“What do you mean?”
Pearlie shrugs. “Well, it’s gonna be yours now.”
“What?”
“I thought you knew. Dr. Kirkland always said Miss Gwen couldn’t take care of her own self, much less the wealth she was born into. That’s why Billy Neal hated you so bad. You gonna get just about everything.”
Her words take some time to register. I have no idea what might be included in my grandfather’s estate, but it’s bound to be enormous.
“So, what you gonna do?”
“Sell it all,” I say.
Pearlie makes an uncertain sound. “The island, too?”
“Why not? I don’t ever want to see it again.”
“If you sell that island, the people down there won’t have nowhere to go. You own it all, the houses and everything. They just rent.”
For a few moments, images of the island rush through my head. But the pain that comes with them is too much to bear. “They can have it, Pearlie. The whole damn thing. It’s theirs anyway.”
“Do you mean that? That island’s worth a piece of money.”
“I couldn’t care less. I’ll have the lawyers draw up papers first thing. You and Jesse work out fair shares for everybody. Except for Louise Butler.”
Pearlie’s back stiffens. “What about her?”
“Louise gets the lodge.”
Pearlie gasps. “The big house? You’re not serious. Those women down there hate Louise.”
“It’s her house, Pearlie. As of today.”
The old woman makes several noises I cannot interpret. Then she says, “I guess you know what you’re doing.”
“For the first time, I think I do. Do you see Michael? I’m ready to go.”
“We don’t need no Michael. I can push this chair good as any man.”
She steps behind the wheelchair and takes the handles in her firm grip. As she turns me around, I catch a last glimpse of the river, vast and majestic under the shadows of the rain. The water down there will soon flow past DeSalle Island, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, and finally into the Gulf of Mexico. Where I’ll be then, I don’t know. But the chain of misery forged through the generations of my family has finally been broken.
By me.
That’s about as good a start as I can imagine.
Pearlie pushes me back toward the lane, where Michael’s Expedition waits. As we approach, Michael gets out and waves. I lay one hand on my stomach and close my eyes. I’m not touching the wounded place, but a spot lower down. I don’t need a drink now. I don’t need anything. But for the first time in my life, I feel truly free to choose what I want.
“It’s going to be different for you,” I whisper, rubbing my tummy in a slow circle. “Your mama knows what love is.”
