by Ann B. Ross
He just laughed harder. And finally I joined him, although I did think that the general public should be warned of such an impending disaster.
Chapter 5
I had just gotten up from the breakfast table the next morning when the phone rang. I picked it up, ready to click off if no one immediately responded—it takes a second or so, I guess, to switch on a recording. I just have no patience with people who ignore the Do Not Call list, so I also have no qualms about hanging up on them.
“Julia?” Mildred Allen asked, although she knew my voice as well as I did. “I’ve decided what I’m going to do about my will, and my lawyers are coming up from Atlanta later this week to implement the changes.”
As Sam began to put on his jacket, I mouthed, “Mildred,” to him. He smiled, shook his head in sympathy, and left for a meeting of the zoning board downtown.
“Well, good,” I said into the phone, while waving at Sam, and thinking that the longer Mildred had to wait, the more likely she was to change her mind again. “That will give you plenty of time to really think it through.”
“Oh, I’ve thought it through, all right, and the thing about it is, Julia, I’ve realized that if I make Tonya my primary beneficiary, I will just be encouraging her to keep on doing what she’s already doing, which is thinking of no one but herself. And I just do not want to reward her for the way she’s treating me. I mean us. I intend to put a stop to it.
“The problem, though,” she went on, “is that Daddy wanted his estate to extend to future generations, but there won’t be any future ones. The Beasley-Allen family will end with Tonya.”
“Oh, my,” I murmured, “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, me, either. But I’ll tell you, Julia, I haven’t really thought much about grandchildren in general, assuming that eventually there would be some. But now that I know there won’t be, I am just devastated.” She sniffed loudly then went on. “What am I going to do with all this money and no family to leave it to?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I said. “There’re so many worthwhile causes . . .”
“Well, I’ll tell you this,” Mildred said in a tone that meant business, “Tonya’s selfish lifestyle is certainly not one of them.”
“I am so sorry, Mildred,” I said, “but you know that I don’t have any grandchildren, either, and—”
“But you have Lloyd!” she exclaimed with a catch in her voice.
“Well, yes,” I said, conceding what I’d long felt toward the boy, “but think of how I got him. He’s not kin to me in any way, shape, or form. But if you’re attached to someone emotionally and spiritually, then you have a kinship. So, see? You may well end up with family in an unusual way, as I have.”
“Well, I hope to goodness,” Mildred said with some asperity, “that a child of Horace’s doesn’t show up on my doorstep. I’m not like you, Julia, I’d slam the door and call the police.”
I smiled to myself, recalling my reaction to the sudden appearance at my door of my deceased husband’s paramour and the child who looked just like him.
“Don’t give me too much credit,” I replied. “What I did was not done out of the goodness of my heart—far from it, in fact. I acted out of anger and a burning desire for revenge even though Wesley Lloyd was out of my reach by that time.” I paused as a memory of that anger flashed across my mind. Taking a deep breath to dispel it, I went on. “It was that child himself who touched my heart. And, of course, in the final analysis, it was the working of the Lord that changed everything between us.”
Mildred sighed. “I just wish the Lord would take pity and start doing some of that work in my situation. Anyway, what I’ve decided to do is to provide a barely living income for Tonya that will fluctuate with the economy. She’ll never starve, but she’ll have to work. And she’ll never, ever, have access to the capital. That will be a source of scholarships for deserving students for years to come.”
I was silent for a few seconds. Then, with great care, I responded. “That’s a thoughtful thing to do, but, Mildred, as far as Tonya is concerned, consider that you might be acting out of that resentment you told me about. You may be punishing Tonya more than you mean to.”
“Oh, I mean to,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, Tonya can learn to get along on her own. After all, that’s what she’s doing now. She gives absolutely no thought to her mother and father, and we are aging, Julia. Who knows how much longer we’ll even be around? So I’m going to fix it so she’ll know how it feels to be ignored and overlooked. That’s what I’ve decided, Julia, so don’t try to talk me out of it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, backing off. “It’s yours to do with as you see fit.”
Mildred certainly and self-righteously agreed with that, and we soon ended the conversation.
Turning to Lillian as I hung up the phone, I said, “I declare, Lillian, Mildred is so upset with Tonya that I’m not sure she’s thinking straight. I can’t really blame her, though, because of the shabby way Tonya is treating them, especially Horace. You’d think she’d be concerned about him, but all Mildred can think about is changing her will to punish her after she’s dead. After Mildred is dead, I mean. Does that make sense?”
“No’m, not much.”
“Well, I can’t explain it any better than that, except I’m afraid she’s acting out of anger. Let me tell you something, Lillian, don’t ever make changes in your will when you’re mad or hurt or feeling resentful in any way. If you ever do, make sure you live long enough to regret what you’ve done and have time to change it back.”
“That don’t bother me, Miss Julia. I don’t have a will to change or to change back, either one.”
“Why, Lillian,” I said, turning to stare at her, “do you mean you don’t have any kind of will—nothing written down at all?”
“No’m, I don’t have enough to worry ’bout who gets what. I got burial insurance I pay on ev’ry week so I don’t burden nobody with my final expenses. Nothin’ much left after that.”
“Oh, my word,” I said, sitting at the table again, stunned by my lack of care for her. “Why, Lillian, you have a sizable estate—you own your house, your furniture, and your car, all free and clear, and, knowing you, I expect you have a savings account as well.” I pretty much knew what she owned for I’d made sure of most of it.
“Yes’m,” Lillian said, “but it’s not like I’m rich or anything.”
“All the more reason to have a will so that what you do have goes to the one you want it to go to. Listen,” I said, hitching forward in the chair, “do you know who’ll get it all if you don’t have a will? The next of kin, that’s who.”
Lillian turned away from the sink and stared at me with a dawning realization on her face of what was in store. “Latisha’s mama?”
“That’s right. Your daughter passed years ago, so your granddaughter is next of kin—the one who abandoned Latisha and never comes to see her or you. Is that who you want to get everything you have?”
“No’m,” she said, shaking her head slowly, a somber look on her face. “No, ma’am, I surely don’t. That girl done ruint her life, an’ she’s still doin’ it. I want Latisha to have whatever I have, ’cause she’s gonna make something of herself.”
“She certainly is. She’s as smart as a whip, Lillian, and she needs to know that her great-granny loved her enough to keep on looking after her. I don’t mean that she needs to know now,” I hurriedly explained. “But she needs to know after you’re gone, because you know your granddaughter would fritter it all away, and Latisha would be abandoned again.”
“Oh, my Jesus,” Lillian said, leaning against a kitchen counter. “What can I do, Miss Julia?”
“You can make an appointment with Binkie to make out your will so that it can’t be challenged. Then you can rest easy, knowing you’ve taken care of Latisha. But listen, Lillian,” I went on, “
you ought to cancel that burial insurance you’re paying on every week. It’s doing nothing but making somebody else rich.”
I didn’t mention the fact that most pay-by-the-week burial insurance policies issued a check to the next of kin, who could spend it any way they wanted to spend it. Knowing Latisha’s mama, I doubted that Lillian would get much more than a pine box.
“In fact,” I went on, “you don’t need to worry about final expenses. I’ll see to that.”
Actually, neither she nor Latisha needed to worry about any number of things, but that’s something one shouldn’t disclose to one’s supplemental beneficiaries. It would change a number of current relationships that were just fine the way they were.
Chapter 6
Have you ever had so much on your mind, so many things coming at you from all directions, that all you wanted to do was sit down, lean your head back, and take a quick nap even though it’s only the middle of the morning? That’s what I did, sinking down in my favorite place at one end of the sofa that offered a clear view of both the television set and the fireplace, as well as providing a protruding wing for my head to rest against.
Unhappily, I didn’t get much rest. Three worrisome matters took turns jumping to the forefront of my mind: Mildred and her daughter, Horace and his failing faculties, and Etta Mae Wiggins and the possible loss of her job.
I set Mildred aside, assuring myself that I was already doing all I could for her, which was to listen and to gingerly suggest that she do nothing that would sever family ties that were already at the breaking point. As for Horace, my only concern was whether or not to further burden Mildred by telling her of his unusual behavior.
Finally, though, it was Etta Mae on whom I settled my thoughts. It had been a while since I’d even spoken with her and all that while I’d assumed she was getting along well—no news is good news, or so they say. But there were some people, and Etta Mae was one of them, who kept their problems to themselves, so silence was no assurance that all was well. And, of course, so much had happened to those who were closer to me that I had let her slide to a back burner. Yet that young woman had been available to me on several occasions when I’d badly needed help, and, here, I’d all but blocked her out of my thoughts for the past year or so.
Actually, though, I had given her a few warm passing thoughts when the monthly checks arrived.
One of the best business decisions I’d ever made had been to hire Etta Mae to supervise the Hillandale Trailer Park out on Springer Road, a mile or so from the township of Delmont. You may wonder how I had come to own a trailer park, of all things, and the answer is that it was a minor part of the estate that Wesley Lloyd Springer, my late first husband, left when he expired in his new Buick Park Avenue out in our driveway. How he’d come to own a trailer park, I didn’t know—probably, I speculated, taken in lieu of an unpaid loan.
When I took over the ownership, Etta Mae was already renting a space in the park for her single-wide, which she referred to as the only relic from a bad marriage, although, as I later learned, she had had a number of those. We first met after she nearly drove me crazy with phone calls about the other residents, the poor upkeep of the grounds, the blown-out security lights, the erosion of the drive, and a dozen other things. To put a stop to the constant complaints, I had hired her to supervise the park, collect rents, and keep out the trash—her word, not mine—human and otherwise, and she’d proved an able administrator. I’d given her full authority to hire help if she needed it and to decide who could rent a space in the park and who couldn’t. It took a few months to clear out the troublemakers and the slow payers, but the arrangement not only put an end to her complaints, it also freed up the county sheriff’s deputies.
So, I reminded myself, even if she loses her main job, she would still have some income—a small percentage of the rents she collected—although it certainly would not be enough. Her home would be safe as well, for her single-wide occupied a rent-free space, another perk of her supervisory job.
With concern for her well-being, I called her, using her cell phone number since I knew that she was most likely following a strict schedule of visits to the housebound elderly, sick, and ailing. As a certified nurse’s assistant working for The Handy Home Helpers, she was inordinately proud of the education she’d received at the county technical school, telling anybody who would listen that she was the only member of her family to go to college.
After five or six rings, a recording urged me to leave a message, so I did, then hung up and began to worry about her again.
Etta Mae had had a checkered marital career, having discarded at least two husbands and buried one, although that one might not count since his heart had proved unable to take the anticipation much less the consummation. There might have been more for all I knew, but I didn’t hold multiple marriages against her. I’ll admit that at one time I might have—in fact, did—but the older I get the more I live and let live without criticizing everything that happens. It makes for a more serene life.
It suddenly occurred to me that she might have finally married the man she really loved—Bobby Lee Something-or-Other, a sheriff’s deputy who was a mixture of Mr. J. D. Pickens, P.I., Hazel Marie’s husband, and Sergeant Coleman Bates, Binkie’s husband. That was a very attractive but volatile mixture, if you ask me, and you might as well because I, even at my age, had felt his magnetism at our first and only meeting.
My spirits began to lift at the thought of Etta Mae safely and happily married, ensconced perhaps in a lovely bungalow with a white picket fence, and living the dream of every young girl before the urge to climb the corporate ladder displaced that dream.
I may have dropped off, but if so, it had been for only a few minutes. The ringing of the phone jerked me awake and I hurriedly answered it, hoping it was Etta Mae returning my call.
It wasn’t.
“Julia?” Mildred asked. “Are you busy?”
“Uh, no,” I replied, trying to sound as if I’d been busy doing something besides taking a nap. “Not really. How are you, Mildred?”
“Not so good. Julia, if it’s not one thing, it’s two more. Here I am, trying to figure out my will, and Horace is worrying me to death. Do you know what he’s done now?”
“Uh, no,” I said again, although several things flashed through my mind that I was reluctant to mention.
“Well, Ida Lee brought up my breakfast this morning and told me that Horace had not been down to eat and that he wasn’t in his bedroom. Well, of course that meant I had to get up, put on some clothes, and help her look for him. His calendar was clear, so I knew he wasn’t at some meeting or another. We’re both meticulous about keeping our calendars, don’t you know, so that we always know where the other one is. You and Sam do that, too, don’t you?”
“Well, no. We just tell each other what we’ll be doing each day.”
“Oh, well, I guess you both get up early. By the time I get up, Horace is about ready for his afternoon nap, so we find that keeping accurate calendars is a tremendous help. But,” Mildred went on, “Horace has gotten slack with his. Today was absolutely blank, yet he was nowhere to be found. I know that he’s been a little absentminded here lately, so my first thought was that he had gone downtown and let the time get away from him.”
“Uh, Mildred,” I said, preparing myself to tell her a few other worrisome activities that Horace might have been engaged in. “It might be worse than that.”
“Oh, tell me about it!” she exclaimed. “It was worse than that. Do you know where he was? He was out in the garage, sitting in that Boxster car of his, and, Julia, there’s no telling how long he’d been out there. It had been so long that he’d practically frozen in place. Not that it was that cold, because, of course, the garage is heated, but when Ida Lee and I got him out from under the wheel, he couldn’t even straighten up. He was still in a sitting position when he was standing up! I really think he’d been
out there all night, and both of his legs had gone to sleep so they kept caving in on him. You know what it’s like when one leg does it. Imagine what it’d be like to have both of them as limber as a wet rag. It was all we could do to get him in the house, and we didn’t dare let him sit down. Ida Lee and I had to walk him round and around the foyer until he could manage on his own again.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, picturing the three of them shambling around Mildred’s elegant foyer. “That doesn’t sound too good, Mildred. Did he say why he went to the garage?”
“That’s the thing, Julia!” she said. “He doesn’t remember why or even when he went out there. But it had to’ve been after Ida Lee and I went to bed because neither of us knew he’d gone out. All I can say is thank goodness I have his car keys. I guess I’ll have to start hiding the house keys now.”
We discussed that for a few minutes, both of us wondering where Horace would’ve been found if he’d been able to start his car. I decided against adding to her concerns by telling her of his grocery store episode and his unfocused talk with Sam.
“You know, Julia,” Mildred continued, “that my plan was to employ some young man as a companion-caretaker of sorts until Horace fully recovers. But I’ve not found anybody who’s willing to do that kind of work. And you know that I pay well, yet still, such hands-on personal work does not draw the kind of individual anybody would want. I don’t know what I’m going to do. One of the first things I thought about was if Tonya would come home, she would be the perfect companion for her father. But you can throw that idea out the window. She’s too busy.” Mildred stopped with a catch in her voice and said again, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Don’t let it get you down, Mildred, you have to stay strong,” I said, offering platitudes because there was little else I could offer. “I’ll ask Sam if he knows somebody who could help. In fact,” I went on, as a sudden thought came to me, “I might know somebody, myself.”
