Chapter 1

It did not seem like 7 years; more like 20 or 30. Spent the last 2 wondering everyday how Dad had coped with things. I think I knew how he felt when IT happened. He was 49, seemed healthy enough and was on his 3rd marriage; maybe that was one too many for him, or perhaps it was that stress of the business.

Debbie was not a bad step; but at 19 she was more like a sister than a Mom. From my perspective, she was not a ‘gold-digger’ either. I know when Dad had the stroke she stuck by him. When he had the ‘Big One’(Heart attack) she cried and never left me.

Much of the valuable things(Home, stocks, land etc) was already in my name as well as half of the cash in joint accounts. She had a pre-nup but, as I said, Deb was a good step-mom, never acted like a gold-digger and the lawyers had no heartburn with adding some cash and the house to what she got when Dad died. I think she was surprised at that.

Me, even at my age(18) I already saw what greed and an all-consuming quest for money lead to; an early grave in my opinion. By the time I was 21 I started closing with buyers for most of the business things Dad left me. It had taken about 2 years but I got almost 80% of what I wanted after taxes and fees for what sold.

I guess my thoughts on Deb were ‘right-on’ since I lived in that house with her those last years with no problems. Like I said, I never heard a bad thing from her about the settlement either, she was more like a sister to me, a good sister. All that is not an important part of this story; it’s what happened later that was.

Like I implied, when I was older, those 5 years or so(when I was 18-23) was like a journey thru Hell and it was not the Texas or Michigan Hell. As I said, during those 5 years two things of note took place. First, I decided no way was I following in Dad’s wake, although it took me years to get out of most everything he left. Second, Deb had a difficult time adjusting, what am I saying, damn she never adjusted; hardly ever left the house, let alone dated.

Before I left home to face the ‘Big Bad World’ out there; Deb and I had a few long talks. The gist was my take on things was probably not much different that hers should be. “Get a life!” I told her, like a hundred times. It took over a year but finally the house went up for sale. I took her to the airport, wished her well and reminded her a new start in a new city at her age(26) would be like falling off a log. Her repy: “Right after your wedding, SON!” made me think.

That got to me. “In case you might have forgotten how, call me when all those date offers start coming in.” Then I handed her a matching cellphone to mine. She and I were the only numbers on it. “Call me for advice MOM and be certain to invite me to the wedding. You ever need a toaster, just call me!” We both got a bit misty.

I had hired a car to take us to the airport, She went one-way I went another. After those years together and seeing the kind of sweet person she was, I knew when we were talking about weddings; my comment was that mine would be when I found someone like her. Damn! What was that phrase that said, ‘Parting being a sweet sorrow?’ Oedipus may have had things right on that.

I still had some land(3 parcels). One parcel(Near 150 acres) was on the outskirts of Savannah, on Whitemarsh Island, still in Georgia but close to the South Carolina border.

I took a few days in a Hotel, but ‘lo and behold’(check spelling if you don’t understand ‘Lo’, it is not Low) a new bright white 4x4 was pulling onto my land. The fool driving asked me where the party was going to be. You do not want to hear my answer. I pulled out my cell and called the cops. I wanted to cry, instead one quick dial on my phone and a call to Deb was ringing. She answered. “Mom” I yelled, “I need your help!”

“You certainly do, what you have to tie your own shoes now?”

“This is the South Mom, we’uns don’t wear shoes.”

“If it’s warm there and you have water, I’m on my way. LA sucks! Where you at SON?”

I could hear some sniffs on the phone. “Outside Savannah, Geogia take a right, fly East till you hit water and I’ll pick you up.”

“Happens here a lot, people trying to pick me up, a lot of men here try, women too.”

“Don’t have to tell me, you’re beautiful!” Ahh! Mom! I meant...”

“Don’t worry SON, growing up, young men often need a ‘Mom’s helping hand for some things.”

Back at the hotel I might have made an error with her, normally not a mistake but upon reflection today it was, remembering I was getting ‘Mom’ from the airport later. The hotel had no problem moving ‘us’(Mom and I) to a larger room when I told them my ‘Mom’ was joining me. Right all 5 foot 9 inches tall, 98 pounds, a 38-26-36 figure with long, ash-blond hair down as far as the eyes could see. I was the one with the problem sticking out when I remembered that.

Tracy, at the hotel, bless her long, lean body said she could ‘help me, right, one could easily see I needed help. When I told her my ‘Mom’ was flying in later to give me a hand; her: “A hand may not be enough, Stud!”