Blooming at the Texas Sunrise Motel

by Kimberly Willis Holt

  We drive across town to the Little Esther General Hospital, a one-story building that faces the highway. “Stevie Grace, this is where your life began. Your mom”— he stops and swallows—“your mom woke me up and said, ‘My water broke.’

  “I ran three red lights. I was afraid I would have to deliver you.”

  I’m wondering about Dad when Winston points to the building. “You were born in that corner room. I think. Maybe it was next to the corner room. You only spent a day there. Or maybe two. I don’t remember. I do remember I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why she’d named you Stevie. I had a problem with that until she said your middle name would be Grace.”

  “That was my grandmother’s middle name.”

  He gives me a look that says, How would you know that? Then he answers, “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Did Dad ever try to get in touch with Mom after he left?”

  “Yes, for a while, but I threatened to have him arrested if he tried to contact her again.”

  The air feels thick in the van, and I push the window button so that I can breathe. “Why didn’t you call Dad and tell him about me?”

  Winston shakes his head. “Stevie, when you reach my age, you’ll have had a long time to think about things you’ve done over the years. You’ll twist them every which way in your head, play them out like a bad song you can’t shake.”

  I’m mad at Winston, but I’m also tired of being mad at him. It’s hard to be angry with someone when they admit they’re wrong.

  He pulls out of the parking lot, drives to the square, and stops at the Rise and Shine Diner, not bothering to cut the engine. He stares at the diner for so long, I’m starting to think something’s wrong. Finally he says, “Your mom used to come here with you every Saturday morning and eat pancakes. She fed you your baby food until you got old enough to eat pancakes too.”

  “Did you come also?”

  “No, but I knew she was here because I followed her one day. Eventually, I got up enough nerve to ask if I could join the two of you, and she said, ‘Maybe, but not now.’ For a while, I figured she just wanted to be alone with you. It was your special time together. But I think it was something else.”

  He pauses so long that I think he’s not going to tell me.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I think she came here with your dad.” The way Winston says that makes me think he’s just realizing why himself. He puts the car in reverse and heads away from the square.

  At the H-E-B grocery store, he points to a spot that has a water machine. “There used to be a toy pony there. The kind where you put quarters into a slot and ride. You loved it. You’d hold one arm up and say, ‘Giddyup, horsey, giddyup!’” He laughs a little.

  When we pass the post office, he tells me how he’d let me pick out the postage stamps, and then he takes me by a park and says, “You loved to swing but hated the merry-go-round. It made you sick.”

  That gives me goose bumps, because I once got sick on the Tilt-A-Whirl at a carnival in the park. Ever since then, I can’t stand to spin.

  By the time we reach the motel, Winston points to the garden, now in shambles. “Before you were born, your mom planted a garden there. Even after you were born, she’d get out there and work in it. She’d put a little quilt on the ground and you’d sit there and pull up the clover.”

  “What happened to the garden?”

  “A garden needs someone to take care of it.”

  For a second, I wonder about the farm. What will happen to the garden there? Will the new owners take care of it?

  When Winston parks, he turns to me and says, “Stevie, this was your first home.”

  I stare at the motel office door. The BLOOMIN’ OFFICE sign hangs right by the BE BACK SOON one. To the left is the set of apartment windows—the kitchen, Winston’s room, and mine, the one that Dad had tattooed on his arm, the exit Mom and I failed to escape from.

  He pulls the keys out of the ignition. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved,” I tell him.

  Winston takes down the BE BACK SOON sign.

  “What did I call you?” I ask. An hour ago I didn’t want to know, but somehow the tour of my life has made me curious.

  He lets out a little snort. “Winnie.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  VIOLET TAKES THE MORNING SHIFT so that Winston can drive me to the bus station in Dallas. She gives me a DVD with a pink bow on top—Singin’ in the Rain. “Just in case you need it.”

  “Thanks, Violet.”

  Then she hugs me. “When you return, we’ll have another girls’ beauty night.” She slips back behind the desk.

  Outside, Roy and Arlo show up just as Winston starts the engine. “I have good timing,” Roy says. “I got out of loading the van.”

  “There’s only one suitcase.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t like to break a sweat. How long are you going to be gone?”

  “Not sure,” I say.

  “Have a good time,” Roy says, punching my shoulder hard. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

  “That’s okay,” I say, resisting the urge to rub my new injury.

  Arlo steps forward. “Come on, son. Let’s let her get to Louisiana in one piece. Have a good time, Stevie. I hope it’s everything you want it to be.”

  I get in the van and Winston pulls away from his parking space, the one marked OWNER. We start to pass Horace and Ida, but Horace waves at us to stop. He wheels over to my side. “So you’re off to Louisiana?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ida and I wanted you to know that we’re sure as heck sorry about what happened to the garden. That was a shame. The police should make those hoodlums fix it back.”

  “Thanks, Horace. And, Ida, thank you. I’ll miss you.”

  Horace speaks for Ida. “We’ll miss you too, Stevie.”

  “She has a bus to catch, folks,” Winston says.

  Everyone acts like they’ll never see me again. Maybe they know something I don’t. Maybe Winston is hoping I’ll like my dad’s family so much, I won’t want to return.

  When we near the garden, I look the other way. Winston yields to the oncoming traffic on I-35 and heads north toward Dallas.

  Transplant

  To remove a plant from one area and replant it in another

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  MY BUS PASSES THROUGH the East Texas city limits of Tyler and then of Longview. Pine trees border the highway. I doze awhile and awaken to find myself in Shreveport. The bus stops for new passengers. Then off we go again. I’ve had two seats to myself until this stop. Now a cute guy with a backpack sits next to me.

  “Going to Baton Rouge,” he says. “How about you?”

  “Alexandria,” I tell him.

  “Alex,” he says with a k sound at the end of the word. “They’ll think you’re a local if you call it that.”

  “Good to know,” I say.

  “What are you doing in Alex?”

  “Visiting my aunt.”

  “I’m heading to L.S.U.,” he says, as if I’d asked. “Starting in the summer to get some courses out of the way. Do you go to school?”

  An image of a napping Mrs. Crump comes to mind. I smile.

  “Did I say something funny?”

  I shake my head. “I just finished eighth grade.”

  The guy pulls back and leans toward the window. “You look older.”

  Then he opens a book and reads.

  * * *

  AT THE BUS STATION in Alex, a knot forms in my stomach. I wonder if my aunt really wants to meet me.

  “Have a good time with your aunt,” the guy says as I step away.

  “Good luck at L.S.U.,” I call back to him. I think about Roy and his one dimple.

  I glance around for a woman who might look something like my dad. But I may have to wait awhile.

  Someone taps my shoulder. I swing around and a girl stares at me from head to toe. “You’ve got to be Stevie.”

  She has lo
ng brown hair and her skin is olive.

  “Oh, my gosh!” the girl says. “You look just like me.”

  She’s right. If she didn’t have brown eyes, she could be my twin. There’s the same small nose and mouth.

  “Aren’t you Stevie?” she asks.

  I start to nod, but she’s already hollering, “Momma, she’s here!”

  A lady with short brown hair and dark eyes like my father’s walks over and spreads her arms out wide. “Stevie!”

  She holds me tight and it feels so good. I haven’t been hugged in a very long time. “Stevie, you are beautiful.”

  “Of course,” the girl says. “She looks like me.”

  “But you must have your mother’s eyes, right?” Aunt Teresa says. “Did she have blue eyes?”

  So now I know. They never met Mom or me.

  “I’m Megan. Your cousin. We’re going to have a good time. I can’t wait to introduce you to my friends and Brad. He’s my boyfriend. Well, maybe I’d better not introduce you. You’re too pretty. How old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Good, you’re too young for him. I’m seventeen.”

  Aunt Teresa grabs my bag and says, “Baby, I hope you like to eat, because you are going to have some good eating tonight.”

  “Momma made her famous potato salad,” Megan says.

  We walk to the car as they chirp like two magpies with every step. Aunt Teresa says, “Oh, my goodness. I can’t believe this. My brother’s child is here.”

  They talk so much that it takes me a while to realize we’ve made a few spins around the parking lot.

  Aunt Teresa stops walking. “Oh, Lord, where did I park the car?”

  * * *

  WHEN WE PASS the LEAVING ALEXANDRIA sign, Megan says, “You’d better warn Stevie about the men in our family.”

  “What’s that?” Aunt Teresa asks.

  “They’re crazy, every one of them,” Megan explains.

  “Oh, that,” Aunt Teresa says. “Well, just don’t tell her about the bones buried in the backyard.”

  I must look shocked, because they glance at each other and crack up.

  “So you’re kidding?” I say slowly.

  Megan exchanges looks with her mom and they both shake their heads. “No!”

  “They’re dog bones,” Aunt Teresa explains. “Our family-dog cemetery plot.”

  We’re driving past a sign that says WOODWORTH, and Aunt Teresa brakes so hard, she practically stops.

  “They’ll give you a ticket for sneezing in this place.”

  “Is this where you live?” I ask.

  “No, we’re three minutes away.”

  Then we pass a sign that reads FOREST HILL, NURSERY CAPITAL OF LOUISIANA. We take a left and drive over a railroad track. To the left is a little bank. To the right, a convenience store and the senior citizens center.

  “Too bad you missed the Nursery Festival,” Aunt Teresa says.

  “I’ll bet that’s fun,” I say.

  “Fun? We’d have put you to work,” Megan says.

  “Don’t mind my daughter. She has a warped sense of humor.” Then she adds, “But we’d have put you to work for doggone sure.”

  When she says “for doggone sure,” a prickle runs down my spine. My dad always said that.

  Aunt Teresa slows the vehicle in front of a redbrick house with a sign in front that reads TANNER NURSERY. This must have been Dad’s family home. A lot of large shrubs surround it, but I don’t know what kind they are. A huge oak tree sits at the bend in the driveway. The limbs are thick and far-reaching. One bows low, touching the ground. Rows and rows of black plastic pots of plants stretch out in the distance beyond the fence.

  A lanky man with a purple L.S.U. baseball hat waves at us.

  “That’s your uncle Lloyd.”

  He heads our way, and Aunt Teresa rolls down the window. “This must be the famous Stevie,” he says. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m sweaty. You’re all we’ve talked about the whole week.”

  I don’t know what to say. I just let the warmth of this moment pour over me. We get out of the car, and Uncle Lloyd lifts my suitcase from the trunk. “Is this all you have? You must want to run away from us quick.”

  A young boy comes out of the house. He wears a black top hat and a gold-satin-lined cape. He runs up to us and holds out a deck of cards.

  “Pick a card,” he demands. His narrow eyes slant a little on his moon-shaped face.

  “Corbin, not now,” Aunt Teresa says. “Remember our manners?”

  Corbin looks up at Aunt Teresa.

  “Introductions, remember?” she says.

  He holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Corbin Smith,” he says in a thick voice. “Pick a card.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “Later,” Megan tells him.

  “I’d like to pick a card,” I say.

  Megan shakes her head. “Oh, you don’t know what you’re starting.”

  Corbin shoves the deck in my face. The backs of the cards have umbrellas on them. “Don’t let me see.”

  I select the seven of diamonds.

  “Give it to me,” Corbin says.

  I do.

  Corbin carefully turns the card upside down before slipping it into the deck. He shuffles, struggling as he steadies the cards against his chest. He settles on the dirt driveway and turns over each card until he reaches the queen of clubs. “Was this your card?” he asks.

  I want to lie, but I shake my head a little.

  “Just kidding!” he says. Then he turns over the seven of diamonds and stabs it with his finger. “This was your card.”

  I’m relieved. “Yes! Wow, you’re talented, Corbin.”

  Corbin bows, straightens, and asks, “Aren’t you going to clap?”

  I clap and clap.

  He bows again. Five times, then holds the deck out. “Pick a card.”

  Uncle Lloyd rescues me. “Let’s go inside. Stevie must be exhausted. Corbin, take Stevie’s bag to your sister’s room. And then get your glasses on. You need to get used to wearing them.”

  Megan’s room surprises me. It’s pink and floral, like something a little girl who loves princesses would have, not a cool seventeen-year-old. Violet would love this room.

  My face must reveal my thoughts, because she quickly says, “I’ve been meaning to redo this room for a while, but the nursery business hasn’t been great lately. And I’ve been so busy, I haven’t noticed, until now.”

  “It’s pretty,” I say. “I remember wishing I could have a pink room.”

  “When you were eight?” Megan asks.

  We laugh. It feels as if we’re old friends. Cousins.

  “If you want to take a nap, I’ll leave you alone.”

  “No, please don’t. I’m not sleepy.”

  Her mouth breaks into a big grin and she plops on her bed and sits cross-legged. “Good.” She pats a spot across from her. “We’ve got lots to catch up on.”

  She pulls her yearbook off a shelf above her bed and begins to show me every boy she’s ever had a crush on or who has asked her out on a date.

  She points to one guy. “Not worth talking about the weather with.”

  She points to another. “The best kisser.”

  And another. “Bad breath.”

  And—“Sweet, sweet boy. I broke his heart.”

  An hour flies by. Aunt Teresa hollers, “Time for dinner! Get your little Smith behinds in here before the food gets cold.”

  We wash up.

  “Tristen called,” Megan says. “He’s going to be late, but he said he’d be here before the blackberry cobbler.”

  We settle at the table in front of a platter piled high with fried chicken. Bowls of smothered okra, beans, and a salad of iceberg lettuce and sliced tomatoes. Mom didn’t grow iceberg lettuce because she said it had no nutritional value. But this looks delicious.

  All of a sudden it’s quiet, for the first time since they picked me up at the bus station. I look around the table. Eve
ryone’s eyes are closed and their heads are bowed. Then I hear Uncle Lloyd speak in a soft tone. “Father, we gather together…”

  They’re praying. I look at each one—uncle, aunt, cousins. It seems like I’m dreaming. I watch them until he says, “Amen.”

  They all say, “Amen.” And then the chatter begins again.

  “I’m getting a rabbit for Christmas,” Corbin tells me, peering over his glasses.

  “That’s a long time from now,” Aunt Teresa says, and from the way she says it, I can tell she’s said a lot on the subject before.

  “I’m going to pull a rabbit out of my hat.”

  “That’s amazing,” I tell him. “I can’t do that.”

  “Are you a magician?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Then why did you try to pull a rabbit out of your hat?”

  “I didn’t,” I say.

  “You’ll never know unless you try,” Corbin says.

  “Well, that’s true.”

  Corbin pulls a deck of cards from his lap and holds them up to me. “Pick a card.”

  “Corbin, put the cards away,” Aunt Teresa says. “Remember? No magic tricks during dinner.”

  He puts the cards back in his lap.

  There is talk about Megan’s upcoming test. She’s finishing her classes in summer school so that she can graduate early and start at L.S.U. in Alexandria. She wants to be a nurse.

  Uncle Lloyd says to Megan, “I could sure use your help tomorrow.”

  “Daddy, I’ve got to study. Can’t Tristen handle it?”

  “Not tomorrow. Tristen has a big order to fill. We’ll need more hands to get it done.”

  Aunt Teresa chimes in, “I’ll be there, Lloyd. I think we can let Megan have the day to study.”

  “Thank goodness,” Megan says. “This test is going to be a killer.”

  I’m trying to find the space to speak up, but they talk two at a time, barely breathing.

  “I’ll help,” I say over the conversation.

  They stop talking and look at me. “It’s dirty work,” Aunt Teresa says. “We didn’t ask you here to work.”

  “I love plants. My parents had a garden. They grew flowers and herbs for a living.”