We walk back to the center of town and find a restaurant that specializes in Southern cooking.
I spot a gas station phone booth, but my stomach is growling. The call has waited this long—it can wait until after lunch.
“You have any money left?” Epp asks as we walk toward the parking lot. It’s hot out now. He wipes sweat off his face with his sleeve.
I check my purse. Five dollars and some change. How can I survive on that amount?
“I have some,” I say. Maybe I can get an order of fries.
The place is bustling. It’s not well lit, but the cool-ness of the dark interior feels good. We’re seated in a booth near the window. Epp tucks his suitcase under the booth. I throw my backpack on the seat next to me and sink down into the soft red vinyl. We’re given two menus and glasses of water. An order of biscuits and gravy is only $3.75. I don’t have to starve after all.
A pretty waitress gives me a nod as she passes our booth and hurries toward two older women at the table next to us. The waitress balances three dishes in her hands.
“Here you are, Alice and Nelle. The usual.”
I turn my attention to Epp and put down my menu. “I’m not going back to her house.”
Epp almost drops his menu. “But we’re in Monroeville.”
“I know. I’m sorry I went berserk on you.” I shrug and fetch up a long sigh. “But I don’t feel so bad anymore. Why is that?”
Epp smiles. “You made it. You completed your pilgrimage.”
“That Wizard of Oz kind of thing?”
“If you want to get philosophical on me, yes.”
I imagine Epp as the lion, the tin man, and the scarecrow rolled into one.
“I thought I was just cracking up from lack of sleep.”
He nods. “That too. Are you going to call your dad after we eat?”
“Yes.” I wince at the thought of facing Dad. I know I deserve whatever punishment he gives. But I hope he understands my reasons for coming here. I hope he doesn’t ground me for the rest of my high school life.
“Well, what have you learned, Dorothy?” Epp lets out a small laugh.
I pick up my book. “Mockingbird led me to my mom. But thinking that Harper Lee is a magical link to Mom is stupid. Her diary means so much more to me than meeting Harper Lee. Why did it take me thirty hours on a bus to realize that?”
“All right!” Epp pounds his fist on the table, startling the two women across from us, then says softly, “You won’t be too disappointed, then, if you don’t meet her?”
I pause for a moment. “I left her a note. That’s good enough.”
Epp seems satisfied. “You can click your heels now.”
“If only it were that easy,” I say.
When the waitress returns, Epp orders the house special, catfish with biscuits and gravy, an order of grits, and a large Coke. I order biscuits and gravy and ask for more water.
“Where are you headed after this?” I ask Epp when the waitress leaves.
“Thought I’d head to Infocom.”
“Really? Are you going to show them your game?”
Epp shrugs. “Maybe when I finish it. I just want to visit their headquarters.”
I nod.
“You going to be okay? With the new mom and going back to high school and all?”
“Probably,” I admit, although I’m not entirely convinced.
Epp brings his hands together. “You know, just because your mom isn’t living in this world doesn’t mean she has to be dead to you. I talk to my dad all the time. I have a feeling he’s listening.”
A waft of cinnamon floats up from the table next to us. “I don’t know. I wish there was another way to tell her how I feel.”
Epp shakes his head and two red curls fly up. “You’ll figure it out, Erin. I’m sure of that.”
“Thanks for all your help, for everything.” I think of how inadequate that sounds after all he’s done for me. Jeff and Bruce could take lessons from him.
He brushes off my thank-you as if it’s unnecessary. “You owe me a copy of your first book.”
I imagine my name on the cover of a novel. “Agreed.”
Epp excuses himself to use the restroom. I stare out the window, wondering how I’m going to explain any of this to Amy. I’m already a nerd at school. What will happen when everyone hears about me running away to meet Harper Lee? And then I didn’t even talk to her.
I open my journal and start writing. I describe the restaurant we’re in and the two women sitting across from us, one, white-haired with a cane resting near her chair, the other, younger, with dark and gray-flecked hair, sipping coffee. I describe the singing sound of spatulas in the kitchen flipping an order of catfish on the grill and the heavenly aroma of freshly baked biscuits.
The two women stare at me. Do I look a mess? Is it obvious I’m a runaway?
The dark-haired woman glances at Mockingbird sitting on the edge of the table, then winks at me. The older woman says, “Good book,” and smiles.
“It is,” I agree. “My favorite.”
They return to their meals. I shift in my seat, then look down again at my journal.
The waitress brings silverwave. “Are you a reporter?” she asks in a friendly voice. Her nametag reads “Sherri.”
“No,” I answer, a bit flustered, but flattered that she would think so. “I’m visiting. Trying to capture the feel of the place while it’s still fresh in my mind.”
“So you’re a writer?” It’s as if she’s trying to figure me out.
“No,” I begin, then stop. What was it that woman on the bus said? I clear my throat and state firmly, “Yes, I’m a writer. I just haven’t been published yet.”
Sherri nods. “Well, you’re in the right place. The literary capital of the South. Your food is just about up.”
I take a sip of water and turn back to my journal. The two women are speaking in low voices. The waitress brings our food, and I inhale the smell before plunging in with my fork. Epp arrives as the women are leaving. They nod at me and smile.
Epp delves into the first of his waiting plates of food. I try a bite of his grits before deciding I’m not suited to the exotic tastes of Southern cooking.
Sherri brings our check and Epp grabs it. “This one is on me,” he says in an unyielding voice. I don’t argue.
“By the way,” Sherri says as she turns to clean off the other table, “Nelle and Alice had a suggestion for you. They overheard you two talking, and said that you should write your mother a letter.” She pauses and wrinkles her nose. “Does that make any sense?”
I’m embarrassed that these women heard me talk about my problems. But a letter actually makes sense. “Thanks,” I say, and smile.
“You’re welcome,” Sherri says, then returns to her chore.
“A letter is a good idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” I tell Epp.
He bobs his head in agreement, his mouth full. We finish eating while I think of where to begin. How do I write to my mom after sixteen years?
“Do you want to call home now?” Epp asks when we finish eating.
“Sure.”
“I’ll go pay the bill,” Epp says.
I look out the window. My first trip south and all I can do is worry. I wish Dad were here now and not angry with me. I crave my boring life again, complete with my brothers and Susan.
I’m not sure if it’s sheer exhaustion or my mind playing tricks on me, but I think I see Dad. I mean really see Dad! At least it looks like Dad pumping gas into a Buick at the station across the street. It can’t be him, of course. That’s not our car. It has Alabama license plates.
The man stares absently at the restaurant. He has the same lanky build and dark hair as Dad. He even stands the same way, shoulders up and slightly forward. He’s staring at me, although he doesn’t see me.
I gasp. It is Dad!
How did he find me?
He looks tired and has a pained expression.
&nbs
p; I’m responsible for that look.
Chapter Twenty-five
Monroeville, Alabama March 15, 1986, 2:00 p.m.
I thought my life was awful,
or maybe I willed it so,
but nothing’s as bad
as we make it out to be.
Like a dull, grayMarch sky,
the sun will, sooner or later,
find a way to peek through.
I find my feet and walk up to the checkout counter, where Epp is complimenting Sherri on the best catfish he’s ever tasted.
“Epp, you won’t believe this,” I whisper. “My dad’s outside. I just saw him at the gas station across the street.”
“You’re kidding!” Epp turns to look.
I shake my head. “What am I going to tell him? That I ran away to find Harper Lee but then when I got here she wasn’t home so I decided I didn’t want to meet her after all? He’ll think I’m nuts.”
Sherri hands Epp his change. “What do you mean?” she says. “Weren’t you talking to Miss Lee and her sister a few minutes ago?”
“Harper Lee, the author?” I ask, as if there’s more than one in town.
“Miss Nelle Harper Lee. We call her Nelle. One and the same. She comes here almost every day with her sister.”
Epp starts laughing and slaps me on the back. “You met her and you didn’t even know it!”
“How stupid of me. No wonder she stared at my book. How could I not have remembered that her name is Nelle!”
“Well, she doesn’t like to be fussed over,” Sherri assures us.
Epp looks outside. “Your dad is going to his car. You’d better hurry, Erin.”
“Oh, right. Good-bye, Sherri, and thanks,” I say as I turn to run. “You’ll come meet my dad, won’t you, Epp?”
He nods. “In a few minutes.”
I run out of the restaurant and across the street.
“Dad. Wait!”
He peers over the top of the car, squinting as if he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Then a look of relief crosses his face. If I ever had doubt of it before, the certainty now shines plainly in his eyes.
“You came,” I say.
Dad throws his arms around me and gathers me close.
“Thank God,” he says in a whisper. My face feels wet. I’m not sure if it’s from my tears or Dad’s or a mixture of the two. He pulls me back. “Are you all right?”
I try to answer, but my voice is trapped inside a sob.
He gently shakes me. “I was so worried, Erin.”
I can only whisper, “I know.”
Then I bury my face in his shirt. I feel the knot in my stomach loosen, then slip away. Right now that seems to be enough.
Chapter Twenty-six
“How did you find me?”
Dad’s eyes narrow. “I had a pretty good idea who you wanted to visit. Then I got a phone call from a woman in Kansas City. She said she was a friend of yours from the bus.”
“Sedushia?”
“I think that was her name. She told me where you were going. So I booked the next flight to Montgomery and rented a car there. I prayed all the way.”
I stare at a dirty candy wrapper on the ground, avoiding Dad’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Dad. I shouldn’t have left like that.”
His voice above me is sad. “I didn’t think things were that bad between us.”
“They aren’t,” I try to reassure him, my eyes filling up again. “I just thought they were. Everything is changing so fast.”
He places his hand on the back of my head. “You don’t have to tell me that. You’re almost all grown up.”
That wasn’t the change I was thinking of, but it doesn’t matter right now. Dad looks past me at Epp, who’s standing so quietly behind me that I didn’t know he was there.
I quickly wipe my eyes. “This is Epp, a friend from the bus. He helped me get here and made sure I called home.”
“Nice to meet you, Epp.” Dad shakes Epp’s hand like they’re old friends. Then Dad turns to me. “Sounds like you got to know several people on your trip.”
“Yeah,” I say, not knowing where to begin.
Dad’s eyes are penetrating. “We need to work out a few things between us.”
I let out a quick breath before I say it. “I want to know more about Mom.”
Dad seems puzzled. He scratches at his chin, now thick with fuzz. “What do you want to know?”
I shift my weight and stand up straight. “Everything.”
Dad rubs his temple as if he’s thinking it over. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. But not until we get some rest.”
The biscuits and gravy are weighing heavy in my stomach. “Sounds good to me.”
“And no more running away,” he adds, looking at Epp.
Dad drives us to the Best Western and pays for two rooms, even though Epp objects.
After Dad calls Susan and Bruce and Jeff, he seems to collapse from fatigue. I watch him sleep, his arm drawn up underneath the pillow. I guess it’s not so bad that Dad’s marrying Susan. It might be nice to have another woman in the house.
I worry he won’t remember.
It’s been sixteen years
since she died.
What if she’s too dim a memory?
I relax on my bed with a list of questions, everything from Mom’s favorite color to her favorite singer.
There’s one question I’m saving till last. It’s the most important question of all: Why didn’t you ever talk about Mom?
Chapter Twenty-seven
March 16, 1986, 10:00 a.m.
I’ve decided that real life
is better than fiction.
Real life is a family that loves me.
We left Monroeville this morning. It could have been Maycomb, the town in Mockingbird, a long time ago, but it’s different now. A Winn-Dixie grocery store sits off Alabama Avenue, and modern businesses line the streets. A stone wall is all that remains of Harper Lee’s old neighborhood.
Dad pulls up in front of the Montgomery bus terminal to let Epp out.
“Thanks, Mr. Garven. Thanks for the room and the ride.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for taking care of my girl.”
Epp shakes Dad’s hand and gets out.
I open the car door and follow.
I reach over and give Epp a hug. “I’ll miss you.” He blushes and hands me a piece of paper filled with names and addresses.
“What’s this?”
“A list of people from the bus. In case you ever want to write to any of us.”
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to write. Do you have my address?”
Epp flashes one of my dad’s business cards that has our home address. He tucks it into his shirt pocket as they announce boarding for his bus.
“Take care, Erin. I’ll send you the pictures I took.” He glances at the waiting bus. “Thanks for letting me share your adventure. You’ve inspired me.”
Then he turns to go. It’s the same as it was with Sedushia, this feeling that I’m leaving someone special.
“I want to hear about the rest of your trip,” I yell at him and he waves back. His flannel shirt blends into the crowd and my stomach tenses.
Dad honks the horn and I get back in.
“Are you going to tell me about your trip?”
I nod and take out my list of questions. “But you’re first,” I say before I lose my nerve.
He pulls the Buick away from the curb and heads out toward the interstate. We pass Pancake Heaven. Two officers sit in the window booth, drinking coffee.
Dad shifts nervously in his seat. I’m tempted to make small talk. But I don’t say anything. I’m anxious to hear about Mom.
Dad clears his throat and stares at the highway. “I never intended it to be this way. It was just too hard to talk about her. I thought it’d get easier with time.” He turns to look at me. “It didn’t.”
His voice is sad. I stare at the list of quest
ions in front of me.
“When I met Susan, things changed. I fell in love again, when I didn’t think I ever would. It doesn’t seem as hard now to talk about your mom.”
We come to a stoplight and Dad reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “So fire away,” he says, and his voice is lighter.
“You sure?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
“Okay.” I settle into my seat. “First question. Why didn’t you tell me Mom wanted to be a writer?”
Dad shrugs. “Kate wanted to write, but she wanted to be a mother even more. She didn’t talk about it much. Our lives were pretty full back then.
I’d just started with the station, we’d bought our first house, and Jeff and Bruce were little. I think she might have gone back to it when you kids got older.“
Dad and I talk all the way to the airport and during the entire flight home. We talk mostly about Mom, and Susan, too. Our mouths ache from all the back and forth.
It’s evening by the time we pull into our driveway. As soon as we walk into the house, Bruce rushes over and hugs me. “Don’t scare us like that again,” he scolds when he lets me go.
“I won’t.” I take a step back, uncomfortable with the attention. “I’m going to put my stuff away.”
Jeff waves as I go to my room. “Welcome back,” he says. “I took care of your cat. She spent most of the time under your bed. I think she missed you.”
He flashes me a weak smile. “Me, too,” he says, and I smile back.
It feels good to be home.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Central High School, St. Paul, Minnesota March 28, 1986, 2:00 p.m.
Susan asked me to be a junior bridesmaid.
I said yes.
I enter the college counselor’s office, a cramped room with half-hidden posters plastered on the walls between shelves that are stacked with books and school paraphernalia. The bell rings for seventh period the day before Easter break. Everyone’s leaving early. It’s been two weeks since my trip south. I haven’t told anyone about my chance encounter with Harper Lee, not even Dad or Amy. They’d act excited if I told them, but I’m not sure they’d understand. I don’t think anyone except Mom could relate to the experience. I’ll never know if Harper Lee ever wrote back to her, but I’d like to think she did. There are a few dusty boxes in the attic I haven’t opened. Dad said one of them is Mom’s.
In Search of Mockingbird Page 10
