The Diplomat's Tutor

Chapter 4: Meemaw's Gift

Malia sat in her car in the driveway of her parents' house, collecting herself. The party had already started; the sounds of laughter and her dad's soul music drifted from the backyard. The scent of ribs sizzling on the pit crept through the open window. She had moved past anger and sadness about her breakup with J.C. Now, she felt hollow.

Malia glanced absently at the dossier resting on the passenger side seat that Beardy—Mr. Dugan—had given her. She opened it.

It read: 'Position involves intensive one-on-one instruction in all aspects of Aeonian society, focusing on equipping Mr. Dunn with expertise in social customs, customs in Aeonian courtship, social and s****l taboos, concepts of male appeal unique to Aeonian society…'

They really want this guy to get laid, she thought jokingly. She took out her cell phone and ran a search for his name. She found nothing, no mention of him, but how could a diplomat leave no digital footprint? She fingered the edges of Mr. Dugan's contact card for a moment, then put the dossier away. She went to the party.

Her friends and family erupted in cheers when she rounded the bushes to the backyard. Her friends grabbed her hands and danced her across the yard.

They boogied away, drank margaritas, and ate Meemaw's cornbread and Pop's fall-off-the-bone BBQ ribs. As the day dwindled into early evening and the partygoers napped inside or went home, Malia sat alone with Meemaw on lawn chairs in the grass.

“You're going to miss Meemaw's cooking," Meemaw said.

“Meemaw, I haven't said I'm going yet," Malia said.

She shot Malia a skeptical look. “Hogwash. I know you like I know the creak of my bones, dearie. You've chosen. Maybe you just haven't admitted it."

Meemaw held Malia's hands and pulled her close. She was surprisingly strong for an older woman, especially in times like these—when she seemed to sense a critical moment at hand.

“I can see it in your eyes. You've got a hunger, passion, and curiosity about the world inside of you that your mama and I never had. You'll go. You'll find what you're looking for."

Malia blushed. “Yes, I'll go."

“Good! Because I was just bluffing," Meemaw said and slapped her knee.

They erupted, laughing.

“I'm happy for you. Good things come fast, and the good ones fly by before you even know they're gone." Meemaw reached into her purse, removed something, and placed it in Malia's hand. “Here, take this."

It was the white handkerchief with the red rose.

“No, I couldn't—

“Shush now, dearie. You take it, so you always remember your Meemaw."

Meemaw folded Malia's hand around the handkerchief and patted it. Malia stroked the contours of the rose the way Meemaw did when she was deep in thought. The cloth was still wet with her tears from the ceremony.

“Aeonia doesn't allow communication with the outside world, you know."

“I know. I know."

They hugged.

Later in the evening, Malia told Ma and Pop that she'd be leaving in the morning. Pop gave her a small nozzled bottle with the image of a vicious Grizzly bear wrapped around its case.

“This stuff here is no joke, baby. It's bear mace. I know you're a tough girl and you can handle all comers, but if push comes to shove, you'll want to have this to let loose. It would blind Jesus to God."

Malia laughed and thanked him.

“Look here. You can clip it on your belt," he said as he reached for her hip. “Where's your belt?"

She took the bear spray and put it in her purse. Ma removed the family's Aeonian books from their place in the chest, including the proof of lineage.

“I can't take these; they should stay with you here where they're safe."

“Take them, and I won't hear another word," Ma said. “You'll need them."

Malia went into her bedroom and removed the dossier. She dialed the phone number on the card. As the phone rang, she looked at the image of Charles Dunn on the paperwork. The picture was in black and white, but the intensity of his stare tricked her into seeing color in his eyes.

Strange: in Malia's mind, diplomats were like politicians, so it surprised her that Charles wasn't smiling. Instead, he stared stoically away in frozen pondering.

“Dugan here."

Excitement and fear swept through Malia. “Hi, Mr. Dugan. It's Malia Peele. I'm in."