The Land of Mango Sunsets Read Free Page B

parrot, who, at eleven years old, had matured into a very desirable roommate.
    “Charles is a horse’s ass,” he said.
    “You’re telling me?”
    He followed me to the kitchen, hopped on my fingers, and I lifted him up to the top of his crate. Harry watched me as I dropped most of the mail straight into the trash. I gave him a small chunk of cantaloupe and he said, “Harry is a good boy.”
    “Yes, you are. You are a marvelous boy.”
    The message light on my phone was blinking. I pressed the play button and listened while I chose the least tarnished flatware for the table.
    Hi, sweetheart! It’s your mother. I left a message on your cell you can ignore. I just saw a weather report that you’re having one dee-double doozy of a snowstorm! Just wanted to remind you to be prepared in case the electricity fails—water, batteries, logs for the fireplace? But then, I’m sure you think you know what to do…
    There was no one like my mother. I mean, no one. Once the grande dame of Charleston, South Carolina, she’d flipped her chignon when Daddy died. Six months later, and to the utter shock of her known world, she sold our family’s gorgeous home and all the contents I didn’t want, moved to our funky old beach house on Sullivans Island, and became a hippie. She says she’s not a hippie but I think the term accurately describes her lifestyle. Perfect for her, mortifying to me. She threw away an extremely enviable life to live green, whatever that is.
    The next message was from my son Charlie, named for his father Charles, the horse’s ass.
    Mother? Ah, not home. Okay. Well, just checking in to be sure you’re doing all right in this weather, but if you’re out and about, you’re obviously fine. If you need anything, gimme a shout. Um, okay then. We’ll talk later…
    Could he have said, I love you, Mom? No. He would never allow himself any overt display of affection. Especially toward me and especially after all that had transpired. But at least he still felt some obligation to his mother and I would just have to console myself with that miserly peanut.
    The next three messages were solicitations and I erased them, saving the ones from Mother and Charlie to remind myself to return their calls. There was no call from Daniel, my youngest, but it was no surprise. He rarely called unless the earth moved in California or unless Nan got pregnant, and maybe those two events weren’t mutually exclusive. I grinned at my own cleverness. They had two precious little children that I thought were God’s gracious plenty. Nan had suffered enough miscarriages for a miniseries on the trials and tribulations of the reproductive system. The poor girl. Why she continued to attempt to have more babies, I could not begin to fathom. Nan should only have known all that I knew about the disappointments of raising children. I was sure she didn’t have a clue.
    I touched the corners of the packaged log in my living room’s fireplace with the long lit match and watched the blue and purple flickers become gold and orange flames as it burned its way to life. The world was still revolving, the snow would come to an end eventually, and somehow, I would be vindicated.

Chapter Two
G ESUNDHEIT!
    Dear Mrs. Willis,
    How can I ever begin to thank you for coming to my rescue with a tissue this weekend? So thoughtful of you! The membership table is such fun, don’t you agree? But with all the germs and flu that the visiting public and their crying toddlers in strollers bring around at this time of the year, I was so lucky to be near you when I sneezed. I do think they should leave their babies home with a sitter, but what can you do? This is what the world has become. In any case, how fortunate I am to be acquainted with someone who is ever at the ready! I do so hope our paths cross again soon. And I hope I shall have the opportunity to return your kindness.
    Cordially,
Miriam Elizabeth Swanson
    I sealed the envelope with a damp sponge, used my