Chapter 50
“Isn’t it about time we invited Etta’s parents over for dinner?
” Luna asked the following night, shortly after the household finished up their Sunday meal of both vegetarian and carnivorous entrees.
Etta had already excused herself to take an evening stroll through the garden, and Saul was in the kitchen chatting Beatrice’s ear off about life in Ecuador.
Luckily, he was wearing pants. “We’ve been here for what, a month?
There’s been no sign of them. I would love to meet your future in-laws and practice being non-judgmental. ”
Jamie picked another grape off the bunch in front of her. A kitten weaved between her ankles before hopping up in Luna’s lap. At least she no longer allowed the kittens on the table, which took about as much training as it took to keep the kittens off the table in the first place.
“Her father died when she was really young,” Jamie said. “I don’t know about her mother. Even I have never met her. She lives in South Carolina. Myrtle or Hilton Beach or something like that…”
“Terrible! Not just her father, but you never meeting her mother… do they not get along?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Is she at least coming to the wedding?”
“I… honestly don’t know.”
This conversation was the impetus for Jamie to search for her fiancée in the garden.
She found her sitting on a bench, watching the sunset as it sank beneath a grove of trees lining the woods.
The warm sunlight played with the colors of the flowers in full bloom.
Violets, roses, carnations, tulips… it was the tulips that always stole Jamie’s breath when she came out here.
Now, as she sat beside Etta and took her hand, she tried to focus on her question instead of getting lost in the flurry of rainbow colors growing before her.
“Is your mother coming to the wedding?” When Etta did not immediately respond, Jamie thought fast. “Beatrice needs to know, so she can reserve a guest room.”
Etta turned her head, studying Jamie’s countenance.
What is she thinking about? Did I drag up some bad memories?
Jamie never got the impression that Etta’s mother was abusive.
Cold, stern, and distant? Definitely. But Etta always made a point of saying that her mother was a hard worker who made sure they “made it through the rough times.”
“I don’t know. She won’t give me an answer.”
“So, you have talked to her about it?”
“I’ve tried. We don’t talk often, so I can’t call her up out of the blue without her suspecting something.”
“Suspecting what?”
“She hates it when I give her money.” Etta’s dry smile said she was joking, but her tone conveyed otherwise.
“We’re getting married in a few weeks.”
“If she decides to come at the last minute, I can make arrangements easily. We’ll be sure to keep a room open.”
“Etta…” Jamie didn’t like pushing her like this. It would have been one thing if she had known more about the relationship between mother and daughter. Then she would at least feel like she wasn’t intruding… too much. “Will I have to meet her at the wedding? That doesn’t seem right.”
Etta’s hand tightened in hers. “I can’t make the woman do anything. Not that I try. I leave her to her own devices.”
Jamie tried to contain the words threatening to overflow…
she tried, damnit. “Have you ever thought about taking me to see her? I don’t like putting you on the spot like this, but don’t you think it’s right that she should meet her daughter’s bride before they get married?
What, is she homophobic? Is that the problem?
Does she not like that you’re marrying a woman? ”
“She keeps to herself.” That was all Etta said.
If Jamie didn’t know her fiancée so well, she would worry that Mrs. Coleman was actually dead somewhere. No, that was Mr. Coleman. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Just thought I would bring it up since it’s been on my mind.”
Etta snorted. “How did you know?”
“How did I know what?”
“That I’m going to Atlanta in a couple of days.”
“I didn’t.” Oh, Jamie knew she was going on some short trip somewhere that week, but couldn’t remember. Just that she wasn’t invited, due to it being such a short trip, not too far away. “Your mom isn’t in Atlanta, though.”
“No, but it isn’t too far from South Carolina. If I give the old woman some warning, we could stop in for a night. She’ll gripe about it, but she shouldn’t turn us away. At the very least, I could talk to her in person about the wedding, and she can see you exist. That’s all I can do.”
Jamie barely had time to respond before she was already getting ready for this trip.
South Carolina was a state Jamie didn’t think much about.
All she knew was the existence of Myrtle Beach and something about golfing.
Since that was the only city she knew of, she foolishly assumed that Anne Coleman lived there.
Wrong! The private plane they took from Atlanta after Etta’s meeting dropped them off in a little place called Hilton Head Island.
This looks like the kind of place those people would love to come visit for a week and then never think about again. “Those people,” of course, referring to the rich who traveled in Jamie’s new social circles.
The beaches they flew above looked more appealing than Florida’s, and Jamie didn’t think it could get better than that on the east coast. The adorable lighthouses had northeastern charm without the stuffiness.
Indeed, after they landed, they still received a hearty helping of Southern hospitality – complete with accents.
As familiar as this sort of life was to Jamie now, she couldn’t help but feel that this environment went against everything she knew about Etta’s mother.
Anne Coleman, by all accounts, was a miser who secluded herself because she “wanted to live the rest of her life in quiet.” Jamie knew she was older, but when she found out that Etta had put her mother up in a 65+ community for those with very good means, she balked. Her mother was how old, exactly?
“Sixty-nine,” Etta said. “She moved in right at sixty-five.” They rode in the back of a car rental, swinging by busy golf courses and well-to-do shopping areas.
The longer they drove, however, the farther they got from all of this, until they were in a lovely countryside that looked more like the hills back home than anything Jamie had imagined.
“Before that, I couldn’t get her to budge from the crappy place she rented in North Carolina.
She moved there after I first went to Harvard and didn’t believe me when I started making good money.
I offered to buy her a place multiple times, but she wouldn’t let me.
Eventually her health started to decline, and when I offered to buy her a condo anywhere she wanted, she said she always fancied herself living in a place like Hilton Head Island. So, here we are.”
The community was spread out, giving residents ample privacy while providing many local services – such as beauty salons, post offices, cafés, grocers, and pharmacies – and access to things to do.
The beach was a fifteen-minute walk or three-minute shuttle ride away, and popular low-impact hiking and walking trails were advertised on many signs.
Jamie picked up a brochure from the check-in booth to see the multitude of groups available to join.
Workshops, classes, book clubs and movie watchers…
if she ever thought about taking up knitting, there were apparently some award-winning knitters on this island.
Etta’s mother lived farther back than anyone else.
It was hard to believe they were still in the community out there, what with the dense woods and one-lane road creating an air of isolation.
Now this sounded more like Etta’s mother, by all accounts.
When they reached a small one-bedroom bungalow tucked between a stream and a smaller yard, Jamie had to question how such a place was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.
According to Etta, however, that’s how much she paid to procure this piece of faraway life for her mother.
Anne Coleman did not answer the door. Instead, a middle-aged woman wearing a crisp blue uniform opened it while the car rental pulled away, not due to return until the next morning.
“You must be Etta.” The woman looked at her companion. “And Jamie. Either that, or you two are the smartest looking lost tourists.”
“I’m Etta.” She extended her hand and shook the woman’s. “Are you Sylvia?”
“Sure am, hon. Ms. Anne is out back on the patio. I was finishing up my rounds before heading out.” She winked at them both. “Brought some pot roast from the community restaurant. It’s the best around, so you should have yourselves a fine supper.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The bungalow was new, but dark, with most of the lights off and many windows closed and shuttered.
However, enough were opened to keep the place from getting musty.
Everything was neatly put away, including afghans on the living room couch and dishes in a cabinet.
It almost looked like a staged model home, with catalog furniture and decorative pieces that didn’t adhere to any one person’s tastes.
If Anne Coleman did have preferences, then they were not showcased in her small but cozy abode.
After the woman in the uniform took her leave, Etta explained, “That’s the woman who checks in most days to make sure she’s still alive and not burning the place down.”
“Oh, I thought she was something like a cleaning woman…”
“She might do a little cleaning, but this place screams my mother.” Etta chuckled.
“All my chores growing up were centered around clean this, clean that, make sure the laundry is brought in and neatly folded before going to bed. She would inspect my drawers to make sure everything was in its rightful place. Bonus points if I color-coded my underwear and shirts.”
“Gracious! Was she in the military?”