SPFC: Green Valley Days

“Mind your brother now, ya hear?”

While Momma’s looking for a new job, eight-year-old Loretta is looking for a new daddy.

She finds a firefighter she likes who has a dog her autistic brother likes.

Now, if only she can get Momma and the firefighter to like each other.

LORETTA:

“Three hours. Three hours, Baby Girl. That’s all and then we can have fun.”

Momma parks the car underneath a big tree and paws through her backpack. She tosses gum wrappers and crumpled-up receipts into the back seat before pulling out a bag of wet wipes. She gets out of the car, bends down like she’s trying to hide behind the car door and uses the wipes to wash away old eye makeup. She sniffs her pits and gives them a wash before tossing the wipe back into the car.

“How do I look?” she asks, tucking her white blouse into the top of her jeans and smiling big at me.

There’s nothing stuck in her teeth, so I give her a thumbs up. I don’t tell her about the tiny stain on one of her sleeves. It would only make her more nervous. “Like the prettiest girl in Tennessee,” I say. She makes a face at me, but I’m telling the truth. Everyone says I have Momma’s eyes. Donald James too. Other than that, we don’t look a bit like Momma. We barely look like each other.

“Sunscreen,” Momma says, making grabby hands at me while looking around at the parking lot.

I find the yucky white stuff and slide across the car seat to stand beside her. She squelches the goop into her hand then smears it all over my face and arms and the back of my neck. She squelches more into my hands, ordering me to do my legs. Then she goes after Donald James. He isn’t nearly as dark as Momma and me, so he needs more and hates it. But Momma is smart and paints streaks all over him until he looks like a warrior. While he makes faces in the mirror on the car door, I attack his legs, and Momma does his arms, neck, and ears.

Her phone rings and she pulls it out of her back pocket and puts it to her ear. “Where are you?”

Aunt Shannon is supposed to be here to look after me and my brother while Momma tries out for her new job.

“I start in twenty minutes,” Momma says. “No I can’t reschedule. This is a job interview. If things work out today, the job is mine. How would it look if I rescheduled?”

Momma paces back and forth, one hand pressed against her forehead. “Don’t bother,” she snaps, hangs up and stares at the ground.

Donald James is getting antsy, so I grab his belt loop. I know how important today is for Momma, she doesn’t need him acting up. “She’s not coming, is she?”

“No, Baby Girl, she’s not.” Momma doesn’t swear or get mad or cry but I know she’s worried.

“It’s only three hours. I can look after Donald James.”

She’s shaking her head. “That is too much to ask.”

“We could stay in the car. Wait for you here.”

“No!” I don’t know why but she looks horrified. “Definitely not.”

“I’m a good sister and I know how to look after him.”

Momma closes her eyes, pinching her lips together. “All right, Baby Girl. You’re gonna have to.” She shoves her phone in her pocket and reaches for her backpack.

“What’s the plan, Stan?” She plunks a Predator’s ball cap on Donald James’s shiny copper curls and hands one to me. I carefully pull my brown fluff ball ponytail out the back and pull the cap down.

Donald James dances in place, saying Momma’s words over and over again in his robot voice.

“Don’t talk to strangers. Stay together. Don’t eat anything red. Count your change. Stay away from men with gold chains, and meet you at the food truck at four o’clock.”

Momma frowns at me. “I never said anything about gold chains.”

I look down so Momma can’t see me roll my eyes. She says that it’s disrespectful. “I added that one myself. After Sparky’s Diner.”

Momma doesn’t move or say anything. I know she knows what I’m talking about. Mr. Sparky wore lots of gold chains. He told Momma a gold chain would look real pretty against her brown skin and he’d give her one if she let him put it on her. I saw him looking at Momma’s chest when he said that. Mrs. Sparky saw him too. That was the end of Momma working at the diner.

“Well, you aren’t wrong,” Momma mutters.

It smells like hot grease at the Food Truck Corral. That’s where Momma is trying out for a new job today. Donald James wears his sunglasses and headphones. He doesn’t like noise, and he doesn’t like bright. It is both at Green Valley Days.

Momma hands me a crumpled-up twenty-dollar bill and points at her wristwatch. “Show me what time you gonna meet me here.”

I point at my own wristwatch. “When the big hand is on the twelve, and the little hand is on the three.”

“Donald James.” Momma taps his headphones. “Donald James.” Bending down, she takes his face between her hands. “You mind Baby Girl now, ya here?”

Donald James grunts, trying to pull away. Momma won’t let him. “Hey, hey,” she says. “What’d I say?”

“You mind Baby Girl now ya hear,” he says.

Momma lets him go before turning to me. “Remember not to—”

“I know, Momma! I know. Don’t let him out of my sight.” She gives me her don’t-give-me-no-lip look. “Sorry, Momma. I’ll look after Donald James.”

She hugs me quick then stands back, looking toward the Pie in the Sky food truck. “Three hours. That’s all, Baby Girl, then you can go on the rides. I promise.”

Green Valley Days has lots of things to do. Holding Donald James by his belt loop, we walk through the barns, looking at the animals. A dad is holding up a little girl to see into a pen with a big pig. The dad makes oink oink noises, and the little girl giggles. I watch until Donald James pulls me away.

My daddy died when I was real little. I don’t know if I remember his laugh, but Momma says he laughed a lot. She’s got a picture of us all that she keeps in her wallet. Momma is holding me, and Donald James is sitting on my daddy’s knee. They’re smiling real big. ’Cept Donald James. He doesn’t smile much.

Donald James likes fire trucks, so we stop and watch a man taking pictures of a firefighter sitting in front of a big red fire truck with a big old dog beside him. The firefighter puts a helmet on a boy, and they smile for the man taking the picture. The firefighter has a really nice smile and laughs when the dog woofs and licks the boy’s hand. Donald James barks and pulls away from me to go see the dog. He walks in front of the camera with his hand stretched out.

“Hey kid, get out of the way!” the man with the camera says.

“Chill out, Watson. It’s fine,” the firefighter says. “Hey, little man, you like dogs?” he says to Donald James.

“Sorry!” I say to the camera guy, running past him. “Sorry,” I say to the firefighter. “My brother is autistic.”

“Yeah?” the firefighter says like it’s no big deal. Momma says you can tell a lot about a person by the way they react to the word autistic.

“Yeah. Sometimes he gets real excited and doesn’t mind his manners.”

Donald James is holding out his hand, and the dog sniffs it and then licks it. Donald James giggles and does his happy dance.

“We’re supposed to be selling pictures here, Tate,” the camera guy calls out.

“So take a picture,” the firefighter says back. “Y’all want your picture made?” he says to me.

Momma would like that but I got plans for that twenty in my pocket. “Thanks, but I can’t pay for it.”

He winks at me. “I gotcha.” He tells Watson to put it on his tab, then holds out his hand to me. “I’m Josiah Tate. I’m a firefighter here in Green Valley.” His smile is even nicer up close. He’s got big brown eyes that crinkle at the corners and a short dark beard the same color as his short dark hair. I wonder if Momma likes beards.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Tate. My name is Ba—Loretta. This here is Donald James.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Loretta. You can call me Tate. And this here is Rudy. He’s a firefighter too.” The dog has long, silky ears, a wrinkly face, and sad-looking eyes.

“He doesn’t look like a firefighter dog. He doesn’t have spots.”

Rudy woofs again, and Tate laughs. “Don’t say that. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

“Sorry, Rudy.” I hold out my hand, and he sniffs it before turning back to Donald James. I think he’s forgiven me.

Tate holds up two helmets. “Y’all want to wear one for the picture?”

I take one and put it on my head. It’s real heavy, and if it weren’t for my ball cap, it would cover my face. I peer up at Tate, and he laughs. I like that sound. Donald James does too. He smiles big and puts the helmet on his head. I point and tell my brother to look at the camera.

“Cheese!” Donald James says, looking at Rudy.

Tate gently turns my brother toward the camera. “Let’s do that again,” he says.

This time, Donald James looks at the camera and all three of us say “Cheese,” real loud.

“Show us what you got, Watson,” Tate says. The camera guy comes over and gives his camera to Tate. I crowd next to Tate, who smells like cinnamon and soap. My heart thumps when I see the picture. We look like a family. Momma would fit in just fine.

“Come back in a little while, and we’ll have these ready for you,” Tate says.

“Will you be here if we come back after three o’clock?”

Tate looks at me funny but says sure. He’ll be there for a while.

We give back the helmets and I guide Donald James past the people waiting to have their pictures made. Some girls bigger than me snicker and say, “Cheese,” real mean as we walk by. Donald James doesn’t notice, but I give them a glare and hurry my brother on past.

We pass a long row of booths where people are making and selling all kinds of things: clothes, pottery, jewelry, paintings. I remind my brother not to touch anything. I don’t want to spend my twenty dollars on something he broke.

There’s a stage up ahead where people are singing Karaoke. A lady is singing a pretty song, sweet and low, and I take off Donald James’s headphones. He likes music. He sways, holds his hands before him, and claps when the lady finishes. Another lady comes up to sing a song, but she’s not very good. It sounds more like screeching than singing, and Donald James covers his ears. “Make it stop!” he yells real loud over and over again.

I get his headphones back on and hurry him out of there. People are giving us mean looks like we’re troublemakers, and I wish Momma were with us. She’d know what to do. We wander around some more, and I see a boy riding on his daddy’s shoulders. I bet Tate could carry me like that. He could probably carry Donald James too, if he’d let him.

We go into a long building with lots of tables set up where you can try different foods. I use my best manners, and we try shortbread cookies, and lemon squares, and orange marmalade on crackers. Anything that’s not red.

The last time Donald James had something red, he coughed and coughed and his face got blotchy, and we went to the free clinic. I was crying, and Momma was crying. They rushed him behind the doors, put a plastic mask over his face, gave him some medicine, and told Momma never to let Donald James eat anything red ever again.

When we’re full of samples, we go back outside. I shut my eyes against the bright sunshine and hear, “Cheese.”

Someone knocks my hat off and pushes me to the ground. I look up to see one of the mean girls laughing at me. Another one is trying to take Donald James’s headphones. He yells, “Stop!” and pushes her away. Hard. She lands on the ground beside me then gets up real quick and takes off. People all around us are trying to see if I’m okay. Donald James keeps yelling until Rudy pushes his nose through the crowd and into my brother’s hand. Donald James stops.

A big hand reaches down, and a voice says, “Here now, Miss Loretta. Let me help you.”

I’m not hurt, but I let Tate help me up. He holds Rudy’s leash in one hand and my hand in the other, leading us over to a bench. It feels real nice, and I don’t want to let go. Rudy pushes his head past Tate, licks my face, then sits back and looks between Donald James and me like he’s checking us over. I pat his head, and he woofs and scooches closer to Donald James, who plays with Rudy’s ears.

Tate kneels in front of me but looks around at the people walking by. “Where are your parents?”

“I don’t have a daddy,” I tell him, “and Momma’s working at the Pie in the Sky food truck. If they like her, they’re gonna give her a real job, and we get to stay in Green Valley. She says the job comes with an apartment over top the store, and I can pick out a new bedspread. Donald James threw up on my old bedspread, and Momma can’t get the stain out.”

I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, but Tate’s a firefighter, and everyone knows firefighters are good people. “Are you married?” He’s not wearing gold chains or a ring but you never know for sure. “Or got a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?”

He rocks back on his heels, pressing his lips together. “No, ma’am. How long until—” The radio clipped to his shoulder squawks, and he cocks his head to listen. Then he presses a button, says something into it, and stands up. “Rudy and I gotta go. Are you gonna be okay?”

“Will you be at the firetruck after three o’clock?”

“I should be, but I don’t know Miss Loretta. But you can pick your pictures up from the other firefighters if I’m not. I hope your momma gets that job. Y’all take care now.” He waves at Donald James, and he and Rudy take off, walking fast.

My rear end hurts, and I shift on the bench to get more comfortable. The fair isn’t much fun anymore, so we stay there for a while, Donald James playing with his nametag. I have one too, ’cept mine says Loretta June Halver instead of Donald James Halver. I made them just before school got out. I printed Momma’s name and her phone number on them, then wrapped them over and over again with tape, so if they get wet, you can read them, then put them on a string. We wear them around our necks when Momma can’t be with us all the time.

When the church bell rings three times, Donald James and I are standing across from the Pie in the Sky food truck. Momma is inside talking to a lady wearing an apron, smiling. They shake hands then Momma is coming toward us, smiling big.

“I got the job!” She takes my hand and Donald James’s hand, and we do a happy dance.

“We can stay in Green Valley?”

“Yep.” She pops the P.

“We can live in the apartment?”

“Yep.” She pops that P again and swings our arms back and forth.

I’m real excited, but we got places to go. I tug on her hand. “I need to show you some bod—something.”

Momma tugs back. “Hang on, Baby Girl. I need to work another hour.”

“What?”

She leads us over to a picnic table and sits down. “I’m sorry, but the other worker called in sick, and the owner is in a bind. If I work another hour she’ll know she made a good decision hiring me.”

“But you promised!” I stamp my feet.

“I know,” Momma sighs. “I know I ask a lot from you, but this is it. It’s a good job, she’s a good boss, and Green Valley is a good town. We can have a home here.”

I peek up at her from under my cap. “And become a family?”

“We are a family,” Momma says, making her eyes all squinty. “You know that. We don’t need anyone else. We’ve got Big Papa and Big Mama close by, your aunts and uncles and cousins in Nashville. Families come in—”

“All different sizes,” I finish for her. Donald James repeats it a few times.

Momma smiles at us. “We good? One more hour?”

“Yeah.”

She cups a hand to her ear. “What’s that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. Momma can’t abide bad manners.

She brings us each an apple hand pie, and some water. I gobble mine down, wait for Donald James to finish his, stuff the wrappers in the garbage, and we take off. Holding onto his belt loop, I lead us through the crowds back to where the firetruck was.

It’s gone.

A square folding table with a bunch of pictures spread out on it is in its place. A lady firefighter standing next to it asks me if we’re there to get our pictures.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, “Are firefighter Tate and Rudy still here?”

She hands me three pictures, shaking her head. “Sorry hon, Tate went out on a call, and his shift ended.”

“Is he coming back?”

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t have a reason to come back to the fair.” She tilts her head to the side and looks us over. “Y’all want a sticker.”

I don’t want no sticker. I want Tate and Rudy to meet Momma. I take the stickers because it would be rude not to.

Donald James pokes me. “The firetruck is hiding,” he says.

“No, they drove it away.”

“Tate and Rudy are hiding.”

“No, Donald James, they went to work.”

He pokes me and giggles. “I can hide.”

“No!” I snap. “You can’t hide cause I don’t want to find you.” I grab his belt loop and pull him away.

We go down a path that leads to a water park. Jets of water spring up out of the ground to splash on squealing kids, some grown-ups too. Donald James grabs the front of his pants and pokes me. “I have to pee.”

I lead him to the boys’ bathroom, tell him to remember to wash his hands, and sit on the bench across the way. Someone laughs real loud. Is that Tate? I stand up to look around, but it’s just a man. A man holding a little girl’s hand and laughing as she tries to eat a giant ice cream cone. I sit back down and stare at the pictures. Two of them are fuzzy, but one is perfect. Donald James and Tate are looking at the camera. I’m looking up at Tate. We’re all smiling. Even Rudy. We look like a family.

The picture is getting blurry. I sniff, wipe away the tears, and stuff the picture into my pocket. Sitting on the bench, I swing my feet, watching other people’s feet walk by.

The church bell rings four times, and I jump. I look up at the boys’ bathroom. Donald James is taking forever. There’s something in a puddle close to the door, and I squint at it. It looks like—I race over and pick up Donald James’ nametag. “Oh, no!”

I start running, calling my brother’s name. There’s someone wearing a Predators’ hat, but it’s not Donald James. There’s someone wearing headphones, but it’s not Donald James. I run to the food trucks to get Momma.

***

ANGELINA

I am beat. It was a long four hours, but a good four hours. I swear, I’m more tired from smiling than working. It’s a good thing I like pie ’cause I’m gonna be making pies every blessed day from now on. Michelle, the owner of Pie in the Sky, told me she has two food trucks that go to all the fairs, baseball games, football games, and any other sporting event in Green Valley, plus her café. I’ll be running the café. I do a little happy dance just like my Donald James, while waiting for my kids. I need to make it up to Baby Girl for working that extra hour. I don’t blame her for being annoyed with me. My last job ended when school got out, and I’ve been relying on her a lot while looking for a new one. She’s so responsible that sometimes I forget she’s only eight.

There are lots of summer activities for kids in Green Valley, a lot of them free for working moms like myself. And that is music to my ears. The Green Valley library is supposed to be a happening place. They have classes and volunteers trained to work with neurodiverse kids. And it’s two blocks away from the café. And our new home. It’s a two-bedroom apartment right above the café. Not fancy, but clean and bright. I love my parents, swear to God, and am so thankful they let us stay with them, but it will be so nice to have a place of our own.

I’d asked about housing during my first interview and Michelle told me about the apartment. She owns the building and rented the apartment to me at a reduced price in exchange for opening up the café five mornings a week. She’s already given me the keys, so we can stay there tonight. I’d packed sheets and towels and clean clothes this morning, hoping that’d be the case. I cannot wait to have a shower and get out of these clothes. Deep-fried pies are fine and all, but I do not like smelling like them.

I’m wondering if Michelle will let me paint the apartment when Baby Girl races up to me. She flings herself around my legs, sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” I pull her back to look into her red face. She’s crying so hard she can’t speak. I look around. “Where’s Donald James?”

Baby Girl blubbers.

I give her a little shake, my heart beating like I’ve run a marathon. “Where’s Donald James?”

“I don’t know!” she gets out before collapsing against me.

I shush her and try to think.

“Angelina, what’s going on? Y’all need help?” Michelle, my sweet new boss, is leaning out the front window of the food truck, looking worried.

“My son—” I clear my throat and try again “—Donald James is missing.”

A few minutes later, I’m sitting at a picnic table, Baby Girl on one side, Michelle on the other, and talking to Sheriff James. He’s patient and kind, but I want him to hurry up and start looking for my son!

“Ms. Halver, have you got a recent picture of Donald?”

“Donald James,” I correct him. “His name is Donald James.”

The sheriff nods and writes that down. I pull out my phone and scroll through my photos with shaking fingers.

“Here,” Baby Girl holds out a photograph I’ve never seen before. “We took it today at the fire truck.”

The sheriff chuckles, but nothing is funny to me. He speaks into a microphone clipped to his shoulder. “Find me Josiah Tate, and tell him to bring Rudy.” There’s a crackle and words I don’t understand, but Sheriff James seems satisfied and goes back to studying the picture. He hands it to a deputy and tells him to make sure the fair’s security staff has a copy. “Can Donald James hear anything with those headphones on?”

“Yes. They make loud noises less overwhelming, that’s why he wears them. But he can hear me okay.”

“And how old is he?”

“Nine and a half.”

“Will he respond if we call his name over the PA system?”

“I don’t know,” I answer. “We’ve never done it before.”

“Will Donald James try to find you?”

“I don’t know! It’s never happened before.” I have kept my babies safe all their lives. I choke back tears because my daughter does not need to see me panic.

“I’m here. How can we help?”

Baby Girl leaps off the bench and hugs the man in front of us. He gently pulls her off him, squatting down to be eye level with my daughter. “What’s up, Miss Loretta?”

The story comes out of her in a torrent, but the man, wearing a uniform of the Green Valley Fire Department with a name tag that says TATE, listens intently, seeming to parse out the important details.

Baby Girl ends with a tearful, “It’s all my fault, and I am so sorry, Momma.”

Pulling my daughter in tight, I tell her it is not her fault. The Lord knows it is not her fault. A big hound dog with the kindest eyes butts his head between us, snuffling Loretta like he is telling her the same thing.

“Ms. Halver,” Sheriff James says, “this here is Josiah Tate. He and Rudy there will find Donald James. That’s their job, and they are mighty good at it.”

“Really?” Hope springs forth for the first time in what seems like hours.

“They’ve got a hundred percent success rate for finding people,” the sheriff boasts, hoisting up his belt.

I look at Josiah Tate, hoping that success rate means alive and well. “Ma’am,” he says, “Do you have anything that belongs to Donald James so Rudy can get a good sniff?”

Before I had babies, I carried the cutest little handbags. Not anymore. I carry a backpack loaded down with anything my babies might need. I hand over Donald James’s favorite hoodie. Rudy snuffles the fabric and lets out a woof.

“Got it boy?” Josiah Tate asks.

Rudy woofs again. I have never been much of a dog person, but I think I am in love.

“Which bathroom were you at?” Josiah Tate asks my daughter.

“I’ll show you.” She reaches up to take his hand.

“No, honey,” he says in a gentle but firm voice. “You stay here. Your momma needs you.” He pulls two cards out of his pocket and gives one to each of us. “You call me if Donald James shows up here.” He looks at me while speaking, and I can’t help but think there’s a bit of judgment in his eyes. And I don’t blame him. Baby Girl tells him which bathroom to start at, and Josiah Tate and Rudy take off, the crowds parting like they’re royalty.

It is so hard waiting. I rock Baby Girl close to my side, soothing my hand up and down her back. A description of Donald James comes over the loudspeaker with instructions to contact security if he is spotted but not to touch him.

“Momma, I think Donald James is playing hide and seek.”

“Why’s that?”

Her lip trembles. “Because he asked me to play and I was mad and said no.”

I hug her tighter as dread washes over me. My kids love playing hide and seek. Donald James will find great spots and stay there until his giggles give him away. I look around wildly. There are so many places a little boy can hide, he could be anywhere.

Baby Girl points at a speaker on a pole close by as the message comes again. “You’ve got to sing him out!” she shouts.

I’m staring at her like she’s lost her mind, then the penny drops. I turn to Michelle. “Take me to where that woman is making the announcements. I need to talk to Donald James.”

My new boss doesn’t bat an eye. She’s up and moving, Baby Girl and me close behind. The deputy left in charge of us protests, but I don’t have time to explain. He can follow us.

Inside the security office, I explained what I wanted. The lady in charge snaps her gum, nods, and says, “I’ll do you one better than that. Head on over to the entertainment stage and use the microphone there. You find Cletus Winston and tell him I said so. I’ll broadcast you to the whole fair, shoot all of Green Valley.” She pats my hand. “We’ll find your boy, don’t you worry none.”

That’s easy for her to say; it’s not her boy who’s missing. I keep that thought to myself.

Outside, the deputy has commandeered a golf cart and waves us over. I take the passenger seat while Baby Girl and Michelle scramble into the back. “Y’all hang on,” the deputy says, taking off, honking his horn at anyone who won’t get out of the way. The paths clear and we careen around corners, past the snow cone booth and shooting gallery, through the midway and animal barn, until we screech to a stop behind the performance stage.

A big bearded man in overalls and holding a banjo scowls at us from the top of the stairs. “Ms. Halver, I presume? I have been informed that you will be taking the microphone.”

My legs are shaky as I climb out of the golf cart and nod at him. Baby Girl gets out of the back and takes my hand.

“Well, come on up here.” He stands back and gestures us up the stairs. “The musicians are ready, you just tell us what to perform. If we don’t know the song, you start, and we’ll pick it up along the way.”

I freeze. Musicians? Perform? What am I doing here? Fortunately, my daughter knows exactly what to do.

Baby Girl drags me up the stairs, past a woman with an accordian, three baton twirlers in matching outfits, and onto a stage. A six-piece band awaits me: drums, stand-up bass, steel guitar, two acoustic guitars, and a fiddle.

The bearded banjo player looks us over. “How many microphones y’all need? Three?” He points a beefy finger at the deputy. “You don’t get one. Angels weep when you sing, and not in a good way.”

My boss and new best friend steps up to take my other hand. “This is as close as I’m ever gonna get to the Opry, so I’m with you. What are we singing?”

Every parent knows that it’s important to talk to infants and babies. They need to hear your voice to get to know you. It’s hard to talk all the time, especially when they don’t talk back to you. So I sang to my babies, with or without the radio. Old songs my momma sang to me, church songs, and made-up songs.

I always knew where Donald James was hiding. I’d let him stay there cause it made him happy and gave me a few blessed moments of not worrying about him. Baby Girl never gave me a lick of trouble. She was two when my Jimmy died, and it was like she knew that I needed her help. There are days when she is more of a momma to her brother than I am. When it is time for supper or time for a bath, she helps me sing Donald James out of hiding.

Baby Girl looks up at the banjo player and says, “Do you know “Where Oh Where Has Donald James Gone?”

His bushy eyes come together in a ferocious frown then fly apart. He nods once, then turns to the fiddle player. “Got that, Paul?”

“Got it, Cletus,” the fiddle player answers and starts up. Sweet and slow.

The lyrics of the old children’s song were originally, “Oh where oh where has my little dog gone,” but I changed them for my son. He loved it. Baby Girl and I would have to sing it through two or three times before he’d come out from hiding.

I step up to the microphone in the middle, Michelle to one side, Baby Girl to the microphone that Cletus has thoughtfully lowered to her height. Shakily, I start singing, but my daughter’s voice is strong, and I draw comfort. With the fiddle leading, the band picks up the tune, and by the time we’ve sung the song through once, they’re playing with confidence.

The crowd in front of us is swaying, and mothers sing softly to their children, holding them close. Michelle speaks up loud over the music, “Y’all know the words now. Sing with us. Help us sing Donald James home.” She looks at me with an encouraging nod, and I appreciate her.

I appreciate her more when my throat closes up. What if it doesn’t work? What if Donald James is hurt? Or someone has taken him? Michelle clutches my hand like she knows what I’m thinking and mouths, Sing! And I do.

We sing that song two more times when there’s a woof and a howl. The crowd falters but the band keeps playing, every head turned toward the noise. And what a glorious noise it is! The crowd parts to reveal that big hound dog coming toward us, my son clinging to his leash, both of them howling to the music.

My legs give out, and I collapse to the stage, tears running down my face.

“It worked!” Baby Girl shouts, hugs me hard then takes a running leap off the stage. Thank God someone catches her, and she crowd surfs until she is placed on the ground in front of her brother.

“I hide real good,” Donald James says.

Some time later, I’m walking back to my car, holding Baby Girl’s hand and Donald James’s belt loop. There’s a woof, and we turn to see Rudy and Josiah Tate approaching us. I let go of my children for them to greet them. Donald James and Rudy woof at each other like they’re having their own conversation. Baby Girl clutches onto Josiah Tate’s hand, which is not good.

I do need to thank the man. With all the fuss at the stage, I didn’t have a chance to do more than smile at him. He’d nodded and pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything and didn’t hang around.

“Momma, this here is Tate, and he’s a firefighter. He’s not married, doesn’t have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and doesn’t wear gold chains. Rudy is his dog, and Donald James likes him. I like Tate.”

This is all shades of awkward, but my daughter is not finished. “This is Angelina Halver, the prettiest girl in Tennessee. She sings like an angel and makes a mean pie. She only snores a little and is thirty-two today. Are you that old?”

It would be nice if the earth opened up and swallowed me whole right now. But it doesn’t. Instead, Josiah Tate laughs. And it’s a beautiful sight. His full lips open to reveal white teeth, his eyes crinkle at the corners, and his big, broad shoulders shake.

It is a little funny. I start to chuckle until I see the frown on Baby Girl’s face and dissolve into fits of laughter until tears run down my cheeks.

Baby Girl has her arms crossed and is tapping her toes by the time I am done. “I do not know what’s funny.”

Josiah Tate snorts, but I do not look at him, fearing it will set me off again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’s just … well, it’s just been a day.” Her face falls, and her shoulders fall and I know she’s going to apologize again. “Uh-uh,” I say. “I asked too much of you today. We’ll just … start over tomorrow.”

She toes the ground with a sneaker, hands shoved into her pockets, and nods. A look comes over her, and she thrusts a hand toward me. “I almost forgot. Happy birthday, Momma!” In her hand is a silver bracelet that says Momma.

Tears are coming again, so I bite my lip and hug my daughter.

Donald James says, “Happy birthday, Momma.”

Josiah Tate says, “Happy birthday, Ms. Halver.”

Rudy woofs.

Baby Girl beams.

“Oh, my!” I know how much money she had, but I admire that bracelet like it came from Tiffany’s.

“Need some help?” Josiah Tate is so close I can see a tiny scar above his left eyebrow. It’s old, faded, and slightly pink against his smooth, dark skin. I want to touch it, ask him how he got it, ask him if he has any others. I nod. His long, dexterous fingers get that bracelet on me in no time, leaving my skin tingling where he touched my wrist.

“Thank you,” I say in a voice I don’t recognize.

“Do you like it, Momma?” Baby Girl asks.

I clear my throat, remembering I have two children watching. “Yes indeed.” I show off my bracelet to her.

The church bells chime six times. It’s getting late. I need to feed my children and introduce them to their new home. “Thank you for finding Donald James,” I say at the same time Josiah Tate says, “Would you all like some ice cream?”

I blink. “Ice cream?”

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Rudy and I are headed to the ice cream shop on Main Street. He’s not allowed inside, but they have chairs out front. So we sit there and have a treat. Rudy’s partial to banana splits, but I like a plain vanilla cone.”

Baby Girl butts in before I can answer. “Vanilla is Momma’s favorite too.” She looks up at me with big eyes that I cannot resist.

“Yes, vanilla ice cream sounds perfect,” I say.

“Vanilla ice cream sounds perfect,” Donald James parrots.

Rudy woofs.

The kids climb in the car. I help Donald James buckle up and stand back to find Josiah Tate holding my door open.

“I’m thirty-six. I like pie, I like your singing, and snoring doesn’t bother me a bit.” He meets my eyes before his gaze fixes on my lips.

Oh, my.

****