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“Oh, there is that, baby boy. There is definitely that.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: Hayes
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Bo stated, leaning forward in his seat and staring down the long driveway toward my parent’s home. He turned to me in shock, his eyes expanding as he looked in all directions taking in the extensive manicured lawns along the drive. “No fucking way,” he added.
“Take it all in before we get to the house,” I said. “And don’t freak out to Momma about this ridiculous overkill of a house. It wouldn’t be southern or polite to point out her ostentatiousness.”
I had to admit my parents had really spared no cost when it came to their southern plantation style mansion. Two massive stories with large white columns supporting the large patio overhang of a nine-thousand square foot home. The circular driveway in front was outlined with flawless boxwood hedging, trimmed to an eighth of an inch of perfection. A spectacular fountain sat in the center of the circle with three fifteen-foot statues of marine gods and goddesses spraying water in all directions.
A green lawn surrounded the entire house for as far as the eyes could see, small ornamental tree groupings popping up throughout. “Wait until you see the back patio and the gardens,” I said.
“I could have used a little more heads-up, Hayes. This is unbelievable.” Bo looked over his shoulder and back down the driveway from where we’d come. “Who shut the gate?” he asked, turning back to me.
“I’ve been told the gate shuts automatically but for the life of me I can’t confirm that,” I joked. “Knowing momma she has little gremlins hiding in those shrubs.”
Even though I grew up in my family home, I still rang the doorbell out of courtesy. “Junior!” my parent’s live-in house manager, Cecelia, said when she opened the door, stepping back and covering her face with her hands. “Oh, my baby,” she added, throwing her arms around me. “I prayed every day for your safe return, Junior. Jesus is so good.”
I let the woman who had known me since I was a newborn get her hugs in before stepping aside to introduce Bo. “Cece, this is Bo. My close friend and the person who found me and saved my life.”
Cece threw herself into Bo’s arms and he let her fuss over him as she showed her appreciation for his heroic deeds. “Any person who was there for my dear boy in his time of need is a saint as far as I’m concerned,” she said, holding his chin and smiling. “And of course, you look exactly like a handsome hero should look.” She turned to me while holding Bo’s arms. “He is so handsome, Junior. A real keeper.” She quickly kissed my cheek and led us to the back patio, fawning over the man that brought her boy home.
When we stepped onto the patio, Cece cleared her throat and six women, one being Momma, stood as we approached. Each lady wore a bright floral dress with the length respectfully just above the knees. Strands of pearls hung from each neck with the exception of Momma who was wearing her grandmama’s delicate cross on a gold necklace.
Momma hugged my neck and then held her hand for Bo to take in greeting. She wasn’t a hugger if she didn’t know you well, but Bo seemed unoffended by the gesture. “Welcome, Boregard,” she said. I’d tried to get her to call him Bo, but she wasn’t having anything to do with it.“Bo isn’t a person’s full name,”she’d said when I’d introduced them at my place last week when she had visited after my release from the hospital. Bo was unbothered by her then as well. Likewater off a duck’s backwas Bo’s personality when around others.
Momma went around the table introducing each of her guests to Bo. She ended with Elizabeth Duncan and Sue Ellen Morris, her two best friends from her college sorority years.Phi Gamma Finda Rich Husbandor something along those lines.
“Boregard, would you please take a seat between Elizabeth and Sue Ellen,” she asked, pointing to the other end of the table. “Junior, you will sit alongside your momma,” she proudly announced.
The table setting was something out of Better Homes and Garden with a touch of Martha Stewart. Of course, I wouldn’t share the Martha comparison in front of the ladies because they didn’t take kindly to Yankee women who didn’t know their places in society. Martha held her station in life to a manner of which Momma and her ladies just couldn’t accept. A lady who is convicted of a crime while operating in a man’s world was no lady to them.
“Be cautious with them two,” I whispered to Bo after directing him to the other end of the table. “Say little and listen plenty,” I added.
Once seated, the choreographed waltz of Momma’s luncheon began. Cece always led by serving the lady of the house first, followed by attendants that set bowls of cold cucumber soup in front of the other guests exactly one second after she was served. I noticed Bo looking at ten pieces of silverware in confusion. I made an obvious showing of touching the first spoon from the far side and taking my time lifting the heavy silver from the table.
Momma leaned in. “He cleans up well, honey. Quite handsome indeed,” she stated, slowly taking the smallest bit of soup from her spoon. “And he’s from Beaufort, you say?”
Speaking under my breath I leaned closer to her. “Don’t start, Momma. I mean it. I will get up and walk out of here if you start with your snobby critiques.”
“Oh, shush,” she poo-pooed, smiling at Bo. “I said he was handsome, didn’t I?”
Once the soups were removed, a salad with fresh slices of peaches alongside the local greens was next. I almost choked on a piece of arugula when Sue Ellen spoke up.
“So, Boregard, do tell us what branch of the Dawson family you were born into, son,” she began, using one of her painted red talons to spear a baby tomato and bring it to her mouth, a violation of my mother’s dining etiquette. “I would imagine it was the Hilton Head Island Dawsons?” she half-declared, half-inquired while lifting her brows to any lady who was watching. “Wonderfully generous people, that family,” she schmoozed.
“No, ma’am,” Bo answered. “The Beaufort Dawsons are my family,” he said. “None of us ever lived around these parts.”
Elizabeth Duncan almost spit her rosé from her tight lips. Her face had been drawn so far back with plastic surgery, I swore that dimple in her chin was her belly button. “I wasn’t aware there were Dawsons in Beaufort,” she stated, turning to Sue Ellen. “Did you know that, Sue Ellen?”
“There’s loads of us,” Bo interjected. “Heck, my Memaw was a Duncan like you before she married my Pop-pop, ma’am.”
That comment was what finally got the rosé from Sue Ellen Duncan’s mouth. She practically sprayed the centerpiece with wine. “I should think not,” she corrected. “We have absolutely no relatives connected to Beaufort, young man.” Sue Ellen touched her floral napkin to the corners of her mouth, looking around the table to make sure every lady seated knew she was pure Duncan. “No one in my family is associated with Beaufort,” she reiterated.
“Hmmm?” Bo murmured. “Maybe third cousins or something?”
“Absolutely not!” she asserted indignantly.
Of course Bo wasn’t done. He wanted to participate and get to know these women. He was cut from the cloth of being cordial and ingratiating himself where he could. “My Memaw’s kin goes way back in the Low Country, ma’am,” Bo said. “I bet there’s a connection there somewhere, and I think it’d be nice if you were related to my Memaw.”
