I looked at Momma from the passenger seat of Melissa, grandpa’s 1974 Dodge Challenger. The car was his pride and joy, a light blue two-door hardtop coupe with a 383 V8 engine, 15” Magnum 500 chrome wheels, and bucket seats. It was the only new car he ever owned. He bought it a couple of years after he came home from Vietnam. The car, named after the Allman Brother’s song, was his celebration of life.
Momma always said it felt more like a sister than a car the way her Pops fussed over it. I suppose it was. Her parents were in their late 30’s before they had their first child. They’d almost given up hope before my Aunt Jessica was born in 1992. Momma followed soon after in 1994.
Grandad claimed he never missed having a son because Momma was more than happy to spend hours in the garage learning about cars and tending to Melissa’s every need.
He died when I was ten. Grandad left the house to my Aunt Jess with a lifetime estate clause for my grandma, but the Challenger went to Momma and me. Aunt Jess and her husband Ronnie tried to buy it from us. They argued Momma would never be able to afford the upkeep of a classic muscle car, especially with her lifestyle.
Her lifestyle was the reason we were in the car again with all our worldly possessions in a U-Haul trailer hitched behind it heading away from her latest failed relationship. The search for Mr. Right always started out well. I had high hopes for Joe, but it was not to be.
“Baby girl, it’s like Dolly Parton said, ‘You gotta bloom where you’re planted.’ You’ll fit right in where we’re going.”
I rolled my eyes. How many times had I heard that same speech?
“I was just starting to fit in and make some friends in Omaha. You promised we’d stop moving. I’m fourteen years old, and this will be my eighth school.”
“One of those was kindergarten. That’s not really school,” she quipped. “FYI, I know how old you are. I was there when you were born. Fourteen hours of hard labor; thank you very much.”
Momma cranked down the window and lit a cigarette.
“I thought you weren’t ever going to smoke in the car. Grandad never did.”
“Smoking calms me down,
“You promised Grandad.” I reminded her.
“Fine!” she hissed.
Momma put on her blinker, slowed down, and pulled off the highway. Cautiously, she opened the car door and walked to the passenger side. She leaned against the car and took a long puff.
A grey pick-up slowed and pulled over behind us. A man in a white t-shirt and jeans carefully stepped out and headed toward our car. I saw Momma’s face light up.
“Having car trouble?” He asked.
His voice was deep and rich. I suppose you could say he was handsome if you liked the rugged type which Momma did.
“No trouble. Just stopped for a smoke. The warden won’t let me smoke in the car,” Momma tilted her head towards me.”
“Your sister’s right. Those things will kill you. I’m glad you’re not having engine trouble. I have to admit I was kind of looking forward to a peek under her hood. I’m Trevor, by the way.”
He extended his hand, and Momma traced a line from his forefinger to the inside of his wrist before placing her hand inside his to shake it.
I watched him take a deep breath and knew Momma had him right where she wanted him.
“I’m Amie, like the song, and this is Melissa,” she patted the hood, “also like the song. My Pops loved seventies music and muscle cars. The warden here was born with that red hair. We took one look at her and called her Jolene.”
He bent his head to look inside the car. “Nice to meet you Jolene, “
I nodded and mumbled something in response.
Momma liked when people mistook us for sisters. Even if she knew they were only pretending, she rarely corrected them. At 31, she could still pass for someone in her early to mid-twenties, especially dressed in denim shorts and a body skimming Tee from Abercrombie and Fitch. She had no qualms about raiding my closet. My clothes kissed her curves in ways that must have made them sad when they had to cover my gawky adolescent frame.
Momma took the cigarette from her mouth and squished it beneath her shoe.
“Happy now?” she asked. I heard her laugh, and I knew she was considering him for her new Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now. A hundred more miles to St. Charles where she had a job lined up and we’d paid first and last on an apartment in a fairly nice part of town. I worried she was considering jeopardizing the plan for a man she’d just met.
“There’s a diner about five miles up the road that makes the best grilled cheese and milkshakes you’ve ever had,” he said. “I always stop there on my way back home. Would you ladies like to be my guests?”
“That’s very nice of you. Jo and I were thinking of stopping for a bite. We can pay our own way though."
“Nonsense. I invited you. I’d enjoy the company. Maybe you’ll give me a little peek under Melissa’s hood as a thank you.”
“That’s a definite maybe, Trevor. If the grilled cheese is as good as you say.”
Honestly, how obvious could she be?
***
Trevor pulled back onto the highway, and we followed him to exit 51, and the Castle Rock Diner.
“So Trevor, where is home exactly?” Momma asked after we slid into a corner booth.
Before he could answer, Denise, our server, came over with three glasses of water. Momma insisted we didn’t need menus because we were having what Trevor was having.
“My home is in Creve Coeur, Missouri. I’m a general contractor.”
“What a small world. We’re on our way to St. Charles. I have a job waiting at Akers Classic Cars and Restorations. It’s only a few miles from Creve Coeur. Maybe we’ll see you around. You should let me cook you a meal as a thank you for lunch. Once we get settled of course.”
“I’d like that,” he said.
After lunch, Momma lifted Melissa’s hood and gave Trevor a long look at the engine before exchanging contact information. He took her hand and leaned down to kiss her knuckles. Momma surprised him with a peck on the cheek subtly letting him know there was more where that came from.
Hook, line, and sinker. Momma had Joe’s replacement lined up, and we hadn’t even rolled into town. All I had to do was remember to call her Amie until she fessed up or he figured it out.
***
Our new apartment was part of an old house that had been cut up into apartments. A long set of outdoor stairs led to the upstairs unit at the back left side of the house. We had a small living area with space for a love seat and two chairs. The kitchen had a breakfast bar with stools, a small sink, stove, and refrigerator. There were shelves instead of upper cabinets, and a small cupboard, covered with what looked like an old floral shower curtain, for a pantry. The lower cabinets were painted green and there was no dishwasher, not that we’d ever had one.
The bathroom was my favorite. It was almost spacious with an old clawfoot tub under the window, a tiny corner shower, a sink with a skirt that matched the material from the kitchen pantry, and a fairly new looking toilet. Everything was spotless. That was a first. Usually it took a few days to clear the grime from the prior tenants before we could unpack our stuff. This apartment was actually move in ready,
Momma’s room was small. But the closet was big. My room was upstairs in what was once part of a large attic. I didn’t relish the idea of climbing down a set of pull-down stairs to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, but the stairs were positioned so they could remain down like a traditional staircase. The room was large and had a nice sized window, bookshelves, and a real closet.
Best of all, there was a small deck that connected with the outdoor stairway and wrapped around the back of the apartment to a door in the kitchen. A partition separated our deck from the deck for the other apartment on the right. Momma and I could sit out there on sunny days.
After Momma made a quick phone call, Trevor showed up to help us unpack the U-Haul. When she ordered pizza, he insisted she use his credit card to pay. When he brought in the last box, her bedroom door mysteriously closed with them inside, and she turned up the volume of the music she was streaming on her phone.
I didn’t want to think about what I knew was happening, so when I finished unpacking my room, I went exploring. The high school was close by, so I could walk there and avoid being the new girl on the bus. Been there. Done that. It wasn’t fun.
I checked a few times, but Momma’s door remained shut, and the music volume never changed. I knew I’d see Trevor at breakfast. Momma was really moving fast this time.
The next day, Momma pulled her chestnut hair into a sophisticated chignon, put on her blue suit with the white silk blouse that exposed just the right amount of cleavage to be sexy, but not slutty. She marched us into the school and made sure everyone took notice. Then, she went to the dealership and started selling classic cars.
***
I wish I could remember my dad. His name was Jason. He died in a car crash racing for pink slips shortly after I was born. According to Momma, we were there cheering him on. He was a week away from turning eighteen with his whole life in front of him. Momma was barely seventeen. Our lives changed forever on that day. Sometimes it makes me angry, but Momma won’t hear of anyone bad mouthing him in any way. He died doing what he loved, and she claims that gives her comfort. That’s what she tells herself while she searches for another him in every man she meets. No one ever measures up, so we move, and she tries again.
***
We’ve been here several months, and Trevor is still in the picture. Something is different this time. Momma told him about my dad and admitted I was her daughter that first night, and it didn’t bother him. He actually understood why she didn’t lead with having a fourteen-year-old daughter when they first met. He stays over a few nights a week, but he has his own place in Creve Coeur. He lets us come over on the weekends to do our laundry instead of having to sit in a laundromat for half the day.
School is going well. I’ve joined a few clubs, and I think a boy in my English class likes me. Despite my trepidation, I’m planning for the future instead of worrying about coming home to find Melissa hooked up to a U-Haul trailer.
Maybe this time Dolly is right, and Momma and I will finally have the chance to bloom.