As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she could just make out the people sitting around the long table. She recognized the small frame of Mama June. Who was that beside her? Nona? Why, yes it was! Beside her…
“Is that Nan?” she asked Hank.
Hank leaned forward and squinted. “Yes,” he said with an odd coolness.
“And Harry and Chas?”
He hesitated. “I didn’t think they were coming.”
She felt a small twinge of jealousy upon seeing the boys at Sweetgrass. “I thought you had your wife under control.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the person sitting at the head of the table. She gasped when she caught a glimpse of the thick shock of white hair.
“Why, Preston’s sitting at the table! Did you know he was doing so much better?”
“He’s been sitting up for a long time.”
“Really?” Adele looked at Hank with a sharpness that belied her surprise. “I didn’t know. You never told me. I just assumed he was lying in bed, rather like a vegetable.”
“Oh, no. They had him up and out pretty quick. I have to hand it to Mama June. She’s fierce as a lioness about him being part of family life.”
“What a lucky man,” she murmured.
“Preston?” Hank scoffed. “Yeah, right. The man’s in a wheelchair, he can’t walk or talk, and you call him lucky.”
Adele studied the man beside her in the car. Hank looked younger than his forty years. He was a hard worker, had a good future, a great family. Anyone would think he was a fine specimen of health. But she knew that already he was on two different medications for high blood pressure.
“You never know,” she told him. “In a few years, that could be you in that wheelchair. Oh, don’t shake your head like that,” she said with a wry smile. “Preston looked fit as a fiddle the day before his stroke. What you have to ask yourself is, if it happens to you and you are stuck in a wheelchair, will your kids care enough to be sitting at Sunday dinner with you?”
The smirk slipped from Hank’s face. He didn’t reply but turned to look out at the porch as a fresh round of laughter sounded in the breeze.
Adele’s thoughts slipped back to nights just like this one when she was a young girl and this was her home. She’d forgotten what that kind of security felt like. Back then, no one in the parish had air-conditioning. Most summer evenings after the dinner dishes were cleaned, the family went out on the back porch for relief from the heat. The breeze blew in off the creek and the screens did their job keeping out the bugs. While the radio played, Daddy read his paper, Mama did needlework and she and Preston and Tripp might play a board game or cards and listen to the crickets sing. Nothing remarkable. She might have even complained about being bored.
“I almost hate to spoil their evening.”
“That’s not a good idea,” he replied testily. “The papers are signed, dated and ready to deliver. And lest we forget, our clients are eager to move forward. There’s nothing to be gained by waiting until tomorrow. We’re here. We’re ready. Let’s get it done and deal with the aftermath tomorrow.”
Adele knew what he said was true. She glanced again at the porch in indecision. There was movement and the scraping of chairs. The family seemed to be headed back indoors.
“All right,” she said at length. “You deliver them to Morgan. I’ll wait here.”
Adele sat in her car smoking a cigarette while Hank delivered the papers. She was fully aware that she was sitting alone in the dark, on the outside, looking in at a home that would never be hers.
The thought brought a deep pain that still had the power to make her wince. She’d spent a fortune on psychiatrists, but the resentment was bigger than her. She couldn’t get past it. The resentment was so old and deep, it had formed who she was today.
She had never married, never wanted to give up her independence to a man, never wanted children of her own. With her dark, glossy hair, her lean good looks and her sense of style—not to mention her pedigree—it wasn’t because she didn’t have offers. Adele never felt the need to get married. She never desired what she thought was the boring, limiting life of a wife and mother. She’d been totally absorbed by her career; it was the top priority in her life. While she was growing up, her family had been land rich but cash poor. She’d been determined to make lots of money on her own, and in her coastal real estate business she’d succeeded beyond her imagination.
But money had nothing to do with her deep-rooted anger against her parents, her brother and especially Mary June Clark for cutting her out of the family circle.
She looked at the charming house that seemed to glow in the soft light emanating from the mullioned windows. Seeing it made her blood congeal. She was raised in that house, too. This was her family home. Every time she drove away and saw Mary June standing at the door waving her goodbye, she wanted to scratch her eyes out.
The business should be completed quickly, she thought, and took another lazy puff from her cigarette. Suddenly the front door of the house slammed open and Morgan came marching out on a beeline for her. He walked with angry purpose, and in his hands he clutched the opened legal papers.
“Hell,” she muttered, tamping down her cigarette. As he drew closer, she rolled her window farther down and raised her face in a starchy smile. “Morgan!” she exclaimed when he stopped at the window and bent to peer in. His face was dark with fury.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded, shaking the papers in his fist.
“You’ve read them?” she asked calmly.
“Of course I did. But they don’t make a goddamn bit of sense.”
“Watch your language if you wish to discuss this with me.”
“I am watching my language! If you knew what I was thinking…”
Adele lifted her chin archly, but did not reply.
Morgan raked his free hand through his hair, reining in his fury, then took a deep breath. “Would you please come inside and discuss this in my father’s office, Aunt Adele?” he asked in a strained, polite tone.
“I’d rather not,” she replied. “It’s late and I should think there’s nothing left to discuss.”
“You think—” he blurted, then stopped before he said something he couldn’t retract. “You told me we owed you five hundred grand. But this says you’re buying us out!”
“That’s correct. The loan is in default, which you would have learned had you not stormed out of the restaurant. Your father failed to meet his interest payments.”
Her calm was like kerosene on an open flame. He struggled to maintain his fury.
“He never told me about it.”
Adele looked at him askance. “Should he have? Where do you come in here? Morgan, do you really think you’ve been privy to your father’s business arrangements? You’ve hardly spoken to your father in the past ten years.”
Morgan’s gaze sharpened. “What is this agreement, exactly?”
“It’s a loan with a partnership proviso activated upon default. Or if one partner dies or is incapacitated. In either case, I’m activating the buyout clause.”
Morgan was thunderstruck. “So you’re telling me you will own part of Sweetgrass?”
“No. I’ll own all of it.”
“I don’t believe it!” he shouted. “Daddy would never deed away Sweetgrass for a loan. He’d put it up for collateral. That would make sense. But sell? No, never. Something’s not right.”
“It’s all there,” she said calmly, indicating the papers. She shifted in the car to face him more directly. “Now, listen to me clearly, Morgan. My partnership agreement is with your father, not you. And though this breaks my heart, your father is no longer capable as a partner. There is a buy-sell clause in that partnership that allows for me to buy out the ownership interest of this property—and I intend to do so. I have an attractive offer for this property. I’ll allow you, because you’re family, to sell to this buyer immediately. If you do, I’ll agree to split the profits sixty-forty. It’s a generou
s offer. You stand to walk away with a tidy profit. Everyone in your family does.”
“And if we won’t?”
“If you won’t, I’ll have no choice but to exercise my option to buy out the partnership according to the terms of the contract.”
He looked away, his jaw working.
Adele’s voice softened. “Morgan, dear, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But heroics now will get you and the family in trouble. We both love your father. However, I’ve faced the facts. I don’t believe you have.”
“You can stick your facts.”
Her face grew hard and she threw up her hands. “Enough is enough. I’ll have my lawyer send you a fair market price for the land in the morning.”
“What’s in it for you?”
She looked him in the eye. “What’s in it for you?”
“I’m doing this for my mother.”
“Ah, your mother. Well,” she said with a bitter smile. “That’s another story, isn’t it? I wouldn’t get involved with that if I were you. It goes too far back.” She turned the key to start the car. The engine roared with power, then settled into a gravelly purr.
Morgan pressed his hand on the door, as though to physically stop her from leaving. “I’m going to fight you on this.”
Suddenly the antenna snapped off in his hand. He looked at it dumbly; he wasn’t aware he’d been holding it so tight.
Adele’s face mottled and she said thinly, “I’ll send you the bill.” She pushed the button and the window rolled up.
Morgan yanked back his hand and was left staring helplessly at the darkened glass. He looked at the antenna in his hand with defeat. Muttering a curse, Morgan threw it on the ground and stomped back toward the house, his heels digging into the soft roadbed. As he climbed the first step, Hank came out from the house onto the porch. They both halted abruptly and stared at each other as the tension between them shot skyward. Morgan clenched his hands into fists. He felt the cursed papers crunching against his skin.
Hank paused a moment in indecision, fear pulsing in his eyes. He straightened his tie and hurried down the stairs past him, his heels pounding against the wood.
Morgan let him pass without incident. Hank was a small fish. His daddy had taught him to save his bait for the big ones.
16
“Young folks don’t want to learn it anymore. I taught my son. I teach my kids at school. I taught a woman in Georgetown, anyone who wants to learn. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it going.”
—Elizabeth Bennett, basket maker
INSIDE, THE HOUSE was dimly lit and quiet. His father’s room was closed and a light shone beneath his door. He knew that Kristina would be settling his father for the night. He was glad of it. He didn’t want his father present for what the rest of them had to discuss.
Light poured from the back porch and he followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He found Mama June, Nona and Nan serving coffee without any of the earlier laughter or chatter. Elmore, Harry and Chas sat in an uncomfortable silence around the table, glumly waiting. Morgan sighed at the threshold. All eyes turned toward him. He never felt their dependence more.
Mama June stepped forward to give him a soft kiss on his cheek. “Is she coming in?” she asked, referring to Adele.
Morgan shook his head. “She left. With Hank.”
Mama June’s face fell with disappointment. “Well, that’s that.”
“I tried to talk to that woman, but she’s not budging. These are legal papers here. It’s legit. The deal with Daddy was more than a handshake. Right now, Adele has a buyer for the property and she intends to sell it, with our cooperation or without it. It appears we’ve no choice. Adele’s lawyer is coming with her buyout offer in the morning.”
This was met with the expected round of angry denials and disbelief. Morgan watched his mother. She sat with her hands clasped on the table before her and said nothing.
“I hate that this is happening,” Nan blurted out.
“Yeah, why is Dad doing this?” Harry asked. He was sulking and slouched in his chair. “What’s wrong with him? Doesn’t he care about us? I mean, isn’t he part of the family, too?”
“It’s because he’s a jerk,” Chas said, his chin jutting out.
“Children, don’t talk about your father like that,” Mama June reprimanded them. “Even though we don’t agree with them, I’m sure both he and Adele are doing what they think is best.”
“The best for whom?” Nan retorted. Her anger against her husband flared in her eyes. “Adele stands to make a fortune from this deal. She’s already bought up the Mitchell piece.”
Morgan’s eyes widened with surprise. “That whole Mitchell piece?”
“Kit and caboodle. The plan is for another development to go in with I don’t know how many houses.”
“Lord, there goes my sweetgrass!” Nona exclaimed, raising her hands in dismay. “They’ll be putting up their No Trespassing signs in no time!”
Elmore nodded, his eyes grave. “It’ll be gone to us, that’s for sure. Time was, sweetgrass used to be everywhere for the taking. Grew like a weed. Same with bull rush and pine needles. Now with all this building, I can’t hardly find it nowhere. If we lose our sacred spot, I just don’t know.”
“I’m sorry,” Morgan told them, head bent. “I wish I could have saved it for you.”
“Child, it’s not your fault,” said Nona, patting his hand. She’d known this boy since he was born. He was a good boy and this wasn’t his burden. “You came home to see your sick daddy. No one expected you to change the way the tide was flowing.”
Nona quickly bent to pick up her large black purse from beside her chair. “We’d best be going now,” she said, giving Elmore a pointed glance. “Thank you for inviting us for dinner.”
Elmore’s long, lean body rose with quiet dignity.
Morgan turned toward his sister. When Hank delivered the legal papers to Morgan, Nan had exploded with fury. Mama June, worried lest Preston be disturbed, had urged the two upstairs to talk privately. Obviously it hadn’t gone well. Nan’s eyes were red-rimmed, and her face pale and taut.
“Are you going home?” he asked her.
“No. Mama June said the boys and I could spend the night here.”
He glanced at Harry and Chas. The boys slumped in their chairs and stared at their hands.
“I see,” he said, thinking to himself that his sister finally hadn’t backed down to Hank. That was something, at least.
“We’d best be off to bed, too,” Nan said. “Boys…”
“I thought I could find a way out of this,” he said to their retreating backs. “Bobby and I have been working on a plan, but with this loan, well…” He swallowed hard, feeling the crushing weight of their disappointment. He lowered his head and spoke softly, more to himself. “There’s no way we can pay back that amount. There just isn’t time. I’m sorry.”
Later that same evening, Mama June came to Preston’s office and peered in. She saw Morgan sitting at the large partner’s desk that had been used by his father, his father’s father, and his father before that. A modern touch was his laptop computer. Morgan was on the Internet again, no doubt researching legal terms, his fingers tapping across the keyboard.
She didn’t want to disturb him. Adele had delivered a terrible blow to the plan he’d been working on with such hope. She could see his desperation in the tension of his face and the intensity of his tapping. But this couldn’t wait. Reaching up, she knocked gently on the door.
He looked up quickly, startled by the interruption.
“Am I disturbing you?”
“Come in. Of course not,” he said, rising to his feet.
“Sit back down, please.”
He waited until she sat before returning to his chair. She looked around, not quite believing what a shambles the room had become since Morgan took possession. She’d thought Preston was disorganized, with all his tilting piles of books and papers. But this looked like a hurricane had
hit. The room was stuffy and smelled of tobacco and old socks.
“I’ve come to talk to you about something important,” she began.
Something in her tone alerted him because he promptly turned off his computer and gave her his full attention.
“First of all, I appreciate what you’ve done, son, to help me here at home. I know how hard you’ve worked. I couldn’t have expected more. But as you said, our hand is forced. I don’t want you to feel badly about how it’s all turned out. Who knows?” she added with a slight lifting of her shoulders. “It may be for the best.”
He opened his mouth to argue the point, but she pressed on.
“When you arrived, you asked me, rather persistently, what it was I wanted to do. Do you remember?”
Curious as to where this was headed, he nodded. “I remember it well.”
“I asked that you help me bring Preston home to heal. We’ve succeeded in that and I believe it’s done him a world of good. If that’s all the time there is, then that’s the Lord’s will. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”
“I appreciate that, Mama.”
She took a breath. “You might also recall that I wanted your daddy to be well enough to make whatever decision had to be made concerning Sweetgrass. Morgan, your father must be told.”
“What?” he asked with astonishment. “No, not yet. If you tell him this, he might relapse from the strain.”
“No, Morgan. He’s my husband. And he’s still the head of this family.”
“Mama…”
“I won’t be dissuaded,” she replied, raising her hand to halt his argument. “From the start I said the final decision must be his. That’s what all this was for.” She rose slowly to a stand, feeling every one of her years. “I’ll tell him.”
“Wait,” Morgan said. He stood. “Please, let me tell him. This was my job. I owe him that much.”
Morgan stood outside his father’s room, looking in. The narrow beam of light from the hall formed a cone, revealing Preston lying on the bed in the center of the room, sleeping soundly. He thought back to when he first saw his father in the hospital and how he’d been so shocked to see his vibrant father trapped in his paralyzed body, unable to communicate. He’d made progress since then, but not nearly enough.
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