I used to be so proud that my family owned such an important piece of American history. I thought I would raise a family here one day.
Leaving had been like cutting out a piece of my eighteen-year-old heart. Now, I’m sure it was the best thing that happened to me.
The nausea I was sure I’d feel once I got here doesn’t come. I search my memories for flashes of that last night but it’s like the wind has carried them away. All I hear is the shriek of my mother’s laughter and the baritone of my father’s voice when he sang Bob Marley at the top of his lungs and me sitting between them watching the river roll by.
I step into the gargantuan foyer of my childhood home and am assailed with memories. It’s as opulent as I remember. Gold leaf and marble, crystal and silk adorn nearly every surface of the structure.
My father acts like this house is his magnum opus. But it was my mother’s eye for art and knack for myth-building that made The Palms the famed estate it became under their notorious ownership.
As I get further away from the front door, the sound of voices reaches me and some of the trepidation I’d felt all morning comes back.
The last thing I want is to make small talk with the people who abandoned my mother at the end of her life and have come to collectthe only thing she was ever worth to them—money.
I grit my teeth and put a rein on my emotions and walk into the lion’s den.
My mother’s sisters and their partners are already there. I’d been able to avoid speaking with them at her funeral, but there’s no avoiding it now. They all hug me and say a variation of words that are meant to make me believe they’re sorry they hadn’t spent more time with her before she died.
Someone taps lightly on my shoulder and I turn around, rehearsed half smile in place until I see it’s Ejos, her personal secretary. Then, it becomes full and real. She’d been here every day in those final months and she had kept a near-constant vigil by my mother’s bedside in her final days. My mother told me it was her who convinced her to tell me she was dying. I feel like I owe her so much. “It’s nice to see you.”
She gives me a tremulous smile in return. “I’m so sorry for our loss. She was my mother too. I miss her so much.” She dabs at her large brown eyes. “I hope you will stay in touch. I’ll give you my number in Accra.”
I nod but lift a brow in surprise. “I thought you’d go back to Port Harcourt now.”
“I met someone.” She bites her lip to try and hide her smile but her eyes light up and give her away.
“Eiii, I see.” I grab her left hand and lift it playfully to my face as if for inspection. “Where’s your ring? Don’t tell me you’re living in sin,” I tease, and she lets her smile free.
“You are old-fashioned, brother Kwame.” She gives my hand a squeeze before she lets go.
“Didn’t my mother teach you better than to tear up the roots of your life for a man who isn’t ready to let you plant them in his soil?”
She throws her head back in a delighted laugh. “Oh, my word, you sound like her.” She presses a hand to her chest and looks up the ceiling. “God blessed me when she came into my life.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of her.” I offer her a genuine smile. I’m glad my mother had someone who loved her by her side.
“There he is.” My father’s voice fills the space left by the hushed voices and I turn around to face him. He strides into the room like he’s stepping onto a stage and all eyes are on him.
People are always surprised to discover that he’s shorter than average the first time they meet him.
There is nothing small about his presence from his colorful three-piece suits to his ever-present walking stick, to his penchant for speaking in Latin, he is entertaining, even when no one asked him to be.
“Son, as sad as I am to lose your dear mother, I’m so glad it’s convinced you to finally come back into the family fold. Thank you for stepping up. I need you.”
I want to ask him what family he’s talking about, but I promised my mother I would try. “I’ll do my best. Once I get back from LA.”
“I know you will.” His excited smile makes me queasy. “Ah, there’s the lawyer, now.” He turns and makes for the door, his laser focus on the man who my mother entrusted with her final wishes.
“Excuse me, it’s time to start,” the lawyer calls out moving to the front of the room and taking a seat before my father can corner him. “Mrs. Palmer left strict instructions for today, and I’d like to stay on schedule.”
We sit around the large oval table. Between us, a stack of papers that hold my mother’s final words and wishes.
The man lifts a small remote and the lights dim, the curtains draw shut, and a large screen descends from the ceiling.
It flickers to life and a still image of my mother, sitting behind her desk fills it. My throat tightens at the sight of her smiling, healthy, alert.
The room is quiet as she starts talking.
“My dear ones. Thank you for indulging me and being here today. It’s strange to record this knowing it will be played when I am gone, but I wanted to make sure everyone can see that I am of sound mind and spirit as I make these bequests.”
