Georgia slept hard that night. The next day after breakfast, they spent a few hours walking around Nauvoo, learning more about the Mormons. It turned out they were kicked out of Illinois too. For many of the same reasons. Which was when they made their trek out to Utah. Back in Nauvoo, the temple they’d built burned to the ground. Arson was suspected, but no one was ever prosecuted for it. It was rebuilt in the 1930s when Nauvoo decided to capitalize on its brief Mormon heritage.
It must have worked, Georgia thought, because today Nauvoo was a thriving mecca for Mormon tourists, with a million people visiting every year. The boost in tourism even brought some Mormons back to Nauvoo. Of a population of 1,000, over 400 were returning Mormons. Many managed the historical sites.
Sunday morning, Georgia and JoBeth checked out. They split the bill. The motel’s counter faced a large glass window that looked onto the parking lot. As she was waiting for the clerk to return her credit card, Georgia had the sense she was being watched. She whipped around and peered through the window. A middle-aged bearded man in a dirty black pickup slammed his door, accelerated, and made a speedy exit out of the parking lot.
Georgia turned back to the counter clerk, who was lean, with long stringy hair and an oddly shaped face. Wide forehead, small eyes, and pointed chin, almost like Frankenstein in the old Boris Karloff movie.
“Did you see that? The guy who just sped out of the parking lot? Who was he? He was driving a black pickup.”
The clerk, who’d been running their cards, looked up. Georgia could see the pickup driving out of sight heading north. “See that truck?” She pointed. “He’s heading north.”
The clerk squinted, then handed back her credit card. “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t catch it.”
She didn’t believe him. There was something off about the people here. The waitress. Now the clerk. The Doors’ “People are Strange” echoed through her head. She slipped her credit card back in her wallet and went out to the car. The parking lot was still pretty full, and people were coming and going. Was this the only place in town to stay?
By the time they got back to Chicago, it was raining, and they were swept up in heavy traffic. It took an hour to get from I-90 back to Evanston, where they returned the SUV and piled into Georgia’s Toyota, which had been parked nearby. Charlie fell asleep, and even Georgia was looking forward to a rest; all the driving had tired her. But she had to give her mother credit. It had been a good weekend.
“Well done, Mom,” she said, aware it was the first time she’d called JoBeth “Mom” in over twenty years.
Jobeth smiled. “Thanks, Peaches.” Her eyes filled.
“It was great,” Vanna said. “This one goes down in the record books.”
Georgia wondered if her mother had grown up. She hadn’t seen a false note from her all weekend. If this continued, she might actually have a semi-intact family. Unless JoBeth had another sibling of theirs stashed away somewhere. It made her curious, and she decided to ask Vanna more about her birth father when they had the chance. The only thing she knew about Vanna’s father was how he’d died. A trucker, he was caught in a freak Montana blizzard when his eighteen-wheeler skidded across four lanes of traffic, rolled over, and exploded. Vanna was six.
She called Jimmy, and when she finally opened the apartment door, after dropping off JoBeth, he was there. Vanna disappeared with Charlie into her room. Which was good. Georgia felt like she hadn’t seen Jimmy in a month and couldn’t wait to show him how much she’d missed him.