| |
Nearly two hours have passed, sitting here in Marty’s, talking to people who knew my mother before. The stories all show somebody with maybe too much gumption. She was full of herself, they all said, Alice Carlisle knew exactly who she was, and weren’t nobody going to tell her any different. I just sucked them in, wishing I had a way to record these stories so I could break them all down later, back at the apartment. But of course I don’t have anything to do that and don’t even have paper and pen to take notes, which would have been odd anyway. So I just listen and soak in the stories of her. When the stories start to run out, and when everybody seems to feel the same pull of getting on with the day, I ask the question I have to ask, “Do her folks still live around here?”
“Yeah, yeah, they do. Out there on Bo Bradley.”
“Do you think they’d mind if I came to meet them?”
“I reek-on they’d be right glad to meet you,” Marty says, “But you should know, Ol’ Mrs. Carlisle, she’s not quite right in the head.”
Val says, “Shut up, Marty. Mrs. Carlisle is just fine. Maybe a little dementia coming on, but ‘not right in the head,’ scare the poor girl off.” She turns to me, her hands still square on her hips from telling Marty off. “It’s true, she’s not got all her marbles maybe, but she’d just love to meet you, and Mr. Carlisle would, too. They were tore up when she turned up missing. Offered all sorts of rewards and did interviews with newspapers and TV shows as far away as Memphis.”
“Really?” That doesn’t sound like people you’d run away from.
“Sure. It really hit them hard. If you ask me, they never got over it. It was the not-knowing, I think.”
I nod, because that would be terrible, not knowing what had happened.
Val draws out a map for me, showing me the way to their house, and when I go to pay for my breakfast, she smiles. “Aw, that’s already been paid. You just go meet your grandparents.”
***
I drive, following the map until I come to the spot: the third driveway on Bo Bradley, the one marked with a big X on Val’s map. I stop the car and sit, looking up toward the little bungalow house made of brick, sitting at the end of the unpaved driveway. The porch is wide, and even from down here on the road, I can see that the swing is swinging on one end of the porch. I watch the woman sitting there, wondering if this is my grandmother. She is too far away for me to see her features and know if it is blood from her that flows to me. I let the swaying of the swing soothe me, until a little red Ford Ranger comes up from behind and turns down the drive toward the house, kicking up dust from under the wheels. My stomach flutters, and I put the shifter to first and scoot off, bucking a bit as I disengaged the clutch. Down the road, I pass two other houses. The pavement turns to gravel just beyond, so I pull into one of those driveways to turn around. I came this far. I am not turning back now. The worst part is not knowing, I think—for them and for me. When I get back to the brick house, the swing is still swinging, but the woman who had been sitting there is gone. I turn down the drive and park Little Red behind the truck. I step out, grabbing my bag, with the pictures and letter safe inside.
I reach the door, and it opens before me. The man opening it steps out, taking my elbow and pulling me with him down the steps and around to the side of the house. I am so startled that I don’t even resist. He keeps glancing back at the door until it is well out of sight.
“What are you doing?” He drops my elbow and turns to face me. His mouth starts to form more words, but his face turns the strangest combination of red and white all mottled together. His eyes scan my face.
“I’ll be damned,” he says, his color draining back to a more normal shade. He draws his hands up over his eyes and scrubs back and forth. When he looks at me again, he seems to have his composure back. “What do you want from them?”
“Nothing,” I say, taken aback. Why would I want anything from them? “I just wanted to meet them.”
“You’re really Alice’s daughter?” It’s sort of a question but more of a statement.
“I am. My name is Alison.”
“I heard. Tommy called me from up at the diner and said there was some girl in there trying to make out like she was kin.”
I’m offended. That’s not at all what I was doing, and I tell him as much.
“Yeah. I heard,” he says, and there is a hard note in his voice that makes me think maybe this was a stupid thing to do.
“I just want to meet them,” I say, turning to walk back up to the steps, but he grabs my elbow again. I shake him off, and he holds his hands up, submission.
“All right, all right. I reek-on you got the right to, but there’s some things you need to know before you go walking up to their front door like that. You liable to give them a heart attack. They ain’t young, ya know?” He is talking in hushed tones, and I realize that he is trying to keep our voices from carrying.
“I didn’t come to cause any trouble. I just want to meet them. Val said that they might like to meet me.” My voice betrays me with a little quiver because I feel like he is going to keep me away and I’ve come so far.
“No. No. Don’t go crying. Shh. I’m not saying you can’t meet them. Damn. Just let me prepare them a little. You walk up there and they open the door and see you standing there and they’re liable to think you’re Alice. Damn. You look just like her.” He gapes at me for a second longer than comfortable, then he starts on again, “I just need to get them ready for you, is all.” He runs his hand through his dark-brown hair and leaves it standing in spikes all over his head. “Is that all right with you?” I nod. “You just go sit in your car, and I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I say, my chin puckering, and I try not to cry. He’s not sending me away. I’m going to meet them.
“Don’t do that,” he says, seeing my signs. “Don’t do that,” he says again, and I see his own chin quake.
I wipe at a tear and turn out to look at the tree standing off in the middle of a field, all by itself. “So who are you?” I ask, using the strongest voice I can muster.
“I’m Steven. I’m your uncle.” When I look back, I see that he’s lost his battle, and those damn tears are streaking down his cheeks in rivers.
“My uncle?”
He responds by drawing me into the biggest hug I think anybody has ever given me in my entire life.