Blooming at the Texas Sunrise Motel

by Kimberly Willis Holt

Aunt Teresa’s eyebrows shoot up. “They did? How funny.”

  I’m about to ask why that’s funny when Uncle Lloyd says, “It’s settled, then. Thank you, Stevie.”

  The front door swings open and a guy walks in. “Where’s Momma’s blackberry cobbler?” he asks.

  Tristen is so good-looking, I feel myself blush. If he wasn’t my cousin, I’d have a crush on him. A serious crush.

  He walks over. “So this is Cousin Stevie?” He holds out his hand. I lift mine and he shakes hard. “Tristen Smith, marketing manager extraordinaire of Tanner Nursery.”

  Tristen has his family’s knack for talking too. After he helps himself to a bowl of cobbler and vanilla ice cream, he reports on every moment of his day. He includes details, even changes his voice when he repeats what someone says. Listening to all of them is like watching a show. Like listening to Dad and his dinnertime stories about customers. They came to New Mexico from all over the world, and Dad could imitate every one of their accents.

  That night while we’re in bed, Megan tells me about her plans to be a nurse and how she and Brad will get married when she graduates. She falls asleep in midsentence. It’s kind of funny, because she was speaking with such conviction, then off she goes to dreamland.

  I slip out of bed and part the sheers on the window. Other than the light from an occasional car passing by on the highway, it’s so dark. The moon is only a sliver. “Are you up there, Dad?” I whisper. “How could you keep something so wonderful from me?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  UNCLE LLOYD DOESN’T TELL ME what time to get started, but I figure if he’s like my parents, he goes out at dawn. I set my travel alarm for six a.m. Megan stirs when it goes off, but she keeps on sleeping. By the time I’m dressed, she awakens. “What are you doing up so early?”

  “I told your dad I’d help him today.”

  She stretches her arms above her head. “Oh, Daddy is going to love you.”

  In the kitchen, Aunt Teresa is writing out checks by the light of a small lamp. She looks up at me. “My goodness, baby, I can’t believe you’re up with the chickens. How about some coffee and eggs?”

  Even though I still haven’t acquired a taste for it, I say, “Coffee sounds good.”

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “Please.”

  “Just like your daddy.”

  It seems strange to hear my parents mentioned so naturally in less than twenty-four hours when they were rarely mentioned the whole time I was in Little Esther. I like it.

  Uncle Lloyd comes in and pours himself a cup of coffee. He leans against the kitchen counter, and when he notices me, he says, “Up with the chickens, huh? We’re going to get along just fine. Maybe you’ll rub off on my daughter.”

  But just as he says that, Megan comes into the kitchen, grabs a honeybun out of the pantry, and waves to us as she leaves through the front door. “Bye! See you later!”

  “Study hard, baby!” Uncle Lloyd hollers to her.

  Megan waves again and drives off, the gravel crunching as she moves toward the highway.

  Uncle Lloyd laughs and tells me, “Stevie, that’s the earliest I’ve seen Megan head out to study. You are going to be a good influence on her.”

  Aunt Teresa says, “Ah, Lloyd, she was afraid you were going to put her to work.”

  * * *

  OUTSIDE, I FACE THE ROWS of potted plants. I don’t know what they are, but I can tell there’s grass where it shouldn’t be.

  Uncle Lloyd must notice too. “That grass needs pulling pretty bad out of those gardenias. Do you want to give it a try?”

  “Sure.”

  I squat and begin to pull. Uncle Lloyd brings over a plastic stool. “Here, this will be better for your legs and back. You don’t want to end up a humpback like me with two artificial knees.”

  I pull grass all morning. It’s really hot outside. The air is thick and moist. I’ve never sweated so much in my life. And I’m not really working hard. The grass comes out of the pots with an easy tug. There are three workers on the other side of the field watering and pulling grass too.

  Midmorning, Uncle Lloyd examines my task. “You’re a hard worker, Stevie. Why don’t you kick off and enjoy the rest of the day?”

  “It’s only ten o’clock. I’m enjoying this.”

  “No way will I be responsible for taking away your contentment. I have some small plants that need transplanting into larger pots. Feel up to the chore?”

  “I know how to do that.”

  “A worker with experience. Now how can I beat that?”

  He guides me to an area where there are rows of one-gallon pots of Burford hollies and boxwoods. There’s a potting area where I can stand, and containers of potting mix. I grab a handful and smell its sweet earthy scent. I think of the garden back in Taos and the one I started in Little Esther. The garden is ruined and the farm might as well be. Is there anything left of the life my parents started? I look across the nursery and see workers carrying pots to a truck, where Tristen leans against the bed, talking to his dad. Everyone is working hard. And I am too.

  A few minutes later, I hear, “Want a permanent job?”

  Tristen is grinning down at me. “Daddy says you were out here before the rooster crowed. We appreciate it, but don’t make the rest of us look bad.” He laughs.

  “I didn’t see you this morning.”

  “I get up before the rooster crows too. Daddy and I drink our coffee on the back porch before dawn. We call it our business meeting. Go over the day’s goals. Mostly we shoot the bull. Don’t work too hard, cousin! See you in a few days in Florida. I’ve got a load to drive to Dallas.” He walks away before I can ask him about Florida.

  At lunch, Aunt Teresa comes out to the nursery. “Okay, baby, that’s enough. Time to eat! And then I don’t want you to step in this nursery for the rest of the day. Uncle Lloyd will take advantage of a good situation.”

  After I eat some leftover chicken and salad, I take a long bath. I’m so tired, my bones ache. And it feels good.

  When I get dressed, I write a short letter to Frida apologizing for how wrong I’d been. I address it and ask Aunt Teresa if she will mail it for me when she picks Corbin up from Vacation Bible School.

  She looks down at the envelope. “That’s a pretty name—Frida.”

  That night, Megan tells me how she tried to keep her mind on studying but there was that library boy. “He’s supercute. He must live in the library. Every time I go, he’s there, reading in the architecture section. How am I supposed to stay focused on my studies?”

  “Maybe try the poetry section?”

  “That’s on the other side of the lib—Hey, that was funny, cuz! You’re funny.”

  I smile, not because she said I was funny, but because she called me “cuz.”

  “Daddy says you worked like a dog. Is that true?”

  “I like working with plants.”

  “Really?” She shakes her head. “Well, if you grew up around it…”

  “I did.”

  “That’s right. Did your parents have a nursery?”

  “No, they grew flowers and herbs to sell at a stand on the side of Canyon Road.”

  “Now that sounds romantic.”

  I want to say that’s what ended their lives, but I don’t. And thank goodness Megan changes the subject.

  “Want to know a secret?”

  I nod eagerly.

  “Corbin doesn’t know this, but he’s getting a rabbit for his birthday. We’ll be giving it to him in Florida next week.”

  “Are you going to Florida?”

  “We’re going. That means you too. Momma and Daddy rent a house for a week every summer in Pensacola. It’s a blast. We go skiing and have crab boils, sleep late. I’ll miss Brad, though.”

  “And Library Boy.”

  She sighs. “Oh, yes!” Then she cracks up and I join her.

  Chapter Forty

  ALL WEEK, I help in the nursery. I pull grass, transplant, water, fertil
ize. I love the routine. I love being here. At night I’m too tired to look at Mom’s pictures. I decide to wait until I return to Little Esther.

  There are so many things I want to ask Aunt Teresa about Dad, but I haven’t had a chance yet. The family is so busy, and it’s hard to get a word in during dinner conversations. At night, I think about everyone back at the Texas Sunrise Motel. And I wonder if they think of me too. Does Winston?

  Then, this morning, I reach for the coffeepot and Aunt Teresa slaps her forehead. “Stevie, I forgot to tell you! Your grandfather called the other day.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was driving Corbin to Vacation Bible School and I couldn’t talk long. He said he was checking to see if everything was going okay and if he needed to send you any money.”

  “For a ticket back to Little Esther?”

  “Back to Little Esther? Do you already want to leave?”

  “No,” I say. And I mean it. I think. Still, I wish she had told me.

  Aunt Teresa says, “Winston meant spending money. I told him we had you now and you didn’t need a dime.”

  I stir the sugar into the coffee and watch it dissolve.

  “You don’t have to keep working,” she says. “Although your uncle Lloyd thinks you hung the moon.”

  “I love working in the nursery.” Here’s my chance. I ask her, “Did Dad work in the nursery?”

  “Growing up he did.”

  “Did he like it?”

  Aunt Teresa looks down at her coffee cup, gets up, and dumps the remainder in the sink. She turns the faucet on and lets the water run into the cup. “No, he didn’t like it much. Excuse me, baby, but I’ve got to get Corbin up and ready for Vacation Bible School.”

  When she leaves the room, I realize she’s forgotten to turn the faucet off.

  On Friday, I meet Brad. He comes over for dinner and to say good-bye to Megan, since they will be apart for “a whole seven days.” He’s different from what I thought he’d be. He’s quiet, which I guess I should have guessed. How could he get in a word? When he does speak, he uses poor grammar. Still, Megan is crazy about him—I can tell. She teases him about the way he pronounces some words. He takes it well, but I wonder if he’s embarrassed.

  Later Megan tells me, “I know Brad isn’t that smart, but he’s sweet.”

  In bed, I think about what she says and decide I like Brad too. Then, for some reason, I fall asleep thinking about Roy.

  Chapter Forty-One

  ON THE WAY TO PENSACOLA, we play car karaoke, pretending the pen we pass around is a microphone. Megan begins singing a Lady Gaga song. And she’s good.

  When it’s Corbin’s turn, he says, “Pass.”

  “How about you, Stevie?” Megan says.

  “Double pass,” I say, although secretly I want to sing.

  “Oh, come on,” Megan says. “I’ll bet you have a good voice. You share my gene pool.”

  “I guess you’ll never know,” I say.

  Uncle Lloyd glances in the rearview mirror with a curled lip. “I believe that means it’s my turn,” he says with a soft drawl.

  Megan groans. “Oh, brother. Elvis has entered the building.”

  Uncle Lloyd begins. “Well, it’s one for the money, two for the show…”

  We all crack up.

  The game lasts a while, and then there is another round of chatter from the four. Even though they’re funny to listen to, I’m hungry for a little slice of quiet. My thoughts drift and I wonder what movies Violet is watching this weekend. Maybe Roy is fishing with Arlo.

  “Hel-lo? Earth to Stevie?” Megan waves her hand in front of my eyes.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Nothing that important,” says Megan. “You were a million miles away. Were you thinking of some boy?”

  My face burns. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Aunt Teresa says. “We’re the ones who should be sorry. We could talk paint off a Cadillac.” She points to a tall building. “Look, that’s the Louisiana capitol.”

  “We’re in Baton Rouge?”

  Aunt Teresa taps Uncle Lloyd on the shoulder. “Take a swing through downtown so Stevie can see.”

  “Can we stop at Coffee Call?” Corbin asks.

  “Good idea, Corbin. Love me some beignets,” Uncle Lloyd says. “We’ll do that after we drive through downtown.”

  The whole time that they talk about the capitol and the Governor’s Mansion, I’m looking for one thing: a giant on a unicycle. But of course I don’t see him.

  After the short tour, we head to Coffee Call. Megan starts to explain that a beignet is a deep-fried square doughnut with powdered sugar, but I interrupt her to tell her I already know. “My dad made them sometimes.”

  Inside Coffee Call, the sugary aroma filling the room pulls at my heart. I remember those special mornings Dad made the beignets: my birthday, Mom’s, Christmas morning.

  Jazz plays from the café sound system, and I think of Winston. We make our way to the back of the line and grab blue trays and mugs. Closer to the register are dispensers filled with café au lait and hot cocoa. I choose hot cocoa today. Uncle Lloyd asks for three orders of beignets.

  At the table, Aunt Teresa tells me how when they were kids it was a big treat to come to Baton Rouge. “We’d always stop at Coffee Call, and Momma would let us eat as many beignets as we wanted. Oh, Lord, my belly would ache until the next day.”

  “Can I have as many as I want?” Corbin asks.

  “No, sir,” Aunt Teresa says.

  “Why? You got to have as many as you wanted.”

  Aunt Teresa sighs. “Because my momma was a foolish person who didn’t think there were any rules.”

  I realize she’s talking about Dad’s mom too. My grandmother, another person I’ll never know.

  “When did she die?” I ask.

  Aunt Teresa runs her finger around the rim of her mug. “When I was in high school and your dad was about twelve. Oh, it killed him when she died. Your dad was especially close to her. They were a lot alike. And when she died, Daddy was hard on him.”

  Uncle Lloyd gives Aunt Teresa a stern look.

  “Oh, don’t listen to me,” she says. “I talk too much.”

  But I don’t want her to shut up. I want to hear everything she knows about Dad.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  PENSACOLA MAKES ME THINK of the beach dream I’ve remembered my entire life. Maybe because of seeing the beach, I’m remembering more details in the dream—the white sand, the seagulls, the huge waves splashing the shore. Driving to the cabin, I hear the guitar song playing in my ear. It’s so clear now, a familiar tune, but I don’t remember the words. I don’t realize I’m humming it until Aunt Teresa announces, “‘Blackbird.’ I love that Beatles song.”

  Somehow I know she’s right, although it’s only now that I do remember the song being a part of the dream. I remember the man holding my hand as we walked near the edge of the ocean. He pointed at my small footprints next to his big ones and said, “Watch the waves!” The ocean spilled over and made little pools in our prints, then the next time it washed over them, they disappeared. Now I wonder if maybe it really happened. Maybe we were here or at another beach. Especially since Aunt Teresa loved that song. Maybe Dad did too.

  Corbin is talking about the hermit crabs he plans to find on the beach, and Megan is telling me about a family who rented the cabin next door to them last year. “They had the cutest son.”

  We pass some houses on tall stilts. At the end of the road, we pull into a driveway and park under the carport below the cabin.

  “Home away from home,” Aunt Teresa says. “Everyone grab something. The beach has to wait until we are unpacked.”

  We climb the stairs to a door with a temporary sign that reads THE CRAZY SMITHS.

  They don’t seem to notice, but I giggle when I see it.

  “Oh,” Megan says, “the sign?”

  I nod.

&
nbsp; “We’ve been coming here the same time every summer since I was a baby. The landlady knows us well.”

  The front door takes a good shove to open. Uncle Lloyd says that’s because the wood expands and shrinks, depending on the weather.

  We walk straight into a spacious living area with two couches and chairs. A long dining room table is at one end in front of an ocean-view window. The cabin smells salty and a little like fried fish. The other rooms are cozy, including the kitchen, where a small table for two sits against the wall.

  Megan and I share a room again. Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Teresa take the other room. The guys will crash on the sleeper sofas.

  “Tristen will be here in a few days,” Aunt Teresa says. “In time for your magic show, Corbin.”

  “My birthday magic show,” Corbin says.

  “It’s your birthday?” Megan has a fake surprised expression. “Really? I almost forgot.”

  Corbin’s shoulders drop. “You almost forgot my birthday?”

  “Never!” she says. “Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t forgotten.”

  “Never!” Corbin says. He digs in his pockets and pulls out the deck. “Pick a card,” he tells me.

  And for the eighteenth time since I got in the car this morning, I do.

  While we unpack, Meagan says, “I know we all spoil Corbin, but he’s special in a lot of ways. Our family wouldn’t be the same without him.”

  “He’s a great little guy,” I tell her.

  After our dinner of chicken-salad sandwiches, Uncle Lloyd takes us on a boat ride. The sun hangs low in the sky, as if it’s ready to dip into the water. When he stops the boat, Corbin leans over and stares. “After I learn to pull a rabbit out of my hat, I’m going to pull out a fish.”

  We all laugh.

  “Corbin,” Uncle Lloyd says, “you are an original.”

  “That can be my magician name. The Great Original Magician, Corbin Smith.”

  I take a big breath. I want to inhale this moment and let it fill me until I almost burst from the happiness of it all.