by Ann B. Ross
A lot of platitudes, I knew, but facing facts is when comforting platitudes are needed.
“I appreciate that, Miss Julia,” Etta Mae said, “I really do. But when I look at what Lurline wanted for the business in the first place and compare it to our final offer, there’s still an awful big difference.”
“Yes, but she had it overpriced to begin with, and she has to realize that we’re the only interested party she has. It may be that she’ll have to sell to us or to nobody. With the Dollar Store out of the picture, it’s down to take-it-or-leave-it time for her. Well, wait,” I said as a certain image loomed in my mind. “Have you heard anything more about Ernest Sitton? Has he ever made an offer?”
“As far as I know, he hasn’t. In fact, I haven’t heard anything at all about him. You think he’s still in the hospital?”
“That’s a good question,” I said. “I’ll call the hospital and see if he’s been discharged. Not that it matters to us where he is, unless he suddenly jumps into the bidding. Just be prepared, Etta Mae, neither you nor I can afford to go any higher than the bid we’re about to make.”
“Do we tell Lurline that? You know, so she’ll know we won’t make a better one?”
“Well, we won’t tell her anything, but Mr. Blair will submit it as our best and final. She’ll know from that.”
“Oh-h, Lord,” Etta Mae moaned. “My stomach is all torn up with not knowing one way or the other. I get so excited thinking of actually owning the business, but then I have to come back to earth since I know how crazy that is. And,” she said, swallowing hard, “worrying myself sick about Lurline finding out about me and firing me. One good thing, though, is Bobby Lee being back in town. He kinda takes my mind off all the worrying for a little while at least.”
I expect he does, I thought.
“One other thing, Etta Mae,” I said, ignoring Bobby Lee’s ability to soothe her concerns, “let’s give Lurline a little time to worry, too. Hold off on getting back to Mr. Blair with our best and final until a full twenty-four hours are up tomorrow. She’ll be busy getting Bug what’s-his-name out of jail today anyway, so it won’t hurt for her to have a little nagging worry about what we’ll do. I mean,” I hurriedly went on, “she doesn’t know it’s us, but let’s let her worry about what her only bidder will do.”
Etta Mae was silent for a minute, then she said, “That seems kinda mean.”
“Well, it kinda is, but on the other hand, she’ll be so busy with lawyers, judges, and bail bondsmen today that she might reject our offer out of hand. Then regret it later on. I’m just saying that she doesn’t need to make a decision while so much else is going on.” I stopped, then added, “We’re really doing her a favor.”
“Well, okay, I guess. Should I let Mr. Blair know? I mean, tell him it’s our best and final?”
“Yes, go ahead and tell him that you’re considering your last offer and will let him know tomorrow what it is. But in the meantime, do not under any circumstances tell anybody what our final offer will be, and I mean not even Mr. Blair.” I stopped, started to add Bobby Lee Moser, then thought better of it. “The reason is that I could change my mind between now and tomorrow. Just let me know right away if you hear anything from or about Lurline or Mr. Sitton.”
* * *
—
“Miss Julia,” Lillian said as I went into the kitchen, “Mr. Horace is out walking around if you want to look out the window at him.”
I didn’t think twice about appearing nosy, just went to the window and peered out. “He looks quite normal, doesn’t he? A little wobbly, but surely he’s not out by himself. Is Mr. Peeples watching him?”
“Yes’m, I seen him a little while ago, but what I’m wonderin’ is why don’t we see if Honey wants to walk around with her granddaddy?”
“What a good idea, Lillian. She needs some connection to her so-called family even if her grandmother doesn’t give her a thought.”
Penelope, assenting in her quiet way to any suggestion, left the showing of cartoons on television and let me bundle her up in a parka, scarf, hat, and mittens.
“It’s a pretty day,” I said, “but cold, so I don’t want you to stay out too long. I’ll walk you over there and keep an eye on you from here. But come on back in any time you want to.”
After putting on my own coat, I took her hand and we walked to and through the hedge and waited until Horace rounded the corner of the house.
“I’ll let Mr. Peeples know you’re out here, too. And, Honey, hold your grandfather’s hand while you walk. I want the two of you to stay together.”
She nodded and gave a little skip, while I wondered if sneakers kept her feet warm enough. Fur-lined boots, I thought, making a mental note to tell Mildred what the child needed. And if, I continued to think, Mildred forgets, I’ll get them for her myself.
As Horace came shuffling into full view, Penelope dropped my hand and ran to him. I stopped and watched as she took his hand and he, startled at first, smiled down at her. Mr. Peeples edged around the corner, saw the child, then me where I waited at the edge of the yard. After exchanging a few nods and waves with Horace’s keeper, I turned to go back inside. As for being dressed for the weather, I wasn’t, so I hurriedly regained the warm kitchen.
“That wind is brisk,” I said to Lillian as I shivered from the cold. “And clouds are rolling in from the west. We’re likely in for something pretty soon, so Penelope shouldn’t stay out too long. Right now, though, I’m going to sit right here,” I said as I took a chair beside the window, “and make sure they come back around when they’re supposed to.”
The odd couple made two more circuits while Lillian and I discussed how preparations were going for our Christmas dinner party. Then just as I’d told her we might need another place setting for a certain recently returned deputy sheriff, I saw Mr. Peeples motion to Penelope that Horace had to go inside. I watched the child run across Mildred’s lawn to the hedge, so I went to the back door to welcome her back. She came inside with a rush of icy air, her face red from the cold.
“Did you have a good time?” I asked, helping to remove her coat.
She nodded. “We looked for his car.”
Oh, for goodness’ sakes, I thought, he’s still obsessed with that car. “Well,” I said, “the doctor says he shouldn’t be driving, but I think he forgets how sick he’s been. As people get older, you know, their memories aren’t quite as good as they once were.”
She nodded again. Then, frowning, she said, “His hair’s not white, so he’s not old.”
I laughed. “Yes, that’s what he told me. But it was very good of you to keep him company for a while. I’m sure he enjoyed it. Now,” I said, going to the pantry to hang up her coat, “I think Lillian has some hot cocoa to warm you up.”
As Lillian joined us at the kitchen table with three steaming mugs, I looked over my list of things to do before Christmas. Most of the gifts I’d ordered had come in, so they needed to be wrapped and labeled. After checking that off my list, I looked over the names of those who had accepted our invitations.
“It looks as if most everybody we’ve invited is coming for dinner,” I said. “But don’t worry about breakfast that morning, Lillian. Hazel Marie is having us over so we can see what Santa brought the children.”
“That’s good,” Lillian said, nodding her approval. “That way you and Mr. Sam will be out of the way while we get everything ready. Honey,” she said, turning to her, “what you want Santy Claus to bring you?”
“A baby doll and some color crayons,” Penelope said in her soft voice.
One of Lillian’s eyebrows cocked up as she looked at me. “Well, I bet a baby doll and some color crayons is already on his list, don’t you, Miss Julia?”
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” I said, making a mental note of her requests, which I would add to a few other items. “And, you know,” I went on as a
new thought sprang up, “we might need to go on a shopping trip ourselves. Be thinking, Honey, what you’d like to give your grandmother and grandfather for Christmas. We’ll go shopping, then have fun wrapping presents and putting them under the tree.”
Her dark eyes lit up. “I know what I want to give him. He told me what he wants.”
“Oh? And what does he want?”
“A big ring to keep his car keys on. He said he used to have one, but he can’t find it, and he said his pocket’s empty without it.”
“Well,” I said, leaning back. “Well, that should be easy to find.” But even as I agreed to help her find a key ring, I was thinking hard about what kind of key could go on it, not only to fill his pocket, but to keep it from being used.
Lillian must’ve been thinking the same thing for her eyes rolled back in her head. She didn’t say anything, just got up and went back to emptying the grocery bags on the counter.
Pulling out a small bottle of yellow liquid, she said, “Look here, Honey, I bought you some Johnson’s no-tears baby shampoo. Now we can wash your hair without it hurtin’ your eyes, an’ I think we ought to do that right now so it’ll get dry before nap time.”
Penelope didn’t seem too thrilled at the prospect, but as usual she made no objection.
“Use the hair dryer in my bathroom,” I said, lifting a strand of Penelope’s long, straight hair. “Her hair is so thick it’ll take forever to dry. You know,” I went on as I turned her face toward me, “wouldn’t it look good with bangs?”
“No’m,” Lillian said, shaking her head, “don’t go cuttin’ no bangs. Mamas don’t like somebody else cuttin’ hair.”
“Well, you’re right, of course, and I wouldn’t do it without permission. But I’m just saying. Honey,” I said to her, “you have beautiful hair and it looks good any way you want to wear it.”
She smiled and said, “I like bangs.”
As the two of them went upstairs to the shower, I headed for the living room to cogitate on our next move in a real estate transaction.
Chapter 41
“Miss Julia!” Etta Mae screeched almost before I could say hello when the phone rang later that afternoon. “You won’t believe what’s happened! I’m so mad or scared or something I don’t know what to do. Hold on, I’ve got to get off the road.”
I waited, holding tightly to the phone, as she parked the car.
“Now,” she said, her breath rasping as she spoke into the phone again. “I’m parked, and I really shouldn’t be driving at all the way I feel right now.”
“Take a deep breath, Etta Mae, and tell me what happened.”
“Okay. Well, I finished my schedule early today and went back to the office to check out. Lurline makes us keep track of our hours to make sure we put in forty for the week. And, well, anyway, I thought she’d be busy getting Bug out of jail, but she was in the office—singing! Can you believe that?”
“Singing?”
“Yes, just blaring out ‘This Little Light of Mine’ like she didn’t have a care in the world. She even called me in to tell me her good news, and believe me it wasn’t about her jailbird nephew. Well,” she went on with a rasping breath, “I guess some of it was. She got Bug out of jail, and now she’s thinking of suing the deputies for false arrest. But that wasn’t why she was on top of the world. Miss Julia, she got an Offer to Purchase from Mr. Sitton!”
“Oh, no,” I said, with a sinking feeling. “Well, I guess that means he’s back on his feet and ready to do business. Did she give you any idea of how much he offered?”
“No, but I wanted to ask her so bad it was like needing to go to the bathroom and not going. She went on to tell me that she now has two people who want the business, and she intends to come out of it smelling like a rose. What’re we going to do, Miss Julia?”
Well, there wasn’t anything we could do except let it play out however it was going to. My first order of business, though, was to reassure Etta Mae and calm her down to the point of accepting whatever happened.
“There’s not much we can do, Etta Mae,” I said, sounding much calmer than I was feeling. “Here’s the thing: we haven’t yet submitted our final offer, which I’m still convinced is the best we can safely do. If we go any higher, you’ll be in trouble before you even start and we don’t want that. It’s very likely that Mr. Sitton has submitted a lowball offer, especially if he doesn’t know about us. Of course, she’ll tell him that somebody else is interested, and she’ll let him know exactly what we’re offering so he can top it.”
“Can she do that? I mean, is it legal?”
“I’m afraid so. For her to do it, I mean. The realtors involved can’t do it, but she can.”
As Etta Mae considered that, I took a deep breath and said, “I say that we proceed just as we’d planned and go ahead with our best and final. What I’m hoping is that Mr. Sitton’s offer is a lot lower than ours—it’s his first, so likely it is. That will put her on the spot, because we’ll have a short time limit on ours in which she’ll have to accept or decline. And if she declines, hoping that Mr. Sitton will go higher, she’ll have lost us for good because her realtor will tell her that final means final. And with us out of the picture, Ernest Sitton can sit on his offer because it’ll be the only one she has. All we can hope for at this point is that she’ll figure that a bird in the hand is better than two in the bush.”
There was a long silence on the line as Etta Mae processed either our plan or the meaning of an old saying. But she finally accepted the fact that all we could do was wait and see what Lurline would do.
After hanging up, I sat down to do some processing of my own. There is such a thing as outsmarting your own self, and I certainly did not want to do that. The last thing I wanted was to get into a bidding war with Mr. Sitton in which Lurline Corn edged the two of us up by a few dollars on each offer. No, the best thing to do was to make our best and final, then make sure she knew we’d stick to it regardless of what Ernest Sitton did.
So with pen and paper in hand, I refigured the number of years and the amount of monthly loan payments that Etta Mae would take on, if our final offer was accepted. It still looked doable to me, so I figured how it would look if I raised our best and final up by a few more thousand dollars.
No, I told myself firmly. Better to stick with the amount that both Sam and I had agreed on. It was a fair offer, all things considered, and one that Etta Mae could repay in the time allowed even without expanding the business.
I knew that I had to keep my eyes on the purpose with which I’d started, and that was to ensure a safe future for Etta Mae. If I allowed myself to get into competitive bidding, I would quickly defeat that purpose.
Leaning my head back against the chair, I thought that if Lurline would just accept our offer and stop trying to make a killing, things would work out just as I’d planned. You would think, however, that by now I would’ve learned that most people don’t listen to me regardless of how often I’m proven right.
But, something suddenly occurred to me as I sat straight up with a surge of hope. If she turned us down there was still another way. I could set Etta Mae up in a competitive business. Over the past few years, Abbot County had gradually become a haven for retirees from the long-winter states, and the local population had become top heavy with golden-agers. Home care services were set to become a premium type of business, and there was no one better prepared for such a start-up business than Etta Mae Wiggins.
I came to my feet with renewed purpose, thinking, So there, Lurline Corn, do your worst!
With a great relief of anxiety, I saw that whatever Lurline did, Etta Mae could still have her own business, and who was to say that one way of accomplishing that goal was better than the other?
* * *
—
The day had begun to darken after lunch as clouds thickened overhead, so we went around switching on lamp
s to relieve the dreariness. After wrapping a few more gifts to go under the tree, I called The Flower Basket and ordered a Christmas centerpiece for the dining room table. Fresh greenery, I thought, and made a note to stop at a roadside stand and buy some garlands for the mantels.
Then, feeling on top of my list of things to do, I sat on the sofa in the library with Penelope on a stool in front of me while I brushed her clean, damp hair. It really was beautiful, so dark and thick, and it gave me a comforting feeling to be the one to brush it dry.
Parting it into three strands, I tried my hand at one long plait, pleased that I still remembered how to do it.
“Do you like it like this?” I asked.
Penelope yawned as she felt it with her hand, then nodded.
“Then I’ll find a rubber band and a ribbon to tie it off with, but right now we’ll take it down so you can nap better.”
We got up as Lillian came in with the nap blanket and a pillow. Penelope slipped off her sneakers and crawled onto the sofa. Lillian brought in the small kitchen radio and tuned it to an FM station softly playing Christmas carols, while I lowered the gas fire and turned off the lamps. Then she and I slipped out of the room—Lillian going to the kitchen and I to the living room.
Taking with me a yellow legal pad and a pen to make a few notes, I wished for an open fire in the fireplace. But having one would’ve meant going outside to the woodpile, so I decided to turn the Christmas tree lights on instead.
Smiling at the haphazardly decorated tree, I moved one ornament to a bare space. I figured that if I rearranged just one ornament every now and then, the children wouldn’t notice and by Christmas Day, the tree would be quite evenly decorated.
Stretching out with my feet on an ottoman, I caught the first wisp of cinnamon and cloves from the spiced tea brewing in the kitchen. It smelled like, well, like Christmas. Barely hearing the music from the library and the occasional soft clatter of pans in the kitchen, I put my head back and drifted off.
