Coming Home to a Place I've Never Been

My mom was making me go on a road trip to a town I’ve never heard of to meet with a man I never knew to hear the reading of her will, which she had kept from me.

No matter how I said it, I still didn’t believe it.

My mom and I had been tight. Like Gilmore Girls tight.

I never knew my dad. It had always been just my mom and me, conquering the world together. There wasn’t much we didn’t know about each other.

At least that’s what I thought.

I trudged to the kitchen and went through the motions of making coffee. My mind raced with scraps of data.

Car crash. Georgia. Lawyer. Casket. Will. Estate. House. Funeral. Yellow Daisy.

My thoughts bounced haphazardly like pinballs.

With a fresh mug of coffee in hand, I shuffled toward my favorite piece of furniture, an overstuffed leather chair that fit my body perfectly. I settled into the soft hide and propped my feet up on the ottoman.

This is where I read, where I surfed online, where I journaled, where I meditated.

“Siri, call Kim.”

Kim had been my best friend since middle school. She was black and I was white, and even though we lived in the South where racial tensions still ran high, we’d forged a strong bond that time and culture could not break.

We had played on the tennis team together. Or at least we attempted to play. We weren’t very good and we knew it. But subconsciously, we knew we were less likely to get bullied if we stuck together. So we did.

Even through junior high drama, high school romances, break-ups, and college.

The phone rang several times before I heard a groggy voice gripe, “Why are you calling me at this God-forsaken hour? This better be important.”

I dispensed with niceties. I wasn’t in a nice mood either.

“I got a phone call this morning—from a lawyer. My mom’s attorney.”

I heard shuffling of bed sheets. I had gotten her attention.

“Your mom had a lawyer?”

“Yeah. He’s in charge of my mom’s will.” I gave her a play-by-play of the conversation as best as I could remember it. I still wasn’t running on all cylinders, even after the infusion of coffee.

“Holy crap. Holy. Crap.” Kim’s favorite way of cursing. “Wow. I mean, I figured your mom had some money stashed away for retirement, but there’s more?”

“I know, right? And I won’t know anything about it if I don’t go to this God-forsaken town. What am I supposed to do?”

Kim and I sat in silence, contemplating the situation. Neither of us felt compelled to talk, which is a sign of a close friendship.

A few moments later, Kim broke the silence by letting out an audible sigh.

“Well, I guess you have to go to Georgia. You can follow this lawyer’s instructions, hear the reading, sign the paperwork, and come back home.”

“Oh, boy. Just what I wanted to do,” I said.

“It might be good for you to get away for a while. Relax. Take in the local culture. Enjoy some good food. Give yourself some space to grieve,” Kim added.

“You think this no-name town in the butt-crack of Georgia has local culture and good food? I highly doubt it. But I get your point. Wanna get away for a girls’ trip?”

“Sorry, sister. No can do. I’m piled high with cases. If I asked for time off, my coworkers would serve my head on a platter to my boss.”

I knew it was a long shot, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. Comfortable silence settled in again.

“You know, you don’t have to go. You can hire your own lawyer to figure it out. Contest the will for some reason.”

She was right--I had alternatives. I just didn’t like them.

“Oh, crap!” Kim yelled. “I just realized what time it is! I have an early meeting this morning and I can’t get snarled in morning traffic. Gotta go. Let me know what you decide. Love you.”

“I will. Promise. See you tonight.”

Kim and I had been roommates since we graduated from college. She was 29, just one year older than me, but we had gotten our degrees the same year because I’d switched majors too many times to finish in four years.

Some friendships couldn’t bear the weight of sharing space as young adults, but ours did. She was the ying to my yang, and not just when it came to looks.

I hung up the phone and sat in silence with my coffee, weighing my options. Then I grabbed my laptop, hopped on Google, typed in “Sumner Creek, Georgia,” and waited for the results.

Dang. Sumner Creek is in the boonies. Three hours from any airport in any direction. Eight hours from Nashville by car.

I could fly down, but with security screenings, flight time, and possible layovers, driving would take the same amount of time. And I could drive home any time I wanted.

Home.

My mind drifted to memories of my childhood. It had always been just my mom and me. We were two blonde-headed, green-eyed, short-statured peas in a pod.

My dad bolted when I was young--at least that’s what I’d been told--and my mom never remarried. I think he broke her heart. She never talked about him—ever.

Some memories just need to stay in the past, I guess.

I pictured the apartment I grew up in. Every memory was anchored there. The courtyard. The jungle gym out back. Birthday parties with friends. I never knew any other place as home.

And now I’m learning that my mom had a place in another state.

Why didn’t she tell me about this will? What assets did she own? I thought there were no secrets between us, but evidently I was wrong. Question after question fell like dominos in succession.

One thing was clear: I wouldn’t find any of the answers in Nashville.

Before I called Zach to make arrangements to read the will, I looked up the name of the law firm to make sure this whole situation was legit.

I discovered that there was indeed a business by that name, and Zach was a licensed attorney practicing in the great state of Georgia. And there were no complaints filed against him or the law firm. Everything checked out.

I called the number Zach had given me.

“Jameson and Jameson, may I help you?” A lady with a thick Southern drawl answered the phone. An assistant of some sort, I assumed.

“Yes, my name is Maggie Frazier and I need to speak with Zach, please.”

“So you’re Mag...I mean, yes ma’am, just a minute. I’ll get him.” The admin put me on hold before I could ask what she meant.

“This is Zach.”

“This is Maggie. Why does your admin know who I am?” I didn’t trust her.

“She probably saw your name on some files and recognized it,” Zach didn’t sound alarmed but I was.

“I’d like to set up a time to meet for the reading of the will,” I said as calmly and level headed as I could. Getting emotional wouldn’t make this any easier.

“Yes ma’am,” Zach said, making it difficult to remain calm. Cut the ma’am routine,~ I thought. ~I’m an adult, just like you. I may even be younger than you, lawyer man.~

“I could meet with you two days from now if you’d like. Or sometime after that. With it being a smaller town, I can usually rearrange my schedule to fit my clients’ needs.”

I knew I’d need a day to drive the distance, so the following day would work.

“Well, let’s get this over with, then. The day after tomorrow it is,” I said. He gave me the address to the firm, and it matched the one listed online.

“See you then,” Zach said.

The next morning, I rummaged through the bottom of my closet and excavated my suitcase from a pile of shoes that hadn’t seen daylight in years.

I packed a bunch of summer clothes along with some essential toiletries. I tossed in a couple of books I’d started but hadn’t finished. Maybe I’d find the time.

As I walked out the door, the thought occurred to me: Call mom and tell her I am going out of town. Realization dawned and a tsunami wave of sadness crashed over me. Dang, grief sucks.

I rolled my suitcase outside and to my car. I typed in the name of Zach’s law firm to get the address, which I then put into the map app on my phone.

A quick stop at the gas station for snacks and a fill-up and I was on the road.