Peaches walked over to the bed. “She looks just like Grandma Sugar,” she said. “I can’t wait to talk to her when she wakes up.”
“She’ll probably be up when we get back,” I said.
“If you tell somebody a lot of stuff, they can’t forget it all, huh.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Seems like I had a plan and Peaches did, too.
Two days later, I wore Peaches out with a gazillion billion board games and listening to her read to me books I’d memorized. We both loved I Love My Hair!, but if I heard it one more time that day, I was going to pull mine out. Okay, I was exaggerating. I’d do what I needed to do to get her to nap time. The most I’d been able to communicate with Markie was a few texts.
“Why does Aunt Vie sleep so long? Why do we have to be quiet all the time around her?”
Peaches didn’t understand why Aunt Vie couldn’t remember her name. When I noticed that Mama didn’t use the word Alzheimer’s, I didn’t, either. After the incident, Mama wasn’t about to leave us alone with Aunt Vie.
Once it was time for Peaches’s nap, I turned the fan on low and placed it next to the window. As I adjusted it, I glanced outside and there was Markie. I waved but she didn’t look up. If I called out to her, Peaches would know that I had company and the nap would be indefinitely postponed. She had an extra battery pack, especially for these occasions.
Markie seemed be staring at something on the porch. Then she walked up to the gate. I hurried down the stairs, expecting to see her on the porch, but when I got there, she was walking away.
I lit out the front door.
“Hey, wait up!” I shouted. All of Peaches’s toys scattered around the yard inside the chain-linked fence made me feel like I was inside a huge baby’s crib. “Markie,” I called. But then it was like I hit a force field that wouldn’t allow me to step out without Mama knowing I’d left the house. I started walking backward, back inside the makeshift crib. To my surprise, Markie followed. Once we were on the porch, I checked to make sure Mama wasn’t lurking at the door. I sat on the top step and Markie sat on the one below.
“Guess that was your dad, huh.” I told her it was. “Heard he brought your sis.”
I nodded. “She’s upstairs napping. Been up since five a.m.” I lowered my voice. “Did you ever talk to Aunt Vie about finding your mama?” I needed to get to it.
She rolled her neck like she’d slept wrong. “Why you ask that?”
“No reason. I just know she’d help if she could.”
“Sometimes it was something I thought I never wanted to talk about. Sorta changes the older you get. I only wished I wanted her help before things started slipping.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about that. We need to do the best we can right now, though. And work together.”
“Got it!”
“We do what we can to find your mama and get cracking on some details about the fundraiser.” I extended my hand.
Like at the diner when Grandma Sugar introduced us, she left my hand hanging out there for a moment.
“Aren’t you going to have your hands full with your sister now?”
“I’ll work it out.”
She swooshed her lips from one side to the other. Contemplation. “Okay, deal,” she said, and we shook.
No sooner than I’d “sealed the deal,” which is Daddy’s favorite line when someone signed a contract, the screen door opened and there was Peaches. She’d put back on her play clothes but still had on her hair bonnet that she only wore because I wore one.
“Thought you were napping,” I said.
“I was. It’s not like sleeping. It doesn’t take as long,” she said.
I stood up. “Guess not.”
“Mama said fix me a snack.”
Before I shouted, “Pour yourself some cereal for now,” I remembered that we weren’t home, home.
“I’ll be there in a second.”
Peaches hung on to the screen for a minute and finally stepped out on the porch, barefoot. “What’s your name?” She walked over to Markie and extended her hand.
“You two are serious about this handshaking,” Markie said.
“That’s the way my daddy meets new people all the time.” Peaches studied Markie for a few seconds more. “Your arm was born like that?”
A giant fly could have entered my mouth. “Peaches!”
Markie darted her eyes toward me. “Kids say what’s on their mind. Gotta respect that.” Then she turned her attention back to Peaches. “Yeah. It was.”
“That’s okay. But maybe a doctor can fix it for you if you want.”
Markie shrugged and mumbled, “Who knows.”
“I was sick and I got better. They can fix anything. That’s why I’m going to be one when I grow up.”
“An airline pilot is out?” I said.
“No, it’s not. I can do both. Mama said so.” When she cleared that up, it was back to Markie. “Can you tie your shoes?”
“It took me a long time to learn but I can,” Markie said.
Peaches darted her eyes between Markie’s arms and her sneakers. “Really?… Let’s see.”
“No, we’re not going to see. Let’s get that snack.” I held the door for Markie. “You coming in?”
“Nah. I’ll wait here.”
“Okay. Be right out.”
I asked Peaches was she really hungry, or did she just want some cereal. I beamed when she said, “Just cereal.” Then she added, “And toast.”
I slid a bowl, spoon, milk, and Cheerios in front of Peaches with more ease than I had served anyone even a bowl of grits and some biscuits at Sweetings. Then I dropped two pieces of bread in the toaster and put the fresh strawberry preserves on the table. I popped the toast up before it was barely brown.
“Are you going somewhere with your friend? That’s why you’re rushing. You’re not going to eat with me?”
“I have company,” I said. She dropped the spoon in the bowl and folded her arms.
“Mama catch you folding your arms and dropping that silverware like that at this dining table, you won’t get away with it like at Daddy and Millicent’s.”
Millicent didn’t have any kids and had never been married before Daddy. Since she wasn’t our real mama, whenever Daddy wasn’t around, Peaches could pout all she wanted. I encouraged it, actually. That’s when I called her “Millipede”—my mean, secret nickname for her—because I thought she was the reason Mama and Daddy’s marriage was terminada.
I hated to admit that I was happy when Peaches threw tantrums with Millicent. I wanted to throw one, too, but I was too old. So I just wouldn’t talk to Millicent. The silent treatment. (Unless Daddy was around.) But now I felt guilty for the way I’d treated Millicent, especially after she helped Peaches so much when she was sick.
The ceiling creaked. “Mama’s probably on her way down now.”
Peaches unfolded her arms and slowly started to pour the Cheerios.
“Why can’t you eat with me?”
“C’mon. You know why. Plus, this is your snack. We’ve already had breakfast.” Then I glanced toward the stairs. “When Mama comes down, tell her that I went out with Markie, okay?”
She nodded, not looking me in the eyes, which meant she was fighting back tears. I knew she wanted me to tell her to go get ready and come with us, but I’d been keeping her entertained all day yesterday and this morning. We weren’t going to be in Bogalusa forever. And I had lots to do.
“Are you going to the store?”
“Maybe.”
“Bring me something back,” she said.
“If I go, I will,” I said and hurried out. But I was too late. Markie had already left without me. I couldn’t risk going after her and coming up empty. So I moseyed in the house and listened to Peaches plan out our entire day while I envisioned my next steps in my head.
A few minutes later, “Who was that out front, Georgie?” Mama asked as she entered the kitchen holding a basket of towels.
�
�Markie,” I said.
“What did she want?”
“To know if I was coming to the diner. Have you ever seen her in action, Mama? She’s really good. She remembers orders without writing them down and can even run the register.”
Mama switched the basket from one arm to another.
“Well, she’s older than you,” Mama said.
“She’s only twelve and a half,” I said.
“That’s not the only measurement,” Mama said.
“Georgie wouldn’t let me see her tie her shoe,” Peaches said. “I tried to tie mine with one hand, and I can’t do it.”
“I haven’t been around her much, but your grandma and Aunt Essie have told me about her. She might be a little mature for you. You understand?”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “Why don’t you want me to be friends with anyone unless you know everything about them?” I pushed my chair back and folded my arms. “That’s just another way you’re babying me.”
“Protecting you is more like it,” Mama said.
My voice was low. Almost like the deeper I said the words the more Mama would listen.
“So she is the reason why you wouldn’t let me go down to the diner before?”
Mama switched the basket again like a huge basketball. She shook her head. “Georgie. That’s not true. Sorry if it seems that way. Your grandma and Aunt Essie work to help her. I just don’t want you getting in the way of that.”
“How? By being her friend?”
Mama went into closed-eyes mode, which is what she does when she tired of my questions. I usually back down when she does that. But I planned to keep cranking them out this time. “Peaches is here now. I’d rather you just watch her.”
“So I have to stay in the yard all day again and play with Peaches.”
Peaches held her spoon full of Cheerios in midair. “I thought you missed me, G-baby,” Peaches said and nearly ripped my heart out.
I took a deep breath. “I do but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hang out with other kids, too,” I said. “You know, kids closer to my age.”
Mama cleared her throat. “How about this. After you two fold these towels and straighten up the kitchen, why don’t you two walk down to the library?” Mama plopped the basket on the floor. All I knew was that, with or without Peaches, the library wasn’t the porch. I know Markie said that she’d already used the library resources to search for her mama, but it wouldn’t hurt for me to explore a few ideas.
It wasn’t a pass to go hang out with Markie, but it was something.
“Okay,” I said.
This was my ticket out of the house, and I snatched it. As soon as Mama was headed upstairs. I texted Markie: Meet me in the library. 30 minutes.
Mama wanting me to take Peaches to the library and me needing to go to the library was one of those moments that our homeroom teacher likes to talk about. Serendipitous. I always liked that word. It just sounds like it’s full of sunshine.
The library was about a ten-minute walk. Avenue F. Right on F like Frank. I followed the directions just as Mama gave them, holding Peaches’s hand as instructed, but only until we were out of her eyesight. Nobody wanted sweaty palms in all this heat, and Peaches wasn’t in darting-off mode like she was when she was younger. She stayed close to me, like Mama put magnets in our pockets.
“Think they’ll have computers?” Peaches asked.
“If it’s like the library at home, you know you can’t get on the computer by yourself,” I said. I couldn’t even have my own computer in my bedroom at home. We had the “family computer” that probably had every single parental control on it ever invented. “Let’s stick to books for now.”
A few blocks down, two pickup trucks parked along the curb. A young boy sat on the back of one truck bed and behind him was a garden of watermelons stacked. In the other truck bed were two rows of window air-conditioner units. The man selling those had an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth. He took it out right before talking to a lady inspecting a unit.
“Take it home. If it don’t work, just bring it right back here or over to my shop. Still over there on Fourth.”
An older woman swept the sidewalk in front of Gina’s Dress Shop and Dry Cleaners, then went inside as a car pulled in front of it. Peaches had been quiet as we walked. I thought she was busy taking in our small-town scene.
“You mighty quiet, Peaches. Everything okay?” Her romper dress had daisies peeking out of the pockets. It’s one of her favorites. If they’d forgotten that, Daddy probably would have had to send it.
“How old do you have to be to start forgetting stuff?” she asked.
I pursed my lips hoping the right words would come. “You don’t always have to be old. We all forget stuff sometimes.”
“The stuff that’s in our heads. We’ll lose it? Like the names of all my friends and TV shows and stuff?”
“Maybe for a little while, but it will come back to you.”
“Then why can’t Aunt Vie remember my name even after I said it over and over?”
Now I looked up like Mama does, even when she’s in the house and sees nothing but ceiling. I searched the sky for words.
“Aunt Vie can’t help it.”
When she skipped-stepped to catch up with me, I slowed, remembering that she was still taking medication from the meningitis. I was so busy trying to get the right answers that I was walking faster than I realized. Her questions were on rapid fire.
“That’s what happens when minds get old?”
“No. It’s a disease.” Didn’t matter if it was hot, I reached out for her hand.
“Like the one that made me sick but it’s in the brain.”
“That’s close,” I said.
“You think the doctors will be able to help her?”
“I hope so, Peaches.”
“Me too,” she said. I squeezed her hand tighter. “We’re going to help her.”
“How?” she said.
“You’ll see soon. Okay.”
She nodded. Then I slowed down even more. Whatever activated in the brain that made a moment turn memorable, I hoped it worked its magic now.
10
COURAGE TO SOAR
Walking into the library, I shook a little bit to help my body adjust to the sudden blast of cold air. The library was small and neat. Unlike the massive three-story Auburn Avenue Library in downtown Atlanta, where posters of authors like Virginia Hamilton, Ernest Gaines, James Baldwin, and Toni Morrison graced the walls, I didn’t see any authors at all. Instead of writers, there were rows of black-and-white pictures of Bogalusa when it was the “Magic City” and a lot of posters of people at the Washington Parish Free Fair that hung on the brick walls. On the side of a few bookcases were posters of The Cat in the Hat and The Classic Tales of Brer Rabbit, which Grandma Sugar said shouldn’t be stories for children at all. The ceiling lights were domino-shaped tiles, some flickered and a few were dim. Before we got situated, I checked for a text from Markie. Nothing. That was disappointing but I could still make the most out of my time here.
“Let me know if I can help you find anything,” the librarian said and tucked a flowing strand of reddish hair behind her ear.
“Thank you,” I said.
There was a Kiddie Corner that Peaches beelined to, forgetting about the computers. I followed. Hanging above the circular tables were gigantic, tissue-paper bees, butterflies, and ladybugs. Peaches sat at a table loaded with books and dove in.
“What’s our rule?”
“Don’t even think about leaving this table until you come back, Jack.”
On “Jack” we gave each other a high five.
“I’m going to look around.” Before I could leave, a little girl with jawbreaker-sized pink hair knockers sat down across from Peaches. They started chatting as I eased away to the circulation desk.
“Can I help you?” The librarian tucked her hair again, revealing dangling, red-eyed frog-shaped earrings. Then there were three frog tattoo
s that formed a bracelet around her slim wrists.
“Is this the sign-in sheet for the computer?” I asked.
“Yes. There is a thirty-minute time limit. We can extend it if no one is waiting. And please use headphones for any audio.”
There were two computers available, so I signed my name. Peaches was still directly in my line of sight.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, what’s the best way to… to help someone find someone?”
“Is that person missing?” Her voice rose in alarm.
“No… well, not really. What if someone was adopted and wanted to find their birth mom?”
“Okay, that’s a bit different.” She placed her frogged wrist on her chest. “Whew. You scared me. There is a section on adoption. That’s a good place to start. It’s not an easy process, though.” The way her voice singsonged, I knew she thought it was me. “How long are you visiting for?”
I told her the summer as she tapped away on her computer. She nodded and then wrote down a few section numbers on a piece of scrap paper. “Most of these are back in that right-hand corner. I’m here to help if you need me.”
“Thanks,” I said and headed for the open computer. Knowing that a line could form at any moment, I got straight to it: how to find your birth mother.
Social Media
Adoption Registries
DNA Registries
Go through the Court System
Hire a Private Investigator or an Adoption Detective
Markie’s situation wasn’t really an “adoption” but I didn’t know what else to call it. I didn’t even want to know what would come up if I typed in “how to find a mother who abandoned you.” So I didn’t. Of all the steps, the one that I thought was the most helpful was “hire a private investigator.” Then I scanned to the cost, “$50–$150 an hour on average.” What if I helped Markie buy and sell more peanuts? Even if we could get one to work for an hour, that could help. Before I got excited, I decided to verify something that I thought I remembered from one of those TV court shows.
I opened another tab and typed, “How old do you have to be to hire a private investigator?” I hoped against hope that I wouldn’t see what was in front of me: eighteen unless you’re an emancipated minor. Emancipated meant “free.” I knew I wasn’t in that group, and even though it may have seemed like it, neither was Markie.
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