“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 shealways 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?”
“She came from a military family.” Etta put their bags down by the couch.Is this where we’re sleeping?Imagining Etta sleeping on a foldout couch… what was the world coming to? “I never met him, but my grandfather was a pretty strict Army guy. The ethic lived on through me.”
“That explains so much.” Jamie’s mouth was as wide as her eyes.
“Why’s that?”
“You ever see your own work ethic? Sheesh.” Only the military could breed that kind of adherence.Instead, my parents were the ones protesting wars.
“I suppose. Come on. Let’s go let her know we’re not a couple of burglars before she pulls a rifle and hunting knife out from somewhere.”
For as well as Jamie knew her fiancée, she could not tell if that was her dry humor speaking… or an actual warning.
They found Etta’s mother out back, as Sylvia promised.
Anne Coleman was a wiry woman. Perhaps the same height as her daughter, but it was possible she used to be taller. She wore faded jeans, one leg crossed over the other as she gazed upon the hummingbirds dancing around a cheap dollar store feeder. Her button-down powder blue shirt was crisp, not a button out of place or threaded in the wrong hole. But it was her face, wrinkled, a little gaunt, and so serious that she could make a pack of rowdy children calm down in silent reverence that defined her. That face gave off such a somber air that Jamie imagined Etta’s childhood to be,“Sit down, shut up, and make sure you brush your teeth before going to bed.”The kind of woman who needed a husband who was her polar opposite to balance things out in a household.
“Mom,” Etta said, standing off to the side. Anne slightly turned her head, but was not wont to get up and hug her daughter. “Good to see you well enough.”
Anne rubbed her knuckles along her nose before putting her arm back down and contemplating the freshly mowed yard. “Don’t you know you’re in a retirement community, girl?” a gravelly voice asked. “It’s over seventy degrees. Why are you in that fancy outfit?”
The ironic thing was that Etta wasn’t in any fancy outfit – by her standards! Her slacks were as casual as she dared outside of the occasional jeans. She didn’t even wear a jacket over her beige button down.She’s practically naked. Etta had changed out of her business suit on the plane, and now Jamie knew why.
“You always told me to dress for success.”
“I also told you to keep your hands out of your damn pockets.”
Etta pulled her hands out of her front pockets and flexed her fingers.She’s over thirty, rarely talks to her mother, and is quick to obey whatever she barks at her. Some things never changed. It was kinda cute.
“Anyway, this is Jamie, my fiancée. I may have mentioned her a time ortwo.”
That was her cue to step before Anne, nerves striking her heart as she made eye contact with this surly mother of the woman Jamie loved. Her expression did not change as she looked her up and down and turned away.
“Nice to meet you.”
