The Ambassador of Nowhere Texas

by Kimberly Willis Holt

  Twig was going to love knowing that.

  “But I’ve already had the best bowl of pho here that I’ve ever eaten.”

  “At the Bowl-a-Rama Café?”

  “Yes, I met Ferris and Mr. Pham. I’m going to enjoy living here.”

  I thought about how Kennedy’s first impression of Antler was a lot different than Joe’s. Maybe some people were meant for small towns. And some people weren’t.

  “Have a look around if you like,” she said. “I’m taking inventory so I can know what to order.”

  “Thanks.” I took in the space, gazing over to the spot where I used to sit when I wanted to get away and escape in a book. Even though I hadn’t spent much time here in the last couple of years, I was going to miss this place.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with. Although you’ve spent a lot more time here than me. I may have to ask you a question.”

  “Can we still dial up the Internet?” I asked.

  “Sure, changing the service will be one of the last things we do. Would you like to use it?”

  As I made my way to the computer, she said, “We’ll have three computers in the new library. Miss Myrtie Mae Pruitt was a generous woman.”

  I settled in front of the computer, entering my account number and password. Even though I had closed the door on the search, I found myself typing the words Zachary Beaver. After his name, I slowly typed obituary. My finger hovered over the enter button, but I couldn’t do it. I hit the back key and removed the word, one letter at a time. Then I deleted his name and started over.

  There were well over a hundred Zachary Beavers in the United States, but this time I searched for “Zachary Elvis Beaver” in the White Pages. Results: zero.

  Then I tried “Zachary E. Beaver.”

  Results: four.

  The entries included their approximate ages. I didn’t know how old Zachary was, but I figured he was about Dad’s age. Dad would turn forty-four in a couple of weeks. There was only one Zachary E. Beaver identified in his forties—age forty-six, living in Tampa, Florida.

  And there was a phone number.

  I stared at it. My heart felt like it was running the fifty-yard dash. Why hadn’t we thought of searching for him in the White Pages again after we’d learned his middle name? It would have been so easy.

  I scribbled the number down on a notepad, thanked Kennedy, and started to leave. Then I turned and said, “Welcome to Antler!”

  CHAPTER 35

  I wanted to rush home and make the call, but I had to report for snow-cone duty. Finding out if the Zachary E. Beaver living in Tampa, Florida, was our Zachary would have to wait until after my shift. If it didn’t turn out to be him, I’d close the door on the search forever.

  It was so hot, the kind of afternoon that usually created long lines for a snow cone, but there was only one person who showed during my first hour.

  Twig stepped up to the counter.

  “Where’s your friend?” I asked. “I mean, your boyfriend.”

  “Vernon’s not my boyfriend,” she said. “He was never my boyfriend.”

  I shrugged. “The usual?”

  Twig had been growing her hair out for a while now, and she started twirling a short lock, glancing around the square as if she wanted to be rescued. She wasn’t used to seeing me act indifferent. I wasn’t used to it either, and after feeling a split second of satisfaction, I decided I didn’t like it.

  “The usual?” I repeated.

  She nodded. “When’s Joe getting back?”

  “On June first.” I kept drizzling the Lemon Tang syrup over the ice.

  “Whoa,” she said. “That’s enough.”

  I handed the snow cone to her.

  Twig continued, “Mrs. Toscani gasses up at Allsup’s once a week. Mom told her she’d always wanted to be a nurse, and Mrs. Toscani told Mom she should enroll in school. Now Mom is going to start taking classes at Amarillo College this summer.”

  I couldn’t stand holding my feelings back. I liked Twig’s mom. “That’s really great,” I told her. “She’ll be a terrific nurse.”

  “Thanks,” Twig said. When I didn’t say anything else, she bit her lip.

  “Yeah, it’s really great,” I repeated.

  “She’s never been happier.” Twig rolled her straw paper against the counter, turning it into a tiny ball. “I kind of don’t know how to act without all the arguing in the house.”

  So much had happened between us, but I really wanted to know how things were for her since the divorce.

  “How’s your dad?” I asked.

  Stabbing the ice with her straw, she said, “Still ticked. What do you expect? I see him once a week, though.”

  Then she pulled out her wallet, but I held up my palm.

  “On the house.”

  She nodded and then slipped a folded dollar bill in the tip jar. “You know,” she said before walking away, “sometimes I used to wish your parents were mine.”

  It was a weird thing to say. I didn’t understand until later, when my shift was ending and I saw my parents walking toward the stand, holding hands. To me, Twig had everything—looks, confidence, and talent, but I guess I always had something that she never had.

  I gathered my tips, all coins, except for Twig’s dollar bill folded nice and neat. When I undid it, a piece of paper slipped out. On it was one word: Squim.

  CHAPTER 36

  Squim. Twig had apologized. I stared at that piece of paper a long time, wanting to think about what the next step would be, but my shift had ended and my mind needed to be on one thing—Zachary Beaver.

  Once home, I went to my room and dragged my phone to my bed, trying to forget about Twig for the moment.

  I dialed the Tampa number, figuring that if this wasn’t the right Zachary, I’d have a lot of explaining to do when the phone bill arrived. Even if it was, I’d have a lot to explain.

  While the phone rang, a knot formed in my gut. By the fourth ring, I decided this was a dumb idea. But I let the phone ring two more times.

  After the sixth ring, I started to hang up.

  Before I did, I heard “Hello? Hell—ooo?”

  “Is this Mr. Beaver?”

  “What are you selling?” He had a New York accent similar to Joe’s.

  I started backward with the info we’d found. “Is this Zachary Beaver who writes travel magazine articles and used to be a spokesperson for the Allen Circus?”

  “What’s this about?”

  I’d come too far, so I continued. “The Mr. Beaver who was in a train wreck?”

  “What the—”

  “Is this the Zachary Beaver who was in Antler, Texas, the summer of 1971?”

  A long pause followed.

  I waited, but he didn’t speak. Before he could hang up, I blurted, “My name is Rylee Wilson, and my dad is Toby. Do you remember him?”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “No, sir, I’ve been trying to find you.”

  “Toby Wilson, Antler, Texas, summer of 1971? Yes, Rylee, I remember him well.”

  CHAPTER 37

  “You’re really Toby Wilson’s daughter?”

  My heart raced, but then the thought entered my mind that maybe this wasn’t our Zachary. That he was just some guy with the same name who was fed up with unsolicited calls and was playing a trick on me. He hadn’t offered me any information yet that proved he was the Zachary I was looking for. And I’d just blurted out every detail I knew about him.

  “That town hasn’t blown away?” he asked.

  “Antler is still here.” I wanted it to be him, but now I was skeptical. He could be talking about any little town.

  “That guy, Ferris, is he still there too?”

  This was Zachary! “Yes, sir!”

  “Is he still a big yapper?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, some things never change.” Then his voice softened. “Is everything okay with Toby?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. He’s fine. He
doesn’t even know I’m doing this.”

  “Oh?”

  “I wanted … um, I mean, I needed to find out—”

  “Wanted to make sure I was still breathing and upright, huh?”

  “Oh, well, um.” I cleared my throat.

  “That’s okay, I understand. So how the heck are the boys?”

  “The boys?”

  “Toby and Cal.”

  “They’re fine. Dad is a teacher, and Uncle Cal works on the cotton farm.”

  “Uncle Cal? Did your dad marry Kate?”

  “Oh no, sir. We just call him uncle.”

  “Oh, that’s good. How is Kate?”

  “She’s fine. She lives in New York.”

  “Married, is she?”

  “No, she’s not married.”

  “Really?” He almost squeaked the word. “That’s nice. Has she got a special guy?”

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t really know.” Why did he seem so interested in Kate?

  “So who is your mom? That pretty little blond your dad had a huge crush on? What was her name?”

  “Tara.”

  “No,” he said. “I think that was her bratty little sister. But you’re close. It had something to do with Gone with the Wind. Scarlett! That was her name.”

  “No, he’s not married to her.” I decided not to explain that the bratty little sister was Mom.

  “Well, you can’t have everything. I’m sorry. I’m sure your mom is a lot prettier than Scarlett.”

  I glanced at the clock. I was pretty sure long-distance phone calls cost more in the middle of the day, so I needed to get to the point quickly.

  “Mr. Beaver, my dad’s birthday is in a couple of weeks. Do you think you could call and surprise him?”

  “Nah, I don’t think that would be possible.” His voice was serious, even a little annoyed.

  “Oh, I see.” But I really didn’t. Finding Zachary hadn’t been easy. There were so many times when we could have stopped searching.

  “Kid, I’m just joking with you. What’s the number?”

  CHAPTER 38

  I wanted Joe to be the first person I told about finding Zachary, but I ended up telling Mom. She needed to know about the phone call, the long-distance one I made, and the surprise call from Zachary that would happen on Dad’s birthday.

  Mom wasn’t upset with me about the call or searching for him. She practically did a cheer. “I thought you and your dad were cut from the same cloth, but I guess you have a little of me in you after all.”

  I told her I’d never have started to search for Zachary if it weren’t for Joe.

  Mom said getting a surprise call from Zachary would be Dad’s best birthday gift. She asked for his number, just in case Zachary forgot. If he did, she’d sneak away from the party to give him a reminder call.

  “Just don’t tell your little sister,” she said, “or Cal.”

  Then she shocked me by walking over to Zachary’s picture in the corner of the room and positioning it over the mantel.

  * * *

  The morning of May 30, my parents decided to open the snow cone stand late so our family could watch the Ground Zero Ceremony. The honor guard was made up of family members of the dead, the NY Fire and Police Departments, and other volunteer and emergency workers. Joe had said he and his mom would be holding framed pictures of his dad as they walked. I noticed some of the other families did, too. Some of the firemen had photos tucked under the bands of their helmets.

  Bells rang for all the firefighters who died. Then an empty coffin draped with an American flag, representing those who were never recovered, was carried to an ambulance.

  The last steel beam was placed on a flatbed truck also covered with the flag. The bands played “America the Beautiful” and Taps. NYPD helicopters flew overhead in honor of the dead.

  The whole time, I thought about Joe. And even though I couldn’t see him in that huge honor guard crowd, I felt like I was standing right next to him, watching the ambulance carrying the empty coffin drive away.

  CHAPTER 39

  The Toscanis returned on June 1, and Joe was at my house first thing the next morning. I was glad to see him, relieved that he came back.

  “Want to ride?” he asked.

  I couldn’t wait to tell him about finding Zachary. I followed him down the street on my bike until we were riding side by side. Skipping Gossimer Pit, we crossed the highway and then the railroad tracks.

  We were almost at Juan Garcia’s home place when we stopped.

  “I have to tell you something,” Joe said. He sounded so serious. Telling him about Zachary would have to wait.

  The wind kicked up, and my hair stuck to my lip gloss.

  He leaned over his handlebars and gently pulled a strand away from my mouth and tucked it behind my ear.

  “I lied to you about not knowing how to ride.”

  I laughed. “I kind of figured that out already. Either that or you’re the fastest learner I’ve ever met.”

  “Can we rest here for a minute?” Joe asked.

  He got off his bike, and I did the same. We walked our bikes along the track, and Joe told me about how his dad bought him a bicycle a few months before he died.

  “It was an expensive bike, and I know it cost him a lot of money. I loved it. I rode everywhere around our neighborhood, to Owl’s Head Park, to Fort Hamilton and the Verrazzano Bridge. There was always this guy riding his beat-up bike around the bridge. I think he might have been homeless. Whenever he saw me, he’d say, ‘Man, I like your wheels.’

  “One night I left the bike out near our stoop and my dad brought it in when he came home, warning me that it was going to get stolen. I messed up. A week later, I forgot and left it out another night. When he got home from work, Dad happened on a couple of kids trying to take it. But when they saw him, they took off. I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike for two weeks.”

  Joe got quiet, and we stopped walking. His nose twitched, and he swiped it with the back of his hand. I wondered if the Ground Zero Ceremony had unlocked something, made him want to unload, and that was why he was telling me all of this now. Because even though he’d told me about what had happened to his dad, there was always this feeling that he was holding back.

  He took a deep breath as if to steady his nerves and continued talking. “Whenever some big fire incident happened in Manhattan, one that would make the news, my dad would always call us as soon as he could to let us know he was okay. On 9/11, I was in school when I learned about the towers being hit. I had a feeling, a strong feeling that he was there. Mom did too. She came and got me an hour later and took me home. Hours passed with no word, and we knew.

  “By three o’clock, I couldn’t stand being inside the apartment any longer. I jumped on my bike and road out of Bay Ridge and all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge. I knew the towers were gone, but I couldn’t have seen them if I’d wanted. Across the East River, the smoke blotted out the view. It took over the sky. The bridge was thick with people. They were pouring off that bridge from the other side because they couldn’t get a taxi or ride the subway. Some were crying, men and women. Most of them were walking in a daze. I had to get to the other side, but a cop stopped me. He told me I should go home. He said ‘should,’ but it sounded like an order. I almost crossed anyway, but I would have been a salmon going upstream. Maybe I was scared, too. Scared to find out the worst. So I rode back home.

  “When I got there, my aunt and uncle were at our apartment, and Mom was crying. My uncle had been on a sales call near the towers. He kept talking to people, trying to find his way to some of Dad’s coworkers. He found out that Dad went in a second time, right before the building collapsed.

  “He was gone.”

  Joe’s hands had turned into tight fists.

  “Later a lady told us my dad saved her life, carried her down three flights of stairs of the second tower. I wish he hadn’t gone back in. That night, I left my bike out, this time on purpose. I figured it would surely
be gone by morning. I wanted so badly for my dad to be walking in with it, yelling at me, telling me I was grounded for six months. But in the morning the bike was there and my dad wasn’t.

  “Friends and neighbors started coming by with food as if we’d had a funeral. I tried to call Arham, because we’d heard his dad was gone too. But I couldn’t get through. I escaped on my bike and rode to the Verrazzano Bridge. When I saw that guy riding his old beat-up one, I hollered to him, ‘Hey, how would like these wheels?’

  “I got off my bike, left it on the ground, and walked home.”

  My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. I reached over and touched his arm. “I’m so sorry about your dad. I really am, Joe.”

  His eyes were wet, but he wasn’t finished. “My mom couldn’t handle being in our apartment without him like I couldn’t handle seeing that bike. That’s why she was ready to escape. When the house here hadn’t sold, she thought it was a sign.”

  The train was coming from the east, getting louder the closer it got, but we stayed near the tracks.

  Ka-nuck, ka-nuck.

  “But this isn’t home,” Joe said. “It never will be. And since we went back last week, Mom knows that, too.”

  My gut began to hurt.

  Ka-nuck-ka-nuck.

  Even though the train swallowed his words, I heard them loud and clear.

  “We’re going back, Rylee,” Joe said. “We’re going back home.”

  I stared at the train cars rushing by. I stared at the Engelmann daisies, their long stems whipping to and fro. I stared everywhere except at Joe.

  My head pounded, and I felt like someone had squeezed the breath out of me.

  These last few months, I’d hoped Joe and his mom would stay, but part of me knew they wouldn’t. It wasn’t just the still-packed boxes and Mrs. Toscani not beginning her job search. It was because every time Joe spoke about Bay Ridge, it reminded me of how I felt about Antler.

  Maybe that was the hardest part, because I’d let myself get close to him, even when deep down I suspected he wouldn’t be here for long. I’d been like someone wading into the deep end of the ocean who didn’t know how to swim.