Authors: Lisa Wingate
Dandelion Summer (32 page)
She laughed, a soft, rueful sound. “Yeah, all that stuff takes money,” she said softly.
The conversation ended there. For a time, we drove in silence. I watched towering pines pass, and drank in the scents of grass, and water, and wildflowers growing along the roadsides. As always, my mind was plotting ahead, considering the possible ramifications and the odd practicalities of this trip—overnight accommodations being one. The library and any type of downtown stores or historical museums would be closed by this time of the evening. We’d need a hotel of some sort. I could hardly share a room with a young girl to whom I wasn’t related. . . .
“J. Norm, the gas thingy’s on empty.” Epiphany broke into my thoughts. “You want me to stop up there?” She pointed ahead to a small gas station at a crossroads.
“That will be fine.” I scooted upward in my seat as we came closer to the store. A small picnic area beckoned from the shade of some magnolia trees off to one side. “Let’s get gas, then buy ice-cream bars. We can sit outside and take a little time to enjoy the evening breeze. I need to stretch my legs a bit.”
“ ’Kay.” Navigating into the parking lot, Epiphany smiled. “Like a picnic, huh?”
“Like a picnic,” I agreed, thinking back. When the children were small, Annalee found any opportunity to stop off at picnic grounds while we were traveling. Against my admonitions that a restaurant would be faster and easier, she packed coolers and sandwiches, and searched for roadside parks or other points of interest. Those trips off the map tended to frustrate me, as I’d already precalculated the mileage to our destination, our expected arrival time, and roughly the delay afforded by stops for gas and, with two small children, restroom breaks. Long lunches with cement dinosaurs, Viking rune stones, Joshua trees, and the world’s largest ball of twine weren’t anywhere on my agenda.
It’s a vacation
, Annalee would say.
It’s about discovering what there is to see. No sense rushing from here to there.
It’s a vacation
, Annalee would say.
It’s about discovering what there is to see. No sense rushing from here to there.
But the world’s largest ball of twine?
I’d counter.
I’d counter.
Annalee would only laugh and flap a hand at me, her bracelets jingling.
I want to see it all. . . .
I want to see it all. . . .
I would have missed so many things, so many of the best things, had it not been for Annalee. I would have worried and calculated and scheduled my way past the grandeur of ordinary life.
I exited the car, determined not to fret my way through this trip, this adventure with Epiphany.
As it turned out, the stopover created a worry of its own, however. After pumping the gas, we went inside to pay, and I asked the woman at the counter if she knew of a place to stay in Groveland. She gave me an odd look, her eyes sliding from me to Epiphany and back. Her brows, penciled on in high arches, lowered over buggy eyes that were lined with thin red veins, as if she spent too much time looking into things that were none of her affair. “You and
her
?” she asked incredulously, the words cool and unwelcoming, accusatory in a way that sent a bead of discomfort down my spine.
her
?” she asked incredulously, the words cool and unwelcoming, accusatory in a way that sent a bead of discomfort down my spine.
“Yes, a room for each of us,” I stipulated as Epiphany wandered to the candy counter to look at chocolate bars.
Grabbing a notepad from behind the cash register, the woman wrote,
Pine View Motel
, and handed it to me. “You on the road to someplace?” The butt of the pen tapped the counter, and her gaze slid toward Epiphany again.
Pine View Motel
, and handed it to me. “You on the road to someplace?” The butt of the pen tapped the counter, and her gaze slid toward Epiphany again.
I willed myself not to seem uncomfortable, but I was. I hadn’t anticipated a reaction like this one. What if something was afoot and we were yet unaware of it? What if some sort of missing persons alert had been broadcast regarding the two of us? Was the woman behind the cash register trying to decide where she’d seen us before? Slowly connecting the dots?
“Yes. I’m on my way to see family.” I thought it best, then, that the woman not know that our destination was less than thirty miles down the road. “In . . . Florida. Lake Poinsett.”
“Long trip.” The clerk continued eyeballing Epiphany as I handed over the money for our purchases, then received change. I would have sworn that she sneaked a glance inside my wallet, too, as if everything about us were of above-normal interest.
I took our ice-cream bars and drinks, and we hurried out the door. We didn’t stay for a picnic. Back in the car, Epiphany gave the store a narrow-eyed glare as we circled the parking lot. “Yeah, she was wondering if I was gonna steal a candy bar.”
“
Going to
. It’s two words.” I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder, though I half expected the woman to be standing in the doorway, taking down our license plate number. “I fear she thought I was some sort of dirty old man or the like.”
Going to
. It’s two words.” I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder, though I half expected the woman to be standing in the doorway, taking down our license plate number. “I fear she thought I was some sort of dirty old man or the like.”
“Ffff!” Epiphany scoffed. “J. Norm, you’re too old for somebody to think you’re a dirty old man.”
As was often the case with Epiphany, I was stumped as to how to reply to the comment. “Well, certainly all that scrutiny wasn’t only over candy bars. And aside from that, she was looking at us before you moved to the candy counter.”
Epiphany pulled onto the road. “Norman, you been living in the big city all your life? She was lookin’ at you and wondering, were you my grandpa or did you just pick me up on the side of the road someplace? You go showing up in small towns with a little brown girl, inquiring minds wanna know—get what I mean? Mama and me lived in lots of places like this, and everywhere you go, somebody’s looking and wondering,
That her child?
Mama hates that. She says it’s embarrassing.”
That her child?
Mama hates that. She says it’s embarrassing.”
A heaviness settled in my chest, and I didn’t reply, but only watched Epiphany navigate the highway as I replayed her words in my mind, searching for any hint of emotion. How would it feel to know that your own mother was embarrassed to be seen with you? What would a lifetime of that do to a child?
Epiphany continued on, “So, ummm . . . I been thinking, though. Since that lady acted that way and all, maybe when we go in someplace I oughta just call you . . . well, like, Uncle Norm, or maybe Grandpa or something. . . .” Flicking a tentative glance my way, she let the sentence hang unfinished, then added, “I mean, it might make things easier, you know? So people don’t ask questions, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay.” Her mouth pursed as if she’d had a taste of something troublesome, and she swallowed hard. “No big deal, all right?”
“I think ‘Grandpa’ would do nicely.” I remembered that the ice-cream bars were melting in the bag, and I pulled them out. When I looked up, she was smiling slightly, watching me as if she expected me to say something more. “But don’t be surprised if I don’t think to answer right away. I’ve never been ‘Grandpa’ before.”
“Well, I’ve never had one before, either.”
Emotion thickened in my throat, and I swallowed it, unwilling to explore the underlying causes. “Pull over in that gravel patch up there, and we’ll eat our ice cream.”
“I can eat it and drive.” She reached for the ice-cream bar, and I held it away.
“Grandpa says no.”
Snorting, she guided the car onto the wide spot beside the road. “Just ’cuz I call you that name, it doesn’t mean you get to boss me around.” She took the snack from my hand, unwrapped it, and noisily slurped drips before enjoying a first bite. There were times when I suspected that Epiphany had been raised in a barn.
“On the contrary, it intimates that I am older and wiser.” I reveled in the first taste of my ice-cream sandwich—sugar, chocolate, cholesterol, saturated fat. Heaven. All the joys that had been stolen from me in a quest to force me into a longer life. “Which, indeed, is the case.”
Epiphany snorted again, choking on a bite. For a moment, I thought I’d have to drag her out of the car and do the Heimlich. When she recovered, she shook her head. “Man, you’re gonna be hard to live with now, huh?”
“Perhaps.
Going to
.”
Going to
.”
We ate our sandwiches in peace, and then continued on our trek. It was after eight o’clock when we reached Groveland. The town was sleepy and quiet, stately old Victorian homes languishing in the shade of towering pines and lofty magnolias as the sun slowly surrendered the day. Yards bloomed with daffodils and iris, and early spring roses painted trellises with impossible bursts of color. The scents in the air, the sound of the tires clicking along in the edges of the gutter, the rocking of the car seemed familiar.
Have I a memory of this place?
I wondered.
Have I a memory of this place?
I wondered.
Passing through downtown, I gazed upward at the buildings, their high brick and stone facades rising against the darkening sky, the years of their establishment, many in the eighteen hundreds, etched in capstones. The buildings had been around much longer than I. The bank building, a tall redbrick structure with ornate parapets at all four corners, caught my gaze. I couldn’t help thinking that I knew the place. An odd feeling of déjà vu crept over me, and then a sense of foreboding.
A few blocks farther down, we passed the Pine View Motel, a squat motor court of sixties vintage. Judging by the dried-up swimming pool and the aging billboard with forlorn bits of broken neon dangling, the place had seen better days. It had the look of a spot where truckers might come and go at all hours of the night. I could hardly leave a sixteen-year-old girl alone in a room at such a place, and having Epiphany in the room with me was . . . well, improper at best. At worst, it would prove DeRon’s case in the future.
Epiphany switched on the blinker. “Guess that’s it.”
“Keep going,” I told her. “The Pine View isn’t up to our standards.”
She craned her head away, surprised by the notion of standards, I guess. “Okay, but I’m ready to get out of this car.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she rolled her head to one side, then the other.
“Both hands on the wheel,” I told her.
As it turned out, our passing up the Pine View was fortuitous, since just a few blocks farther we found a charming bed-and-breakfast in a two-story historic home with a veranda running around two sides. It looked to me to be perfect for our purposes. After a short negotiation with a friendly young couple who ran the place along with the wife’s aunt, my new granddaughter and I were booked into two rooms on the second floor.
Epiphany’s eyes were wide as we brought our things into the cavernous entry hall. The proprietress gave our ragtag smattering of suitcases, grocery sacks, and computer equipment a questioning look, and Epiphany sidled a few steps away, then bent over to peek under the chandelier at a semicircular staircase worthy of Scarlett O’Hara. “Whoa, J . . . Grandpa. This place is even bigger than your house.”
The proprietress, Sharla, chuckled as she dusted crumbs from her ample bosom and winked at me. She smelled of fresh-baked apple pie and chocolate-chip cookies, which gave me great hope for breakfast the next day. “If y’all want the tour first, Chris can take your belongings upstairs.” She indicated her husband, who also looked as if he ate regularly and well, which increased my faith that breakfast tomorrow would be worth the price of the rooms.
Chris gathered our things. Epiphany came to stand beside me again, ready for the tour, and Chris lumbered toward the stairs, burdened by our baggage. The computer case swayed on his shoulder, nearly striking the chair rail as he rounded the corner. Epiphany ran after him. “I can help carry it up,” she said, sliding the bag off his shoulder, and taking charge of her backpack, as well. “I’ll be back down in a minute. Don’t start the big tour without me, Grandpa!” she called with no hint of awkwardness. Who knew she had such acting talent?
Sharla and I passed five minutes or so strolling in the front parlor, discussing photos of Ward House in its younger years, when the surrounding land comprised portions of a riverside trading post that had been scratched from the Piney Woods by Hayden Ward, Sharla’s great-great-grandfather. We passed another five minutes looking at a coffee-table book with pictures of early-day Groveland, while Sharla pointed out family members and shared stories of the Wards’ long history in the town. Her aunt Charlotte, referred to as Char, joined us and contributed yet more bits and pieces of Groveland lore.
It was clear to me, while we were talking, that both Char and Sharla were well-grounded in the history of this place and their family heritage, which could be traced back to Davy Crockett, a Texas legend. Sharla’s parents and grandparents had rooted her in the blood and soil of family history, created the ties that bind. It crossed my mind that I’d failed to do that for Deborah. I’d never shared much about my mother’s family or my father’s. Such things hadn’t seemed important. I was a man of the future, not the past. But now I wondered if that tendency in me had come about because the past was never real. My father’s history in the oil business, my mother’s connection to the Rockefeller family, felt more like a suit I had put on, a garment that didn’t quite fit. Perhaps I’d always sensed on some level that those bits of ancestry were no more connected to me than a story told at random.
After fifteen minutes had passed, Sharla cast a worried glance toward the stairs. “Where are they?” She looked at Aunt Char before seeming to answer her own question. “Oh, mercy, I bet my husband is up there filling your granddaughter’s head full of ghost stories.” Without pausing to excuse herself, she made a dash for the stairs, leaving me alone with Aunt Char, who wasted no time in inquiring about my business in town.
I considered telling her the truth about my visit to Groveland, but some inner caution compelled me to play things close to the vest. My mother had gone to great lengths to dissociate me from my past. She feared it, even after I was grown, even to her deathbed. If her part in whatever happened here could in any way bring shame to her memory or to the family name, I had to prevent it from seeing the light of day. “Oh, just a little vacation,” I replied. “And acquainting my granddaughter with a bit of family history. My father made his fortune in the oil fields not far from here, back in the day. He had relatives in Groveland, I think.”
Other books
Auctioned Virgin to Seduced Bride by Louise Allen
Enchanted by Alethea Kontis
Verse by Moses Roth
Where the Dead Men Go by Liam McIlvanney
A Debt From the Past by Beryl Matthews
The Man's Outrageous Demands by Elizabeth Lennox
Lightbringer by McEntire, K.D.
Never Tell by Claire Seeber
The Boss's Baby Affair by Tessa Radley