Page 6 of Share with Me

“I’d like to do your hair,” Quincy suddenly said to Brinley. “I think I can get some curls in there.”

“I like it straight. Thank you, though.”

At the table near the orchestra platform, Brinley spotted her parents conversing with a couple of people who’d stopped by the table. Brinley waited until Dad saw her.

“Brinley Brin!” Dad leapt out of his chair.

Brinley was glad to see that Dad continued to recover well from his stroke. His speech had improved in the last few months, and now he was looking more like himself. She wondered whether this was a good time to talk to Dad about the changes in her life, her desire to take a break from Brooks Investments, a sabbatical to find herself.

Brinley hugged both of them. It had been six months since she last saw Mom and four months since she last saw Dad. Funny how it went. In high school and college, she couldn’t wait to get out of her parents’ hair. Now that she was out in the corporate world and traveling eighty percent of her time, she missed home. Missed eating dinners with her parents. Missed chatting with Dad. And sometimes she even missed going shopping with Mom.

“Where’s Phinn, dear?” Mom dabbed her lips gently with a gold-threaded napkin.

“We broke up in the summer, remember?”

“I thought he’d be back by now.”

“It’s really over, Mom.”Finally.

Mom knotted her eyebrows. “I can’t believe you let him go. He’s quite a catch.”

Dad cleared his throat. “Guess what, Brinley Brin?”

“What, Dad?” It was a game they had played since she was four years old.Guess what, Brinley Brin? What, Dad?

“Aunt Ella is here.”

“Is she?” How did Aunt Ella get here from West Palm Beach? She hated long road trips, but she hated flying even more. It would take her at least nine or ten hours with frequent stops on the way to get from West Palm to Sea Island. “Did someone drive her up?”

“Her caregiver. Apparently she has friends on Hilton Head. After Christmas she’ll come back here and pick up Ella and they’ll go home.”

“Here she comes now.” Mom pointed with her chin.

Brinley turned. There she was. Aunt Ella, coming across the plush carpet with a piece of toilet paper trailing behind the sole of her Mary Jane shoes.

Someone ought to tell her.

Sure enough, a server did. He squatted down to remove the stuck paper, and was rewarded with a whack-whack-whack on his shoulders.

Aunt Ella retracted her massive purse. Brinley figured that her hard-of-hearing Aunt Ella must not have heard him tell her that he was trying to help.

Dad moaned. “Great. Another lawsuit coming up.”

Brinley rushed to Aunt Ella’s side. The octogenarian paused for a split second. Then she lurched forward with her arms open wide and hugged Brinley before she could say anything.

Eccentric she might be, Aunt Ella was still Grandpa Brooks’s younger sister. Yes, she was technically Great-Aunt Ella. And her name wasn’t really Ella either. It was Ursula. Grandpa Brooks had liked to tell that she became Ella when none of her siblings—all gone now—could pronounce Ursula when they were kids.

Any interaction with Aunt Ella only reminded Brinley of lost memories and happy days with Grandpa Brooks back when he was still alive and well and eager to show her his private collection of musical instruments. Yes, he’d bequeathed the collection all to Brinley. At a very high price and at a cost to her relationship with Phinn and all the other boyfriends before him.

“Do you still drive?” Aunt Ella asked.

“Pardon me?” Brinley was taken aback by the question.

“Can you handle a vehicle?” Aunt Ella emphasized each syllable slowly.

“Yes, ma’am. Why?”

“I need a ride to a Christmas luncheon. Will you take me?”

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