Old Palmetto Drive, page 3
“God Mom, you act like I’m some heartless bitch.” I shake my head and huff.
“If the Jimmy Choo fits.”
“UGH!” I snarl at her.
She ignores me and drives the rest of the way up Old Palmetto Drive. My legacy? What the hell was that all about? I close my eyes for a moment, afraid to look as the car makes it around the last bend. I hear her breathing speed up. Then she says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner… ”
I know Mom’s not talking to me.
She’s talking to her dead sister.
I reluctantly open my eyes and look around, to see what exactly has Mom all anxious. Towering before us is Cullier Manor House. It’s like right off the cover of some Southern magazine. The place is massive with a huge porch. The hedges are trimmed, the crushed gravel is pristine, there’s a three tiered fountain and flower gardens. There are at least twenty other buildings and small houses dotted along the expansive manicured property. This is some kind of wealthy compound.
“Welcome to your new home Rian,” Mom says and turns off the car.
“What the–” I pause. “Mom. This is a mansion. This is not at all like that creepy picture from the guest room. I thought this was going to be some dumpy farm in the swamps, what the hell is this place?” I am seriously in shock.
Mom laughs. “That picture was from 1890. A lot has changed here since then.”
“Yeah, no shit,” I mumble.
Darcy parks behind us. I hear her door slam. Mom and I are just sitting awkwardly, not getting out, so I try to enjoy the last few minutes of A/C. Then Mom puts her hand on my knee and leans toward me.
“Rian, look at me. I need you to be on your best behavior. That New York attitude of yours will not work around here. Use ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘yes sir’ with everyone you meet.”
“Oh Jesus mom, get a grip,” I snap.
“RIAN!”
I get out and slam the car door. Who does she think I am? Obviously I know how to say please and thank you. I’m not a barbarian. I have more class than Mom ever had at my age. I lean against the car, but it’s burning hot.
“Yep, this is hell.”
I pull away from the scorching metal and put my hand up to shade my eyes from the late afternoon sun blazing down. I hear Mom’s car door open and shut. I turn around to tell her I don’t accept her apology for accusing me of having no manners when I see she isn’t coming around to me. She’s got her arm around Darcy and they point at the house, walking and talking and laughing. People rush to them and Mom is the Queen Bee. Just how she likes it.
Who are all these people anyway?
There’s a man in dirty coveralls. A woman wearing gardening gloves. Two men holding shovels. A small woman with an apron standing next to a plump woman with gray hair. Gardeners, housekeepers, cooks?
I don’t understand any of it. Why are there so many people here? What is this? Like a hotel? Is that the family business? Seriously, what exactly did Aunt Kris and Uncle Chuck do anyway? I thought they were country bumpkins.
Sweat spots form on my Balenciaga shirt and my pink, shredded slouch-shorts threaten to strangle me from the humidity. I fan myself, but the air is damp and something buzzes.
“Something just bit me!” I scream and slap my arms and at my face.
But no one is around to hear me scream. They are all fawning over Mom and Darcy who have made their way onto the porch. “Goddamnit Mom, you better have bug spray in one of the bags.” I huff and open the trunk of her car. I’m waist-deep searching through the luggage when I hear the crunch of gravel as someone approaches me from behind.
My heart speeds up.
Eww, why am I nervous?
7
Circus Tent
“Hey, Rian,” it’s Sam or Travis, I can’t tell from the voice.
“Hello,” I say slowly and pull my body from the trunk.
The entire drive here I envisioned my cousins to be toothless hillbillies wearing trucker hats and flannel. Sure, I could have asked Mom if she had a picture of them. But, I didn’t want her to think I might be interested in moving here.
This house it’s not what I expected. So, my cousins probably aren’t either. My knees tremble. I turn around and the boy in front of me is wearing khaki shorts, a baby blue Lacoste polo shirt, and leather strap flip flops. He’s about as tan as a country boy is supposed to be and has sandy blonde hair.
It’s Sam.
“Hey cous! Glad you made it,” he says. “Travis is out in the garage. Got tired of bein dressed up and waitin for y'all. He’s workin on the Camaro, the one dad used to drive. You wanna come see? You got taller since last time I saw you,” Sam talks nervously and blushes.
“Oh,” I grumble. “Yeah, taller.”
Sam smiles. It’s the same smile Mom has, the perfect one, and he probably uses to get out of trouble. He looks like trouble with that dimple in his cheek. For some reason the fact he’s so perfect makes my blood boil. I smile back, even though I want to scream at him that I’m pissed off and I don’t want to be at Cullier Manor House. I want to go home to New York.
“So, you wanna go see Travis?” he asks again. He shifts from one foot to the other.
“Um… sure. Can I go inside first and put my stuff down?” I ask, then turn back to Mom’s trunk and grab my Louis bag. Oh shit! I forgot to take out the Lanie doll. I’ll have to put her in the trash or hide her under my bed before anyone sees her. Sweat beads roll down my forehead. I’d reach up to wipe them off, but I’m holding my bag awkwardly with two hands. I feel like an orphan clinging to my only possessions, ready to go see my room at the orphanage.
Why is it so humid here?
I think I might throw up I’m so hot and sweaty.
Mom’s laughter from a distance trickles our way and Sam says with a frown, “Her laugh is the same as Mama’s used to be.” His eyes go dark. He’s the orphan. Not me.
“I need air,” I manage to squeak. I feel faint.
“Gosh cous! Where are my manners? Let me take that bag for you and show you and Aunt Victoria inside and get you cooled off.” Sam reaches out and takes my bag.
“Sounds like Mom and Darcy are still busy talking to everyone. You can just take me,” I tell him. I’m desperate to get inside and out of the heat. The sound of bugs is so loud it feels like my ear drums might explode.
“Well, what do you think of the place?” He asks as we walk.
“It’s…different. There are a lot more people here than I expected,” I admit to him.
“Yeah, it sure is somethin, ain’t it?” Sam says proudly.
“Yeah,” I mumble. I mean, it is impressive, but I’m not prepared to give him the satisfaction of saying so.
“Mama always said Aunt Victoria would come back one day. Said this place was in her blood. You can run from the South, but it will always call you home,” Sam says as he slowly opens the huge front doors.
For a moment, Sam is the Ringmaster.
He’s oddly charming and looks at me like I’m the grand lioness he’s about to unleash for the cheering crowd. But I don’t care if this is a three ring circus, with clowns and popcorn and trapeze swingers behind the door.
“Whoa, what the fuck?”
The words escape my lips before I can stop them. I’m standing in a giant, circular foyer with a staircase coming down from one side. There’s a marble topped table in the center filled with fresh cut roses and expensive art and statues everywhere I look. Someone is even playing the piano in another room, the music drifting in softly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was standing in a hotel lobby in Manhattan.
“Come on, Rian, up here. Your room is next to me and Travis.” Sam is already half way up the dark, rich-mahogany staircase. Oil paintings of fair Southern belles line the walls. The Persian runner lining the steps is handmade. The place smells like Scotch from crystal decanters and worn leather. Like the time I snuck into one of Dad’s “secret” club meetings at the Metropolitan. That’s where he and all the other Wall Street turds would hang out, eager to hear detailed accounts of who they screwed and how much they spent on their Maserati.
“Who are all these people?” I ask, stopping to look at one of the portraits of a pretty brunette with a scowl on her face.
“Our relatives. That’s Gram Tweety when she was our age.”
She looks like Scarlett O’Hara from Gone with the Wind. I only know that because Mom makes me watch it sometimes when Dad is out of town. Okay, maybe I ask her if we can watch it. So sue me, I like old movies.
“Mmhmm.” I make a noise to acknowledge I heard Sam.
“Gram Tweety was a huge fan of Viven Leigh.” Sam explains and continues walking to the top of the stairs.
Everything is just so– peculiar. Crystal chandeliers, fine art, antique furniture all polished and perfect. This place is like a slice of pecan pie. Mom used to say that when I was little and it drove Dad insane. He was born in Connecticut. In his mind, people from the South were backward. Whenever she said anything he thought was too Southern, he’d give her an evil eye. It was kind of tragic when I was a kid, but then I got used to it. My skin crawls, cause like, that is pretty shit of Dad when you think about it.
“It’s like pecan pie,” I whisper, just to feel the words roll around in my mouth.
“We have pecans. We can pick them this fall if you like that sort of thing. Mrs. Paula, the cook, she makes the best pie,” Sam says as he opens one of the doors at the end of the long, upstairs hallway.
“Uh, okay. Sure,” I say. I don’t know what that means. Pick pecans. Like off the ground? From a tree? Do we have to climb it?
“Well, this is your room, Rian. Me and Travis wasn’t too sure what you’d like, so we left it pretty empty so you can put your city girl touch on it.” Sam smiles awkwardly.
He goes over and sets my bag down on the floor by the huge bed. Am I supposed to thank him or tip him? Now, it’s my turn to smile awkwardly. Sam looks around the room and puts his hands in his pockets. Should I ask him to have a seat? To help me unpack? To get me a glass of water? Mom said use my manners.
“Thanks for showing me to my room, Sam.” Then, before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I’m sorry your Dad killed your Mom. Uh, I mean, I’m sorry about your parents.” Palm to face.
Sam doesn’t say anything.
“Sam! There you are. Let me get a good look at you.” It’s Mom. She lets out a sigh when Sam turns around to face her. “You are so grown up.” Her voice is shaky and she wraps her arms around him.
“Aunt Victoria.” He sobs into her shoulder.
“It’ll be okay. I’m here now. Come with me, Sam, and let’s let Rian settle in. How about we go catch up on the back porch.” Mom guides a crying Sam out of my room. That pain in my chest, the tight feeling I had before leaving New York, returns. Like an ache in my heart for the loss that is suddenly everywhere. Sam’s parents are dead. Why on earth did I bring it up? What is wrong with me? I grab at my chest trying to make the pain stop.
But all I do is hurt harder.
“GOD!” I yell and slam my new bedroom door shut and run over to the window, seeking anything to take away the feeling. I look down through the glass and notice Darcy talking with someone in the yard, pointing at the fountains and flowers. There are people unloading everything from our vehicles. I don’t know how long I stand there, in a daze, but it feels like forever until my phone vibrates in my bag– pulling me back to reality.
It’s Ava.
More pictures from back home. She’s such a bitch. Look at them! Her and Gina and Maggie eating ice cream and taking pictures at the Bethesda Fountain. They don’t even miss me. I throw my phone down on the bed. I guess I could send a picture of the fountain out in my new yard. I go back to the window to look at it again. Not nearly as impressive as the massive stone water feature in Central Park.
That’s when I see a flash of the late afternoon sun reflecting off something far out in the distance. I squint to see what it is. An old metal building. I bet that’s where Travis is working on cars. I decide I’m going to go out there and tell him he better come inside and say hello. If Mom said I have to use my manners then so does Travis. The least he could do is greet us when we arrived. But, before I go marching out there with a bad attitude, I take the band out of my pocket to pull my hair up. The house isn’t completely immune to the sweltering swamp heat and my neck is sweating and tingly from the salt oozing from my city skin.
I sigh.
Do I really want to go outside in the heat and find Travis right now? Not really. But, I’ll go crazy if I stay in this empty room by myself. I look around, it’s not really that empty. I guess the huge, white, four-poster bed is kind of perfect. My cheeks flush when I realize it’s the same bedding I had back home. I wonder if someone ordered it for me? God, they must think I’m so spoiled. But, can I help it if I only like certain sheets and a very specific white duvet? What? My skin itches when I sleep on cheap fabric.
There’s a white vase with Magnolia flowers on the nightstand next to the bed. And on the farthest wall sits a desk with a beveled, gold mirror hanging above it. I go over and sit down and look at myself. How many other people have looked at their own reflections while sitting at this desk.
I stand and head for one of the closets half expecting a ghost to jump out, but instead it’s a huge, custom walk-in with a floral, rose patterned paper lining the shelves. Like the Gucci limited edition design from a few years ago. Interesting. I kind of love it. I’ll have to sketch it later when I have more time.
And what’s this? Another closet?
Oh my god! It’s a bathroom. A claw foot tub gleams with gold feet and designer white towels with my name monogrammed on them. There’s another vase of fresh cut flowers. Even the toilet paper is folded into a point. Why did Dad always say Mom’s family were a bunch of white trash? Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was standing in a five-star hotel bathroom.
8
Fishing Lures
I’m still admiring the bathroom when I hear someone calling for me. “Miss Rian, are you in there? Pardon me if you’re using the toilet.”
“Hello,” I reply and walk out of the bathroom.
There is an old woman with purple-tinged, gray hair standing in the middle of my room. She’s wearing bright pink lipstick and an apron. I try not to laugh, but seriously. She’s something else for sure. If Ava was here she’d double over at the sight.
“There you are. We've been waiting all day for you to arrive,” she says.
“Um… yeah, we stopped for a long lunch.” I shrug.
“Of course you did! Long journey from the big city.” She puts her hands on her hips and bounces from foot to foot.
I nod and look around, suddenly nervous because I, uh, don’t know who this woman is. My heart starts to beat a little faster, again, and for a split second I wonder if she’s a ghost. She looks like someone who could be a ghost. I narrow my eyes on the edges of her. Don’t apparitions have fuzzy edges like they are blending into the air?
“You look just like your Mama, don’t you? I’ve been here for nearly fifty years, you know. Worked for your Gram. I watched your Mama and Auntie Kris toddlin ‘round these halls. This used to be her room, your mama’s.”
When she talks I see lipstick on her teeth. I don’t think ghosts can have lipstick on their teeth. I try to hide my smirk and my shoulders relax.
“I took the liberty of filling the bathroom drawers with your favorite soaps and shampoos and lotions. Your Mama’s lady friend, Miss Darcy, sent a list of what to buy you. I got the sheets you like too. I wasn’t sure how much you’d bring, leaving New York in such a hurry and all.”
“Thank you Mrs…” I pause.
“I’m Mrs. Day, the housekeeper here at Cullier Manor House.” She bends in a subtle curtsey when she finally introduces herself. “Anything you need, you just let me know. I have one of those fancy Apple computers and the boys set me up to order things out of that Google box,” Mrs. Day says proudly.
Google box. Old people are so dumb. But, I guess she’s trying. She did get me my favorite sheets. I can’t wait to see what she filled the bathroom drawers with. Of course Darcy sent a list ahead of our arrival, such a suck up.
“So, this was my Mom’s room?” I ask, fairly certain this woman is not a ghost and she seems eager to talk. I look around again.
“It sure was! Now, if I recall, she had it painted lavender and had all kinds of posters on the walls.” Her eyes gently graze over the walls as if she’s back in time, remembering it as it once was. “There was old carpet in here too. Course, Kris pulled up all the carpets and redid the floors. She done a real good job renovating this place. We have plenty of old photo albums with pictures from over the years. I bet there are some of your Mama in this room when she was your age. And the whole family.”
This is my family home. My mom grew up here.
What did Mom call it– my legacy.
Then a bell rings. “What’s that?” I ask.
“Rian, that bell means it’s time for mint juleps and sweet tea on the back porch. It’s a long standing tradition your great, great grandaddy started. Can you run out to the shop and tell Travis he best come in? I could call him on his cellular phone, but if he’s got the music on, he won’t answer. That boy could live under the hood of a car.” Mrs. Day laughs. I stare at her. I mean, I don’t work here. It’s not my job to go get Travis. I’d much rather go down and have drinks with everyone else. She waves her hand to shoo me. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go on then, go fetch your cousin!”
