by Ann B. Ross
“Etta Mae,” I said, “we are at the Rubicon.”
“The what?”
“It’s time to put up or shut up. You have two choices, but you have to decide which way you’re going right now, right this minute. Your first option is to hurry over to Mr. Sitton’s office and tell him that you’re the one he’s looking for. You can tell him what you’ve been doing for Lurline all these years, tell him to ask the patients what they think of you, and tell him that if he’s looking for someone with the right set of managerial skills, he’s looking at her. You’d have to sell yourself, Etta Mae. That is, if you want to answer to somebody else for the rest of your working life.
“On the other hand,” I went on, taking a deep breath, “you can decide to put the same time and effort into your own business, thereby reaping the benefits for yourself rather than for an owner who does nothing but rake in the profits. Although if I know lawyers—and I do—Mr. Ernest Sitton would be looking over your shoulder all the time. But if you’re ready to strike out on your own—with a little help from me—then call Mr. Blair right now and tell him to prepare an Offer to Purchase The Handy Home Helpers.”
Etta Mae raised her head as a blank look passed over her face. Her eyes skittered from side to side, and a frown drew her eyebrows together as she considered each option in turn.
I didn’t say a word, just sat there and let her think it through. I’d already said all there was to say, anyway, and it was now up to her.
Finally coming out of her thinking mode, she asked, “What’s an Offer to Purchase?”
“It’s an official, well, offer to purchase,” I said. “It’ll show the amount you’re offering for the business which Lurline can accept, decline, or counter. If she accepts it, then you’re committed to buying the business for the amount you’ve offered. Mr. Blair would then guide you through to the closing, which is when you write a check to Lurline and walk out as the new owner. If, however, she doesn’t like your offer, but wants to keep you interested, she’ll come back with a counterproposal for more than what you’ve offered but a little less than what she’s listed it for. You can keep going back and forth like that until you reach a figure both of you can live with. Of course,” I continued, “at any point either of you can decide you’ve gone as far as you can go and that’ll be the end of it. Neither of you would be obligated to the other, and she’d be looking for another buyer.”
“Yes, but she’d know it was me doing it, wouldn’t she? And if we couldn’t agree on a price, she’d fire me for sure.”
“Not if we play it right, she wouldn’t. Mr. Blair will be representing you, so lay your cards on the table for him. Tell him he has to make sure that your name doesn’t come up at all. Now, there is a line on the Offer to Purchase for the buyer’s name, but he can put down whatever he wants to and add something like ‘or Assigns’ which means your name will be added when it’s too late for Lurline to back out. Also,” I said, frowning as I recalled a few other Offers to Purchase in the past, “there’s a line for the signature of the buyer, so you’ll have to sign it. I want you to start practicing a scribbled signature, one that’s absolutely illegible.”
“Won’t Lurline think that’s suspicious or something?”
“No, if anything, she’ll think it’s a doctor wanting to buy her business. Just remember that all the offers will come and go through Mr. Blair. Lurline won’t know who the buyer is until the closing day when both of you show up. But that’ll be too late for her to back out. She’ll have to go through with the sale.”
“Oh, Lord,” Etta Mae moaned as she scrunched up her shoulders. “I wish she’d never have to know.”
“Forget about her,” I said with a wave of my hand. “She wants to sell and you want to buy. That’s all there is to it. And remember this, she’s moving to Florida. She won’t be hovering around afterward with advice and criticism, and you can run the business the way you want to.
“So what’s it going to be, Etta Mae? But,” I quickly added, “understand that it’s not me who’s pushing you on this, it’s Ernest Sitton. He knows everybody in the county, so he’ll find somebody who’ll jump at the chance to run the business for him.”
I sat and waited for her to make up her mind, watching as her eyes skittered back and forth again. Then, just as I was beginning to wonder if I had completely misread her, she sat up straight, took a deep breath, and jumped in with both feet.
“I think I can do it,” she said. “I mean, I know I can, and I want to do it because it’s the best opportunity I’ll ever have. And, furthermore, I can do just as good a job as Lurline, maybe even better. Miss Julia,” she went on, turning to me, “if you’re still willing to loan me the money, I promise I will work my tail off to pay you back, and I’ll be grateful to you for the rest of my life.”
I smiled. “This is a business deal for me, Etta Mae, based on sound economic reasons. Your only obligation to me is to make the payments on the loan, so gratitude doesn’t come into it at all.”
Which, I admit, wasn’t exactly true because who doesn’t want a little appreciation when lending money or a helping hand?
“Get out your phone, Etta Mae,” I said, standing, “and call Mr. Blair. Tell him to prepare an Offer to Purchase which you’ll come by and sign. Tell him to make sure that Lurline gets it tonight or first thing in the morning.”
“He’s probably already gone home.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s a realtor. They work all the time any time. Give him the amount we talked about as your official offer, and while you do that, I’ll get Sam to help us with a loan agreement.”
* * *
—
Although Sam no longer practiced law, having sold his practice to Binkie Enlow Bates some years before, he went over everything with Etta Mae to be sure that she understood what she was doing. Once a lawyer, always a lawyer.
He drew up a private loan agreement, leaving blank the amount until Lurline came to her senses and accepted a reasonable offer, as well as leaving blank the signature lines.
“When you and Ms. Corn agree on a price,” Sam told Etta Mae, pointing to a page, “you’ll enter the amount you’re borrowing here. And this paragraph,” he said, turning a page, “will spell out the terms of repayment—how much a month and for how long, which you and Julia will have agreed on. Then the two of you will go to a notary public and have your signatures notarized. Now, understand that this agreement is just between you and Julia—Joe Blair and Ms. Corn have nothing to do with it and need to know nothing about it. So you should get this signed and sealed between the time that Ms. Corn accepts your offer and the time set for the closing, which is usually a few weeks later. That’ll give Julia time to transfer funds to your bank account so you can write a check at closing. You understand?”
“Uh-huh,” Etta Mae said, staring at the papers in his hand. “Yes, sir, I think so.”
“Well, just hold on to this copy and Julia will have a copy, too. You’ll have plenty of time to ask any questions that come up because it’s all in Ms. Corn’s hands now.” Sam turned to look at me. “Joe’s sending the Offer to Purchase tonight?”
I nodded. “Yes, at least to Lurline’s realtor, but I expect he’ll contact her right away.”
“Well, don’t expect a response tonight,” Sam said. “She’ll not want to appear too eager, and she’ll want Sitton to know she has an offer, hoping it’ll spur him to make one, too. But whatever he does, I expect she’ll make a counteroffer—you’re too far apart for her not to. Unless,” he went on with a smile, “she feels insulted enough to just ignore your offer.”
At that, Etta Mae’s face got a shade paler, but I would be surprised if Lurline got offended enough to discard our offer. She’d want to keep us on the hook, so I fully expected a counteroffer. I was prepared for that, hoping only not to get so carried away with getting what I wanted that I put a burden on Etta Mae that she couldn’t bear
. I had to be able to let the business go if Lurline stood firm on her listing price or if she got Lawyer Sitton to run up the price.
“Etta Mae,” I said, “there’s a cold front coming in with snow and sleet possible. Remind Lurline what the temperature is in Orlando.”
* * *
—
When Etta Mae left an hour or so later, she still had a fine tremor in her hands, but it was the only symptom I saw of any lingering apprehension. She was both excited and more than a little fearful of the gigantic step she was taking. But she was taking that step, and I knew that, once committed, she would never back down. If all went well, she would own The Handy Home Helpers and I would have a good investment in her.
At least I hoped so. It all depended on how badly Lurline Corn wanted rid of the business and Bug Timmons so she could bask in the sunny Florida weather for the rest of her days.
Chapter 29
Sam mumbled in his sleep that night, waking me enough to turn over and open my eyes. Then I sat straight up in bed, wondering if it was daylight. Everything in the room was as clear as day, yet the clock read one-thirty-five in the middle of the night.
I threw off the covers and ran to the side window. Every light in the Allen house was on, as were all the yard lights. The entire neighborhood was lit up so that it seemed Mildred was having a party to which we hadn’t been invited.
“Sam,” I called. “Sam, wake up. Something’s going on at the Allens’. Oh, my goodness, there’s an EMT truck pulling in, and a fire truck, too.”
Horace, I thought, as Sam joined me at the window. Maybe he’d had another heart attack or maybe he’d wandered off again. But no, there’d be no need of emergency medical services if he’d simply walked away. This looked as if there’d been a medical crisis of some sort.
“Looks bad,” Sam said, agreeing with my assessment, “although they all respond when a call comes in. We’d better get over there.”
We hurriedly dressed and made the slog up the Allens’ side yard to the columned porch where a gurney was being wheeled into the EMT truck. Somebody—or some body—was on it, but by the time we got to the porch the gurney was inside the truck and the door was closed. The truck pulled away down the curve of the driveway and turned onto Polk Street, its siren clearing the way although at that time of night there wasn’t another vehicle anywhere in sight.
I caught a glimpse of Ida Lee inside the foyer, so Sam and I edged our way between first, second, and third responders, as well as a few neighbors, who were congregated at the front door.
Reaching Ida Lee, I asked, “What happened? Where’s Mildred? She must be worried sick. We’ll drive her to the hospital and stay with her as long as she needs us.”
Ida Lee stared at me for a long minute, then she said, “She’s already gone. They just took her away.”
“Already gone?” My heart dropped a mile, as I thought of my friend dropped in her tracks. I leaned against Sam, overcome with grief at the suddenness and finality of death in the night. “Oh, Ida Lee, what happened? I am just devastated. Are you all right? Thank goodness, you were with her before . . . ,” I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat, “before she went.”
Clinging to Sam’s arm, I made a supreme effort to pull myself together so I could render assistance to my friend for the last time. “What can we do to help?”
“Maybe,” Ida Lee said, her voice quivering, “maybe, if you don’t mind, it would be better for Miss Penelope to be with you and Miss Lillian. She’s quite upset, as we all are.”
“Of course we’ll take her and keep her until Tonya can get here. She doesn’t need to be around to hear about services and funeral preparations.”
“Funeral preparations?” Ida Lee asked, frowning. “Whose funeral?”
“Why . . . why Mildred’s, of course. Didn’t you say she’d died?”
Ida Lee almost laughed, if the surprised expression on her face was any indication. “No, not yet anyway, although she had some kind of attack that nearly scared me to death.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” I said, weak with relief. “Sam, did you hear that? Mildred’s fine, I mean, not fine, but alive at least. Yes, let’s get Penelope, and, Ida Lee, please do let us know how Mildred gets along. We’ll visit her in the hospital as soon as we can.” I turned away, hardly knowing what I was doing, so relieved to know that Mildred was still among the living.
“What about Horace?” Sam asked. “Is he aware of what’s going on?”
“It’s hard to say,” Ida Lee said. “Mr. Peeples is with him. Mr. Horace heard the commotion at one point and came out of his room. He became quite agitated at the sight of so many strangers in the house, but Mr. Peeples calmed him down and put him back to bed.”
“Good,” I said. “We’ll go up and pack a few things for Penelope and take her home with us. But, Ida Lee, please keep us up to date with Mildred’s condition. I am so worried about her.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am, too.”
As Sam and I walked up the curving stairs, I wondered how Tonya would take the news of Mildred’s illness. Would she break away from her chance at stardom and rush to her mother’s side, to say nothing of coming to care for her daughter? If her previous self-absorbed actions were any indication, I feared she might not.
We found Penelope huddled in her bed, the covers up around her head with only her little round face peeking out. She was awake, as how could she not be with all the shuffling and stomping of a dozen pairs of shoes and boots going in and out, and up and down the stairs?
“Honey,” I said, sitting on the bed beside her, “it’s been scary, hasn’t it? Especially when you don’t know what’s going on. But they’ve taken your grandmother to the hospital where she’ll be well taken care of. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but the hospital is the best place for her right now. We’ll know more a little later on and I promise to tell you everything, because there’s nothing worse than being in the dark. Now,” I went on, smoothing the damp pillow under her head, “would you like to go home with me and Mr. Sam? You can sleep in Latisha’s bed, and I expect we can find one or two of her dolls to keep you company.”
She nodded, then sat up and lifted her arms to be picked up. Sam took her while I gathered a few clothes, knowing I would come back later and pack a decent wardrobe for her.
“I don’t see a coat, Sam,” I said. “It’s probably in a closet downstairs, but here, wrap this around her.” I stripped the bed of its top blanket and Sam bundled her up and off we went.
After a bathroom stop at our house, we put Penelope in Latisha’s twin bed—the one next to Lillian’s when they spent the night—tucking her in with a baby doll and a small Steiff bear. She had not said a word throughout our entrance into her room, being carried through Mildred’s house and out onto the lawn, or up the stairs in our house to Latisha’s bed.
So I talked constantly to her, using a soft, comforting tone as she curled up in the bed. Slightly worried that she was asking no questions or expressing any concern, just agreeing to whatever anyone wanted from her, I sat in a rocking chair beside the bed. And talked and talked to keep her company and to reassure her that somebody was there looking after her.
“Julia?” Sam said, poking his head around the door. “You’re not going to sit up all night, are you?”
“No, I guess not. There’ll be too much to do tomorrow. I mean, later today. But I hate to leave her. She might wake up and not know where she is.”
“Then crawl into Lillian’s bed,” he said. “Here, I’ll turn the covers down for you. Now, come on. You need to get some sleep. But,” he said, his encircling arm guiding me toward the bed in the dim room, “don’t get used to it. I want you back in our bed where you belong.”
I smiled in the dark, feeling a surge of gratitude for this good man. Then I got into Lillian’s bed, pulled up the covers, and was asleep before Sam was out the door good.
/> * * *
—
Daylight came too early as it always does after a night of interrupted sleep. But I heard Lillian downstairs, so I left Penelope sleeping and hurried to dress and go down to tell her of the night’s events and to prepare her for our houseguest. If anybody could calm a child’s fears of abandonment, Lillian could.
“Oh, that poor little thing,” she said after I’d brought her up to date, filling in what Sam had left out before he’d headed for the Bluebird. “I’m glad you brought her home with you, Miss Julia, a baby like that don’t need to be in all that turmoil. You jus’ go on an’ do whatever Miss Mildred need you to do, an’ I’ll look after our little Honey. An’ Latisha’ll be here after school so we’ll be fine.”
“Thank you, Lillian. I don’t know if Tonya has been contacted about her mother yet, or if Ida Lee is waiting for Mildred to tell her to call. I guess it’ll depend on Mildred’s condition, don’t you? Which is another thing to worry about—just what kind of attack was it and will she still be able to look after a child?” I did a little handwringing over my friend’s condition and the possible limits it could impose on her activities. “I declare, I shudder to think of Penelope—I mean, Honey—being carted off to those dens of iniquity in California and put in a crowded daycare center so Tonya can concentrate on show business. But I’ll tell you this, Lillian, when you have a child, that child should come first before anything else—especially when you didn’t get it by mistake or miscalculation, but got it deliberately by adoption. I mean, if you don’t have time to raise a child, why in the world would you go out of your way to have one?”
“Here, Miss Julia,” Lillian said, pulling out a chair, “why don’t you set down and have some coffee? You jus’ rest a few minutes, while I go up and see if Honey’s awake. She need to see a friendly face when she open her eyes.”
