Coming Home to a Place I've Never Been

I was dreaming that I was on a Caribbean cruise. In it, I was leaning back in one of the reclining chairs, decked out in a green bikini, holding a tropical drink with a little umbrella in it.

My eyes were closed and I was letting the sun pour over me while I listened to the wind and the waves as the ship tore through the water. Then I felt the sun disappear from my skin as something blocked its rays.

I tilted my sunglasses up to see what was ruining my vibe. A man in a dark suit and dark sunglasses stood above me. He bent over and handed me a single yellow daisy.

Then my body jolted awake and I grabbed for my cell phone. I hated having a good dream interrupted.

I looked at the caller ID as I answered. It read “Jameson and Jameson.”

“Hello?”

“Is this Maggie Frazier?” asked a male voice.

“May I ask who’s calling?” A solid, go-to response when you’re not sure whether you want to talk to the person calling. It has saved me from countless telemarketers, scam artists and nonprofits asking for money.

“My name is Zach Jameson. I’m an attorney in Sumner Creek, Georgia. Is your mother Carolyn Frazier?”

I thought the condolence calls would die down after the funeral. Apparently, someone had just gotten word.

“Um, why do you ask? Hold on…did you say you were an attorney?”

“Yes.”

“You’re my mom’s lawyer?” I was confused.

He hesitated before responding. “Yes, and…”

“And, where did you say you’re from?” The sleep-induced fog was hampering my comprehension.

“Sumner Creek, Georgia.”

I’ve lived in Nashville since my mom and I moved here when I was a kid, so I’ve heard of most Southern towns, at least the ones worth mentioning.

“Never heard of it. And what’s your name again?” I grabbed a pen and piece of paper from my nightstand.

“Zach Jameson. I’m sorry to call so early, but…”

“What time is it?” Like millions of other people in the 21st century, I didn’t own an alarm clock. I just used my phone’s alarm to wake me up every morning.

“8 a.m.”

I took my phone from my ear and looked at the time. It said 7 a.m. Now I was half-asleep and annoyed.

“It’s an hour earlier here,” I let him know, as a matter of fact.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about…”

I interrupted his apology. “You said you needed to talk to me about my mom?”

“Yes. She named me the executor of her will, and you are the sole heir to her estate.”

That single sentence jolted me awake.

I’d spent the last month going through my mother’s condo, looking for a will that had thus far eluded me, and packing up her personal effects until I could decide what I wanted to do with her home.

I lived in an apartment right now, so either I would move into mom’s place or sell it and find something that suited me better. A place that wouldn’t leave me teary-eyed and sad every time I walked in.

“Your mother stipulated that the reading of the will would take place here at my office. After that, I will take the will to the probate court clerk and file it. The court will schedule a brief hearing to officially name me as executor. With me so far?”

“Sort of. I have to come to Sumner Creek?” I was confused.

“Yes ma’am,” Zach responded.

“Why?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know.” Well, who the heck does know? This was insane. As a teacher, I had the time to go, but I wasn’t about to traipse down to who-knows-where unless I had to.

“Can’t you just read it over the phone and be done with it? This doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never even heard of Sumner Springs.” I could feel my face turn red with anger.

“Sumner Creek. And no, I can’t just read it to you. I am following your mother’s last wishes. I have an ethical obligation to do so.” The sincerity in his voice helped counter the fact that he was pissing me off. He continued.

“Once the will is in probate, I’ll gather all the paperwork related to your mom’s estate--her bank account documents, investing portfolio, insurance policy, and so forth. I work with those entities to transfer ownership of her assets to you, and...”

I stopped him mid-sentence. “Wait. No. My mom didn’t have any assets. She had some kind of retirement plan with her work, but that’s it. Other than maybe her car.”

“I can’t reveal the contents of the will until you arrive, but I can say that your mom owned several assets.”

A barrage of conflicting emotions collided at once, but anger and frustration were the strongest.

“So what you’re telling me is that for some reason, my mom made you the executor of her will--a person I’ve never heard about?”

“Actually, she worked with my father, but when he retired, the work transferred to me,” Zach said. “But essentially, yes. I’m the executor.”

“And in order to find out what’s in her will, I have to come down to Silver Creek?” I tried to steady my voice, but it dripped with irritation and indignation.

“Sumner Creek. But yes ma’am, that’s what the will states in specific terms.”

Why did he keep calling me ma’am? Was he 12 years old? The only people I called ma’am were the senior adults in my neighborhood.

“I’m sorry. What’s your name again?” My aggravation was still showing.

“Zach.”

“Ok, Zach. Here’s the deal. I need some time to process. Could we continue this conversation later?”

“Sure. Would you like to talk later today or tomorrow? What would be good for you?” I heard him flipping pages again. Did this guy still use a paper calendar?

“Could I just call back and set up a time? I’m not sure what I’ll be doing over the next couple of days, with all that’s happened…”

His response was swift and apologetic. He gave me both his email address and his office number.

“Call me when you’d like to set up another appointment. And again, Maggie, I’m sorry…”

“For my loss. I know. Thanks.”