Chapter 17
Present Day
When the black town car pulls up outside the Daniel House two days later, I’m surprised to see both Magnolia and Delta step
out onto the street. Magnolia is in tennis shoes—Gucci, of course—paired with white jeans and a Hermès scarf wrapped around
her hair. With the dark sunglasses, her appearance resembles a disguise. Delta is wearing a much more sensible pair of dark-wash
jeans with a cute blouse I can tell cost upward of $300. Their voices fill the Saturday morning quiet along the sleepy street.
“Thank you, Victor,” Magnolia calls into the car. “I’ll call you.”
Delta scurries up to me and squeezes my upper arms. “Surprise!”
“Yes, surprise is right,” I say as Magnolia walks up. “Mother, you didn’t mention Delta would be coming along today.”
Magnolia fiddles with something in her pocketbook. “Well, Delta is part of the Carolina Historic Society too. Plus, she wanted
to lay eyes on you after Grady moved on to a new job.”
I guide them through the iron gate. “Well, the firm is still up and running like normal. No worries here.”
Delta leans over and touches my back. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, honey. I know you’ve got this under control. I guess...” She stops walking, and I turn to face her. “I guess I just feel a little sad and removed with Grady leaving. Do you mind if I see Hal while we’re here?”
“We’ll have to check with Victor,” Magnolia says. “His nephew has a basketball tournament he needs to make it back in time
for.”
Magnolia has a special soft spot for Victor. She may boss him around until her dying breath, but she shows her appreciation
by guarding the small slots of time he does request off. Heaven knows, the man certainly spends more waking hours with Magnolia
than with any of his nieces or nephews.
“Of course,” Delta says with a hint of disappointment. “Let’s see this house!”
Magnolia looks around the grounds. “Doesn’t look much improved.”
I did prepare Magnolia in great and thorough detail not to expect to see much change on the surface. I even tried to dissuade
her from this visit completely, but it seems she’d rather be disappointed than err even an inch too close to losing control
over the project.
“Like I told you yesterday, we weren’t expecting the rot we found in the frame of the house, so we had to pivot. Sam’s crew
is getting closer every day on the floors. Whenever we start a project we have to start with the basics, the ugly stuff.”
“I don’t mind sitting on this board,” Magnolia says on her way through the heavy front door, “but I’d rather not have to do
all these site visits. They’re so grubby.”
I follow them inside and click the door closed behind me. “I didn’t realize they required so much hands-on of y’all. That’s quite a lot.”
“It’s not required necessarily, but seeing as I’m your mother and this is my project, I have no choice but to stay in the loop. If I had it my way, I’d do all the designs and plans, and your team would just check the boxes.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt you would,” I say.
“Thanks again for letting me tag along,” Delta says. “I can see the potential, even if it needs work. Y’all—I mean, you , now—are so skilled.”
“Here’s what we’ve been working on.” I walk into the kitchen and tap my toe on the new subfloor. “Under here.” I turn and
point to the sanded hardwoods along the deep entryway. “And you can see that Sam’s crew has stripped off all the old stain,
and a lot of the wear and tear has come off too. He’s amazingly thorough yet careful, and compared to a standard timeline,
they’re working at light speed.”
Magnolia nods and walks over to the area. “It does look better. Takes an awful lot of time, though. Yes, I suspect you were
right, Magnolia—you probably could’ve just sent me the pictures. There’s not much to see here.”
“It just smells like history.” Delta hops a little in excitement.
“Smells like it needs a good cleaning to me,” Magnolia says.
Delta laughs in a titter. “Oh, Mags, you’re such a hoot.”
Delta Suffolk must be touched by a special celestial gift to consider my mother a hoot. By any and all standards Magnolia
is very little fun and a whole lot of scathing disparagement. She is not funny—at least not intentionally. But by the grace
of God, Delta Suffolk is enchanted.
They’re a perfect match as much as they are an odd one.
I gesture around the cozy kitchen. “Because of the water damage over time, we’re doing tile in here. You ladies want to see
the ones Fitz picked out?”
“Do I ever,” Delta says.
“Tile?” Magnolia asks. “I wasn’t informed about any tile.”
“It was sent to your email and to the rest of the board,” I say. “The president replied and gave us the green light. I figured you saw it.”
“I don’t have time for email,” Magnolia says.
“Which is why I also followed up with a call to you,” I say. “But you were out with the yacht club.” More than a few mimosas in. “And you told me to just go ahead.”
“Hmm.” Magnolia pauses like she’s remembering it. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to accept it, even if I don’t particularly
like it.”
The women follow me into a back pantry area where we’re storing supplies as they’re delivered. I love the tile, so seeing
it again feels like a treat. I pull the squares from the cardboard box and lay a few in the light of the window.
“Fitz and I both adore these, and Douglas and Jade loved them too. Aren’t they fabulous?” I run a hand over the textured inky
blues and milky whites, then look to the women.
Delta crosses her arms and nods deeply. “Yes, ma’am, those are gorgeous.” She bends to touch them. “Might have to have you
come put these in my kitchen—just don’t tell Ned!” Delta melts into giggles.
“A bit busy for a floor, no?” Magnolia says. “And since when do the interns get a say?”
I could tell Magnolia that the rest of the design is intentionally quiet alongside the tile, about how the cabinets are a
creamy taupe and the fixtures will be a muted brass, but I’m not sure she cares to know.
“The interns are on-site reps for the board—in addition to you. Both have strong design eyes. Everyone weighs in,” I say,
carefully picking up the tiles and slotting them back into their box.
“In that case I’d like to have my say too,” Magnolia says. “Please include me in the next design team meeting so I can help
and give input.”
Maybe my mother does hate my designs or maybe she’s just so desperate to keep me caught in her twisted loop, challenging me to live up to her expectations, that she sees criticizing my work as her best option. Still, she knows I want to be the best at historic preservation and design, but I’m not sure she’ll ever be willing to admit that I’m even decent.
“All right then, Mother,” I say. “Did you want to see the rest of the material samples while we’re here? It might save you
another in-person visit.”
“I guess we might as well now that we’ve come all this way,” Magnolia says.
“Say no more.” I grab the large tote with samples from beside the tile. “Let’s head to the porch to check them out.”
“Don’t have to ask me twice. Heavens, is it dusty in here,” Magnolia says.
“ Materials just sounds so professional,” Delta says, following us.
We step out onto the wraparound porch and it creaks beneath our feet to greet us. It even smells woody as it bakes in the
heat of the sun. I drop the bag onto our trusty folding table and begin unloading and arranging the samples in groups.
I have a discreet woodland-patterned wallpaper for the powder room downstairs and a modern gold light fixture picked out to
match it. I set the sample of the kitchen cabinetry beside the creamy swatches we’ll narrow down once we’re ready. I’ll show
the plumbing fixtures on my phone.
“We’ve got the design put together for the downstairs so far,” I say. “The team and I are still firming up our decisions for
the upstairs. Let me show you the bathroom sink. It’s traditional porcelain. Actually, it’s not too different from the one
in your house.”
Magnolia perks up. “Well, I’m glad to have been an inspiration. The ladies on the board do say I have a penchant for a classic look.”
I’m fairly certain that’s just code for Magnolia having expensive taste, but I know better than to suggest it out loud.
I hold up the phone to show them the sink.
“Oh yes. That one’s perfect,” Magnolia says. “It seems you’re doing a fair job at this. Even if it’s ungodly slow-moving.”
“Oh, Mags, it’s a little better than fair,” Delta says. “Let’s not be too hard on the girl.”
Magnolia shoots her friend a steely look, and Delta snaps her mouth shut.
“I’m glad you think it’s all right so far,” I say and begin to pack the samples back in. “But especially with historic buildings,
we have to be cautious and thoughtful rather than rushing. If something gets ripped out or damaged, it may not ever be the
same.”
“If you say so,” Magnolia says. She pulls her sunglasses down and wanders toward the steps.
Delta leans in and whispers, “It really is beautiful, Mack. No matter how your mama acts about it.”
I wink. “Thank you. I’ve learned by now how to let it go.”
More like push it all down and smile nice, but it works the same. Delta is one of the few people who truly knows Magnolia
through and through, truly knows how she has raised and treated her daughter. She sees the cold quality, the harsh corners
of Magnolia’s mothering, and it makes sense why she’s always tried to be a loving presence in my life. To cover the gap.
The black car pulls up, and we say our goodbyes. Mags and Dee slip into their ride and it sets off in the direction of home,
right down the coast.
Perhaps it’s not the worst outcome that Magnolia was unimpressed by the work thus far. Maybe it’ll discourage her from going to the effort of visiting again in person. Because Maya said if the Exquisite Interiors network producers like our tape, they’ll send a crew to shoot some more footage. And if the stars align and we get a real shot, the worst thing that could happen is Magnolia Bishop crashing the party.