The next morning, Grandpa drank hot tea and seemed to come alive with the force of a confident drill sergeant.
Or, just like Grandpa.
I walked into the kitchen and caught him dancing with energy.
“Hurry up, Wayne.”
I filled a bottle with water and packed a bunch of snacks in my backpack.
Mom came in, holding the phone in her hand. “Wayne, our neighbors are calling around to see if anyone knows about the decorative snowman on their porch. Know anything about that?”
I looked away from her and scanned the kitchen. My eyes landed on her blue glass birds.
“Did you know that the color blue is thought to help a person solve creative problems and that people are more productive in blue rooms?”
“Mmhmm. Just as I thought,” Mom said.
Within minutes, we had Grandpa’s old truck packed. We were soldiers on a mission. Like we were just going to walk into the woods and point to it. There it is! Can’t you see it?
“You’ll call as soon as you get there?” she asked.
“Of course,” Grandpa said, swinging his duffel bag up over his arm. It seemed like his sickness had vanished. He wasn’t complaining or sleeping or wearing a worried look on his face.
“Soldier, you ready to head out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Flashlight? Pocket knife? Compass?”
“Check.”
“Clean white shirt? Success loves preparation. You never know when a clean shirt will be needed.”
I went to my room for a clean white shirt.
And we were off. Driving east in the pale morning light. Plane lights blinking above and car headlights twinkling in the distance. We covered miles and miles of road without stopping or saying anything. Even our posture in the cab of his truck was tilted forward, as if the lean of our bodies would help us get there faster. About an hour in, I could see Grandpa twisting around in his seat, trying to get comfortable.
“I need to stop. Restroom break.”
“Gee, Wayne, you’ve got the bladder of a little girl.”
He exited the highway.
“That looks good.” It was an old, beat-up-looking café. Harry’s Café. We went inside and sat at the counter.
I went to the restroom, and when I returned, there were two mugs on the counter.
“That’s yours,” he said, pointing to a steaming cup of coffee. “If I can’t enjoy it, you can. Ha!” He patted me on the back, and I sat down in front of the cup. Some guy walked over with a plastic bear full of honey and handed it to Grandpa. His name tag read HARRY, and his appearance matched his name.
“Anything else?” Harry asked as he looked at me. “Hope that coffee doesn’t stunt your growth.”
I took a couple of bitter sips. It tasted like brown salt.
“It’ll put some vim and vigor in your bones, Wayne.”
“I can’t believe you love this stuff.”
“Less of a love. More of a habit. Remember to separate the two in your mind if you can. Many an unwise person has fallen in love with his habits.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Trying to pelt me with all your knowledge.”
“Says the boy with a university of facts in his head.” He tousled my hair. An actual hair tousle. Who was this guy?
Back on the road, Grandpa turned up the truck’s radio.
By lunchtime, we turned off the highway and headed north toward Karnack, right on the border of Caddo Lake State Park. Where the tree skirt of Nelda White in 14A had been recovered. Cruising down the two-lane stretch of highway, surrounded on both sides by tall, dark green pine trees so thick that daylight couldn’t shine through, I revisited the logic of our mission.
It was void of logic.
Epically so.
Looking out on that forest, you realized how anything could get lost in those trees. A herd of yellow elephants could be hidden in there and you wouldn’t know it.
Even though I wanted everything to make sense, I tried to shake off the notion that there was nothing scientific about this whole trip. The steps to our process consisted of (1) drive east, (2) get out of car, and (3) look around.
New topic.
“Did you know that a California couple struck gold while out walking their dogs?”
“Is that so?” Grandpa asked.
“They found two old buckets full of gold coins. Just on a walk, they became rich.”
We turned off the main road and drove up a path near a cabin Grandpa had rented, just a half mile from where Nelda White’s tree skirt had caught in the trees.
“Never guess the name of this town, Wayne.”
“What?”
“Uncertain. We have arrived in Uncertain, Texas. How d’you like them apples?”
Weeks ago, when Uncertain, Texas, was a tiny red pin dot on my map, I’d looked up the origins of the name. The town of Uncertain is right on the Caddo Lake shoreline. The town got its name years ago when surveyors tried to determine the true border between Texas and Louisiana. They were uncertain about which side of the state line they were on. The word stuck.
I could see the happy thoughts form behind Grandpa’s eyes. I didn’t want to ruin his moment by blurting out those facts. But if you want to know, I was blazing with hope, too. The town’s name made me more certain that Reed’s flag was hiding here. Wasn’t it the kind of detail Uncle Reed loved to include in his great true stories? It was almost like he was winking at us, daring us to go into the giant cypress forest with nothing and emerge with found treasure.