We drove until we reached Jacksonville.
“We need to find a place to park,” Nanny said. “A place to sleep over.” I could see she was nervous as she drove into the traffic of the huge city.
“Look it, Nanny,” I said as we passed the sign saying we were welcome to be here, “this is where you were born.”
“I know that, Winston,” Nanny said.
She was back to normal. As normal as she could be anyway. I could tell by her voice. Maybe she had settled herself down to the fact we were felons. Big time felons.
Nanny stopped at the Sinclair dinosaur station to get fuel.
The attendant got the gas pumping for us, then headed to clean the windows.
“I’m using the potty,” Nanny said.
“We got one in here,” I said. “It’s small, but nice.” Sheesh. I sounded like an advertisement.
Nanny slid out the door. “I wanna relieve myself where I’m still when I sit down. Let Denny out for a minute.”
“Geez, Nanny,” I said. My face turned bright red. I could feel the heat, like an inside-out sunburn.{ 109 }
Steve watched Nanny leave the motor home. “It’s no big deal,” he said. “We all pee and . . .”
“Thanks,” I said, and watched the attendant scrub at the love-bugs squished on the front windshield.{ 110 }
73
Sidetracked for a Moment
Nanny came out from the side of the gas station waving a handful of paper.
“What in the world?”
Denny and I stood—well, I stood and he hopped—on the grass where the green Sinclair dinosaur looked off toward the west.
“Are you thinking of my momma?” I asked the dinosaur, turning from my grandmother, who seemed like she was the youngest grandmother anyone knew, the way she trotted out the bathroom waving colored papers over her head.
I petted the dinosaur’s neck as Denny hopped around, pecking at this and that. “My momma is off in Las Vegas. She asked us to come get her.” Both stayed mute, and I felt like I was four all over again, watching Momma drive away and leave me with Nanny and a stuffed teddy bear.
A truck loaded with guys drove past and beeped. One yelled out, “Great chicken, baby!”
Good grief. How could a typical boy not know the difference between a rooster and a chicken? A hot wind tugged at my hair, highway air all around me like a mini tornado, smelling of asphalt and fuel.{ 111 }
“Come see this, Winston,” Nanny said. She worked her way across the concrete. For a moment the motor home kept me from seeing her, and I had a flash, an almost-not-there flash, of life without her. My heart tried to get free of my body.
“A map,” Nanny hollered, her voice scooting under a couple of cars and our own stolen vehicle. “Show’s the hospital where I was born. And things to do here in Jacksonville.”
She was here still. Here and loud as ever.
“Let’s get going back to Nanny, Denny,” I said, and scooped him up close to my heart, where he looked at me first with one eye and then the other.{ 112 }
74
Setting Things Straight
“You know,” Nanny said, settling a seat belt across her lap, “the oldest American pachyderm zoo is right here in this city and it’s early yet.”
Thelma looked at Nanny from where her head rested in Steve’s lap. He sat on the built-in sofa, arms stretched out like he was ready to hug the world. Or me. He could hug me. The way Thelma lay there, so relaxed and full of betrayal, I was surprised that Denny hadn’t roosted on Steve’s shoulder.
“Yup, right here in Jacksonville,” Nanny said.
“Take’s a while to fill this tank,” I said, ’cause what else can you say when your grandmother is talking about pachyderms when she should be returning a stolen boy and vehicle and ignoring my ne’er-do-well mother?
“What?” Steve said. He leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“Elephants.” Nanny and I said the word together.
“Oh.” He nodded and sat back on the sofa.
Nanny flapped the pamphlets under my nose. “And there’s a great big ol’ tree. In a park. Protected by the government.”{ 113 }
I didn’t answer.
“I love elephants,” she whispered. She tapped at her lips like she held a cigarette between her fingers.
“Nanny,” I said. “I hate to pop your bubble, but we don’t have time. If we’re gonna visit around I suggest we go on back home. Maybe make a plan of selling our home and your part of the business and then make a few more plans for moving on accounta all the consequences we are gonna have to face.”
“What makes you think we are getting caught, Winston?” Nanny stared at me like I’d lost my mind.
I blinked. Had I?
The pressure was getting to me—boys, grandmothers, elephants. And we weren’t even out of Florida yet.
I swallowed. “If you want to go get Momma, we gotta get.”
“You’re right, Winston,” Nanny said. “You. Are. Right. Truth is, we don’t have time for potty breaks or cigarette stops. We have to drive like a bat outta heck.”
In his cage, Denny ruffled his feathers. Bats make him nervous, I think. Or almost-swearing.
“We don’t have time for sleep.” Nanny set the pamphlets (advertising a huge oak tree and elephants, I now saw) on the floor between us.
Three cars came and went while we filled the motor home. I was hungry. And nervous. I wanted to turn and { 114 }
stare at Steve. I felt the need look at his all-over cuteness. Or else call Thelma over to snuggle on my lap. Not that she wanted to spend any time with me now. I think she had a crush on Steve too.
“Wish I could take us straight through. Wish we didn’t have to stop at all. Not even for a free chance to view the elephants,” Nanny said.
And then from that sofa came, “I can drive.”{ 115 }
75
Payday
The gas station attendant tapped on Nanny’s window, and she paid him, gasping at the cost.
“Thirty-six cents a gallon, ma’am,” he said. “And this here is a big rig.” He patted the side of the motor home like he loved it. “Great way to travel.”
For a moment I wondered if Mike (so said his name tag) would invite himself along on our trip. But Nanny didn’t give him a chance. She smiled, took her forty-two cents change, and pulled out of the station, hitting only one part of the concrete divider with the back wheels.
“Careful, miss,” Mike yelled after us.
And we were back on the road again.{ 116 }
76
Driving?
Nanny didn’t waste any time lecturing.
“Stephen Lovett Simmons. I know as well as the next person in line that you aren’t anywhere near sixteen yet. Don’t you got like six months?”
He shrugged when I glanced over at him. “I been driving for a long time.” He said this like he and I were the only ones in the motor home. “Plus I got my learner’s permit. Have had it for a while.”
Nanny sent me a squirrely look. I’ve been driving forever too. I don’t have a permit. Yet.
“I’m best at night driving,” Steve said. “I’ve had more practice.”
He stood and stretched, pressing his hands flat on the ceiling.
I faced the front, fast. He needed to buy longer shirts. Or pull his shorts up.
“Not-even-sixteen-year-olds can’t drive at night,” Nanny said. She reached for her pack of cigarettes, whose green packaging was reflected in the windshield, and then held them in her lap. “It’s against the law.”
I never drive at night.{ 117 }
“Since we’re being honest”—I had to do a double take when Steve said that—“I drive when I’m borrowing Dad’s car. After everyone’s in bed. You know.” He said this all matter-of-fact.
No, I didn’t know. What did this mean? He stole from his father? His car? I mean, sure, it’s bad to steal from your employer/co-owner, but your very own dad?
“Hrmph,” Nanny said.
T
rying my luck, I checked out Steve again. He gave me a slow wink. How could a wink be so slow? And so cute.
My mouth smiled without my meaning for it to.
“Me and Churchill here—” Steve said, getting up and standing behind our seats, where I could feel the heat from his body. Or was that the afternoon sun beating in on me? “—can drive once the sun sets. You can sleep in the back, Miss Jimmie. We’ll make good time that way. Drive straight through stopping only to fill this beast and get food and stuff. You both already bought some things so we should be good for a while. You know, not needing to stop and all that.”
Nanny’s silence seemed to suggest she might be considering Steve’s offer.
“I don’t think I can drive when it’s dark,” I said. My voice was a whisper. Thelma pushed her head up next to Steve’s leg and he petted her.
“I can teach you,” he said, and looked me right in the eye.{ 118 }
77
Worries
Nanny had me make dinner. Then she made me feed her the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I wasn’t sure why. I’d seen her cook lobsters, steam broccoli, and run out for a smoke all in less than ten minutes and using just one hand. Could this motor home be causing her this much grief? Perhaps guilt had something to do with her nerves.
“You worried?” I asked her as I helped her sip Coke from the bottle.
“What?”
Denny sat on my seat while I knelt beside Nanny.
Steve had a guitar (where had that come from?) and was tuning it.
“I said are you worried?”
Nanny sort of looked at me, not quite taking her eyes off the road. We were headed to Tallahassee now and the traffic was thick. Maybe people were going to New Smyrna to help find a lost teen. “Not really.”
“Seems it.”
Steve strummed the guitar and in a moment started singing. Dang it! He sang the dumbest song this year, “A Horse with No Name.” He sounded pretty darn good. His { 119 }
peanut butter and jelly sandwich balanced on his knee. And look at that! Thelma didn’t even try to lick it. Had that been my dinner she would have swallowed it whole.
What was this? It seemed all of nature conspired against me.
“I started headed west in a rig with no name,” Steve sang. “It felt good to be out of my home. Headed west, you can remember your name . . .”
“I mean,” I said, trying my best to ignore Steve, “you’re gripping the steering wheel. And you have to look a hundred years older the way you’re driving.”
“What?” Nanny swerved a little and someone behind us beeped. Out the window Florida seemed to not have an ocean nearby. “That was rude.”
“You got a bug up your butt and it’s noticeable to other drivers.”
Nanny took a swig of Coke, her lips coming out like a camel’s toward the bottle I held. Then she let out a long sigh.
“It’s your momma,” she said. “I’m concerned for your momma.”
I flopped down on the floor so I didn’t wear my legs out before I had a chance to swim. Whenever that would be.
“There’s nothing new about those worries.”
That’s the whole truth. Nanny still worries over my momma all these years later, even when we never hear from { 120 }
her months at a time. Even when she hasn’t seen her in a decade.
Momma! My eyes went all squinchy and I couldn’t even stop it. She wasn’t a momma at all. Not a daughter. She was a somebody me and Nanny didn’t know anymore.
And why Nanny felt such concern was beyond me. But I kept my mouth shut.
Again Nanny sighed. “You’re right, Winston, yes you are. I got to keep positive. Smile. Not be so uptight. I got me a case of the nerves right when we pulled out of New Smyrna and headed north.”
“That was fear, Nanny. Fear because the police and FBI are gonna be after you.”
Nanny puckered her lips again so I could give her another sip. “That’s all for now,” she said after swallowing. “I’m gonna trust you on this one, Winston. Sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do. And I have to do this.”
I set the Coke bottle down with a thunk. Thelma looked at me.
“Nanny,” I said, and put my arms around her neck. I kissed her face. “Loosen up and enjoy the trip. We got us some real driving to do. You wanna be sick the whole trip? Momma needs help and you aim to do that.”
“Winston,” Nanny said. Her voice was all soft and mushy. She gave me a quick look then stared back at the road. “You are the best girl a grandmother could have.”{ 121 }
78
Singing
“A Horse with No Name,” with new words, went on way too long. All of about five minutes. Then I’d had enough. Want to ruin my disposition? Play music I can’t stand. Like something from the band America.
At last I slid on the sofa near Steve. “You know Bobby McGee?” I said.
He gave a little nod, changed his fingering, and started playing.
“Don’t mess with the words this time,” I said. I scooted closer still and our knees touched. It felt like someone had struck a match on my kneecap.
“That’s gotta be my favorite song ever,” Nanny said. “I am so sorry that Janet Joplin is gone.”
“Janis, Nanny,” I said.
Steve smiled, dipped his head a bit over the guitar. Looked at me all squinty eyed. “ I love your grandmother,” he said. And then: “You sing?”
“Maybe,” I said. “A little.”
The truth is, all the Fletchers, from start to finish, can sing. Nanny herself sang with her sisters on the radio when they were teens. I know it! Who knew there was a radio way back when?{ 122 }
“Are you joking, Steve?” Nanny said. She said the words kinda slow and her hands looked all clenchy. “Winston can sing any part out there. Anything but bass. We sing in the choir at our church. And if I could coax her, I’d have the girl singing in school choir. And maybe on television.”
I shot a glance at the back of Nanny’s head. “I’d rather swim,” I said.
Steve gazed at me. Like right-in-the-eye gazing. “I know she’s a good swimmer,” he said. “I saw that my own self.” He moved his mouth close to my ear. “Looked sexy. Yes, you did.”
I felt my face grow warm. Who said that boy should be able to control my embarrassment genes? And how much had he seen? I had done the back stroke, nekkid.
“You know she’s hoping to be an Olympian?”
“Nanny,” I said. “Shhh. Don’t say anything about anything.”
“I didn’t know,” Steve said. He kept strumming the guitar. And doing this little almost smile. And burning me with his matchlike knee.
“No one does,” I said. “I keep private things private.” I said the last part loud so Nanny would get the hint. She didn’t.
“She wants to be a Mark Spitz.” Nanny let out a laugh of genuine pride. “A female Mark Spitz.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “A Shane Gould,” he said,{ 123 }
My tone was reverent. “Yes,” I said.
“Too sexy for that,” he whispered, looking through his bangs at me.
What would Angel do right now? Laugh and pretend to hit Steve? Show him her tan lines? Smack her grandmother? “Let’s sing,” I said.
The music put me in mind of how Janis Joplin had overdosed and died when she should still be singing and how Nanny wouldn’t let me play too much Alice Cooper when she was in the house and how Roger Miller was played down at Leon’s restaurant ’cause he actually stopped in for a meal on occasion. Music can do that to you. Take you anywhere.
And it can ease the thought the boy you loved had seen you in your birthday suit. Well, a birthday suit that included undies.
We sang halfway to Mobile, Alabama, then Nanny said, “Go rest, Stephen Lovett. I’m turning the driving over to you soon as the sun goes down.”{ 124 }
79
Sleeping Arrangements
Steve set the guitar down and stood. He rocked with the movement of the m
otor home.
Outside the sky took on that afternoon look. Sort of tired and damp and ready-for-evening that the South gets after a day of too-hot-for-comfort.
“You better rest, too, Winston,” Nanny said. “I can’t have him driving alone. I’ll get us out of Mobile, then wake you both.”
“Okay,” I said.
I climbed over Denny and went to where the bag of my things sat. My pillow was on top.
“I’ll crash here, if you want me to,” Steve said, and gestured at the sofa. “It pulls out into a bed, you know.”
Would wonders never cease? “Are you kidding?” I said.
Steve shook his head. “No. I mean it.” He grinned at me, like I was a little kid or something.
For some reason I felt like my own feathers had gotten ruffled. Every joint in my body stiffened. “Some people don’t have money to throw away,” I said, under my breath. “Some people don’t have money for fancy stuff.”
“What?” Steve said, and he made to grab my hand, but I moved out of his reach.{ 125 }
“Go sleep in the bed at the back,” I said. Tears stung my eyes. Sheesh, I was tired! My feelings were hurt. How could that be?
“What did I do?” Steve said. “Did I say something wrong?”
I shook my head. The tears cooled my eyeballs off.
“Feeling sensitive?” Steve said. He ducked his face close to mine.
“Get going, you two,” Nanny said. “We got miles to go before we sleep.”
Steve walked the couple of steps until he stood in front of the stove. I clutched the pillow to my chest.
Cute. He was so cute! My feathers settled right down. He stepped back to me again.