I drove home so I could quickly change into something nicer. Ashton was still fast asleep and I didn’t disturb him. Today was my day of giving back, paying it forward. Georgia-May was next on my list.
I passed by our mailbox at the end of the driveway. There were six letters and two small parcels. I sifted through them. Mostly bills. Then there was one that was stuck between two local flyers that looked like it had been sitting there for ages. Neither Ashton nor I had gotten around to throwing the flyers out. The envelope—a good quality one—had gotten damp at some point; the postmark was smeared and unreadable. I couldn’t make out the date, nor the place. I opened it.
On expensive white paper, someone had written, in slanting capitals:
LEAVE ASHTON WHILE THE GOING’S GOOD.
Seven
On the drive to Georgia-May’s care facility I turned that freaky note over and over in my head. Who could have sent it? Lindy? What did people know? Was Lindy a gossip? A jealous ex-girlfriend? It had to be someone who knew my address. Easy enough to find out, I supposed. I slipped the paper back into the envelope and decided to keep it. Just in case things got worse and I needed to ask the police to scan it for fingerprints. Who, who, who?
Who had sent that ominous note? Was it a threat? A “friendly” warning?
It felt to me like a threat. But maybe I was being paranoid?
I arrived at the gates of Georgia-May’s private care facility, where she lived full-time. There was quite a lot of security at the fenced-in property. I guessed they were worried about the residents wandering off, because a lot of them had dementia or Alzheimer’s, Georgia-May being no exception.
Ashton had told me horror stories of how his mother would forget who she was and wander all over the place, venture into town, get on random buses. She had even hitchhiked. Another time she took the boat out, all on her own, thinking she’d seen a mermaid and she needed to rescue it. Ashton explained that she had been struck by the disease quite early in life and had been in the care facility for seven years already. It happened after her husband, Ashton’s father, died in a boating accident. I had always gotten the impression that they were very much in love, and that Buck’s death had destroyed her and, literally, made her lose her mind. Georgia-May was now seventy. Poor thing, she seemed so vulnerable. I wanted to help in any way I could and be present in her life. As Georgia-May did not have a daughter of her own and I didn’t have a mother, it made sense for us to become close. I could bring her peace and friendship. We could support one another, she and I, and form a sort of mother/daughter bond. At least, that’s what I was aiming for. Maybe I felt I needed to make up for Ashton’s disinterest in his mother? His distance? It was strange the way he just didn’t appear to show an active concern with his mom’s care. Or spend time with her.
I guess that’s what wives so often do for their husbands: compensate, take on their family duties, fill in the gaps. Maybe I was reaching too high, but I could try.
It was such a shame for her to be living in seclusion when she was clearly a very sociable person, and I was tempted to persuade Ashton to let her live with us—at least in our self-contained guest house attached to the property—and hire a full-time nurse. But I also knew his mom was probably better off here, with her bridge games and activities, her regular, wholesome meals taken with friends. With my work at Community Promise and Ashton’s at the hospital, there was no way we could give her the same care and attention.
At the gates, I gave the security officer my name, parked, then presented myself at the reception. They knew me well. Usually Georgia-May would come down with her nurse and we’d go for a walk around the grounds. There were sweeping lawns and rose bushes and azaleas and paths that meandered through the nine-acre lot. Huge oaks laden with Spanish moss and sugar maples and beds of black-eyed Susans and hibiscus and canna lilies were in bloom. There were plenty of benches to sit on, peppered along the paths. The place was beautiful and, appraising it all again, it made me feel so much better, because she was extremely well looked after, or so Ashton always assured me, and certainly the members of staff were smiley and friendly. They did seem genuine.
“Don’t be surprised if Mrs. Buchanan doesn’t recognize you,” Ruby, the receptionist warned. She was an ample-bosomed, portly lady, with sparkly eyes that tilted up at the edges and freckles that dotted her earth-brown skin. She had worked as a nurse before but had switched her skills to receptionist when arthritis got the better of her.
I shrugged. “I know, Ruby. I know how it goes. But last time she knew exactly who I was and remembered our wedding and everything.”
I couldn’t deny feeling hurt on the occasions when Georgia-May forgot who I was. It was foolish. It wasn’t personal, just the disease, but my pride made me want her to always know me, to need me. Silly, but I couldn’t help myself. Not having a mother in my life, I craved that connection.
“She’s been a little testy the last few days,” Ruby let me know. “She lost at poker.”
“You let them play poker here?”
“Not with real money, of course. But, yes, ma’am, once a year we let ’em play poker. They love it. But it does tend to cause mayhem. Mrs. Buchanan isn’t talking to Saul. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, she’ll be right as rain again.” Saul, a feisty and talkative widower, was Georgia-May’s best friend. They were always “splitting up” then the greatest pals once more.
Georgia-May approached the reception with her nurse, Mariama—whom she adored—a hearty and jolly woman, who was very proud of her Creole heritage—from the sea island Gullah people—and sometimes brought homemade treats to work. I had tasted her shrimp ’n’ grits and okra soup and had begged her for the recipe. But Mariama wouldn’t share her family secret.
Georgia-May shrugged Mariama off her with a shoulder-shake and waved her tiny wrist at her. “I am absolutely fine and you can leave me now with this very nice young lady who has kindly come to visit. She looks quite adorable. Hello, my dear,” she said to me. “I hear you’ve come to pay me a visit and I’m quite charmed, I’m sure.”
Mariama tittered. “Mrs. Buchanan, you know exactly who this is. This is your daughter-in-law, the lovely Miss Vivien. She’s married to Ashton. You remember, you went to the wedding and you told me what a fabulous time you had. You told me all about the wedding cake, that it had five tiers and was decorated with red roses and tasted like heaven. You told me about the sailboat rides and the beautiful outfit you wore. You remember? The pink chiffon? That was the same dress you told me that you wore when you were only twenty-five.”
Georgia-May looked at her blankly.
“Don’t you remember? You told me all about that dress, that you bought it in California. And, ma’am, was I impressed that you were able to wear that same gown. Lord knows, I myself am four sizes bigger than I used to be but you, you fit right into something you wore when you were twenty-five!”
Georgia-May’s smile reached her eyes, twinkling with memory. “I remember going shopping in Atlanta and buying a beautiful pink chiffon dress. I also bought a yellow one. My husband spilled bourbon all over it, and I could never get the smell out. Not even with dry cleaning. It was quite ruined. I should’ve picked a husband who was less of a klutz!”