by Ann B. Ross
In fact, the entire park, I noted with satisfaction, situated on five-plus mostly cleared, level acres and bounded by a cornfield on one side and a forest on the other, all of it less than a mile from downtown Delmont, should be quite attractive to the Dollar Store’s real estate committee.
I had not gone to Delmont with a real estate transaction in mind, but when one jumps up demanding attention, I generally pay attention. I drove home, smiling to myself.
Chapter 11
My smile had dwindled by the time I pulled into the driveway at home. What in the world was I thinking? I had gone to Delmont to see the lay of the land with only the intent of helping Etta Mae in mind. Now here I was considering the sale of what could be the only means of income for her, to say nothing of selling the ground out from under her.
Of course, I told myself quite firmly, the undeveloped acreage that surrounded the Hillandale Trailer Park would be more attractive to the Dollar Store committee than the trailer park itself. To situate a store within walking distance of so many families would be better for them than the eviction of those same families.
Still, it was hard to let go of the possibility of turning a pretty penny with the sale of something that had little intrinsic value to me. A trailer park had not been the jewel of Wesley Lloyd’s estate, and I would not miss the meager monthly returns from it. Its real value lay, obviously, in an eventual sale to someone who wanted the land.
I had, however, been led down the primrose path by similar rosy thoughts a few times before and had learned to ignore the promise of a windfall. The sale price of a piece of property might make you sit up and take notice, but once you subtract the realtor’s fee, the lawyers’ fees, the prorated property taxes, and the capital gains taxes, you’d usually have been better off to have kept the property.
So, I told myself, get selling the trailer park off your mind entirely. It wasn’t as if I needed to sell it, and besides, it wasn’t as if the Dollar Store even wanted it. I had been putting the cart before the horse, and I immediately began to mentally unhitch it. Therefore, the Hillandale Trailer Park was not for sale, no matter who might want to buy it.
With that firmly decided, I reaffirmed my intent to help Etta Mae and to do it in a way that would not embarrass or humiliate her. What I’d have to do to accomplish that would be to engage her to help me, not the other way around.
And, as I left the car and headed into the house, I thought that I knew how to go about doing exactly that.
“Lillian,” I said, shedding my coat and gloves as I went through the kitchen, “I have some figuring to do, so if Mildred or anybody else calls, take a message. Tell whoever it is that I’m in the bathroom or whatever, and I’ll call them back in a little while. I’ll be in the library.”
She turned to look at me as I sailed past. “What if it’s Mr. Sam? You want me to tell him you in the bathroom?”
I stopped. “No, if it’s Sam, let me know. I’ll take it, but for now I need some time to see if what I’m thinking of doing is feasible to do.”
“That sound like something you might not oughta do.”
“On the contrary. The more I think of it, the better I like it. And when I tell you what it is, I know you’ll agree. I just need to think it through, because you know I don’t go off half-cocked on anything.”
“Uh-huh,” she said with a slight tinge of skepticism which I ignored.
Entering the library, I went straight to the fireplace and turned on the gas flame, then I retrieved a pen and a yellow legal pad from the desk. Sitting on the sofa, I began a list of things that should be done, and the first one was to contact a real estate agent. No, I’d not changed my mind about selling the trailer park. I was now interested in purchasing, not selling, so I needed someone who would act for me and in my best interest. Nell Hudson, the agent I’d used a while back, was out—she talked too much. Like most people, I did not want my business discussed around town before it was done.
I jotted down the name Joe Blair, the agent who told his clients what they needed to hear, rather than what they wanted to hear. I could work with someone like that, especially since in real estate matters, I was occasionally inclined to go off half-cocked in spite of what I’d just assured Lillian that I did not do.
I wrote Mr. Blair’s name at the top of the page, added his phone number, then came to a full stop as I realized that a major decision had to be made. Should I proceed with my plan before discussing it with Etta Mae, i.e., present her with a fait accompli, and take a chance that she wouldn’t like it? Or should I first get her approval, then risk the possibility of failing to make a deal and end up badly disappointing her?
It was a dilemma, no doubt about it, even though my sole purpose was to do something good for someone else. Considering that new leaf that I’d so recently turned over, one would think that everything would fall into place when one’s intention is good. But I found myself stymied before even starting. It was clearly a problem to be discussed with Sam.
Sam wasn’t home, but Lillian was. I put aside the pen and pad, and went to the kitchen.
“Lillian,” I said, as I pulled out a chair from the table, “if you wanted to help somebody and had a very good idea of how to do it, would you tell the person what you were going to do or would you just go ahead and do it and then tell her?”
“What?”
“I mean, I don’t want to risk getting her hopes up if things don’t work out, because when dealing with a third party you never know what they’ll do, so if you promise something and then can’t follow through, that could be worse than not doing it at all.”
“Miss Julia,” Lillian said, standing by the counter with a ladle in her hand, “I don’t know what in the world you’re talkin’ about.”
“Etta Mae Wiggins, that’s what I’m talking about. See, Lillian, the word’s out that the business where Etta Mae works is about to be sold. Nobody knows what the purchaser will do with it—keep the business going with the same employees, fire the employees and hire new ones, close the business entirely because they only want the property, or all of the above. So, see,” I said, hitching forward on my chair, “I’m thinking of buying the business myself and hiring Etta Mae to run it, thereby ensuring that she has a job, and if she does as well with it as she’s done with the trailer park, everybody’ll be happy. Now the problem I have is this: Do I take Etta Mae into my confidence before I proceed or do I tell her after I’ve done it? Either way, I run the risk of disappointing her or me if things don’t work out.”
“How would it disappoint you?”
“Why, Lillian, if I go ahead and buy something that she doesn’t want to run, it would leave me with a business that I have absolutely no interest in owning. What in the world would I do with it if she’s not interested? I mean, what if she decides to move to Charlotte?”
“Why’d she wanta move to Charlotte?”
“It beats me—looking for new opportunities, I guess. I certainly wouldn’t want to, but she’s mentioned the possibility.”
Lillian leaned on the counter, thought about it for a minute, then said, “She’s not gonna move to Charlotte. Not now, anyway. Not as long as Miss Granny’s still livin’, an’ don’t look like she’s gonna slow down any time soon.”
“Of course!” I sat up straight, wondering how I could’ve overlooked Etta Mae’s sprightly grandmother who helped Hazel Marie with the little twin girls that she and Mr. Pickens had produced. “You are absolutely right, Lillian. Granny Wiggins is her only living relative—as far as she knows, anyway—so she’s not about to move away. Well,” I went on with a laugh, “that puts a different light on things, but I must’ve caught something from Horace Allen to have forgotten Miss Granny.”
“Oh, that poor Mr. Horace,” Lillian said, shaking her head. “He’s gettin’ real pitiful, Miss Julia. I saw Ida Lee run out and bring him back in the house yesterday. He was on the sidewalk, headin
’ for town, it looked like.”
“My goodness,” I said, “I didn’t know that. Poor Mildred, she has to do something, and do it soon. I keep hearing that people with memory loss are prone to walk off and not know where they’re going or where they’ve been.”
“Yes’m, an’ the fam’lies have to put out a Silver Alert so everybody can look out for ’em an’ bring ’em home. It’s real sad, Miss Julia.”
“Yes, it is, but Mildred says that other than worrying about his car, Horace doesn’t have a care in the world. So I guess it could be worse, bless his heart.”
After thinking along those lines for a few seconds, I said, “Lillian, if you ever notice me getting in that condition, let me know. I like to think that since I’ve gotten this far without any signs of dementia, I won’t get it at all. But I guess the one affected is the last one to know it, don’t you think?”
“I ’spect so, but you’re sharp as a tack, Miss Julia. I don’t see nothin’ to worry about in you or Mr. Sam. Or me, either.”
“I agree,” I said, reassured and just a little prideful in the smooth working of my brain. Then, rising from the chair, I went on. “Well, this is not getting anything done. I’d better get up from here and get back to work. But what was I doing?” I stopped, frowned, and tried to recall why I had come into the kitchen. “Oh! Of course! I came to ask you what to do about Etta Mae, and you reminded me of Granny Wiggins, and that answered my question. Or at least it clarified a few things. I declare, half the time I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.
“But,” I quickly added, “that doesn’t mean a thing, Lillian. I’ve always been like that.”
Chapter 12
When Sam got in later that afternoon, I laid it all out for him—what I wanted to do and how I thought I should go about getting it done. He listened carefully as I waxed fulsomely over the perfect job for Etta Mae and how pleased she would be to have her future assured whether or not she ever walked down the aisle again.
“See, Sam,” I said, summing up my plans, “I have a little money that needs to be put to work, and what better use for it than to put it into a going business. And Etta Mae is the perfect person to run such a business. She knows it from one end to the other, and she and I work well together. Just look at how she’s managed the trailer park so that it’s no longer a problem for me.
“Now, I know you’re going to point out that The Handy Home Helpers isn’t the best investment in the world, nor is the Hillandale Trailer Park, neither being on the New York Stock Exchange. But it’s not a bad idea for me to invest in a local business, especially one that will help Etta Mae make a living.”
Sam said nothing at first, just thought about it for a longer time than I’d hoped he would, then offered his opinion.
“Honey,” he said, “you have a good heart and a good head for business, but think this through carefully. It seems to me that you’re very close to planning Etta Mae’s life for her. Now, I know that’s not your intention, but to suddenly present her with this puts her in the position of feeling she has to accept it whether she wants it or not. She’ll feel an obligation to you, and that wouldn’t bode well for a good working relationship.”
Well, that cooled my jets for a few minutes because I felt sure that Etta Mae would love to run, manage, and administer The Handy Home Helpers. I could just see her sitting in Lurline’s office making out schedules, doing payrolls, and training new employees on exactly how to deal with the bedridden. No longer would she have to drive all over creation from one homebound patient to another, doing whatever was demanded of her from giving bed baths to bedpans, as well as lifting, turning, and walking uncooperative patients. And, of course, she would know how easy I was to get along with. We had, after all, a history of working together at the trailer park—my owning something and her taking care of it had worked fine for many years. I couldn’t understand why Sam hadn’t taken that into consideration.
When I said as much to him, he responded by making another suggestion.
“Think of this,” he said. “Why don’t you talk it over with Etta Mae and suggest that she buy the business?”
“Why, Sam, she doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. How in the world could she buy a healthy business when she can barely pay her bills? And don’t say she can get a bank loan. That single-wide is the only thing she owns, and, as collateral, it wouldn’t make much of an impression on a loan officer.”
“But would it impress you?”
“What?” I asked, staring at him.
“You could loan her the money. It would make no difference to you whether you buy the business outright from the present owner or loan the same amount to Etta Mae so she can buy it. But it would make a world of difference to her—she would be the owner, not the hired hand.”
“Why, Sam,” I said as the whole thing dawned in my mind, “that’s a wonderful idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, because you’re right. Either way, it would cost me the same, but the difference for Etta Mae would be night and day.” I flipped a page on my legal pad. “Now tell me exactly how to go about doing it.”
“Talk to Etta Mae first. Make sure that she would want the business. You have to consider that she might not want the responsibilities that go with ownership. But, Julia,” Sam went on, “you mustn’t let her feel that you’re just handing something to her. Make sure she understands that she’ll be repaying you with interest, although you can offer easy terms. That’s the only way she’ll be able to accept help without being under a debilitating obligation to you. And it’s the only way you can accomplish what you want—helping her and putting your money to work instead of letting it sit in a bank.”
“Then,” I said, starting to rise, “I’d better talk to Mr. Blair and find out how much Lurline wants for the business. I need to know what we’re talking about.”
“I’d wait on that if I were you,” Sam said, smiling at my eagerness. “Etta Mae should approach him, not you, so he’ll know he’s working for her. And that means you should talk to her first, make sure she’s on board and it’s something she wants to do. To make it a legitimate business transaction that she’s comfortable with, you should stay entirely in the background and let her do it all.”
“You’re right,” I said, settling down. “I know you’re right. And there’s something else, Sam. Etta Mae will know if Lurline’s asking price is out of line because Etta Mae will know how well the business is doing. She’s in a much better position than I to know what it’s worth.”
“Exactly,” Sam said. “And she’ll know how to improve the business, where its weak points are, and possibly how it can be expanded. If you’re going into the caregiving business, you couldn’t find a more knowledgeable person to invest in.”
I sat back and basked in the glow of seeing how things could work out in a way that would accomplish exactly what I wanted. Now all I had to do was to present it to Etta Mae in a way that would capture her imagination of what it would be like to own something that would ensure her future. And, I might as well confess, make a little money for me along the way.
“Uh, Julia,” Sam said, interrupting my pleasant thoughts, “you should take into consideration that Etta Mae might not want a debt burden like that, to say nothing of not wanting to be responsible for the livelihood of her employees, as well as of the patients who would ultimately be under her care. It will all be on her shoulders, and some people are cut out for that kind of pressure and some are not. You shouldn’t try to talk her into something that she’s not prepared to accept. Being the boss,” Sam concluded with a smile, “is not always what it’s cracked up to be.”
“Oh, I understand that,” I said, “and I’d never try to talk her into something that I didn’t think she could do.” But of course, I was already picturing Etta Mae cringing at the thought of doing something she’d never done before. But how often had I seen her hesitate and hold back on some of our e
scapades, then in spite of her fears, jump in and save the day and quite often my bacon, as well? All she would need would be my assurance that she was not only capable, but the ideal person to own and run The Handy Home Helpers. I fully expected to have to push, shove, and constantly reassure her that she had what it took to succeed in an executive position.
“Well,” Sam said, “just be aware that she might not be eager to take on so much. In fact, I’d be surprised if she is. She strikes me as someone who counts the cost before jumping in.”
“That is true,” I agreed, “except when it comes to men. That poor girl has jumped into marriage without counting the cost too many times already. Now, if I can just get her to want to be a business owner as much as she’s wanted to be a wife, we’ll be all right. Because I’ll tell you, Sam, having a business under her control will be much more rewarding than any marriage she’s ever had.”
Chapter 13
Sam was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow that night, but I lay awake with first one thing then another streaming through my mind. I couldn’t wait to present this wonderful idea to Etta Mae, convinced that she would be thrilled once she’d given it some thought. She’d probably be fearful at first, thinking that she wasn’t capable of such an undertaking. I’d have to be at my best to effectively point out the rewards to her—and to me. Sam had been right in that I should not let Etta Mae think that I was doing it entirely for her benefit, which I was, because, let’s face it, I was no more interested in a caregiving business than I was in watching golf on television.