Forever This Summer

by Leslie C. Youngblood

  I spent the next twenty minutes reading and printing articles that could help Markie. Even though I hadn’t heard my phone ding or vibrate, I checked it for a text from Markie. Nada. But I had to keep moving, so since I didn’t know when I’d be back in the library, it was a good time to look up my other idea. I typed in “talent show, fundraiser,” and the screen populated. A link that read “Talent Show Fundraiser” had a girl my age underneath it. I clicked. I scanned the article to ensure it included a list of steps. I printed out one or two others, too.

  Maybe a full talent show was ambitious, but I had to try. It would beat a car wash or a bake sale. How much could I really raise with those? For a few seconds, I closed my eyes and did what Daddy says he does when he needs a big sale. “Positive envisioning.” He said that “envision” means “cause to be.” I tried it when I wanted my parents back together. It didn’t work. But now that I see them being friends and not arguing as much, maybe it did, just not exactly the way I wanted. It was worth a try: Kids were doing whatever talent they could do and the best they could do it. Parents, friends, teachers, everybody in the community came out to watch them, take pictures, make memories. Aunt Vie was there—even if she couldn’t remember us, we’d spend that night remembering her. And throughout the evening, we asked for donations. We’d raise millions of dollars—I opened my eyes. I was getting carried away. I stood and checked on Peaches. I had my eyes closed just for a few seconds, but it felt much longer. She was fine and still talking to her new friend.

  After I’d done as much research as I could on the computer before others stood waiting, I paid for what I’d printed and went to check out the section on adoption that the librarian had recommended. Then I ambled around in the library, running my hand along the edges of books like piano keys. At the edge of one shelf, I turned the corner and there at the end of a long stack, sitting at a table with about five or six books scattered around, looking like she was up to something, was Markie. I marched over to her.

  “So you couldn’t have responded to my text?”

  She glanced up. “Oh, sorry. That was you. Thought it was Rosella. I was going to check in a bit.”

  “Got it. Why did you leave?”

  “Didn’t want to get you in trouble. Saw your mom in the upstairs window. Didn’t look too pleased.”

  “She’s stressed. That’s all,” which was right in that sweet spot between truth and a fib.

  “Courage to Soar,” I said aloud, anything to change the subject. “Simone Biles. That’s a good book.”

  She pulled her backpack closer to her. “Have you read it?”

  “No. Just heard good things ’bout it. You’re not even a little surprised to see me.” I grabbed a seat.

  “Hmm, Atlanta’s population is close to five hundred thousand. Bogalusa’s is a little under twelve thousand. So not really.”

  “Oh, you’ve been looking up Atlanta, huh?”

  “Gotta keep my options open.”

  “You were in the library before me. Who’s the summer bookworm now?”

  “I’m on a mission. It’s different.”

  “What’s up with Simone Biles?” I said.

  Markie started stacking her books. “She was adopted, and I wanted to learn more about her story. But it was by her grandparents. And I, obviously, have none of those around here.”

  “I’m researching ways to find your mama.” I put my notebook on the table.

  “And what’s that gonna do?”

  “It’s to record information.”

  “That’s what this is for,” she said and held up her phone.

  “I like writing stuff down. Anyway, how is where you live now? Doesn’t seem like it’s the greatest.”

  “Decent. Temporary, like the others. Nobody wants me forever,” she said.

  “That’s not true. Aunt—”

  “Don’t mention her. I meant nobody since her. I didn’t know then what I know now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Not everyone finds a forever home. I bet anyone would take you in a heartbeat.”

  “Who knows?” I didn’t want to go there with her again.

  “I’m just hyping myself up with these books. Can’t wow them with cuteness, like you. But you’d never be in foster care. If both your parents and your stepparents dropped dead, I bet you got a handful of people who’d fight to take custody.”

  “Maybe,” I whispered ’cause just the thought of it nearly frightened me speechless.

  “Well, thank you for not saying ‘no.’ That’s, at least, a little bit of honesty. Keep it up, you might be on your way to knowing just how good you got it.”

  “It’s not that I don’t know that. But you make everything in my world seem like a dream and it’s not.”

  “I’ll trade with you any day.”

  I didn’t know if I was supposed to say how I would change with her. Nikki and I say it to each other all the time. But I couldn’t with Markie. And I think she knew that. When she grabbed How to Win Friends and Influence People, I said, “My daddy’s read that one.”

  “Not for the same reasons I gave it a shot, I bet. Waste of time anyway. I’m ancient in the adoption world. Finding my birth mom is some hope.”

  I tapped my pen on my notepad. “Well, let’s get to it. We need to start with the basics.” I stood up, zeroed in on Peaches, who was helping the other girl flip through a picture book, then I sat back down. “Mother’s full name?”

  Markie stared at me. I pressed my pen on my notepad, ready for more of her resistance. Then she said the words so slowly, they almost floated away before I could write them. “Irene Whitlock.”

  “Middle name?”

  “Marie.”

  Then I asked for her “last known place of residence?”

  “Duh, if I knew that, would we be having this discussion?”

  Unlike before, her smart remarks bounced off me. “Bogalusa, Louisiana,” I wrote. “Description?” I said.

  “An older version of me, I guess. But with arms the same length. Taller.”

  “If you’re not going to take this seriously, how is it going to work?”

  “Okay, sorry. But don’t you think I’ve tried the basics? The Google searches, all that? I have my own lead.”

  I tapped my pencil on the page. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Didn’t know if you were really serious until now.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Okay, Aunt Vie’s best friend lives on the outskirts of Bogalusa. Sounds far, but it’s only about three to four miles from here when you know the right way. If there was anyone Aunt Vie would talk to about my mama, it was Ms. Hannah.”

  That’s who Aunt Vie said her sisters were keeping away from her. “They were really close,” I said.

  “Yeah, I’ve been out there with Aunt Vie.”

  “Aunt Essie doesn’t like her much?” I knew the answer to that but just wanted to hear what Markie had to say.

  “Neither does your grandma,” Markie said.

  “Why?” Aunt Vie’s words about them never liking Ms. Hannah pierced me.

  “Could be because she’s mixed. The white side of her family is known to have been pretty mean to Black people and some even belong to organizations that hurt them.”

  I shivered but caught myself before Markie noticed. I remembered what Tangie and I’d read.

  “Like the KKK,” I said.

  “Maybe, back then. Aunt Vie told me that Ms. Hannah had no say so in choosing her family. And she didn’t love them, she loved her.”

  “We have to get to her.”

  Markie leaned closer to me. “You’re down with going today?”

  I tried to calculate how long three miles would be. I pictured the track at Sweet Apple. When we walked around it four times, that was a mile.

  “Yep,” I said, not wanting her to know I was concerned about the distance.

  Markie glanced toward the circulation desk and eased books toward her book bag. It was like we were back at Peanut Man’s. As much
as I tried to fight it, something told me that I was only beginning to figure out why Mama wanted me to stay away from her. “Hey, did you check those out already? I’m not about to look away while you steal books from the library. These aren’t peanuts. You’d be taking books away from other kids who need them.”

  “Put a sock in it, Phillis Wheatley. These are already checked out.”

  “I hope so,” I said, trying not to imagine a scene when the security buzzer went off.

  I let that go for now and thought about the distance to Ms. Hannah’s. If four times around the track was a mile, then twelve times would be three miles. And it may be more than that. I imagined stretching out the track twelve times there and then back. One thing I knew for sure: I’d never get permission to go without an adult.

  “How long would it take to walk that far?”

  “Forever. But I have a plan for that,” Markie said.

  I soaked in her confidence. That reminded me of how I’d bathed in Nikki’s confidence and did a few seconds of envisioning before the last cheerleading tryouts—I still got cut. Not a good sign. I pushed all of that to the back of my mind.

  “Let’s get Peaches and go.”

  “She can’t come with us. We need to take her home. She’d be like dead weight.”

  “Don’t ever say that about her,” I said and clapped a book shut. My voice was deeper than it had been. Nothing that she’d said up until that moment shook me like those words. It didn’t even matter that I knew what she meant. Just the word “dead” mentioned in connection to Peaches took me back to the hospital. To moments where I never thought she’d come home again.

  “Oh, sorry. The meningitis. Didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yeah, okay. It is too far to take her, though. I’ll figure something out.”

  She twisted her mouth to one side. “We can forget it if you want.”

  I used my lead attorney voice. “Not an option. We’re going to talk to Ms. Hannah.”

  Markie went up to the desk and checked out another book while I gathered up Peaches. Before I could even get a word out, she shouted, “I’m not ready to go!”

  “Ssssh,” I said. She buried her face in the book, her bush of hair round above it like a cottontail.

  I slowly lifted her head until her face mooned over the book.

  Peaches closed it but didn’t move.

  “Why can’t I stay here with my new friend while you go with your new friend?”

  “You know why. A little girl can get snatched anywhere. Even in safe places like the library. We always have to be extra careful.”

  Markie walked over and hiked her book bag up on her shoulder. “Ready?”

  I guided Peaches and her folded arms to the door.

  “Come back and soon,” the librarian said and waved as we headed out.

  Markie walked a few steps behind us.

  “Watermelon slices, fifty cents,” the boy who was on the back of the truck bed called.

  “You want a slice, Peaches?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I want to go back to the library.”

  I grabbed for her hand, and she yanked it away. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she didn’t resist.

  After a few minutes, we were on Fifth Street and Aunt Vie’s house was in sight, and Peaches stopped walking. I thought it was because she was tired. Even with her medications, she wasn’t back to one hundred percent.

  I kneeled on the cracked sidewalk. From the house across from us, what sounded like The Price Is Right show blared. I reached into my purse and pulled out all the change I had and held sixty-five cents in front of her. I expected Peaches to snatch it.

  “Not moving. You’re trying to bribe me.”

  I reached back in my purse and grabbed a dollar. She eyed it. “Just go in the house and tell Mama you’re tired. Rest a little bit and when I come back, it’ll just be you and me for the rest of the day. We’ll play whatever you like, Beauty Shop”—Peaches was the beautician and I was a last-minute customer who needed an elaborate style—“Sorry!, Go Fish, whatever.”

  “Why can’t we play now?” Peaches sulked. “It’s because of her.” She turned back and squinted her eyes in Markie’s direction like she was a sliver of sun. And pointed like she didn’t even know it was rude.

  “You know better than to point like that,” I said and gently pushed her hand down. “Listen, I don’t have time to explain. Are you going to do this favor for me?”

  “If she wasn’t here, you wouldn’t leave me. I don’t like her. When we have a new baby brother or sister one day, I’m not gonna dump it to be with somebody older, especially a meanie. I’m gonna be a better big sister than you.”

  That stung. “C’mon, Peaches. Just take the dollar and let’s go. I said I’d be back soon and it’ll just be you and me.”

  She crumbled up the dollar in her fist and did a drum major march right past me.

  When we got to Aunt Vie’s gate, I said, “Go in and remember to tell Mama it was your idea. That you were tired.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she said and had shifted gears to a flower-girl pace, stuffing the dollar in her pocket. I was just lucky no one was on the porch or looking down from the window. As soon as Peaches disappeared inside the house, I second-guessed my decision. If Mama didn’t allow me to see Markie anymore, everything would be kaput. Even if Mama didn’t feel it, something told me that Aunt Vie would love that Markie and I were connecting. I know that the things Aunt Vie told Markie are the things she would have said to me. The Alzheimer’s can’t steal those things. Maybe I felt this way about Markie and Aunt Vie, but Mama could squash it all.

  I swallowed hard and caught up with Markie. Since Mama wasn’t a fan of hers, I’d better make this time count.

  11

  TROUBLE

  We were passing McClurie Park when the smell of popcorn wafted around. A few kids sat in the yard of a house, watching a projection-screen TV that had been set up on the porch. Even though I couldn’t see the screen clearly, I’d recognized Princess Tiana’s voice. Close to a window was an electrical cord running to the red popcorn maker next to her. Sorta like the one Daddy had in his customers’ waiting room. I tucked that idea away for when we got back home. Peaches would love it.

  “You’re gonna need some wheels. Wanna make it back before it gets dark, right?” Markie said, paying no attention to the outdoor theater.

  “Definitely. I need wheels. But I don’t have enough to buy one from the Jamaican guy,” I said. I remember her saying to bring money when I was with her, that’s why I had ten singles. Eight after I paid for the copies and bribed Peaches.

  “No worries.”

  After we cut down that side street off Columbia, a few minutes later, we arrived at the baby-stroller house. The boy was sitting on the steps transfixed with a video game.

  “What’s up, Scooter. We need a bike.”

  “How long you talking?” He tapped his thumbs like drumsticks on the game. There was an explosion. Then he looked up.

  “Two, three hours, max?”

  “Need it back by six. Got a reservation on it. Let you use it till then for five.” He spread his hand wide like a web.

  “Bet,” she said and went for her pocket.

  “I got it,” I said and opened my purse.

  “That’ll work,” Markie said.

  Scooter went behind the house and returned with a light blue bike with rust speckled along its handlebars like leopard spots. The seat was wrapped in silver duct tape. He wheeled it in front of me and seemed to watch my facial expression for approval. I nodded and handed him the money.

  “That’s the best one you got?” Markie said.

  “Yep. Should have come earlier.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. Now I was thinking about the time. We had to retrieve Markie’s bike, as well as ride to the outskirts of town and back before nightfall.

  “Gonna charge a fee if you late,” he shouted as we turned the corner.

  A few boarded-up
houses sat disconnected from the sun, shaded like black eyes. Bugs and dust lined our way as the livable houses disappeared, and abandoned homes and vacant businesses surrounded us. One home had a mangled dollhouse and a shredded lawn chair inside the gate.

  “So is your bike at your place?” I asked as we rolled the second bike along the bumpy road, even though her house was nowhere in sight.

  Markie slowed next to an auto shop at the corner. The sign was so faded that I could only make out UTO SOP. Cars had weeds sprouting around them as high as the passenger windows. A gutted school bus with its stop sign extended was scrawled with graffiti. And tire hills were home to birds nesting on top. The chain-link fence was high and rusted. Private Property and Do Not Enter signs hung on the gate with twisted wire.

  She asked me if I had my cell and I just nodded, not wanting to show it.

  “Well?” she said. I took my flip phone out of my purse.

  “Don’t laugh. It’s prehistoric.” I’d managed to avoid her seeing it all this time.

  Markie side-eyed me again. “You embarrassed by it?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  She laughed. “Not much embarrasses me. Rosella gave me this phone to make sure she can get in touch with me. But only when she needs something. I’d take one like yours if I didn’t have to deal with the drama,” she said.

  “Got it,” I said, though we both heard the ding. I hadn’t come up with a response to what she said, so I didn’t say a thing.

  “Stay here. I’ll just be in there for five minutes or less.”

  “Your bike’s in there?”

  She nodded. “Are you going to be my lookout or what?”

  “Five minutes. I’m setting my timer.”

  She was able to pull the gate back enough to slip through. “Cool with me,” she said.

  I glanced at my phone to make sure that the timer was working. Two kids sped by on bikes. A dog playfully ran alongside them, his patched fur slick with water.