The Land of Mango Sunsets (29 page)

Maybe Mother would be up to the task for today and I could ask Harrison to help me find someone quickly.

It was too early to call anyone and I checked to see that Miss Josie was still fast asleep. It was almost dead low tide, so I decided to go for a walk
on the beach. I left Mother a note and took the golf cart over to Station Twenty-six. There was a nice walkover there and I wanted to check its condition to be sure that Mother could navigate it. It was in perfect shape with a handrail and there were several benches thoughtfully positioned either for a resting place or as a place to lean or to remove your shoes.

One of the many things I loved about Sullivans Island was that you could leave your shoes on the walkway or down on the beach and they would be there when you got back. If I left a pair of shoes, even my ratty oyster-roast sneakers, on the front stoop of my town house in Manhattan, they would be scooped up in two minutes flat. Once, during a sanitation workers’ strike in New York, people joked that they gift wrapped their garbage, left it on the curb or on the trunk of a car, and it disappeared almost immediately. What does that tell you?

It was going to be a beautiful day. Hundreds of tiny sandpipers were all over the shore, digging for breakfast in the mud with their needle-nosed beaks. As I approached them, they would scatter, fly low over the water, and then return as soon as they sensed it was safe. I looked out toward the horizon and the shrimp boats were there, their nets lowered as they moved slowly across the water. A European container ship was rounding the far end of the island headed into port. It looked for a moment like it was going to slam into the island and run aground, but of course that was an optical illusion.

I breathed deeply and wondered what really lay ahead of me. The first person I would call would be Charlie. After I told him the news, I would ask him and Priscilla to stay in my house, pay the bills or send them to me, and most of all, take care of Harry. Maybe I would ask him to call his father so that I could avoid the attack of acid reflux I would surely get if I had to hear a shred of disingenuous pity or sympathy come from Charles’s mouth. Yes, I would ask Charlie to make the call. Next, I would call Dan and Nan. And then Liz.

I would start cooking for Mother that very day, under her supervision of course. I would put her juicer on the counter and have it going all day
long. Consumer that I was, even
I
knew that fresh vegetable juices were like a transfusion of energy. But rolling her a joint? I didn’t have any expertise in that department whatsoever. Maybe I would buy her a pipe. I wondered where or who she bought the pot from. Did she get it delivered like pizza? Was there some sleazy drug dealer who would sneak up our porch steps after dark with her new supply? Maybe I would ask Harrison to handle that. Yes. That was a good idea.

I turned around and began walking back. It was almost seven o’clock and time to begin the day. I thought about the yoga studio at Station Twenty-three and it occurred to me that it might not be a bad idea to look into it. I was going to need something to help me deal with the stress, and maybe meditation might be a good idea for Mother
and
me. Every step of the way up and down the beach, that little voice in the back of my head wanted me to throw myself on the sand and weep. There was no time for that. In fact, I was determined not to cry at all. I swung by the yoga studio, noted the name and phone number, and went on home.

Mother was on the porch in her bathrobe, having a cup of tea. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

“All things considered, I slept well enough. You?”

“I have a hard time staying awake! Get yourself a cup of tea then come out and join me. I’m just watching the birds.”

There was a container of green tea spiced with orange on the counter. I was an English Breakfast kind of gal, loving my caffeine, but I thought, Oh what the heck, green tea is supposed to be so good for you, so why not? It was aromatic and tropical and tasted delicious without a single thing added to it.

I went back out and sat in the chair next to her. “So how are you feeling, Miss Josie?”

“You want the truth or what you hear on the news?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Okay, here’s the straight skinny. When I wake up, I feel like a poopy doodle.”

“Mother? Is that a tired snack food or is it related to actual poop?”

“Both. As I move around, have my tea, and force myself to make something to eat that I don’t feel like eating…”

“Appetite not so good?”

“Yes. Because I am nauseated all the time and nothing appeals to me.”

“Maybe we should switch to vegetable juice. A small glass. What do you think? Carrot and apple? Maybe a thin slice of twelve-grain toast with a dollop of jam?”

“Ugh. But I’ll try it.”

“Listen, I decided I’m staying.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as you need me.”

She got very quiet and I knew she was thinking that I thought she would be gone in only a few weeks and she was still holding out hope against hope that she still had months or years.

“It doesn’t matter how long it is, Mother. What did I leave in New York anyway? And if you’re doing well, I can make a fast trip to check on things and come right back here, right?”

“Really? Would you really do that for me? What about your house and your bird?”

“Charlie and Priscilla are going to stay there and they’ve got Harry covered. Besides, Priscilla’s not happy with their neighborhood, so I’m sure she’s thrilled. Anyway, Kevin’s there, too, and Liz will be back soon.”

“Poor Liz. How’s she doing?”

“Liz is something else. She and her mother had a terrible relationship, as you know. I think she mourns the relationship they never had more than the fact that she’s gone. She said they reconciled and I hope she believes it.”

“Still. Whether she was a witch or a saint, she’s lost her mother. I remember the day I buried mine. It was the worst day of my life.”

“Well, unless I get hit by a truck, it will no doubt be the worst day of mine, too. But I don’t want us to have a lot of morbid talk, Mother. Let’s just take one day at a time.”

“Mol-asses. When did you turn into such a grown-up?”

“Me? Honey, I’m just like everybody else. I grew up when I had to. And I’m taking over your kitchen, with you still in command of course. I just don’t think cooking is the best use of your energy.”

“Well, Dr. Mellie? What do you think
would
be the best use of my energy?”

“I just want you to talk to me. We’ll take a walk every day. I’m going to start a journal. I want you to give me your recipe for yogurt. There are a million things, Miss Josie. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Are you going to tell the children?”

“Unless you want to. I mean, I don’t think it would be fair to tell Charlie and not Dan.”

“And you have to tell Charlie right away.” She was quiet for a minute or two and then she said, “You can tell them. No point in keeping secrets now. They might want to visit before I drop. This stinks, right?”

“It stinks in the extreme. I’m going over to Whole Foods and stocking up on organic whatever they have.”

“Do you trust them? I mean, there’s organic and there’s organic, you know.”

“Yes. I do know and I trust them.”

“Well, then get me a chocolate cake.”

We laughed at that and the many things it meant.

I came in later with bags and bags of groceries and it was plain to see Cecelia needed attention, which meant the eggs were probably still there, too. Mother was dressed in her farmer clothes but asleep in her chair by the fireplace. She stirred when she heard me unpacking and putting away all the things I had bought.

“Need a hand?” she said. Her voice was so weak it frightened me.

“No, that’s okay. I can handle this.”

“I was going to go milk Cecelia and gather the eggs, but I just don’t have the strength.”

I looked to the ceiling, hoping it would open and somehow I would be delivered by a miracle. Seeing none, I took a deep breath and said, “Don’t worry about it. I can do it.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

I put on my oyster-roast sneakers, a pair of jeans, and a long-sleeve denim shirt. I got a basket and gloves to avoid pecking and went outside to try and figure this out. Inside Cecelia’s shed was something that resembled a small stage. A bucket was there and a stool was on the ground next to it, so I figured it must be the scene of the crime. There was a trough at the end with a kind of a guillotine contraption to hold her head still but not hurt her neck. If I put some grain in the trough and led Cecelia up there, she might be distracted enough by the food to let me do the foul thing I had to do.

Suddenly the egg gathering seemed like the more desirable party to attend.

Mother had smartly designed her chicken yard so that it was movable. When a patch of yard had been grazed to bits, she could move the fencing to another spot. And the coop wasn’t so big and heavy that two healthy men couldn’t lift it and reposition it. She had wire mesh over the top to keep out the hawks and the other predators and to keep the chickens in. It seemed to me that the whole enterprise was more trouble than it was worth, but I knew Mother would have sternly disagreed.

I stood there with my basket, looking at the chickens for a minute or two. They didn’t seem so horribly threatening, so I opened the gate and slipped inside. They were pecking around the yard and didn’t attack me, so I thought things might go well. I opened the small door on the side of the coop that concealed the nesting box and looked inside. There were several eggs there that I reached over and took as quickly as I could. I did not see the hen that flew at my arm with her dagger beak. Well, she didn’t fly but she sure came out of nowhere and stabbed me. I pulled my arm
out of there as fast as I could. My arm wasn’t bleeding but my heart was racing. I had three eggs. Okay, I got out of there alive with mission one accomplished.

Cecelia was staring at me. She was smart enough to know that the person who dealt with the chickens would most likely be the same person who dealt with her. I thought about it for a minute. Compared to Harry and that pack of wild birds I had just visited, Cecelia was downright docile.

“Come on, girlfriend, this is our big moment.”

She actually followed me and I put the egg basket on the table in her shed. She looked at me and I looked at her. I filled her trough with feed and looked at her again. She did not appear to be any happier about this than I was.

“Okay, onstage! This is your cue.” Nothing. “Let’s go, Cecelia!” No movement.

I noticed that she had a collar and approached her slowly. Cecelia wanted the feed but she was as unsure of my abilities to perform this dastardly assignment as I was. This was not a dumb goat. She began to retreat and back out into the yard. I knew I had to catch her. She had somehow intuited that I had formula-fed my sons. Additionally, in her Nigerian-dwarf-goat brain she calculated that her own udder relief—another bad joke—would come at too high a price. The chase began and for the next fifteen minutes she escaped every attempt I made to grab her by the collar. I was sweating and out of breath and I wondered how Mother had the stamina for this, all for some milk and yogurt.

“Not worth it!” I said out loud.

“Sure it is.” I turned to see Harrison standing outside the fence, laughing so hard I thought I might have to kill him. “I wish I had a camera.”

“Harrison?” I was not laughing. I returned to the shed, picked up the egg basket, and stomped over to the gate where he stood. “This is not going to work. We have to hire someone today. I can’t do this. End of story.”

“Oh, Lord! I’m sorry to laugh but watching you chasing that goat was about the funniest thing—”

“Just stop, okay? I’m a failure. I can’t even get a couple of eggs without being attacked and the goat doesn’t want to know me.”

“Let me show you how to do this, Mellie.”

He went to the shed, got a leash that I didn’t know was there on the hook, cornered Cecelia, clipped on the leash, and led her to the milking stand. He led her up the step, pulled her head through the holder, secured it, and rubbed her nose or snout or whatever you called it.

“Good girl,” he said.

“Waaaah!” Cecelia bleated, and began to eat.

He sat on the stool and milked her like he had done it a thousand times.

“How’s our Miss Josie today?”

“Not worth two hoots. Maybe we should call the doctor and ask for a house call or something. I can tell she’s in pain and she doesn’t want to eat.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not good at all.”

It was the beginning of the end and we knew it.

I called Charlie and had spoken to him, telling him everything I knew. Priscilla called me and asked if there was anything they could do. Should they come? What were her symptoms? When I told her she was very quiet. I did not ask her how much time she or Charlie thought Mother might have left. I did not want to know. And besides, who could really say? It was all in God’s hands.

When I told Dan and Nan, they cried. It surprised me, but apparently they had fallen in love with Mother all over again at Charlie’s wedding and their children were completely infatuated with her. How much longer did she have? I could not answer them either.

When I called Liz, she was incredibly sad to hear the news. She was still in Alabama and intended to return to New York. But she had good
news. She was pretty smitten with James, spending a lot of time with him, and each day it was more difficult to see herself in Manhattan anymore. She promised to be there if I needed her. She said she understood how I felt. All I had to do was whistle and she would drop everything and come. I thanked her and told her I would call.

Harrison found someone to care for the chickens and for Cecelia. He was a student from the College of Charleston who’d grown up on a farm near Orangeburg.

One day I said to him, “How do you keep the chickens from pecking you?”

“Ya gotta show ’em who’s the boss. Plus I use a garbage-can lid as a shield.”