Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [133]
“You mean like having a shower?”
“Precisely. Anyway, let’s go to that big Whole Foods and see what they’ve got.”
After scouring and foraging like picky little animals in the woods for the best this and that we could find, we settled on a menu that did a fair job of showcasing our individual skills. Patti was going to prepare a risotto with a mélange of mushrooms—oyster, shiitake, and the hen o’ the woods, finished with a truffle-perfumed olive oil and shavings of aged Parmigiano Reggiano. Her entrée was glazed, double-cut, organically raised pork chops, grilled with fresh rosemary and finished with a twenty-five-year-old balsamic vinegar. I was in charge of salad and dessert. I stood there in the produce aisle with a peach pie in my arms, trying to make a decision about the salad.
“What’s the matter?” she said.
“I can’t decide. Are two bags too little or are three bags too much?”
“We’re not buying prunes here, you know.” She grabbed two bags of prewashed mixed spring greens, threw them in the cart, and said, “Okay, we’re going to make you the president of the slice-and-dice club. And I’m going to teach you how to make chops that will have John on his knees.”
“I am your humble slave.”
We brought home sandwiches and soup for lunch, which Ella and Aunt Daisy gobbled up. By five thirty, Aunt Daisy’s and Ella’s kitchen was crackling with warmth and delicious smells and Ella was shaking cosmos in the penguin. Aunt Daisy, still wearing a beret, was seated at the table chatting away. She was in fine spirits. Of course, Brian Williams would be on television any minute to tell us if the world was falling apart.
“Just a little one for me,” I said.
“Why? Got a big head from last night?” Aunt Daisy said.
“No, I do not.”
“Should I turn off the television and put on some music?” Ella asked.
“Do you have any Gershwin?” Patti asked.
“Have you lost your marbles?” Aunt Daisy said. “I have everything he ever recorded. Ella? Put on Rhapsody in Blue. I love that.”
“Oh, Aunt Daisy, speaking of Gershwin, there’s a leak in the Porgy House window. All that rain we had? It trashed the back of my piano and well, I guess we need a carpenter.”
“Bring me my red leather address book from my desk and I’ll give you his number,” she said.
I got the book and handed it to her.
“Sit down,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”
I sat.
“I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen.”
“Okay,” I thought, what have I done wrong?
“Ella and I have been doing a lot of thinking and talking about our future and we’ve made some decisions. You know that you and Patti are my only heirs so everything I have is going to y’all, split equally right down the middle. But here’s the thing. I’m not dead yet. But I could’ve been if you and John hadn’t been here.”
“Oh, Aunt Daisy . . .”
“Hush, before I lose my train of thought.”
“Sorry.”
“Anyway, I want to retire. There are things in this world I want to see that I have never had the time to see. I want to see the pyramids and take a sail on the Nile. I want to go to Paris and learn the cancan. I want to see the Great Wall of China and go see every play on Broadway. I can’t do those things and run my business. So if you’re going to inherit it, you may as well learn about it now. I want you to take over as of today.”
“Today?”
“Yes. And here’s the rest of the deal. As of today, whatever the net earnings of the business are, you get half. If I die first, Ella stays here until she goes and whatever the business earns, Ella gets my half. When she dies, you and Patti own all the properties jointly but the earnings are yours because you’re running the business. It’s all spelled out in my will.”
So there was a will. Patti and I were worried for no reason.
“I have retirement money and Social Security, too,” Ella said and handed each one of us a cosmopolitan in a martini glass. “And I have excellent health care policies from the state.”
“Well, I’m glad you do but can we not talk about dying, please?” I said.
“No, because we have to have this discussion at some point. So, cheers! Here