The next few days were devoted to preparing the cottages for the summer renters and before Larry and René decided to leave, they helped Fred and Irma with those jobs, requiring brawn rather than brain. We all did our share to help.
Though I had no specific plans for the summer, there were still many business affairs I had to attend to.
When I was in Richmond, I requested a list of female agents from the publisher and that list had arrived at Irma’s since. I had to choose one from the long list and make an appointment to meet her. The real estate agent from Florida called while René and I were ‘renovating’ and had asked to meet with me as soon as possible.
I had to sell or scrap my old car, I had to do some banking and my head was spinning from all the responsibilities that suddenly I had to deal with.
Of course, having to part with René again was one thing I could never be prepared for, no matter how many times it happened. There was no evading it either. A crazy thought came and took over my mind. I had this vision in my head, that the day when I say goodbye to him next, would be the last time I would ever see him. It was a haunting feeling I got every time we parted. The thought of ever losing him was inconceivable.
I had attached my body and soul to his with an everlasting love and if ever I lost him, my life would make no more sense. That was my fear every night when I fell asleep beside him.
On June 21st, 1980, Larry and René bade farewell to us and drove down the highway toward Florida. I promised to join them as soon as my business with my publisher was finished. The real estate agent gave me a tentative date in early July. She was very excited when I spoke with her on the phone, because she claimed to have found the ideal house for me and my parents.
Making my parents happy took on a life of its own for a very good reason: I received a letter of sympathy from my parents a few days after I arrived at the Anderson Estate, giving me the bad news. My Nana had become very frail and she passed away alone in her cottage by the lake. I mourned her death and then celebrated her exciting and rewarding life. But, most of all, I missed her. The thought that my parents’ fate could ever be similar was a thought too hurtful to bare.
Driving Nana’s old car reminded me of her; her memory gave me an overwhelming peace of mind. The junk yard was ready to pay a sum for the car; instead, I gave it to them for free. Nana would have approved, I’m sure.
From Hampton, I took a bus to Richmond, and after endless hours of interviews, I found the perfect person to represent my interests. My new literary agent.
She was a woman in her early 40s, a mother and a wife, who had only a few clients. I liked her from the minute I met her, and I hired her on the spot. I gave her all the information I had recently received from the company and gave her the power to act on my behalf. We set up all the financial components of my life as an author, the royalty rewards, the up-front payments and her own fee for her services. She insisted I draw up a will and we did that together at a notary’s office. There was a substantial amount of money in my account and as it was invested, it kept multiplying.
Money was never my motive for writing, it was always because I had something to say or some inspiration to share. My childhood experiences with stories perhaps also motivated my ambitions. Actually, love was my main driving force. Not necessarily the love I had for René, but more, the love I had for life and people.
When I finished in Richmond, I returned by bus to Hampton, where I arranged to meet Fred and Irma. They were already waiting there when my bus pulled in. Together we did some shopping and picked up last-minute items necessary to fulfil their obligations to the renters who were scheduled to arrive soon.
Back at the house, I prepared myself for the long drive down to Hollywood. I had to vacate the cottage and let some strangers into my love nest. The image I created with my overactive imagination wasn’t one that thrilled me. Moving up to the main house, to take over Larry’s space, was also awkward, but necessary if I was to return during the summer to write and to help Irma with the summer occupants.
Before leaving, I helped to prepare a few meals to freeze, to make some orders on the phone and to keep Irma company while Fred did outdoor chores. Those people who were coming to take over the cottages for the summer had not requested full board. They were going to go out to eat, thus looking after their own meals. That alone eliminated significant work for the Andersons.
I stayed for a few more days but only because I was desperate in putting off the drive. Nine hundred fifty miles to Florida was a very long drive for one person.
Fred had given the Beetle his expert care and he had even asked a mechanic friend of his to come over to make a service call. It appeared the only thing it had needed was some oil and, of course, some gas.
The real estate agent from Hollywood called again to remind me of our imminent appointment, so the time had come again for me to make my exit from Virginia and to say goodbye again to my two favourite friends.
“I’ll be back soon, Irma, it appears I can only write here,” I told her as I drove off.
“Hurry back. This is the place for reunions, inspirations and love,” she added.