19 #2
“Wow! You’ve really stepped in it this time,” Jonah said. “Stepped in it, tracked it inside and scraped it off on your pillowcase.”
Drew double-checked his directions and followed the signs for US 45 South. “Thank you for that overly detailed metaphor,” he replied.
They were almost three hours into the five-hour drive from Cypress Valley to Tuscaloosa, and it had taken Jonah two and a half just to ask where they were going and why. Apparently, he really was up for anything.
“And you’re seriously going to wear that?
” he asked, his voice tinged with disgust as he looked behind the driver’s seat, where a bright-red Crimson Tide sweatshirt was crammed in on top of Drew’s overnight duffel.
It had been hard to find one on short notice, but Brooklyn had a friend who had an older brother who thought the entire idea was hilarious and agreed to loan his hoodie to a complete stranger.
“It’s part of my penance,” Drew mumbled. Honestly that might be the part of the plan he was looking forward to the least, but if it helped Savannah see how serious he was, it would be worth it.
“Do you want me to drive so you can practice?” Jonah asked, now gesturing to the guitar case lying on the floorboard.
Drew shook his head. He’d been working on this song for months; if he practiced any more, he was going to throw up.
“Have I mentioned how honored I am that you invited me to bear witness to this grand gesture of yours? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day! I’ve taught you well,” Jonah said, his voice teasing.
Drew checked over his shoulder before changing lanes again. “I didn’t invite you to ‘bear witness,’” he amended. “I invited you in case somebody has to bail me out of jail.”
Jonah gave an exaggerated gasp, but then he seemed to sober. “Wait, is that a possibility?”
“Well, if this backfires, I’m probably going to break something, and depending on what it is and who it belongs to, it might be illegal. So, there you go.”
“Oh, this just got really interesting!”
Drew rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach. “You are way too happy about this.”
Two hours later, they passed a sign welcoming them to Tuscaloosa, home of the Crimson Tide.
“We’ve entered enemy territory,” Jonah whispered, as if he were afraid somebody might hear him. “I hope you know where you’re going.”
Drew looked left and right, suddenly realizing the mistake he’d made.
Jonah noticed. “Drew, you do know where you’re going, don’t you?”
Agitation warred with panic as Drew slowed for a red light. “Her parents live in Tuscaloosa,” he said.
“Yeah. But where in Tuscaloosa?”
“Look, we needed to go to Tuscaloosa, and I got us to Tuscaloosa, alright! So shut up and let me think!” Drew snapped. He did not, in fact, know exactly where Savannah’s parents lived. He wasn’t even sure he remembered their names—her dad was Gary, maybe? Greg?
“Let’s pull over,” Jonah said, pointing to a Shell station on the nearest corner. “Maybe they have a phonebook.”
Drew clenched his teeth in protest, but since he didn’t have any better ideas, he did what his cousin suggested. They parked in front of the building and headed inside—Jonah to the bathroom, and Drew to the front counter. It was nearly eight o’clock, and the place was deserted.
“Can I help you, honey?” an older woman asked, and when Drew inquired about using a phonebook, she gave him a funny sort of look.
“Well, sure, sweetheart. Just ain’t nobody asked for the Yellow Pages in years.
It’s all yours.” She pulled a thick book from under the counter and slid it across to him.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Drew replied. He carried the book over to one of the cafe tables near the window and flipped through until he found “Reynolds.” There were eight entries, and none of them were for Gary, Greg or anything else with a G.
“Any luck?” Jonah asked, sinking into the chair beside him.
Drew grunted in response and pulled out his phone. He hadn’t come this far to give up now. He slid his finger down to the first Reynolds entry and dialed the number.
“Oh, so we’re really doing this? Okay,” Jonah said, his brows rising. “I’m gonna get a Coke.” The legs of his chair scraped across the floor just as Drew’s call connected.
“Hello?”
“Uh, yes, hi,” Drew started nervously. “My name is Drew Tanner, and I’m trying to find Savannah Reynolds. Is this the right house?”
“Sorry, you’ve got the wrong number,” the woman said.
Drew silently groaned and massaged his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Okay, sorry to bother you. Thanks anyway,” he said. Then he hung up. So much for Reynolds number one.
“Share with me,” Jonah said, coming back to the table. “It’ll be faster.”
Working together, they made short work of the next four numbers—two never answered, one was a gruff-sounding man who yelled at Jonah for interrupting his poker game, and one turned out to be a tattoo parlor.
Finally, Drew got a lead.
“Yes, ma’am, Savannah Reynolds,” he repeated to a woman who sounded like she might have lived through the Great Depression. “I’m a friend of hers.”
“Yes, I know Savannah. She’s my great-niece,” the woman replied. “Or is it great-great-niece? I can’t keep track . . .”
“That’s wonderful!” Drew said in relief. “I’ve been trying to call her, but she hasn’t answered the phone, so I’d like to go by her parents’ house and talk to her in person, but I don’t know their address. Could you help me?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then the woman spoke again. “You sound like a nice young man, but how do I know you’re not one of these phone call scammers my grandson is always telling me about?” she asked.
Drew squeezed his eyes shut. “I promise I’m not scamming you out of anything, ma’am. I don’t want any money; I just want to be able to talk to Savannah. You see . . . she’s mad at me, and I’m trying to make it better. I’ve driven all the way from Tennessee.”
“Ooh, a lovers’ quarrel!” the old woman crowed, and she sounded delighted. “Tell me about it, sonny, so I know you deserve to be forgiven.”
Drew launched into an abbreviated version of events, and the woman seemed to grow more excited by the minute.
“And you’re here to tell her that you love her?” she asked when he was finished.
Drew swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, I love it! It’s like daytime television,” she proclaimed in a wheezy voice. “Savannah is a sweet girl. I remember her when she was still toddling around; my nephew, Craig, is her daddy. Or is he my great-nephew . . .”
“Do you know where they live?” Drew asked anxiously. He snatched the phonebook from in front of Jonah and scanned the list for a Craig Reynolds, but there was nothing.
“Oh, yes, it’s a pretty, yellow house. Emily just redid the shutters a while back, I think.”
Drew was seconds away from banging his forehead on the sticky gas station table, but he couldn’t afford to be rude. This woman was probably his only hope. “What street are they on?” he asked.
“Frankfurt Avenue,” the woman said clearly. “Craig likes to say it sounds like a hot dog.”
A yellow house on Frankfurt Avenue! That was something at least.
“Do you know the actual house number?” he tried again.
“Oh, honey, no, they’ve had it unlisted for years. I could try to find my rolodex, though . . .”
“No! That’s fine, thank you so much, ma’am! You’ve been so helpful. I really appreciate it!” Drew assured her, even though she’d misunderstood him again.
“I want to know how it works out, sonny,” she rasped. “You can’t leave an old lady hanging with a story like this, you know.”
Drew assured her that he would let her know and then excused himself from the conversation at last.
“So? Where are we going?” Jonah asked excitedly.
“To a yellow house on Frankfurt Avenue,” Drew informed him.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Shut up and go ask for directions!”
It took almost half an hour to weave their way through traffic to the far side of town, where they finally turned onto Frankfurt Avenue.
The north end seemed to be largely commercial, as far as Drew could tell, and he’d almost given up hope when the bakeries and nail salons finally gave way to residential areas.
“Look for a yellow house and Savannah’s car,” Drew told his cousin, and Jonah sat up a little straighter in his seat.
“This is the wildest of wild goose chases we’ve ever been on,” he informed Drew, but the older boy ignored him.
Yellow house, blue Honda. Yellow house, blue Honda, he repeated to himself.
The words became like a prayer as he drove slowly along the street, scanning the houses on both sides.
Suddenly, he saw a yellow house, and his heart leapt into his throat.
But then the feeling subsided when he saw the Auburn Tigers yard sign in the flower bed—definitely not them.
“There!” Jonah cried, leaning forward and pointing a little farther up the street.
Sure enough, he’d found a yellow house with a familiar blue Honda in the driveway.
Drew pulled to a stop along the street and cut off the engine.
Then he sat frozen, staring at the front stoop in trepidation.
There was still a chance this could all go wrong, still a chance that nothing he did was going to matter.
“Well? Are we camping out here, or are you going to the door?” Jonah prompted.
Drew shook himself out of his trance and turned to his cousin. “Okay, hand me the shirt,” he said.
But Jonah shook his head violently. “Nope. I’m not touching that thing.”
Drew sighed and reached around before yanking the red sweatshirt from the space behind him. “Coward,” he muttered darkly. He pulled the garment over his head and straightened it out, trying not to think about it too hard. Then he opened his guitar case and took out the instrument.
Alright. It’s now or never.