Mother and I arrived back at Aunt Stella’s at 1:30 that afternoon, ready for the meeting with Karol-with-a-K Paisley. I was wearing a new pair of lined wool slacks and a matching sweater in baby pink cashmere I’d purchased with Evan’s credit card. My trunk was filled with bags of purchases.
Though I’d never known Mother to pass up a shopping spree of any kind, she had been my unwilling companion that day. “You’re a foolish child, Jo-Lynn, even if you are mine,” she said. We were standing in line at a bookstore where I’d picked up a few books.
“How’s that, Mother?”
“Leaving your husband in the middle of his midlife crisis to decorate a house, I ask you.”
“I’m not decorating it, Mother. You have always enjoyed decorating. But I am a designer. By profession. There is a difference.” I took a deep breath and shifted the books from one arm to another. “Besides, if I can pull this off, I will have left a legacy in Cottonwood. Don’t you see that?”
We took a step forward as the cashier—a young woman with blonde hair streaked red and green and a body laden with so many piercings she looked like a Christmas tree— finished with a customer and brought up another one with one word: “Next?”
“What do you mean ‘a legacy’?”
I shook my head. This woman with two children, both of whom appeared to be successful by the world’s standards, would never understand what was stirring inside my heart. I wasn’t so sure I understood it myself. I wasn’t so sure it didn’t go deeper than that. “Mother, listen for a minute. If you can, without judgment.”
“I resent that,” she said, but her voice was kind.
“You grew up as Margaret Seymour of Cottonwood, and that meant something. Then you married Daddy and became Margaret Tatem-Teem, and that meant something. I can’t remember a time in my life when you weren’t involved in some sort of social club or church group. You lived in the house on the hill, a place people nearly frothed at the mouth to be invited to for Fourth of July picnics and Christmas parties.”
Mother’s head tipped to one side. “Hmm . . .” Like a princess remembering.
“People highly regarded you and your life stood for something. Always.”
Mother looked me in the eye. “How does that affect you?” “I grew up Jo-Lynn Tatem-Teem and that was something, yes. And marrying Evan was something wonderful. I’ve enjoyed my career, but . . . I’m not like you socially or civically. I can’t even say I’ve had a drive to be. But now . . . I realize I’ve really contributed nothing to this life. I’ve lived it, but that’s all I’ve done.”
We took another step forward. “Just trust me, okay?” I said, which—by the shrug of her shoulder—wasn’t quite good enough for her, but she settled for it.
I found Karol Paisley to be quite likeable in spite of her commanding disposition. When Mother and I entered the big house without knocking, Karol, Aunt Stella, and Doris were sitting in the living room, a large fire crackling in the fireplace and the three women engaged in conversation and laughter. Seeing us, Karol straightened, drawing her nearly six-foot frame off the sofa, then crossed the room with her right arm extended. “You must be Jo-Lynn.”
I took her hand, and she pumped mine as though we were two men, then reached for Mother’s. Mother has never been much of one for shaking hands; she clasped her hands together low and in front and said, “I am Margaret Tatem-Teem, Mrs. Paisley. Very nice to meet you.”
Karol smiled knowingly, keeping her eyes locked on Mother’s. “Ms. Paisley. I’m not married.” She looked back to me, her entire body turning, and said, “But, please. We’re going to be working together. Call me Karol. And that’s Karol-witha-K.”