me once coming down Elm Street. She walloped me good. I instantly jumped out and told her it was all my fault. ‘But I ran into you!’ she said. I said ‘Yes, ma’am. But I saw you coming three blocks away and I could’ve turned off when I had the chance. So this is clearly my fault’.”
“Oh, Raff. You tell that story all the time.”
“Well, it’s true, Mama. Honestly, I don’t know why the police haven’t taken her keys away yet.”
“Because that would just be rude. There is no need to bring the police into such matters. We always settle up with her on the side. Plus, Hank over at Murphy’s just takes care of everything and sends the bill to Miss Richards’s sister. And lord knows, the Richards have more money than sense.”
“Mama,” Raffield chastised her.
“Well, it’s true.”
“So, did the fine doctors at Marathon General get you all patched up? You going to live?” Raff asked with a chuckle. He picked a glass from a table along the wall, filled it with water from a pitcher, and handed it to Marcus.
“Yeah. Got a splitting headache, and the doctor says I’ll never skate in the Olympics now.”
“You skate?”
“I’m kidding.” Marcus took a sip of the water and looked around the room at the pictures of bulldogs in red and black sweaters hanging on each wall.
“Oh. Heh.” Raff chuckled politely. “Well, your daddy was such a good football player. I was too, though you can’t tell it now.” Raff smacked his hand on the belly protruding over his belt. “I played at UGA when I was there. You play sports, Marcus?”
“No, sir. Sports aren’t really my thing.”
“Well, that’s too bad. My son isn’t really into sports either. He wants to be an actor or some such nonsense. Guess it takes all kinds. I can’t believe Nat Sumter’s boy isn’t a sports nut. Your daddy was crazy about anything that involved balls.”
“Well, we have that in common, I guess,” Marcus mumbled, quickly taking another sip of the water to hide the blush rushing into his cheeks. Hoping to change the subject, he said, “Um, I never really knew my daddy.”
“Oh, um, yeah. I guess after the accident…” Raff stammered and glanced at the floor awkwardly. “Well, let me see if Diane has some aspirin for that headache. Won’t you sit down?” Raff gestured toward the large table in the conference room where papers lay spread out.
Marcus stepped to the table and perched in one of the oversized leather chairs surrounding it; his head pounded with each beat of his heart.
Raff shuffled a few of the papers and said, “Boy, looks like you got a good deal of money coming to you…”
“Oh, Raff,” Helen said and clucked her tongue, “don’t talk about money. It’s tacky. Honey, I’m going to go find you a headache powder while you men handle all this paperwork business.”
“Now sign here.” Raff pointed out a line at the bottom of a paper. “Then initial here.”
Marcus scribbled his name where instructed, then set the pen gently on the table. He read the final paragraph of the will to himself one more time. To my grandson Marcus, I leave all my other worldly possessions, my assets and most importantly, my house, so that maybe, just once in his life, that poor boy can have a real home.
“So, it’s all mine?”
“Well, it has to go through probate and such, but yes. Basically, it’s all yours.”
“And I have to live in the house? I mean, she says she wants it to be my home.”
“Oh, good lord, boy,” Helen said and laughed. “Your grandmother was a former mayor’s wife, not the queen of England. It’s a will, not a proclamation.”
“My mother is correct. You can do with the assets as you see fit, once her few debts are paid off.”
“So I could sell it?”
”If that’s what you desire. As a matter of fact, my wife, Katie Nell, is one of the most successful realtors in Marathon. I’m sure she could sell it for you in a heartbeat if you want.”
“Raff, you quit trying to drum up business for that nitwit wife of yours.” Helen picked up the pen from the table and inspected it before opening her purse and dropping it in. “Marcus, you don’t have to decide anything right now. Why don’t you spend a little time here and see what you want to do with it? How soon do you have to be back where you came from? Back in…?”
“Um, Atlanta.” Marcus let his eyes wander off from Helen to the photographs on the wall behind her. “No rush. Nothing important waiting on me there.”
“Then it’s settled. You stay here for a few weeks at least and see what you want to do. The other Do-Nothings and I have already gone through your grandmother’s house and got it nice and clean for you. Of course, there’s no real food in there, but we’ll get you settled, and I’ll bring over something for you to eat tonight. Tomorrow, we will run you up to the Piggly Wiggly and stock you up.”
“Well, I guess I can stay until the house sells at least.” Marcus looked at the table as Raff slid a manila envelope across the table to him.
“Here are your copies of all the paperwork. There are a bunch of things in there. Here are the keys to the house.” Raff pushed a key ring across the table. “And I wrote Katie Nell’s number on the front of the envelope so when you get ready to sell—”
“If you sell it,” Helen interrupted her son. “You never know, little man, we might just charm you into staying.” Helen grinned at Marcus and then turned to her son. “Now, Raff, I’ll run him on home and please tell your wife I really need her to bring back my punch bowl that she borrowed months ago.” Helen stood and took her purse out of the chair beside her. “Come along, Marcus. Bye, Baby.” Helen kissed her son on his bald spot.
“Mama, I’m fifty-four years old. Don’t call me Baby.”
Helen rolled her eyes at Marcus and grinned. “Let’s scoot. I need to get you home.”
Chapter Two
“Helen, what are Do-Nothings?” Marcus asked as he stared out the car window while the houses along the street rolled by. He rubbed the single key on the key ring between his fingers and glanced at the shiny brass letter E that dangled off the ring beside the key.
“What, honey?”
“Do-Nothings,” Marcus said, still staring at the key ring. “Back there, you said you and the Do-Nothings had cleaned my grandmother’s house.”
“Did I say that? Well, it’s true. Not that there was much to do. Eloise Sumter was an immaculate housekeeper, even at the end, when she was so sick
she could barely get out of the bed. Mainly we just got rid of all the medical equipment. Figured you didn’t need to see all of that. Also, I hope you don’t mind, but we each took some of her clothes and donated some to Brother Marty’s. It’s a local place that sells used stuff and uses the money to run a soup kitchen for the needy.”
Marcus shrugged. “That’s fine. But the Do-Nothings?”
“Oh, that’s just a bunch of old women. We were all your grandmother’s friends. Have been for years and years.”
“So you’re a bridge club or something?”
“No. It’s just what the name says. We do nothing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You see, your grandmother actually came up with the idea. Being the mayor’s wife, she had to take part in every last blasted thing that went on in this town: garden club; quilting circle; Junior Ladies Club, which is full of women who are hardly junior or ladies, I might add. All kinds of nonsense that she was always dragging me along to. All of that on top of raising a family and keeping up a house, it was plain exhausting. So, one day, we were riding back from a PTA meeting, I think it was, and she said to me, ‘wouldn’t it be heaven to do absolutely nothing?’ And that was when we decided to create the Do-Nothing club. Once a week, we would get together and do nothing. No refreshments. No flower arranging. No bible study. No card playing. Just sit around and talk and enjoy a whole hour of doing nothing. Now that most of us are widows and don’t have jobs and families, we spend most of our days doing nothing, but we’ve had the club for over forty years. Seemed silly to quit. We also meet more than once a week now.”
“You don’t do anything? Isn’t that boring?”
“No, child. It’s marvelous. And we don’t just sit and stare at each other. We gossip, tell stories about the old days, and talk about our grandchildren. Catch up on the latest news. Inez goes to New York to see a musical a couple of times a year, so she will tell us about that. Sometimes we swap recipes we cut out of the Southern Living. Francine tells us what is happening at the diner and about her daughters and their love lives. I’ll catch the girls up on Days of Our Lives. Just whatever we feel like that day. You know, chatter. When Priss isn’t there, we might have some wine. You know those Baptists and their thing with alcohol. Don’t tell her that part when you meet her.”
Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 2
