A Life for a Life by Lynda McDaniel (best selling autobiographies .txt) 📖

Back at the store, I unpacked the honey and noticed a couple of jars in one case were cracked. I didn’t think we’d broken them on the way home, but I wasn’t about to haggle with Elbert over five dollars. Still, a customer had ordered a case, so I needed a full case for him and one for the store. While Billie was working, I drove back to Elbert’s on my own.

We went through the same routine, as though I hadn’t just been there. He apologized and wanted to give me the jars for free. I thought of all the blackberries, applesauce, and pickles I’d come home with over the past year, and I insisted on paying. While Elbert rummaged around on his porch for some newspapers—“I’m gonna wrap them jars good this time”—I killed some time picking through a pile of books on the front porch. Several tattered books lay on top, but one caught my eye: a travel guide to the North Carolina mountains. I needed another book like that, so when Elbert was finished wrapping, I asked if I could buy it.

“Oh, I’ll just throw that in for your trouble. I found that at the dump the other day, and it seemed too good to leave behind. Same with them other books. Take anything you want.”

“Thanks, Elbert. And thanks again for all the berries and beans and such.” He just waved me off as though they were nothing. I shook my head, thinking how valuable they were to me—and how much work went into preserving them.

When I drove up to the store, Abit’s chair was empty. Good for him—off with Alex again, most likely, but I wondered where since Alex’s car was in the parking lot. No other cars were in the lot, so I told Billie to go on home early, before the school bus dropped off her kids.

I settled in with a cup of tea and picked up my new travel guide. Our region was filled with beautiful Arts & Craft-era hotels, cabins, and outposts, many of which I hadn’t even heard of. As I leafed through the book, I scanned the notes in the margins from the previous owner. I found a café outside of Asheville I wanted to go to, maybe before Alex left again.

Speaking of the devil, he walked into the store and grabbed a cold lemonade. I set the book down with a niggling feeling, something I couldn’t quite place. Alex put a five-dollar bill on the counter, and as I made change, I asked where he’d been.

“Abit wanted to show me his hubcap collection. It’s really impressive. I told him if he ever wanted to sell it, I could find some folks in Virginia who’d pay top dollar.”

“I hope Vester didn’t hear you. He’s always trying to clear that out.”

“Actually, he was with us in the barn. He did perk up when I mentioned sales, but he said something about holding on to them so the value would go up even more.”

“He’s coming around, I think. He was almost friendly at our impromptu picnic.”

“That’s because we were all feeling so friendly,” he said, standing behind me and putting his arms around me.

“So when are you going back to D.C.?”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“Not really, just wondering.”

“Soon,” he said, “but not for a day or two more. And I want to come back next month. You didn’t tell me Abit’s sixteenth birthday was coming up. I can’t miss that.” 

“Did you two cook anything up?”

“Not yet. He said his folks always had cake and ice cream, but I think we should try for something special. Either way, Abit told me his folks agreed to his inviting us this year.”

“I believe you’ve started to win them over. I’m grateful.”

“How grateful?”

“Just good friend grateful,” I said, wiggling out of his arms.

Alex went up to the apartment to feed Jake and start dinner. He’d taken on a new challenge: making dinner from store ingredients that needed to be used. That seemed to spark his creativity. His chicken Marsala the other night rivaled Oscar’s in D.C.

I picked up the book again and looked for the copyright page. Guidebooks went out of date so fast, I didn’t want to bother with something from even just three or four years ago. I was surprised, given its appearance, that it was copyrighted last year. Of course, a trip to the county dump could do that. I noticed a dog-eared page just past the copyright page, a once-blank page that had been filled with a neat list of notes. And that’s when it clicked. The notes in the margin and on that page were in Lucy’s handwriting—mostly driving directions to Laurel Falls and some places she wanted to visit.

I also noticed that the book kept opening at a certain spot, and when I let it, I saw where ten or so pages had been ripped out. The last page before the tear was about Asheville, and the first page after the tear featured Jefferson and the Ashe County Courthouse. It was obvious that our region had been removed, but I was curious about exactly what was on those pages. I didn’t know what that might tell me, but it seemed important to find out. Had Lucy removed them for easier handling, or had someone else removed those pages because of something in them?

On Sunday morning over breakfast—Alex made waffles topped with fresh strawberries—we talked about driving to Boone, the nearest city with a decent bookstore that would likely stock the guidebook. We cleared the dishes and headed downstairs, Jake in the lead. Abit stood up to greet Jake, avoiding the usual collision.

“Hey, Mister, whatcha up to?”

“Nothin’.” He looked so glum I didn’t dare look at Alex, or I’d’ve started laughing. I loved that boy, man, whatever, but he did pitiful so well, it was hard to keep a straight face.

“Want to go to Boone?”

“I ain’t ever been there!”

“Well, stop saying ain’t, and we’ll take you,” Alex said. “And be sure to wear some of your fine new duds.”

“But first ask your mother,” I added.

He ran up the steps like a boy and came back down looking ten years older.

Chapter 52: Abit

“When are we going to get there?”

Alex and Della looked back at me, both of them frowning like a hoot owl. I started laughing. “I’ve never said that before. Hell, I’ve never really been anywhere,” I told them, “but I’ve seen that on TV shows, the way kids was always asking that on car trips.” Alex gave me a thumbs up, and we was all laughing by then, so I doubted they heard me add, “If it were up to me, we could keep on driving forever.”

As we rode along, I asked Alex all kinds of questions about his life in D.C. Unlike Della, he was a real talker. He told me about some of the parks and museums. And he mentioned that prize and the trouble he got into because of some mistake. I’d heard Della mention it before, and I think it musta weighed heavy on him. He told me he’d tell me about that another time, which was music to my ears. Another time. I didn’t like him at first, but I was probably kinda jealous. I was getting to like him almost as much as Della.

“When are you going back?” I asked, hoping he’d stay a while longer.

“Ha! That’s some way to put it, Abit. Let me tell you something about wordsmithing—when talking to people, try putting things positively. As in ‘How long are you staying?’”

I felt a hot flush come over me. I didn’t know if I was mad or embarrassed, likely both. He looked at me in the rearview mirror and musta seen it. I could feel how red my face was.

“Hey, Abit. I’m sorry. I can get pretty pompous sometimes. Just ask Della.”

She turned round and smiled at me, like she knew how I felt. I pouted for a few minutes, but then I decided not to ruin such a good day over something like that. And, besides, he had a point.

“It’s just that I want to stay more than I want to go back,” he said after a while. “Apology accepted?”

I decided he’d meant it. I nodded. We rode along, quiet-like for a while, but then it all blew over, like we’d rolled down the