Dandelion Summer

by Lisa Wingate

  Did she remember that day?

  Perhaps, on the way, I would stop alongside the road and pick a bouquet of dandelions to remind her.

  Did she have any recollection of me? Had she always been aware that she was one of five children? How long had her posting been on the Internet? Had she found any of the others yet? Gazing out the window, I considered the missing pieces of my life, let myself sink into my own thoughts, questions spooling in my mind. If— no—when we found Clara Culp, would she be able to fill in the blanks about our family secrets? Had she learned more than I had? Less? How had she discovered her identity? Had someone told her, or had she tracked down the details by investigation, as Epiphany and I had?

  “J. Norm.” Epiphany’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I got money with me. Cash. We can use it to get gas and pay for the hotel tonight and stuff. That way Deborah can’t find out where we went by looking at the credit card charges.”

  “You have money.” The grammatical correction was force of habit, and she sneered at it. “And where would you have come up with money?”

  “I brought it from home. I’ve been saving up my pay from Deborah. I had it stashed in the house where Mama and Russ wouldn’t find it.”

  A mild chill blew over my warm mood. “You brought money from home? Why? You know I can afford to pay for anything we need.”

  “I . . . maybe wasn’t . . . going back home, okay?” She fluttered a hand up, then let it slap back to the steering wheel. “I’m not going to that school again, and I’m not going back to that stupid house, and nobody’ll care, anyway. They’ll like it better when I’m not around.”

  “Epiphany . . .” I soothed.

  “It’s true.” She swiped moisture from her eyes and sniffled, her lips trembling in a determined line that told me she’d given this decision some thought, probably quite a bit. “Mama doesn’t want me there. She can’t wait till I’m gone.”

  “I think you’re mistaking your mother’s intentions. Parents don’t always . . .” know how to show their feelings. “They think they’re doing the right things, providing, protecting, guiding, but then they find out that it wasn’t right. It wasn’t enough.” Your children grow up and you discover that while focusing on the work of parenthood, you’ve left all the important ties unbound.

  “She’s embarrassed of me, okay! Her whole family is right up on Greenville Avenue. They own Tuscany Restaurant—the big Italian place with the guys in suits out front. They don’t talk to my mama because of me. She hates me for ruining her life. Her family has a high-dollar restaurant, and we couldn’t even afford to go in there for dinner. Because she got with my daddy. Because she had me. Who wants some little toffee baby in the family, right? It’s better to keep it a secret.”

  What was I to say to that? I had no idea how Epiphany’s mother or her family felt. I could remember the days when something like this, a relationship between the races, a child, would have been a scandal to be hidden away, swept under the rug, kept quiet. Such things were only whispered about behind fingers cupped to contain the spread of sound.

  But here in my car sat Epiphany—strong, clever, beautiful, bold. What family wouldn’t be proud of her? What old man wouldn’t want to hear the word “grandpa” aimed his way? “Have you ever confronted your mother with the question? Asked her about it? Listened to her explanation?”

  She regarded me with the look that Deborah and Roy had employed when I complained that their teenage music sounded like a bad construction job performed by a pack of screaming hyenas. “Uhhh, no. She doesn’t want to talk about it, J. Norm. She never wants to talk about anything. She just wants me to stay out of her way, to quit costing her money and stop taking up space in her house.” Epiphany gesticulated along with the words, and the car drifted onto the shoulder, then back, careening along with the emotions of a sixteen-year-old girl.

  “I doubt she feels that way,” I said, though I wasn’t so certain. What sort of woman moved off with a man and left her child behind to be raised by some teacher from school? I pointed ahead. “Pull off in that roadside park a moment. Let’s stretch our legs and collect our—”

  “I can drive. I’m okay.”

  “Let’s stop anyway. I think I see bluebonnets growing there. Bluebonnets were Annalee’s favorite.”

  For once, Epiphany did as she was told. We pulled off and sat in the car, the scent of bluebonnets wafting in through the window. Her head fell back against the seat and she closed her eyes, her long lashes squeezing tight, pressing out a tear. It trailed slowly down her cheek and dripped onto her T-shirt. “Look, I just want to find my daddy’s family, see what they’re like, okay? You got the chance to come look for your people. Why can’t I?”

  “But I am not a teenager. You can’t go off into the world alone, Epiphany. You can’t blindly take off on a whim, hoping to find them.” The idea was unsettling in so many ways, and I realized that were she to decide to, she could disappear at any moment. I wouldn’t be able to stop her. She was young and nimble, and I was old and slow. She could be gone in the blink of an eye.

  What if, by giving her a way out of Dallas, I’d set something in motion that I couldn’t control?

  “I had you with me. I wasn’t alone,” I reminded her, speaking gently, as you might to a skittish horse that was prone to bolting. “We’re a team, remember? A partnership. One of us can’t just . . . make random decisions and set off without consulting the other.”

  Another tear dripped from beneath her dark lashes and trailed along the velvet skin of her cheek. Letting out a sardonic hiss, she wiped the moisture with a clumsy swipe of her palm. “Since when?”

  “Well, since . . .” When, exactly? When had an arrangement, an unsteady truce based on blackmail and necessity, become something deeper—a friendship, a kinship? At this point in my life, I hadn’t thought myself capable of such a rapid metamorphosis of feeling. I’d imagined myself old and stale, with the stiffness of weathered leather. Stuck in my ways. Not pliable. Yet this child had plied me without even intending to, just by listening to my stories, just by being herself.

  If such a thing were possible with a stranger, with a young woman I’d met such a short time ago, what might be possible with Deborah, my own daughter?

  The question was quickly opened and just as quickly closed. My daughter, who was trying to put me out of my house and warehouse me in some facility for the criminally old and intractable.

  “When we’ve finished in Houston, after we’ve gone home and straightened out this mess involving DeRon and the school, then we’ll find your father’s family.” I offered the option like a hostage negotiator trying to talk a jumper off a cliff. “We’ll go on the lam again, if we have to, but I want you to promise me, Epiphany, that no matter what, you won’t run away by yourself. It’s a dangerous world for a young girl.” I recalled the day of her altercation with DeRon—pictured her scraped, bruised, shaken, her clothes torn. It could have been so much worse. The terrible possibilities in the wider world caused me to shudder. “Promise me, Epiphany.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Promise, or we’re going home now. Right now.” I’d sacrifice the quest to find my family this minute before I would allow myself to become a danger to Epiphany. “We’ll turn the car around, and we’ll go back to Dallas.”

  Her head swiveling in my direction, she wiped her eyes and studied me. “You’re gonna quit when your sister’s, like, eighty miles away? You’re just gonna turn around and go home?” Her chin dipped in punctuation, her hair clinging to the headrest.

  “If it’s a risk to your safety.” I met her gaze, paused because I wanted her to fully focus. “You come first, Epiphany. You. Whether we find my family or not.”

  Her eyes took on light, the realization seeming to dawn slowly. “Grandfather” wasn’t just a camouflage, a pretend mask any longer. It was a word with meaning, a title that carried responsibility and commitment.

  Sighing, she sat up and put her hands on the steering whee
l again. “Well, geez, I don’t want that on my head. I’ll be good.”

  “So you promise, then? I have your word?” If I’d learned anything about Epiphany, it was that she could talk her way through a marble maze and back. “You promise that you will not run away?”

  “I promise.”

  “Repeat the whole thing, please, and I want to see both hands. No crossed fingers.”

  Her lips trembled into a smirk, and she lifted her fingers from the steering wheel, repeating mechanically, “I promise I will not run away.” She blinked back the lingering tears, and the two of us sat collecting ourselves. After a few moments, she brought up a new subject. “We’re gonna have to get on the computer and see if the Culps answered our e-mail. We could also try looking for a home address or phone number for her daughter. We can’t just start tracking down libraries and asking for Amy Culp. They have city libraries all over the place in big towns like Houston, and tomorrow’s Sunday, anyway. They’re probably not open. We’ll have to find a place to stay tonight, too.”

  I contemplated the problem. “Well, fortunately for us, I know a bit about Houston. I spent part of my career at the Johnson Space Center.”

  “Awesome.” Twisting around, she stretched into the backseat and came up with the computer bag. “You want me to look for addresses, or do you want to do it while I drive? As long as we can get cell phone service, we can use the Internet.” She balanced the computer on the console, waiting for me to choose. “I can tell you how to look stuff up.”

  “I think I can manage it,” I told her. “It’s not rocket science.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched upward. “I guess if it was, we’d have it made, since you’re the rocket man.”

  I felt my lightness of spirit returning as she put the car in gear, and I took out the computer and set it on my knees. Epiphany guided me through the process of starting the software and connecting the hardware to the thumb-size Internet transmitter/receiver. When I didn’t take instruction quickly enough, she reached across the console, pointing and trying to type.

  The car swerved lazily onto the shoulder, then back. “Hands on the wheel, eyes on the road,” I reprimanded. If I could be outpaced by a sixteen-year-old computer operator, at least I knew more about driving.

  We continued along while the computer hummed and I studied the screen, taking in the tiny icons and trying to remember exactly which one was for the Internet. For a man who’d been in the consulting world not so long ago, I’d grown surprisingly rusty—proof that, after my heart trouble had led to a doctor’s recommendation that I leave behind the stress of consulting, I’d spent far too much time sulking around the house, watching television and reading old books. Undoubtedly, I hadn’t been much fun for Annalee to live with.

  I selected an icon or two, and within moments I was playing music and I’d managed to take a photo of myself. Another frame opened, revealing a live-action shot of a confused-looking old man peering at the computer, his eyes in a squint. Me, of course.

  Epiphany craned sideways to see. “What are you doing?” She reached for the computer again. I turned it away and scooted into the corner by the door.

  “Hands on the wheel, eyes on the road.” I selected another picture, tapped the receiver pad, and opened yet another frame. I suspected I was recording myself. Or dialing China.

  “Click the little red ‘X’ to close the window,” Epiphany instructed, somewhat less than patiently. “You want me to pull over and do it?”

  “I have it under control.” I leaned even closer to the computer, so that the old man on the screen and I were almost nose-to-nose. “I don’t see an ‘X.’”

  “At the top corner on the window.”

  “There is no ‘X.’ ”

  “There is, too. The top corner on the right. The red ‘X.’ ”

  “There is no ‘X,’ I tell you.”

  She reached over from the driver’s seat, and I pulled the computer away. The car drifted onto the shoulder again.

  “Attend to the driving,” I barked, sounding more like the old Norman than the new kinder, gentler grandpa version.

  Epiphany yanked the steering wheel, swerving and causing the two of us to wobble in our seats like the tines of a tuning fork. “Well, bite my head o . . . Uhhh-oh.” She spotted the oncoming vehicle before I did—a white sedan with the telltale flashing light on top.

  My pulse ratcheted up, and Epiphany drew a quick breath, then held it, her eyes wide, her face slack.

  “What if he saw me swerve off the road? What do I do?” she hissed, her body frozen in place, her head stiff on her neck, as if she were afraid to move.

  I found myself gripping the console on one side and the door on the other. “Just keep driving at the same rate of speed. Not too slow, not too fast.” I noted her foot sliding off the gas pedal. “Don’t brake. It’s a sign of nervousness.”

  “I am nervous.” Her voice quavered, and suddenly she seemed very young, a little girl, all her bluster and bluff gone. “Oh, man, what if we get stopped, J. Norm? What if he knows it’s us? What if there’s an APB out for this car, and—”

  “Just be calm.” My mind sped ahead. Had Deborah continued to pay the insurance bills, now that the car wasn’t being driven? Was there a proof of insurance in my glove box? I didn’t dare look now. I was afraid to know the answer.

  I pictured the two of us being hauled off to the pokey in whatever tiny town was ahead on the horizon. What did they do when they discovered an uninsured driver on the road? Certainly not give him a slap on the wrist and let him drive off to continue his offense.

  “Steady behind the wheel,” I soothed, but the comfort rang hollow. Was it possible that we’d become the subjects of an allpoints bulletin—one of those sad news reports about an addled senior who’d wandered off from his life, confused and disoriented? Be on the lookout for a dark blue Cadillac driven by a man in his seventies. Family members report that J. Norman Alvord suffers from dementia. . . .

  Ahead, the oncoming car swung toward the shoulder, no doubt preparing to U-turn and fall in behind us to make the collar.

  “J. Norm . . .” Epiphany whimpered. “I don’t wanna drive anymore. I wanna get out.”

  “Steady,” I advised. “Just . . .” The cruiser pulled farther off the road, rolling slowly up to . . . a mailbox?

  Epiphany leaned over the steering wheel, her mouth dropping open as we drew close enough to see the driver reaching across the front seat. An instant later, the lettering on the side of the car became visible. Epiphany’s lips moved slowly as she whispered the words, “U.S. Mail . . . J. Norm, that’s the stupid mailman!”

  I caught a breath, and a nervous snort pushed through after it.

  Epiphany sank against her seat. “Don’t even laugh. I think I’m gonna pass out.”

  Another chuckle escaped. I pictured the two of us, white knuckled in the front of the car. “Frightened to death by the mailman. Some team of outlaws we are.”

  “I still think I’m gonna pass out.” Epiphany wiped her forehead with shaking fingers.

  “Let’s find a place to pull off for a bit.” I pointed to the town ahead. “I think a little break is in order.”

  Epiphany nodded, sinking deeper into her seat. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

  We ended up at the Dairy Queen, exiting the car on shaky legs. Once inside, the two of us sagged against the ice-cream counter side by side.

  “Make mine a double,” Epiphany said.

  “This calls for the whole banana split.”

  The woman behind the counter gave us curious looks as she took our order. While she was ringing up the total, a commotion in the parking lot caught Epiphany’s attention. A group of boys in high school baseball uniforms were on their way in, jostling and carrying on with one another as they went. It occurred to me that we’d left the computer in the car. “Go on over by the front glass and watch the car. We left the windows open.”

  Shrugging, Epiphany crossed to the front of the room, sta
nding left of the trash can as the boys bulldozed through in a tangle. They noted her as they passed by, and she surreptitiously watched them, as well. Behind the counter, the clerk hurried to fill my order, calling out to the new customers, “You boys just simmer down and make a line. Marvin’s workin’ on your order.”

  After they were past her, Epiphany hurried back to the counter. She grabbed my arm and leaned close to my ear. “J. Norm, look at their jerseys. Guess where we are.” She didn’t wait for me to actually read the jerseys, but quickly added, “Littlewood. Don’t you remember? That’s the place where the guy moved to after he got run out of Groveland for publishing Mercy White’s book. Mr. Nelson at the soda shop said he bought the newspaper. What if he still lives here? Maybe he could tell us about her—like, whether the things she said were true, and if she said stuff that wasn’t in the book. We should look him up.”

  Epiphany’s quick mind never ceased to amaze me, and like her mind, the rest of her was quick, as well. When the clerk returned with our food, Epiphany wasted no time in asking, “Hey, can you tell me who owns the newspaper here now? My grandpa might know him.”

  The clerk slid our frozen confections across the counter. “Well, small world, isn’t it? Leland Lowenstein runs the newspaper now, if that’s who you were thinking of. His office is down on Main and Second.”

  Epiphany cut a sideways look and arched a brow, undoubtedly thinking the same thing I was thinking. We’d heard that name before.

  “He’s probably at the feed store, hanging out with my dad, though,” one of the high school boys offered. “That’s where he gets most of his news.” A push-and-shove competition broke out in the back of the line, and he turned to yell at a smaller boy who’d bumped into him.

  We quickly secured directions to the newspaper office and the feed store, thanked the clerk, collected our purchases, and hurried toward the door.

  “Feed store, here we come,” Epiphany remarked on the way out. “Good thing I had the idea to stop at the Dairy Queen, huh?” Shoving a bite of ice cream into her mouth, she smiled around the spoon. I opted for a sip of my ice water, rather than pointing out that the Dairy Queen was actually my idea.