Louisiana’s Way Home: Chapters 6–10

I was going to tell her about my amazing exploits, or at least some of them, but it was very clear that the woman was not in a good mood.

She always told me that I could win any battle of the wills. “Your opponent will be willing to give up at some point, but you must never give up. The trick is to never give in. Be wily. And remember: no retreat. You must never retreat.”

I assumed that Mrs. Ivy was talking to me and not to the medium-crossword-puzzle lady, but I had no intention of leaving, and in any case, it all ceased to matter.

Mrs. Ivy said, “There is a small scheduling inconsistency, Dr. Fox. No need to concern yourself.”

She had been outwitted in the battle of the wills.

He stood in front of me in his white coat, adjusted his tiny glasses, and said, “I’m afraid that the infection was profound and systemic.”

He stood in front of me in his white coat, adjusted his tiny glasses, and said, “I’m afraid that the infection was profound and systemic.”

I have very swampy lungs, and in times of distress, they often fail me.

“She will, of course, need to recuperate,” said Dr. Fox.

Her voice was strange—muffled and uncertain and toothless.

She was driving slowly, staring at the road in a grim and determined fashion.

This was a sentiment that I agreed with, particularly since I had not had a good night’s sleep the previous night—having been awoken at three a.m. and told that the day of reckoning had arrived.

Granny had won. Even without her teeth, she had won. She was still a force to be reckoned with.

The good news is that there was a vending machine in the vestibule of the motel office, and it was stocked with the most amazing array of things.

The good news is that there was a vending machine in the vestibule of the motel office, and it was stocked with the most amazing array of things.

The vending machine was such a miracle that as I stood and contemplated it, I almost wondered if I was dreaming, but then Granny blew the horn again and I knew that it was not a dream.

She pointed at a sign up on the wall that listed the prices for rooms in red ink. It was a very emphatic sign.

“Why would I waste my time with them if they didn’t? Go and get your granny. Nothing happens for free in this world, and I am not in the charity business, as you have surely ascertained by now.”

Before Granny and I settled into the house in Florida, we stayed in many, many motel rooms, and I kept a collection of all the things I found lurking under the beds: a spool of thread (green); a ballpoint pen imprinted with the words SCHWARTZ EXCAVATING (the ink in the pen was dried up, but I liked the word excavating very much); bobby pins (there is almost always at least one bobby pin under a motel bed; I do not know why this is so, but it is); paper clips; someone’s letter to their uncle Al.

Before Granny and I settled into the house in Florida, we stayed in many, many motel rooms, and I kept a collection of all the things I found lurking under the beds: a spool of thread (green); a ballpoint pen imprinted with the words SCHWARTZ EXCAVATING (the ink in the pen was dried up, but I liked the word excavating very much); bobby pins (there is almost always at least one bobby pin under a motel bed; I do not know why this is so, but it is); paper clips; someone’s letter to their uncle Al.

Before Granny and I settled into the house in Florida, we stayed in many, many motel rooms, and I kept a collection of all the things I found lurking under the beds: a spool of thread (green); a ballpoint pen imprinted with the words SCHWARTZ EXCAVATING (the ink in the pen was dried up, but I liked the word excavating very much); bobby pins (there is almost always at least one bobby pin under a motel bed; I do not know why this is so, but it is); paper clips; someone’s letter to their uncle Al.

Also, there was a phone in the room, but it had a tiny lock on its rotary dial so that you could not use it without a key.

It did not seem to me that her powers were diminished at all.

There is something sad about palm trees cavorting all over curtains when you are not in Florida but are instead in Georgia.

I looked up, and lo and behold, what did I see?

“Hey,” said the boy. He was barefoot. He had on blue shorts and a white T-shirt, and his hair was cut so close to his head that it was bristly and shone in the light.

Well, my heart soared up high in my chest at those words.

Bernice jabbed the broom at the roof.

“I am recovering from a traumatic event,” said Granny in her new toothless voice.

She tossed her head, and the curls bounced up and down and the smell of caramel wafted through the air.

There was a stained-glass window above Miss Lulu’s head, and if I squinted at it, I could turn all the colors in the window into a kaleidoscope and also make Miss Lulu’s face and curls go fuzzy, so that is what I did and it was very comforting.

Bernice sighed. “I know it. And Lord help me, you should see the grandmother. I feel like I am being hoodwinked. And I am not a fan of being hoodwinked. One time was enough.”

I had seen the minister’s office on the way into the sanctuary.

And since I was done with my angel-food cake, and since it was almost as if I were invisible to them as they did their planning and cogitating about how to make money from me, I stood up and said, “Excuse me, I will be right back.”

My salvation and rescue were at hand!