Читать книгу What To Keep - Mary Schramski - Страница 8

Greensville, NC

September 2000

I could tell you a story about how my uncle Grey Alexander left me Magnolia Hall because I was his favorite niece. Then you might think I visited him every summer to attend reunions, and our family was close and very loving. That’s when I’d explain that Uncle Grey always sent me beautiful birthday cards, telephoned me on Christmas morning to wish me a happy, peaceful holiday. And at the end of our conversation he’d go on and on about how he wished I were home instead of in dusty Las Vegas.

I’d also tell you on the day he died I found out he made sure I, Juliette Carlton, a forty-year-old, three-times-divorced blackjack dealer, his beloved niece and misplaced Southern belle, inherited all he had, including the memories of a loving Southern family.

But none of it would be true.

Someone once told me the reason people lie is because it sounds better. They were right. And life, as my mother used to remind me over and over, is raw and ugly. Part of that is true. Life is raw and ugly if a person makes it that way. Maybe that’s why my mother lied so much.

I’ve decided not to fabricate anything, especially to myself. At one time I was big on that. I’d tell myself I was happy when I wasn’t, tell myself a man cared when he didn’t.

So the truth is I inherited an old Southern house from a man who just happened to be my uncle. I barely had a few faded memories of him. I became the owner of his house because I’m the only family member left. And that one little mistake of Grey Alexander not making a will changed my life forever. Because before all this happened I believed money would make my life better, different, worth living. What I didn’t know was that no amount of money could help me. It took something so strange, like inheriting an old Southern mansion that shouldn’t have belonged to me, to make me see what’s really important.