by Kris Calvert
“Momma?” I searched her face. “It’s Mac.”
She concentrated on me, questioning… studying. “Mac sweetheart, good morning,” she finally said, patting my hand.
“Good morning!” I exclaimed, standing from my chair to kiss the top of her head with excitement. “How are you feeling today?”
“Mac, you look tired, honey. Are you studying too much?” She cupped my chin in her hand. Her gentle touch had grown softer as she aged and she handled my face like a delicate piece of china.
“Mom, I’m not…” I kissed her hands as I took them from my face. “No, I’m not studying too much. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Tell me how you’ve been, son.”
“I’m good,” I said, easing into what felt so familiar. She might have thought I was still in school, but at least she knew who I was. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you more often.”
“It’s okay, honey. Your dad and I sure do miss you.”
I felt my shoulders drop and debated whether to tell her Dad was gone, or just let it go. I let it go. “I miss you, too. But I’m here now, and I’d love a nice long visit. Are you feeling up to that?”
“Of course, darlin’.” Her words were like a sweet breeze flowing over me. I missed her ladylike ways and her delicate Southern accent that seemed to transcend time. “Tell me everything, dear. You know I love hearing about your escapades. Any young ladies you’d like to chat about? Maybe one in particular?”
“Unfortunately, no, Momma,” I said with a laugh, trying to keep the subject of my love life on the lighter side.
“Don’t worry, honey,” she smiled and patted my hand. “There’s someone very special out there praying for you to arrive, like a knight in shining armor.”
“You’re thinking of Dad,” I said, knowing how she felt about my late father.
“I’m thinking of you. There’s someone waiting to be loved by you.”
I could only nod my head at the notion. The problem was I loved women. I loved everything about them. And I wasn’t partial to one type. Blonde, brunette, redhead—they were all special. But I’d never been in love. Love wasn’t my thing—never had been. For me, love was a foreign city—like Paris. I knew where it was. I’d been there many times and even spoke the language. But I wasn’t and never would be French. So like a tourist, I visited love, but never stayed.
Instead, I focused on my career. I’d done some good work for the FBI, moving up the ranks quickly. Still, I was restless and unfulfilled. I was living a Hollywood storyline: crime, guns and hot women all over me. And yet it wasn’t all it cracked up to be.
My parents taught me to give my all and my word to my loved ones. Career came third after God and family. By those standards, I was a two-time loser.
I’d tried to find a girl and I did my best to make it work. It was never a heart crushing, mind-blowing kind of love, but the night I discovered I wasn’t the only FBI agent she was bedding was almost the end of me. Her accidental iPhone pocket dial turned into a three-way—the two of them screwing, and me listening. The whole episode gave new meaning to the term phone sex. Soon after, my mantra changed. Get in, get off, and get out. This, of course, carried its own set of problems and guilt.
“You look so handsome today, Mac,” she crooned. “I’m glad to see you wearing your ring.”
I sighed and glanced at my hand, slipping the ring from my finger. “I am indeed.”
A gift from my father and a Callahan tradition, the ring was our family crest. After I graduated from Cornell, my father gave it to me—it was to be a constant reminder of where I came from. I left it in Shadeland after dad died when I realized it would only be a reminder that I would never have a son of my own. I glanced at the inscription inside: Filius est pars Patris.
“The son is part of the father,” I said, slipping it back on my hand and taking hers again.
“How’s Lone Oak? Miss Celia? Timms?” Momma questioned without taking a breath. She knew I didn’t want to discuss the ring or the inscription.
“Lone Oak is beautiful as always, and Celia and Timms seem good,” I answered, knowing she missed the centuries old plantation we called home. “Timms picked me up from the airport.”
“He’s such a good man, Mac,” she said, reflecting on her past.
“The best,” I agreed.
“I don’t know what I’d do without my Timms.”
Jacob Timms had been my parents’ long-time driver and all around supervisor of the estate. He was retired now that my dad had died and Mom no longer lived at home. He never seemed to be around, yet was always there when you needed him.
The Timms family had worked for the Callahans for generations. It was still the way of the old South. Families bound to families for years. My D.C. friends would frown upon the idea, but Southern folks didn’t jump from housekeeper to housekeeper or change nannies on a whim. Here in the South, and especially in the Callahan household, the people who lived and worked beside us were family. And you never forgot your obligations to or disrespected your family.
“Miss Celia?” Momma questioned.
“She’s good,” I smiled, thinking about the housekeeper who’d practically raised me, and rarely called me anything but baby. “She had sweet tea and fried chicken waiting for me last night when I arrived.”
“It’s so good to have you home, Mac.”
“It’s good to be home, Momma. I’m glad I finally found your room.”
Her face filled with life and laughter as I told her about walking into the wrong room and how Chuck wanted to use a Taser gun on me.
“So there we were, wrestling on the floor outside this poor woman’s room.” I described every detail with animation. Mom always loved a great story, and she had been so good at telling her own. “I’m telling this security guard who I am and that I’m here to see you…”
“Oh no, Mac, you’re telling tales, this didn’t happen.” She laughed, shook her head and wagged her finger at me. I felt like I was twelve again and it was great to see her happy.
“Yes, ma’am, it most certainly did.”
“Mac, you are the most precocious boy ever.” She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”
“Love me?” I asked with a smile.
“You know I do.”
It was our usual exchange for as long as I could remember. From throwing a baseball through the church window in kindergarten, to my Cornell graduation day, her stock question remained the same: Whatever am I going to do with you?
“Tell me another story,” she begged, her face still alive with laughter.
“I love a good story,” said a voice from the doorway.
I turned to see what I assumed to be Mom’s doctor making his way into the suite.
“Good morning, Miss Nancy,” he announced without looking from the chart he carried in his hand. “I’m Dr. Kingston Giles. I’m your new doctor at Autumn Valley.”
He stepped into the light of the room. “Son of a bitch.” I stood in astonishment. “King Giles.”
“McKay Waverly Callahan,” Momma scolded. “Watch your language, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am. My apologies,” I said as I turned to King.
“Mac,” King drawled, giving me a firm handshake and a slap on the arm.
I hadn’t seen King since Cornell. The only two boys in Ithaca, New York from Shadeland, Alabama, we graduated together before going our separate ways—King to med school at Johns Hopkins, and me to Harvard for law school. Two overachievers from the same hometown with prominent families, we were friends, yet fierce competitors.
“It’s great to see you,” he said with a grin before releasing my hand. “What have you been up to?”
“I’ve been in D.C. for the past five years with the FBI. What in the hell have you been up to?”
“Language, son.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I apologized, heeding my second warning. I’d lost my ability to automatically filter my vo
cabulary, and Southern ladies demanded manners.
“I’ve been in private practice for a few years now,” King explained. “I practice here, and I still take call in the ER at the hospital about once a month to keep my trauma skills up.”
“I’m just surprised to see you here.” King was a ladies man and a man about town—no matter what town he was in. “I always thought you’d stay in Baltimore or head back to Jersey after you finished.”
“I came back to Shadeland and my parent’s place, Rose Hill, after my mom passed away. If you’d asked me five years ago I would’ve said exactly that, but sometimes home is where you’re needed, right?” he said, tilting his head in Mom’s direction. “And after I got here, it was hard to leave.”
“I understand.” His family’s plantation was an extraordinary place filled with tradition, and I suddenly felt envious of his decision.
“How are we doing today?” King asked, turning his attention to Mom.
“Fine,” she answered quietly.
“Do you remember me, young lady?” King asked lovingly. I could see where especially the older ladies could appreciate not only his skills as a doctor, but also his charm as a gentleman. “I’m King. I’m your new doctor.”
Mom nodded.
“I want to talk to you about your meds,” he continued, getting back to business as he began flipping through her chart. “We’ve changed a few of your medicines and I want to make sure you aren’t having any side effects.”
“No. I’m fine.” The talk of medicine and illness robbed the smile from her face.
“Good, I want you to tell me if you start to feel dizzy or have any nausea.” King observed her carefully and watched her reactions to his questions.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice growing smaller, and internal light dimmer.
“I’ll check back with you later today. I’m gonna get out of your way and let you have a good long visit with this guy,” he said with a smile as he pounded my chest twice with his open hand, knocking the breath out of me.
“Ugh,” I choked. “I’ve already had to whip one of your security guards today. Don’t make me take you down too.”
“That was you? No way!” he howled.
I nodded in confession.
“Hell, you’ll be the talk around the nurses’ station for weeks.”
“I thought you only hung out at nurses’ stations.” Proud of my comeback I grinned like a guilty cat and raised my eyebrow.
“Nah,” King continued quietly so Mom wouldn’t hear. “You know me. I’m still single, but I’m definitely not into dipping my pen in the company ink. Have you tied the knot?”
“No.” I shook my head thinking how quickly time had passed. “God, it’s good to see you. Let’s get together while I’m here and have a bourbon or two.”
“The doors at Rose Hill are always open to you,” King grinned, knowing any gentleman worth his salt was at his best while overlooking his own piece of earth on a perfect veranda, sipping a small batch bourbon.
I smiled and shook my head.
“I’ll give you a shout,” he said with a wave.
“Momma,” I said, still astonished to see King. “I can’t believe King is your doctor.”
“Who?” Her voice was tiny, as she stared into the distance beyond me.
“King.” I took her hands again. “Don’t you remember King? He grew up here. We went to Cornell together.” She blinked hard, staring through me.
“Momma?”
And with that she was gone. She turned her head and stared out the window, lost and in her own world. I could barely hear her breathe. I placed my chair beside hers and held her hand.
“Dammit,” I said under my breath as I felt my front coat pocket buzz. Quickly, I stepped into the hallway, trying not to disturb Mom.
“Callahan.”
“Mac, it’s Dan.” Dan Kelley was my superior in D.C. A hell of an agent, he let me run with most of my operations. “More on 56621. I’m having the info sent to you now.”
“Thanks.”
“You still sure you want this case?” asked Dan.
“I don’t think I have a choice.”
“I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would give yourself a choice,” he replied. “Just keep me in the loop.”
“Yes, sir.”
I killed the call and stepped back into Momma’s suite, hoping to find her lucid once more.
Instead she stared out the window, slowly shutting her eyes. I didn’t know when she would be coming back to me, but I was willing to wait.
*
“Nancy,” I heard a voice behind me. “Nancy?” I sat up and realized I had dozed off in the chair.
“Hello,” I blurted out, quickly standing to meet the elegant lady slowly making her way into Mom’s room with a walker.
“Oh, hello there,” she said, surprised. “I’m Marilyn Peterson—a friend of Nancy’s. I was just coming in to check on her and to bring her some fresh flowers from the garden.”
The small and clearly cultured woman gestured without pointing to the flowers in her basket on the front of the walker.
“Yes.” I shook her hand, still in a daze from my nap. “That’s so nice, Mrs. Peterson. I’m Mac Callahan. I’m Nancy’s son.”
“Yes, dear.” She handed me the wildflowers, her hand shaking slightly. “I know who you are. Your momma and I have had many a conversation about you.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised,” Mrs. Peterson quipped as she took my hand to ease into the seat next to Momma on the couch.
“No,” I started. “Well, maybe a little. I never know if she’s going to remember me or not.”
“Well, honey,” she said. “We all get old. Some of us die, and some of us hang on by the skin of our teeth. Some are hanging on and don’t have any teeth.”
I immediately liked this elegant lady full of spunk. I knew she was the kind of person Mom would’ve been friends with outside of Autumn Valley.
“Mrs. Peterson,” I began, still smiling from her remark.
“Call me Mimi, sweetheart,” she interjected. “It’s what I prefer.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I conceded. “Do you visit Momma often, Miss Mimi?”
“Oh, I expect about every day we get together.”
“Thank you for caring about her so much.”
“Well, we old Southern ladies have to stick together.” She frowned, already distracted by her next thought. “Son, can I trouble you to get some water in that vase on the windowsill for those flowers you’re still holdin’ onto?”
“Of course. My apologies.” I jumped to retrieve the empty vase that sat with letters and cards to my mother under the large arched window.
“Get an aspirin from her cabinet in the kitchen, honey. It will make the flowers last longer in this godforsaken place,” Mimi explained as she watched my every move.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Nancy, honey. It’s Mimi. I’m here to sit with you for a while.”
“Mimi, dear,” I heard Mom say as I fished one aspirin from the bottom of the bottle.
“How’re you feeling today?” she asked. “I met your handsome son, Mac.”
“Yes, he’s here to visit.”
“Here, Miss Mimi,” I said, handing her the aspirin. “I’m happy to do the flower arranging so you don’t have to get up.”
“That would be lovely, Mac,” she said with a smile as she closed my hand around the aspirin we were exchanging. “The aspirin goes in the water, dear.” I walked away, turning to watch them briefly, thinking they were still young girls with older, more delicate bodies.
“Nancy, I received some very good news today.”
“Do tell,” Mom said while leaning in, seemingly engaged again with the world.
“My granddaughter has taken a job here.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
“It is wonderful. I love seeing her, and now I’ll get to see her every day.”
I filled
the vase with water and dropped the aspirin in before arranging the flowers. I turned to show my work to Mimi for approval. “Not Martha Stewart,” I confessed. “But not bad, right?”
“Oh, goodness dear,” Momma crooned. “Martha Stewart is a Yankee. Let’s not try to emulate her, shall we?”
“She’s a Yankee that went to prison,” Mimi added.
“I beg your forgiveness, ladies,” I said, bowing my head with a grin.
I sat down, not wanting to intrude on girl time, but not wanting my visit with Mom to be over so soon. I hoped that Mimi could fill me in on how Mom was doing on a day-to-day basis. “So, Miss Mimi,” I started. “How long have you been at Autumn Valley?”
“Oh, I expect anyone who’s been here any length of time feels like it’s been too long,” she sighed. Her short, curly gray hair and blue eyes made her look as feisty as I believed her to be.
“Tell me more about your daughter. I couldn’t help but overhear your good news.” I wanted to change the topic before it went in an ugly direction.
“Granddaughter,” she corrected.
“Yes, of course.” I felt my phone buzz in my breast pocket. “Please pardon the interruption,” I said and quickly checked my text messages, diverting my attention from Mom and Mimi for a split second.
MICAH: Call me.
“And what is your lovely granddaughter’s name, Miss Mimi?” I asked, slipping the phone back into my pocket.
“Sam,” she said, catching me square in the eye.
I choked. “Sam Peterson?” The amazing, blue-eyed beauty with long legs and chestnut hair?
“Yes, dear,” she said, raising her eyebrows and peering over her glasses at me. “Do you know her?”
“No,” I chimed, trying to suppress my delight. “Not really.”
Mom smiled, and Mimi gave me a telling look. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to step out and make a phone call. Miss Mimi, do you mind to sit with Momma while I take care of some business?”
“Honey, do whatever,” Mimi groaned, shooing me out of the room like a fly. “We visit all the time—read books, the newspaper—if we aren’t in the obituaries, we know it’s gonna be a good day.”
