Chapter 30
were being announced today.
I went straight to the website, pulse tapping in my throat, found the link at the top of the page, and clicked.
I scrolled past the counties, the divisions, the middle school list, holding my breath.
My heart ricocheted. “Yes,” I whispered into the silent room, pressing my palm to my chest like I needed to keep it from bursting.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
I wanted to scream it into the world. I wanted to run to the center and stick her name up on the wall with glitter and confetti.
I wanted to text her: You did it.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t even know if her family had a working phone. The number in her file wasn’t current.
It had been three weeks. Three weeks since she last came. Three weeks since her small fingers pressed the mouse to send her beautiful story off into the world.
“I want to be a writer just like you,” Regina had said.
Her little face had been so open to the possibility of that dream. My heart sank to a new deeper place of despair as I wondered,
was she still writing, or had her mother talked her out of her dream?
Instead of pure joy, the moment cracked a little. It felt like finding a present on the porch with no return address—still
beautiful, still precious, but missing the person you wanted to celebrate with.
I opened my messages and hovered over Gabe’s name and his last text from midnight, Pacific time: Made it to LA. Long day. Call you tomorrow if you’re awake.
It was only 4:45 a.m. where he was. It would be a long time before I could share this news with him. So I called the one person
guaranteed to be dramatic enough for both of us.
Trish answered on the second ring, voice thick with sleep. “If somebody died, start with that.”
“Regina finaled!”
A beat, then full-volume Trish explosion.
“Shut. Up. My niece by literary adoption did what?”
I laughed, even as my eyes stung. “Her story made it.”
“Look at you growing future Pulitzer winners.”
“She’s homegrown right from the rich soil on Edisto Island. All I had to do was encourage her with feedback. I’m so excited.
I’m sorry to wake you, but I’m over here about to burst.”
“You can always wake me with good news.” I could hear a smile in Trish’s voice when she said, “I’m so proud of her. And of
you. When do you tell her?”
“That’s the thing . . . She stopped coming to the center.”
Silence. Not the awkward kind, the thinking kind.
“I feel like she’s slipping away. I had one job, and I almost did it,” I said quietly. “I helped her write something good,
but I didn’t help her stay.”
“Well,” Trish said gently, “you can still find her. The story isn’t over.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “I hope so. In any event, I’m going to her house to tell her. Her mother can kick
me out if she wants, but I’m taking a printout from the website, and I’m going to show it to that baby.”
“That’s what a good teacher would do,” Trish said, yawning. She was on deadline, which meant late nights fueled by commitment
and caffeine.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said.
Trish ended the call.
I got up and made coffee, taking it to the screened porch. I saw Ms. Kate walking in the direction of the center. I called
to her.
“Ms. Kate!”
She turned and threw a hand up over her eyes. “Come for dinner!”
I gave her a thumbs-up and returned to my seat and the website that listed Regina’s name. I had to go see her this morning
because the kids were coming this afternoon. I didn’t want her to find out from them. I wanted to be the one to tell her.
My phone buzzed, and I opened a text message.
Joy: I’m back! Let me know when you can hop on Zoom.
Me: I’m free now. Want to do it?
Her three dots popped up immediately.
Joy: Yep. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll send a link.
I set the phone down. Fifteen minutes was enough time for a shower.
I clicked the Zoom link and waited for Joy’s face to appear. The screen flickered, then settled, and there she was, tanned
three shades, smiling, wearing what looked like a T-shirt from somewhere far more interesting than my writing desk.
“There you are,” Joy said, waving. “I’ve missed seeing your face.”
“I’ve missed you too,” I said, meaning it. “How was the trip? I still can’t believe you were gone for so long.”
She laughed. “Honestly, I can’t believe I’m back. My body still thinks I’m on South African time.”
We exchanged the usual how-are-yous, but then she leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity.
“So? Any news on your dad search?”
I exhaled. “Honestly, it’s been a tragedy of near misses. The summer staff at Baptist Hill High is impossible to reach. The
only yearbooks they had didn’t include my father. I’m waiting for the island sage to return from Texas this week. Trust me,
it’s been a lot.”
Joy winced in sympathy. “That’s rough. Your dad not being in the yearbook . . . What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m ten seconds off just asking my mother.”
Joy frowned. “Why don’t you?”
I shook my head. “Something in me is telling me not to. To keep going, find the truth on my own.”
“So if that voice is saying keep going, that means there’s something yet to find.”
“I believe so.” I said the words as dryly as I felt them. “At this point, I’ve pictured about ten different versions of who my father could be and none of them good.”
Joy nodded slowly. “Well, I’m here for the ride with you. I know how hard it is to discover truths you wanted but then didn’t
want when you learned them.”
I propped my elbows on the table and picked up my coffee mug. I’d refreshed my cup, but it had gotten cold. “I was thinking,
I don’t want us to just be trauma buddies.”
Joy blinked a few times. “Is that what we are?”
“Well, we’re bonding over these daddies of ours. We can be more,” I said shyly. “You’re my cousin. The only one I know. We
started talking because of DNA and drama, but I want to get to know you—not just the mystery we’re trying to solve.”
Joy’s eyes lit up, and the truth of what I needed softened something in me.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Joy admitted. “We may not know how we’re family, but being friends feels like a choice we
can make now.”
My grin widened. A beat of quiet settled between us, comfortable, not awkward. Then I nodded toward her shirt. “Okay then . . .
tell me about that. I want the whole trip rundown.”
Joy placed a hand on her heart. “It was incredible. My cruise line partnered with a service program, so part of the trip included
volunteer work. We helped build a school, and I spent a week teaching kids English vocabulary in Namibia. The kids didn’t
have much, but they were joyful. Like, belly-laugh joyful. They wanted to learn everything: songs, jokes, slang. I’m still
processing it. It was the best experience ever.”
I leaned forward, my writer’s brain immediately sparking. “So you didn’t just take a regular business trip. You taught. You
brought the learning to them.”
“Exactly,” Joy said. “If they couldn’t get to education, education came to them.”
Something in my chest lifted—light, electric.
That was it.
That was exactly it.
I’d been trying to solve the transportation problem for the Edisto Island kids, but maybe transportation wasn’t the answer.
“You just gave me an idea,” I said, my pulse quickening.
Joy laughed. “Without trying. Tell me what’s going on.”
I filled her in on the issue and finished with the statement that was my solution. “If the kids can’t come to the center,
I have to take it to their community.”
Joy said, “Look at me being inspirational.”
I smiled. “Truly. Game-changing-level inspiration.” I shook my head.
“We were meant to have this conversation, huh?” Joy said.
I nodded. “Look at God, using my cousin for what cousins are for.” I raised my hand in a high-five position, and Joy was silly
enough to virtually slap it.
“Keep me posted on all the things,” Joy said.
“I will, cousin. I will.”
Once Joy was gone, I got on the internet and did some research, and then I started making phone calls. I needed a building
or at least a meeting that would get me one. I hit pay dirt with my second call. Pastor Earl Porter said he was willing to
take any meeting to discuss the education of the children in his community. We scheduled the meeting for the next day, and
then I went to the center.
Attendance was low this week. Fortunately, none of the students remembered that today was the day they were supposed to find out about the contest finalists.
Playing a game that involved a timed writing assignment that ended with a cash prize and candy bars distracted them completely.
After we finished, I called Ms. Kate to tell her I had to take a rain check.
I had good news to deliver at a little shotgun house on Edisto Island.
Regina was outside when I pulled up, her chin propped on her fist, sitting on the porch like summer had done her wrong. She
froze when she saw me, then hurried across the yard, hope and worry flickering in her eyes like she wasn’t sure which one
to choose.
“Miss Alex, what are you doing here?” she asked, but I saw the other question in her eyes.
I didn’t make her wait. “You finaled, Regina.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. For a second, she didn’t speak. She just blinked fast, like the news was too big to fit inside
her.
“You’re serious?” she whispered.
“As serious as a meat in greens,” I said, smiling.
The screen door creaked, and Mrs. Collins stepped onto the porch, folding her arms like she was already deciding what was
coming next.
Regina dashed to her mother’s side and hugged her. “Mama, I made the final round in the state writing competition!”
Mrs. Collins looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded.
“What oona say? Final in de state?”
“The entire state,” I added, “in a competition for students up to eleventh grade.”
She hugged her daughter. “I’m proud of you. Proud of you good.”
“I’m also here because I want to make some changes in the program that would make it easier for Regina to access, but I need
your help.”
“What yuh need from me?”
I noticed she was speaking Gullah. She hadn’t done so the first time I was here. Maybe she was more comfortable with me.
“I’m meeting with Pastor Porter at Edisto Family of God Church tomorrow at eleven. I’d really love for you both to be there while I talk to him about bringing the program here . . . to the island.”
She studied me for a long beat—long enough for Regina’s joy to dim just a little. Then she nodded once.
“I’ll come to your meeting,” she said, “but only because you lucky.”
I blinked. “Lucky how?”
“You need me on a day I’m nuh working. I work six days this week. Tomorrow is the one you needin’, and it’s the one I have.”
She lifted her chin, adding, “And you pick the right church. Pastor Porter is a good man.”
My breath loosened in my chest. “Then I guess I’m lucky three times,” I said. “The first was meeting your daughter.”
Regina looked down, cheeks bursting with pride she couldn’t hide.
Her mother didn’t smile, not fully, but something in her posture softened, just enough to let me know I was finally talking
a language she understood.
“I’ll have her there,” she said. “Eleven sharp.”
And with that, she turned back toward the house, leaving the door open behind her—literally, and maybe, just maybe, a little
bit figuratively too.