“Ruth Cottar wanted it for Finnegan House.” Nana rolls her eyes as Pauline continues. “I really hate that bitch.”
“Well, if you’re willing to part with it, my client would absolutely want to purchase it from you.”
“Good luck getting it out,” she says.
Rhodes takes some photos with his phone and we follow Nana and Pauline back to the main house.
“Y’all want a cocktail?” Pauline asks when we get back into the air conditioning.
“Better not,” says Nana. “We have to get back to the store.”
“How can I reach you about the chandelier?” asks Rhodes.
“Well, I’m always here,” she says, as if the notion of reaching her by phone or email is simply ridiculous. “Besides, gives you a reason to come back and let me have another look at you.”
He smiles politely as we leave.
RHODES
Idrop off Micah and her grandmother back at their store, then check in at the Mossy River Motel. I pull up my email, send photos of the chandelier to Wilhelmina and the rest of my team, then search online find a restoration company in Atlanta that may be able to clean and rewire the massive piece.
After finishing work, I shower, change into a light blue button-down with khakis, and watch ESPN until it’s time to pick up Micah.
I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be, since I’ve seen her multiple times. I’m used to being around her at this point, but she’s disarming. She’s built like a goddess and her mane of red hair drives me insane.
Once the sun goes down, I grab my keys, wallet, and phone, and drive to the home Micah shares with her grandmother. It’s a little ways outside of town, set back from the road, with a huge, well-kept yard. It’s a typical ranch-style home, popular in the 1960s, and on the front and side porches there are huge hanging ferns swaying in the evening breeze.
I pull into the gravel drive and park by the side porch, as Micah instructed. She opens the sliding glass door and shows me in, and I feel like I’ve immediately stepped back into the late 60s or early 70s. The carpet is a brown, orange, and yellow shag that is probably older than Moses. The kitchen has the original Frigidaire puke-green enamel appliances and little mushroom-painted canisters on the counter. Doilies are on every table surface, including the dining room table, which has a huge lace tablecloth with orange placemats.
It reminds me of my own grandparents’ home outside of Birmingham and makes me miss them. It’s strange how nostalgia can hit at the most unexpected times.
But as charming as the house is, Micah nearly takes my breath away. She’s wearing a low-cut black shirt that’s tight on her chest paired with loud jewelry: peacock feather earrings with a matching lariat necklace and an emerald cocktail ring.
Ms. Barbara, wrapped in an afghan, sits in an oversized recliner that swallows her. I lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek, which makes her blush.
“Nana, you have plenty of frozen dinners in there, so are you good for tonight?” Micah asks, handing her a cocktail of medication to take. Her grandmother downs them with a big gulp of ice water.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she says. “You kids have fun.”
“I won’t be out late,” Micah tells her, leaning to give her a hug. “I love you.”
“Love you too, sugar bug.”
My heart swells. I wish my grandmother were still here. She and Ms. Barbara would get along great.
Micah grabs her purse from the side table by the door, and I slide back the glass to let her out.
“Goodnight, Ms. Barbara!” I say, then she winks at me as we turn to leave.
On the ride into town, we talk and laugh about Pauline and all the crazy stuff in her house.
“Did you see the gator head?” I ask her.
“No! Where was it?”
“In the sitting room. It had fake apples in its mouth and a rosary curled between its eyes.”
She gave me a belly laugh as loud as it is endearing. “I missed that! The sad thing about her house is she has so much nice stuff, but most of it is in terrible shape. The house itself will probably have to be torn down when she dies.”
