Blooming at the Texas Sunrise Motel

by Kimberly Willis Holt

  Roy tucks his thumbs under his armpits and with a twang announces, “Ma’am, these here vittles are rib-sticking worthy.”

  “They’re delicious,” Arlo says.

  “Yes,” says Violet.

  Horace wipes his mouth with the napkin. “I’ve had my mouth so full with this fine-tasting meal, I didn’t say what I should have right off. Great job, Stevie.”

  Mercedes is quiet, and everyone’s focused on her. When she seems to realize it, she says, “Good, Stevie. Maybe next time you can make it with verde sauce?”

  “Sure. Can you can show me how?”

  “I don’t know how. But my mother could show you.”

  Horace tells us about the time he ate enchiladas near the border. “No telling what was in them, but they were the best I’d ever had. Almost as good as these.”

  “Probably pigs’ feet.” Mercedes says it seriously, and Horace looks horrified until he realizes she’s teasing.

  We crack up.

  Everyone makes me feel great about the enchiladas, but I could try cooking these a million times and they’d never taste as good as Mom’s.

  * * *

  BACK AT VIOLET’S, I change into my nightgown and decide to join her in the parlor to watch Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, even though I don’t want to. While Violet swoons at the dance numbers, I think about today. It seemed almost perfect. It would have been perfect if Mom and Dad had been there. And even Winston. After the movie, I open Mom’s book and hurry to the third picture. It’s an out-of-focus shot of a boy mowing the lawn. The boy reminds me of Roy—his build, the light hair—but it’s blurry. He could be anyone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  IT’S MONDAY, the third day of the long weekend. And the day Winston will return. Violet and I rise early and head to the motel. The sun is hidden but casting a golden smudge between the branches along the street. Something about it makes me think of a song Dad liked, sung by Johnny Cash, “Sunday Morning Coming Down.”

  “Did you eat breakfast?” Violet asks in the car.

  “I’ll grab a Pop-Tart at the apartment.”

  But once we’re there, I don’t. Time to water the garden. Looking back at the hotel, I see Horace smoking a cigarette. He drops the butt and rolls over it with his wheelchair. Then he heads over my way. “Need help?” he asks when he notices me dragging the hose.

  I almost say, “No, thanks,” but then I figure Horace can’t always make that offer. So I give him the hose. The wheelchair is in the grass and I hope the ground isn’t too moist. I don’t want him to get stuck.

  I turn the hose to a light mist, and Horace aims at the fountain grass. The sun has drifted high enough, and I can see that some weeds and grass blades have already broken ground. I squat and pull them out with gentle tugs.

  “Love this time of day,” he says, “when the sky shows both the moon and the sun. But I don’t see the moon today.”

  “The moon must have run away with the North Star,” I say. My mom always said that on mornings like this. Sometimes we’d hear a coyote howl. Dad would joke that it was Angelina Cruz.

  “The moon must be in love,” Horace says. “Reminds me of me.”

  “How did you and Ida meet?”

  “At the hospital. I went to the war with two legs. Came back with none.”

  I feel awkward but resist saying sorry. I wonder which war, but I’m too embarrassed to ask. The silence between us feels heavy. Then I ask, “Ida was at the hospital?”

  “Yep. She had a bad case of pneumonia. I was there getting physical therapy. She was on the upswing and had started exploring the hospital. Ida has a lot of energy. She was restless and took to wandering the floors. I was mad as a stirred hornet’s nest. Bitter at what life had dealt me—my family, the government. Anything and everything made me sour. The physical therapist really made me want to spit fire. He was trying to get me to use my arms to cross the room on the parallel bars. I was cussing up a storm. He told me to take a break and cool off. He meant my attitude. Just then I looked across the room and saw this pretty little thing in yellow. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “Well, I didn’t. Until that moment. I could see Ida’s blue eyes watching me. Somehow I got a surge of strength I’d never felt and my arms walked my legless body across the room. It was a miracle.” Horace flexes and points at his right biceps. “That’s what love can do for you.”

  “Mr. Universe would be jealous,” I tease.

  Horace laughs. “Well, they used to be flimsy as chicken wings. They would have been after I left physical therapy, but Winston let Arlo attach some bars in our apartment. I appreciate that. Winston didn’t have to do that. Didn’t charge me a dime.”

  “Was it love at first sight for Ida?”

  “Well, her mother said it wasn’t.”

  I laugh.

  “Those days, her mother talked for her. I swear that woman is the reason Ida can’t speak that well. But I make her talk to me directly. I understand her just fine.”

  Then I ask, “Her mother didn’t like you?”

  Horace turns the hose away from the garden. “You’re a smart kid. Crazy woman, always batting at imaginary flies. I guess it was a nervous tic or something. Nope, she still curses the day I was born. If it were up to her, I’d have never gotten past the front door. But Ida pitched a fit until her mother agreed to let me visit.

  “I hired a van service to take us to the movies for our fifth date. It was the only way I could ditch her mom. The day the van pulled up, her mom grabbed her purse like she was going to chaperone. The van driver refused to let her onboard. Told her it was against the rules for able-bodied people to bum a ride. She got off in a huff and told me I’d better have Ida back before dark.

  “Here’s the thing. She could have gone, but I’d filled the van driver in on the witch. We became quick friends. He was more than happy to oblige. And I paid him a hundred dollars to drive us to a chapel, where we got married.”

  “You eloped?”

  “You bet. Her mother hasn’t forgiven me yet, but she writes to Ida and I write her back. Ida tells me what to say. I never write what I want to write. And I never include my name. Sometimes I feel guilty about messing up their relationship, but Ida tells me she’s happy. And I choose to believe her. You ever been to Pensacola?”

  “No.”

  “Prettiest beaches. Whitest sand. I went once when I was in the military. The navy has a big base there.”

  Orange spills across the sky, first a mere line, but it grows quickly.

  “I’ve gotta get that woman to Florida. She deserves a honeymoon at the beach.”

  Water begins to puddle around us, and I think about how I wish I could drive. How if I could, I’d drive them to Pensacola with a big sign posted on the rear windshield that reads FLORIDA OR BUST!

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  VIOLET IS BUSY tidying up the office, getting ready for Winston’s return.

  Roy hangs out with me in the garden. We stare at the plants like we’re hoping to catch something growing. But around one o’clock, Arlo takes him to Skate Land. He’s on the End-of-School Party committee, and they’re meeting for the final time.

  When Arlo comes back, he joins me in the garden. “You mind if I plant tomatoes? We could enlarge the bed to the west and plant them along the side.”

  I can’t help but smile. Mom mixed tomatoes and herbs with flowers in our hodgepodge potager.

  “Are tomatoes funny or just the idea of me growing them?” asks Arlo.

  “My mom loved tomatoes the way some people love ice cream.”

  “I remember.”

  “You knew Mom?”

  “Mmm hmm.” Arlo clears his throat. His face turns scarlet. “We went to school together. Before she started taking classes with Mrs. Crump.”

  Then he adds, “I had Roy’s job and my dad was the maintenance guy. I guess you could say working for Winston is our family business. The first time he fired me
was back then.”

  “Really?”

  “I kept your mom out too late.”

  “You dated her?”

  Arlo stares at the highway. “Oh, I guess some people call it that. We spent time together, grew up together.”

  Sometimes Mom teased Dad about how she should have run away with that sandy-haired boy with green eyes. It never occurred to me that the boy was real. Arlo’s eyes are green, but his hair is brown with specks of gray. Arlo is the boy in Mom’s picture.

  “We weren’t meant for each other,” Arlo says as if he’s reading my mind.

  “You knew my dad?”

  “Your dad came to town and your mom only had eyes for him.”

  “Why did he come here? Was it to work?”

  “Nope. He was just passing through. I think he was going to stay one night, but he caught sight of your mom and he stayed a while.”

  “How long?”

  Arlo studies me. “Your parents never told you any of this?”

  I shake my head slightly, embarrassed to admit they didn’t.

  “I don’t remember, Stevie. I’d better go get that shovel.”

  Arlo doesn’t want to tell me either.

  “You’ll need to have some support cages,” I say, then add, “I’m sorry. You probably knew that.”

  He turns. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t. But I do now.”

  I hope I don’t sound like a know-it-all. I have a lot to learn about gardening.

  Arlo walks a few steps back. “Stevie, I know it must be hard to lose your mom. I miss her too. I miss her friendship.”

  “What happened to Roy’s mom?” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, especially when Arlo winces.

  “She realized she wasn’t the mothering type.”

  Arlo doesn’t explain, and I don’t ask what he means. There are some things I may never know about my parents, but this I do know: if they’d had the choice, they would never have left me.

  Arlo squats and picks up some soil. “How do you reckon they gather all that worm poop?” He grins up at me, then adds, “Something you might want to know, Stevie. Your mother’s garden was exactly where yours is.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I’M FILLING THE BIRDBATH in the garden when Winston turns into the parking lot. He drives slowly, stretching his neck in my direction. I’ve been waiting for this moment. My heartbeat picks up speed. I raise my hand to wave, but he doesn’t wave back.

  Winston parks the van, and it jerks back and forth before stopping. He hops out. The way he walks toward me with such purpose, I can tell Arlo predicted right. Winston is not happy about this surprise.

  His lips are pulled tight into a frown. Then he asks, “What on earth possessed you to do this?”

  “I thought if you just saw how much better it looks…”

  “Better? Do you know how much work you just caused me?”

  I examine our work. Until this moment, I could see the morning glory vines, the mammoth sunflowers, and pink roses in full bloom. Now I realize it was a garden in my mind. A dream. I’ve only planted seeds and puny perennials. Even the herbs and marigolds look silly.

  “I’m sorry. I just hoped…” My voice is small.

  I stand there with the hose dripping water onto my shoes.

  Arlo must have seen Winston from his apartment, because he’s heading toward us. “Now hold on, Winston. She wasn’t the only one who did this.”

  Winston scowls at Arlo. “You? You were involved in this?”

  “Yes.” Arlo folds his arms in front of his chest. “Yes, I was.”

  “I’m responsible,” I tell Winston. “I got him to help. Blame me.”

  Arlo holds his palm up to me. “Stevie, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Then he looks at Winston. “I could have said no, but I thought she made a lot of sense. It’s not the garden, is it, Winston?”

  “What are you talking about?” Winston asks.

  “Memories,” Arlo says. “That’s what you don’t like. That’s what you can’t face.”

  Winston acts like someone slapped him. His eyes turn on me a second, and then he looks back at Arlo. “If you don’t like the way I run things—”

  “I’m one step ahead of you. We’ll be out in an hour.” Arlo walks away at a quick pace.

  “It’s my fault,” I yell. “Why can’t you see what we did was good?”

  Winston stares at me. This time, I look away.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  HORACE AND IDA are blocking the entrance to the office. They hold signs that read NEGLECTFUL OWNER and CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS. Ida’s sign is attached to the back of her wheelchair and flies like a flag above her. The washing machine is broken again. I feel like holding up a sign that reads GARDEN HATER. Arlo and Roy are gone. They packed suitcases and headed out in their truck. Most of their stuff is still in their apartment, so I guess they’ll come back for it. I wonder if they’re staying at the Holiday Inn down the road. The garden means something different now. Arlo had warned me.

  The customers going in and out of the office seem confused and curious about what’s going on. One couple with matching GRAND CANYON OR BUST T-shirts are very interested in knowing the story. They hang out near the entrance, talking to Horace like they’re in no hurry to see the Grand Canyon.

  The lady smacks her gum and says, “You mean you’ve lived here for eight years and you can’t wash your clothes without the washing machine breaking?”

  When Mercedes finds out Arlo is gone, she crosses the parking lot and disappears into Horace and Ida’s apartment. She appears five minutes later with her own sign: BAD BOSS.

  The Grand Canyon T-shirt lady says, “Someone should call the television station. This should be on the news.” She pulls out her phone from her yellow tote bag. “Do you want me to call them?”

  Her husband, who has been quiet, now mumbles, “They don’t even have cable.”

  A couple of businessmen squeeze around the small group to check out. When they exit the office, one of them says, “Good luck to you on the cause.”

  After Winston realizes Mercedes has joined the group, he comes out from behind the desk and goes outside. He hands Mercedes some money. “Here. Take Horace and Ida’s clothes when you go to the Laundromat to wash the linens.”

  Mercedes frowns at the money. “No, no. I’m not washing Horace’s underwear.”

  Horace lowers his sign. “Gee, thanks.”

  “No offense, Horace,” Mercedes says, “but that’s not in my job description.”

  “Well, it is now,” Winston says.

  Mercedes grabs a marker from her dress pocket and adds MEAN.

  “Mercedes, you do realize I’m your employer?” Winston asks.

  “Not anymore,” she says. “I quit!”

  “You quit over this?”

  Her arms spread wide and she moves them around like a conductor. “All of this. The washing machine that ka-poot, ka-poots. You fired Arlo because of the garden.”

  “I didn’t fire Arlo. He quit.”

  Mercedes is on a roll, though. “Finally something pretty to look at here, at this … this dump! And you want to poof it away. You should be happy. You have everything.”

  Mercedes glances at me when she says that last part. Instead of feeling good, I feel guilty. This seems like my fault—Arlo quitting, Roy quitting, now Mercedes quitting. Horace and Ida wouldn’t be protesting if the garden hadn’t happened.

  Mercedes drops her sign and marches to her car.

  “I’ll wash the linens,” I tell Winston, “and your clothes,” I tell Horace and Ida. But Winston doesn’t hear me. He just watches Mercedes drive off in her old gold Impala.

  * * *

  VIOLET HELPS ME CLEAN the rooms. There are only four. I want to talk about what happened, but all Violet says is “Winston is going to regret this.”

  Horace gives us a small pile of Ida’s clothing but refuses to let us do his. “I’ll wear my dirty underwear. I’m on strike.”


  When we drive over to the laundromat, I wonder why Violet doesn’t offer to wash the clothes at her house. Then I figure she’s not going to make it easy on Winston. Maybe he will cave. What would it take for Violet to quit? She probably doesn’t need the money, but what would she do without her job?

  While we fold the towels, Violet asks, “Would you like to come to my house for dinner?”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. It’s a Spencer Tracy Fried Chicken party.”

  Of course. I like Violet’s old movies. Although two people hardly make a party.

  Today, Winston doesn’t thank me for helping out, but he gives his approval for me to go home with Violet.

  As we exit the office, Violet tells him, “I’ll have her back by ten thirty p.m.”

  Winston doesn’t object.

  When we drive up, I see Arlo’s truck. Roy waits on Violet’s porch, leaning against one of its grand pillars.

  “You found our secret hideaway,” he says. “I guess we’ll have to kill you now.”

  Dinner is fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cole slaw. I’m thinking if Arlo couldn’t fall for Violet’s unique personality, maybe he could fall for her cooking skills. But when I throw away my napkin, I see the KFC cardboard bucket in the trash.

  While we clean the kitchen in time for the beginning of Adam’s Rib, I gather the courage to say the words: “Arlo, I’m sorry about your job.”

  “Stevie, I’ll be fine.” And he says it in a way that makes me believe it.

  Still, I add, “I’ve messed everything up with my big ideas.”

  Arlo shakes his head. “I don’t see it that way. You brought a lot of fun to our little world. For a weekend, it was nice to dream about the Texas Sunrise Motel being something more. And now a Spencer Tracy party.”

  “A Spencer Tracy Fried Chicken party,” Violet corrects.

  Arlo laughs. “Sorry. I’m just messing up everywhere.” Then he winks at Violet the way Roy winks at me sometimes.