Archive of Our Own

The preparation for the trip became an adventure in itself.

It had begun just after breakfast, when Glenda, standing at the sink rinsing dishes, casually said, “You better start gettin’ your things together, baby girl. We’re headin’ out tomorrow before the sun gets too high.”

Jess, who had been lying on the floor with her legs swinging up against the wall and a crayon in her hand, froze like a character in a cartoon. Her little mouth popped open and then closed again, then opened once more for the inevitable: “OHHHHHH MAMA! We goin’ now now now?!”

Glenda turned, laughing softly, drying her hands. “Not just yet. You got time to pack your bag.”

Jess’s whole body wiggled. “I gon’ pack evvyfing!” she declared with the authority of a four-star general preparing for battle. She leapt to her feet, legs slightly unsteady from how fast she'd stood, then took off running barefoot down the hallway toward her bedroom. Her voice echoed down the walls: “I need my bag I need my bag I NEED MY BAG!”

In her room, the morning light poured through the curtains and painted warm patches on the wooden floor. Jess yanked her tiny backpack—bright pink and decorated with worn stickers of bunnies and rainbows—down from the hook on the door. The zipper was stubborn, but she gritted her teeth and tugged with all the strength her tiny arms could muster.

“I doin’ it,” she whispered to herself. “I doin’ it all by mineself.”

One by one, she began selecting items for her journey—each one vital, necessary, irreplaceable.

First came her raggedy doll, a once-white fabric creature with a stitched-on smile and button eyes that didn’t match: one was blue and chipped, the other black and dangling slightly loose.

“Miss Kiki gotta come,” Jess said as she tucked the doll in headfirst. “She get scared if she stay ‘lone.” Then, after a pause, she kissed the top of the doll’s head solemnly and added, “Don’t worry. You comin’, Kiki.”

Next was the plastic cup—the one with the faded image of a cartoon princess who had long since lost most of her crown to the dishwasher. Jess had insisted on drinking from it every day since the previous summer.

“This my spechul sippy,” she murmured, slipping it into the side pouch of her bag with great care. “Only work if it’s wif me. Mama don’t know—but it got magic in it.” She tapped the cup twice with her finger, nodding like a wizard completing a spell.

Then, she opened a little blue tin box shaped like a heart—inside were her ‘magic rocks.’ Really, they were just pebbles: one gray, one white, one sparkly black. Jess picked each one up in turn and held them to the light, murmuring little things under her breath.

“This one’s for wishin’ on bugs,” she said, showing the black sparkly one to no one in particular. “And this one makes you not scared of monsters—only the bumpy ones though, not the hairy ones.” The gray one received a kiss before she dropped it carefully into the inner pocket of her backpack. “And this one’s… this one’s for flyin’.”

She paused, looked at it with reverence, then whispered, “But only once. Mama say don’t waste it.”

She placed it on top of the doll’s legs and zipped the backpack three-quarters of the way shut, tongue sticking out slightly as she concentrated.
“There,” she huffed with satisfaction. “I pack evvyfing.”

The following morning, Jess swung the backpack onto her shoulders—though it made her wobble—and marched out into the hallway, her bare feet pat-patting across the floor, calling, “Mamaaaa! I reddy!”

Glenda, sitting now on the couch lacing her own shoes, looked up and smiled as Jess strutted in.

“Well now,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you look prepared. What all did you pack?”

Jess beamed and flung the bag to the floor with a dramatic thump. She dropped to her knees and unzipped it with flourish. “Look, Mama—Miss Kiki,” she said, pulling out the doll and holding her up by one limp arm. “She my trip friend. She gots to come or I get sad.”

Glenda nodded solemnly. “I reckon we can’t have that.”

“And this!” Jess said, grabbing the cup and holding it like it was a sacred artifact. “My sippy. It do the magic.” She leaned forward and added in a secretive voice, “But it don’t work for grown-ups.”

Glenda widened her eyes and made a surprised noise. “Well I’m glad you told me. I wouldn’t wanna break it by accident.”

Jess nodded, proud to be trusted with such adult-level responsibility. “An’ my rocks,” she said, opening the inner pouch and letting Glenda peek. “But don’t touch ‘em. They got jobs.”

Glenda smiled and reached to stroke her daughter’s hair, tucking one unruly curl behind her ear. “You packed just perfect, sweetheart.”

Jess threw her arms around Glenda’s waist and buried her face in her mama’s shirt. “I so ‘cited, Mama.”

Glenda kissed the top of her head and murmured, “Me too, baby girl. Me too.”

Then Jess broke away, eyes shining, bouncing in place again. “We go now? Now now now now now now now?”

Glenda laughed, stood up, and offered her hand. “Let’s go get your shoes on first, pumpkin. Then it’s car time.”

Jess gasped, grabbed her backpack with one arm, and took her mama’s hand with the other. “Shoes, car, trip trip trip!”

And off they went—one tall, calm woman and one chattering, bouncing child whose magic rocks clacked softly in her bag as she skipped down the hallway.

Glenda crouched down on the front porch in the late morning sun, her face glowing with delight as she zipped up the front of Jess’s little jacket. The child was practically vibrating with excitement, a bundle of blonde curls and bouncing feet, her giggles ringing out like wind chimes every time Glenda so much as looked at her with that secretive twinkle in her eye.

“You ready, baby girl?” Glenda asked, brushing a curl out of Jess’s eyes.

Jess nodded furiously, she squealed, and then, for good measure, bounced twice in place. Glenda laughed and cupped her cheek. “Oh sweetheart.”

Jess scampered ahead of her toward the driveway, the soles of her sneakers slapping the pavement as she sang a tuneless little hum to herself, her mind whirling with whatever wonders she imagined lay at the end of their drive. Glenda opened the back door of the Ford and patted the seat. Jess climbed up with only a bit of help, legs kicking and arms spread wide like she was boarding a rocket ship.

Once Jess was nestled into her booster seat, Glenda reached over and guided the seatbelt into place, her practiced hands clicking it snug around the child’s waist and across her chest. Jess held her arms up the whole time like she was being strapped into a roller coaster, eyes wide and smile uncontainable.

“Safe and sound,” Glenda said with a proud nod. She gave the buckle a little tug, tested it, then leaned in and kissed the top of Jess’s head. “There we go. You’re all set.”

“Where are we goin’, mama?” Jess asked again, though she’d already asked twice that morning and once last night. Her legs swung back and forth under the edge of the seat, little white socks bunched at the ankles, shoes with glittery stars catching the light as she kicked.

“Well now,” Glenda said as she lingered on her knees, a playful smile. “Make your best guesses.”

“Is it a beach?” Jess shouted as Glenda slid into the front seat.

“Nope,” Glenda said, adjusting the mirror to peek at Jess in the back. “Guess again.”

Jess put a finger to her mouth. “Ummmm… a castle?”

Glenda chuckled, turned the ignition, and the car rumbled to life. “Well, close enough.”

Jess squealed again, too excited to sit still. “A castle trip! A castle trip!” she shouted in time with her kicking feet.

Glenda shook her head, amused, her heart warmed. “Lord help me, I’ve created a monster,” she said under her breath.

"Alright. We're gonna go see Memaw in Plano."

The word sparked a fire in Jess's eyes. "Pwane? We gonna fly on a pwane?" she shrieked, her voice a high-pitched squeal.

Glenda chuckled, the sound warm and rich like molasses. "No, sweetie. Plano. It's a place, not a plane."

But the idea had taken root in Jess's fertile imagination like a weed in a flowerbed. Jess wiggled, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout that could rival any toddler beauty queen. "But Mama, I wanna fly on a pwane! Can we go on a pwane?"

The pout deepened, tears welling but not yet spilling. Glenda recognized this crossroads—the place between tantrum and acceptance, where magic sometimes worked better than logic.

She knelt beside the open truck door, dropping to eye level. “Hey now, listen. I know flying sounds real exciting. And you’ll get to do that someday, I promise. But this trip? This one’s special. We’re gonna take the long road. We’ll see all kinds of things. Trees bigger than houses. Cows with spots. Maybe even a rainbow if we get lucky.”

Jess sniffled. “A weally weal wainbow?”

“A real one,” Glenda confirmed, eyes twinkling. “And you know what else?”
Jess leaned forward, eyes narrowing with suspicion and curiosity.

"We'll sing songs and play 'I Spy' with all the things we see out the window. Maybe we'll even see some cows along the way!"

The promise of cows perked Jess up a bit, a flicker of interest replacing the disappointment in her eyes. "Moo cows?" she questioned, her head tilting like a curious puppy.

"That's right," Glenda smiled, pulling out of the driveway. "Big, brown moo cows that say 'moo' and eat lots of grass."

“Mm-hmm,” Glenda nodded, tapping her daughter’s nose. “And we’ll be singing so loud on the way, those moo cows’ll stop chewing just to listen.”

The frown broke, giving way to a giggle that burst from Jess like a popped bubble. “Moo cows gonna dance?”

“They just might,” Glenda winked. “But only if you sing real pretty.”

She closed the door gently and climbed into the driver’s seat, the steering wheel hot enough to sting her palms. Cranking the windows down, she let the breeze roll through and ruffle the scent of the road into the cab: warm grass, sunbaked asphalt, and the far-off promise of magnolia.

As the truck rumbled down the dusty driveway, Jess was already in the back belting out a very loose interpretation of “Old MacDonald,” adding her own creatures along the way.

“An’ on that farm he had a... kangawoowa! With a boing-boing here—”

Glenda laughed, shaking her head. “Kangaroo, huh? What sound does a kangaroo make, you little rascal?”

Jess paused, thinking hard, then bounced in place. “It go jump jump and say ‘Hiya!’ like a ninja!”

“Well I’ll be,” Glenda grinned. “That must be a real talented kangaroo.”

The Tennessee River came into view, silver and wide, the bridge rising ahead like a ribbon stretched over the water. Jess pressed her palm to the glass.

“Big water,” she whispered.

“That’s the river,” Glenda said. “It’s been here a long time — even before Mama was born.”

Jess’s eyes widened. “Before me too?”

“Way before you,” Glenda teased.

Crossing the bridge, the sunlight bounced off the ripples and into the car, lighting Jess’s face. She kept pointing at things — a cluster of geese gliding near the shore, a fisherman standing in a small aluminum boat, the slow churn of the current around the bridge supports.

“Duckies swimmin’,” she announced.

“They sure are,” Glenda said. “Maybe we’ll see some up close before we get too far.”

She kept her word. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into Point Mallard Park. The lot was nearly empty, the morning stillness broken only by the faint splash of the pond’s fountain.

Glenda opened the trunk, pulled out a bag of bread she’d stashed for just this reason, and handed Jess a slice.

“For the duckies,” she explained.

Jess toddled to the water’s edge, the grass damp under her sandals. The moment the bread crust hit the pond with a soft plop, a flurry of feathers and low quacks broke out. Three ducks came hustling toward them, their webbed feet pattering against the water.

Jess squealed and held up another piece. “They comin’ fast, Mama!”

“I see that,” Glenda laughed. “Better tear it up so everybody gets some.”

Jess obeyed, tearing the bread into awkward chunks and tossing them one by one. Each throw was accompanied by a giggle when the ducks lunged for the prize.

They stayed until the bread was gone, the ducks drifting back into the center of the pond. Jess waved solemnly. “Bye-bye, duckies. We goin’ ‘ven-chuh now.”

Back in the car, Glenda merged onto the highway again, the morning sun climbing higher. Jess leaned back in her seat, humming tunelessly to herself, while Glenda reached for her coffee. The smell filled the car, mingling with the faint scent of bread and pond water still clinging to Jess’s hands.

“Next stop,” Glenda said to the quiet road ahead, “Mississippi.”

Jess grinned, eyes already searching for the next thing worth pointing out.

“I packed you some snacks, sugar,” Glenda said, reaching behind her seat at the next red light to grab a little canvas tote with a pink rabbit printed on it. She handed it back without looking. “There’s strawberries, your little crackers, and a juice box in there.”

Jess took the bag with reverence. “Thanks, mama.” Then, in a whisper: “This is the best day ever.”

Glenda blinked once, hard, and smiled as the light turned green.

The road west from Decatur unspooled in long, easy stretches, the kind of highway where telephone poles and fence posts pass in a steady rhythm. The sky had turned a brighter blue, a few cotton-ball clouds drifting lazily above the farmland. Glenda kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the open window frame, letting the warm air move through her fingers.

Jess sat in the back, cross-legged in her car seat now, the doll propped against her thigh. She was narrating the passing world in that half-singing voice of hers — “big truck… little car… moo-cow… birdie, birdie, birdie.”

“Where we goin’ now?” she asked suddenly, leaning forward as far as her straps would allow.

“To Tupelo,” Glenda answered. “That’s in Mississippi. You’ve never been there before.”

Jess tilted her head, working the name over on her tongue. “Tuh…poo…low. Sound funny.”

Glenda grinned. “It does. But it’s where Elvis Presley was born.”

Jess thought about that for a second, then decided, “I can sing too.” And without hesitation, she launched into an improvised tune about “the duckies in the pond” — a few lines repeated over and over, but with great conviction.

They passed a stretch of cotton fields, the plants low and dense, little tufts of white catching the sun. Glenda slowed just a bit so Jess could see.

“Snow!” Jess gasped.

“Not snow,” Glenda said, laughing. “That’s cotton. They grow it here. People pick it and make it into cloth — for shirts, dresses, even bedsheets.”

Jess’s eyes widened. “We wear snow?”

“Something like that.”

They pulled into a small gas station just outside the state line, one of those places where the pumps looked like they’d been there since the ’80s, and the sign on the window promised “Fried Pies – Still Warm.” Glenda filled the tank while Jess leaned against the inside of the door, craning to see the rack of bright wind chimes hanging by the entrance.

Inside, the air was cool with the scent of coffee and frying oil. Glenda bought two fried pies — peach for Jess, apple for herself — and a pair of glass-bottled sodas.

“Careful,” Glenda said, twisting the cap off Jess’s strawberry soda. “It’ll fizz.”

Jess’s eyes lit up at the hiss and pop, the fizzing bubbles climbing the neck of the bottle. She took a careful sip, then squealed, “It tickles!”

They sat on a bench outside to eat, the hum of cicadas loud in the shade. The pies were hot enough to steam, the crust crisp and dusted with sugar. Jess took a bite too big for her mouth and ended up with peach filling on her chin.

Glenda reached over, thumb sweeping it away. “You’re a mess already, and it’s not even noon.”

Jess grinned, unbothered. “Messy is fun.”

The Alabama–Mississippi state line came into view with little fanfare — just a weathered green sign by the roadside, white letters reading Welcome to Mississippi and a smaller marker beneath, half-hidden by summer weeds.

Glenda slowed and eased onto the shoulder. “C’mon,” she said over her shoulder to Jess. “We’ve gotta get your picture.”

Jess blinked in surprise. “A picture of me?”

“Of course. First time you’ve been to Mississippi. That’s important.”

She unbuckled Jess and lifted her out, the heat rising up from the asphalt in soft waves. The air was sharper here somehow, less shaded, the hum of grasshoppers filling the stillness.

Jess stood in front of the sign, clutching her doll by the arm. Glenda crouched low with the camera, framing her against the pale blue sky.

“Say ‘Tupelo!’” Glenda called.

“Tuh-poo-low!” Jess shouted, breaking into a toothy grin just as the shutter clicked.

They were back on the road within minutes, Tupelo less than an hour ahead.

The fields and clusters of trees rolled past, and Glenda hummed an Elvis tune under her breath, letting the melody drift toward the back seat.

By late morning, they pulled into Tupelo. The Elvis Presley Birthplace sat just off the main road — a small, white, shotgun-style house with a wooden porch and tidy yard. Even from the parking lot, the air was thick with the scent of magnolia.

Glenda took Jess’s hand as they walked toward it. “This is it,” she said softly. “The house where Elvis was born.”

Jess looked up at the porch, brow furrowed. “It’s so tiny.”

“It is,” Glenda agreed. “He didn’t grow up rich. But he worked hard, and he loved music. That’s how he got here —” she gestured toward the bronze statue in the garden, Elvis mid-performance, guitar slung low.

Jess stared at the statue. “He singin’ to the flowers?”

Glenda laughed. “Maybe he is.”

Inside the small museum, Jess was more taken with the old microphones and shiny guitar cases than the photographs. She pressed her nose to the glass at one display and whispered, “I can play that.”

“I bet you could,” Glenda said.

Before they left, Glenda bought her a toy guitar from the gift shop — bright red plastic with black strings. Jess slung it over her shoulder like she’d been born to do it.

“Now I’m ‘Levis,’” she declared as they stepped back into the sunlight.

The toy guitar rode in Jess’s lap for the first few miles out of Tupelo, her little hands strumming the plastic strings with single-minded concentration. Each time she plucked one, she tilted her head, listening for the note, then adjusted her fingers as if fine-tuning. Glenda couldn’t help glancing at her in the rearview, seeing her brow furrowed in the exact way her own had been as a girl when she was trying to memorize something important.

“You’re takin’ that real serious,” Glenda remarked, smiling.

Jess nodded without looking up. “I gotta practice so I can be good like Levis.”

The highway west dipped and curved through pine stands and low fields, the green broken now and then by small towns where storefronts leaned close to the road — faded awnings over barbershops, narrow brick churches with white steeples. Glenda noticed how the signs shifted from the blues and reds of modern chain stores to the hand-painted wood of places that had been there for decades.

Every so often, Jess would shout something she’d spotted — “Horse!” “Red car!” “Big hill!” — and Glenda would slow if she could, letting her drink it all in.

The landscape began to flatten, the pines giving way to stretches of farmland again. They were getting closer to the Mississippi River; Glenda could feel the change in the air, heavier somehow, and tinged with the faint smell of water and earth.

By the time the skyline of Memphis shimmered in the distance, the late-morning sun had slipped toward noon. The road widened, the hum of traffic deepening, and Jess craned forward in her seat, watching the shapes of taller buildings emerge.

“What’s that big shiny one?” she asked, pointing at a high-rise that caught the light.

“That’s an office building,” Glenda explained. “People work there all day.”

Jess wrinkled her nose. “All day?”

The approach to the Mississippi River was always a moment Glenda loved — the long, slow climb up the Hernando de Soto Bridge, the arc of steel girders framing the water below.

“Look, baby,” she said. “There it is. The Mississippi.”

Jess’s gasp was instant. “It’s so big!”

“It’s one of the biggest rivers in the whole country,” Glenda said. “It goes on and on, farther than we can drive today.”

Jess pressed her forehead to the glass as they crossed, eyes darting between the sunlight flashing off the current and the far shore sliding closer.

Once on the Tennessee side, Glenda followed the signs into downtown Memphis, easing onto streets lined with brick buildings painted in rich reds and yellows. They turned onto Beale Street, where neon signs glowed even in daylight — guitars, saxophones, the looping script of blues clubs.

Jess was instantly transfixed. “It’s like a fair!” she exclaimed.

“It’s a music street,” Glenda said, finding a parking spot. “Lots of folks come here to hear bands and eat good food.”

The road humming beneath the tires, green hills unfurling on either side of the road like a patchwork quilt stitched in every shade of summer. The sun had begun to tilt in the sky, casting long golden rays through the tall pines, and Jess had finally worn herself into a moment of quiet. Her fingers toyed absently with the fraying hem of her shirt as she looked out the window, eyes wide and dreamy.

She’d been good so far—only one fuss when Glenda wouldn’t stop at a roadside fruit stand because “we already got snacks, baby”—but it passed quickly, especially once Glenda had offered her a peeled clementine and pointed out cows grazing in a distant pasture.

Now the road curved slightly, the car dipping between gentle rises, and a billboard for Ruby Falls zipped by, prompting Jess to twist in her booster seat and point at nothing in particular.

“Mama,” she asked, voice thoughtful, soft with the kind of far-off wonder only very small children possessed. “Where Misty from?”

Glenda glanced in the rearview mirror, blinking once to reorient herself. “Misty… the horse?” she asked.

Jess nodded eagerly, her curls bouncing. “Uh huh. Misty, from Misty. You know. She run real fast an’ she got the friend wif braids and she don’ like when people be mean to the lil’ duck.”

Glenda smiled. “Course I know her, baby. You only made me watch that show more times than I can count.”

Jess giggled, covering her mouth. “She my best girl.”

Glenda’s smile lingered, eyes soft on the road ahead. She thought for a moment—honestly trying to remember where the show was set. Some ranch, a small town, the ocean in the distance?

“I think…” she said slowly, “Misty’s from California. Somewhere along the coast, I’d bet. Where the cliffs meet the sea.”

Jess gasped, enchanted. “Califonya? She live in Califonya?”

“Mhm,” Glenda said, watching a red truck pass them in the left lane. “Somewhere out west. Pretty place. I bet Misty had a big green pasture and a barn that smelled like fresh hay. And lemon trees. Maybe even a porch with a swing for her girl to sit on.”

Jess closed her eyes dramatically, like she was imagining it. “I gon’ go there one day. I ride the plane an’ I go to see Misty. I give her a snack, but not carrots, ‘cause she like apple bits.”

“Apple bits, huh?” Glenda said, amused. “Noted.”

“An’ she don’ like bein’ brushed by the mean lady,” Jess added seriously, frowning at the memory. “She do the tail too rough.”

“Well if you ever meet her,” Glenda said, “you be gentle. Just like you brush Chloe.”

“I do it nice,” Jess said proudly. “She close her eyes when I do.”

“I know she does, baby. You got a good hand.”

They rode in silence for a while after that. The road stretched on, long and winding, framed by the soft hush of trees and the occasional billboard for fireworks or roadside barbecue. Jess leaned her cheek against the window, a sticky half-clementine tucked in her hand, and whispered softly to herself:

“Califonya… Misty’s house… I come see you, girl…”

Glenda glanced again in the mirror, her heart tugged by the image: her daughter’s messy curls haloed in the afternoon light, her quiet voice murmuring dreams that spilled forward like a little stream.

The moment settled between them like a hush, warm and real. Nothing extraordinary. Just a question on a road trip. Just a mama and her girl, somewhere between the known and the new.

Glenda reached for the dial and turned the radio up a touch—classic soul drifting through the speakers, something smooth and low, just enough to carry them forward.

Jess didn’t say much for the next little while. But every so often, Glenda would hear a whisper from the back seat:

“Misty… apple bits… Califonya…”

And she smiled to herself, thinking:

One day, baby. You’ll go wherever you want.

They stepped out into the midday warmth, the air carrying the smells of fried catfish, barbecue smoke, and sweet bread. Somewhere down the block, a harmonica wailed over the low thump of a bass guitar.

Glenda took Jess’s hand and walked toward a little place with checkered tablecloths and a chalkboard menu propped against the door. Inside, the ceiling fans turned slow, and the tables were set with jars of pickles and bottles of hot sauce.

A waitress with silver hair and bright red lipstick leaned down to Jess’s level. “Well, hey there, sugar. You hungry?”

Jess nodded solemnly. “I want ’sketti. Please.”

The waitress chuckled. “We don’t do spaghetti, but we’ve got the best macaroni and cheese you’ll ever taste.”

Jess accepted that without hesitation. Glenda ordered pulled pork with slaw and baked beans, plus a strawberry soda for Jess and sweet tea for herself.

When the soda arrived in a glass bottle, Jess grinned. “It’s like the one from the ducky place!”

“That’s right,” Glenda said. “You gonna make it fizz again?”

Jess twisted the cap with both hands until it popped, then giggled as the bubbles rose.

The food came quickly — steaming macaroni in a deep white bowl for Jess, tender, smoky pork on a soft bun for Glenda. They ate slow, letting the hum of conversation and faint strains of blues music seep into the moment. Every now and then, Jess would point out a bit of neon visible through the window, or mimic the sound of the harmonica outside.

When they’d finished, the waitress brought over two oatmeal cookies “on the house” for Jess.

“For the road,” she said with a wink.

Jess tucked one carefully into her backpack beside the doll and the “magic rocks,” then took the other in hand for immediate eating.

Back in the car, Glenda steered them toward the I-40 on-ramp, the afternoon stretching ahead toward Little Rock. Jess settled into her seat, cookie in hand, toy guitar across her lap, and sighed contentedly.

“This a good ’venture,” she murmured, already half-asleep.

Glenda glanced at her in the mirror, her heart swelling. “It is, baby. And it’s just getting started.”

They turned onto the county road, the tires kicking up gravel as birds scattered from telephone wires. The truck’s tape deck crackled to life with Patsy Cline’s voice, sweet and sorrowful, but Glenda lowered the volume. Jess had taken over as DJ.

“I spy... somefing bwown,” Jess declared.

“The road?” Glenda guessed.

“Nope!” Jess giggled.

“Hmm... the dirt?”

Jess clapped. “Yay Mama! You got it!”

For miles, the game continued—brown cows, green grass, blue sky. Then “I Spy” gave way to daydreams. Jess asking whether Memaw had a dragon (Glenda assured her only the plush kind), whether they’d drive past any castles (she promised to point out every tall silo), and whether she could give Memaw her rock collection as a “gift of pwesents.”
“You can give Memaw anything you want,” Glenda said. “She’ll love it because it’s from you.”

They drove for a while with the windows cracked just a little, letting in the summer breeze. Jess chatted the whole way, pointing at cows and water towers, reading street signs out loud, or just making up stories about passing cars. Her voice was bright and alive, and Glenda let her ramble, giving a “mmhmm” here and a “you think so?” there, content just to listen.

Eventually, Jess’s voice slowed. Her legs stopped swinging. Her fingers still toyed with the strap of her booster seat, but she leaned her head against the window.

“Mama?” she said softly.

“Yes, baby?”

“I love goin’ on trips with you.”

Glenda reached back and gave her knee a gentle pat without taking her eyes off the road. “And I love takin’ you on ‘em.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the road and Jess’s breath as she drifted into a quiet, happy stillness. She didn’t sleep, but she rested there, content, until a sign on the side of the road made her gasp.

“Is that it? Is that it?!”

Glenda laughed. “We’ll see,” she said. “But you keep your eyes peeled. It’s just up ahead.”

Jess sat up taller, eyes darting this way and that, practically glowing with the thrill of it all.

And Glenda? She kept one hand on the wheel and the other loosely draped across her lap, full heart quietly pulsing with the knowledge that these were the days Jess would remember—even if only in the scent of warm seats and strawberry snacks, in the feeling of a buckle being gently clicked into place, in the sound of a grandmother’s voice saying, “Just you and me, baby girl.”

The midday heat in Memphis lay thick over the pavement, shimmering in small mirages along the road. As Glenda eased the car away from Beale Street, Jess craned her neck to watch the bright signs retreat in the side window, her free hand plucking idly at the toy guitar strings.

“You know what’s coming up before we leave town?” Glenda said.

Jess perked up instantly. “Duckies?”

“Not this time,” Glenda laughed. “It’s big. Way bigger than duckies. It’s shaped like a triangle, but huge, like a giant tent for the clouds.”

Jess’s mouth formed an o. “Bigger than a house?”

“Way bigger than a house. You’ll see.”

Within minutes, the skyline shifted, and there it was — the glassy, gleaming point of the Bass Pro Shops Pyramid, catching sunlight and sending it back in dazzling streaks. Jess gasped and pressed both hands to the window.

“It’s a diamond!” she shouted.

“Almost,” Glenda said. “We’re going inside.”

The parking lot was hot underfoot, and as they stepped inside, the blast of cool air carried the scent of cedar, leather, and something faintly sweet — like campfire smoke mixed with cinnamon. Jess’s eyes went everywhere at once: the tall fake cypress trees, the enormous fish tanks with catfish drifting slowly, the little waterfalls spilling into ponds where live ducks paddled lazily.

“There are duckies!” she squealed, pointing.

Glenda grinned. “Told you this place had everything.”

The glass-walled elevator car was warm with sunlight, the faint hum of its motor almost drowned out by Jess’s small gasps as they rose. Her sandals made soft scuffs against the floor each time she shifted for a better view. Far below, the parking lot began to shrink — cars turning into bright toy shapes, people into tiny moving dots.

“Mama, it’s goin’ up, up, up,” she whispered, clinging to the railing with one hand and holding Pancake the stuffed bear tight in the other.

“Sure is,” Glenda said, smiling at how Jess’s eyes seemed too big for her face right now. “Tallest free-standing elevator in the world. That means there’s not another one like it.”

Jess’s mouth fell open. “Not even in Texas?”

“Not even there.”
The doors opened with a soft ding, and they stepped out into the observation deck. The air felt different here — not actually thinner, but as though it belonged to some calmer, higher-up place. Glass stretched in wide panels from waist-height to ceiling, and beyond it the whole of Memphis lay spread out like a patchwork quilt.

Jess walked right to the nearest pane, the toes of her sandals bumping the base of the window. She pressed her hands flat against the glass, leaving small, perfect prints, and leaned forward until her forehead touched too.

Her voice came out hushed but certain: “Mama… I can see Texas from here.”

Glenda stepped up beside her, following the line of Jess’s pointing finger. What Jess was actually looking at was the Mississippi River gleaming in the sun, sliding past the far shore toward a haze of farmland. Texas was still a good day’s drive away — but the conviction in Jess’s voice was so sweet it made Glenda’s chest ache.

“You know what?” Glenda said, tilting her head as if studying the horizon. “I think you just might be right.”

Jess’s face lit up, that open, unguarded joy that made her whole body look lighter. “It’s right there,” she insisted, tracing an invisible path with her finger. “Past the shiny water. It’s waaaay over there, but I can see it.”

Glenda let her believe it. Some things, she thought, were better left intact — especially when they made a little girl’s eyes shine like that.

They stayed at the glass a while longer. Jess described all she could see: “Little teeny cars, tiny boats, tiny houses,” and then she made Pancake the bear “look” too, holding him up so his black button eyes were pressed to the window.

After a long, quiet stretch of gazing, Jess sighed happily. “It’s so big up here. You can see everything.”

Glenda slipped her arm around Jess’s shoulders and kissed the crown of her head. “That’s the best part about bein’ up high, peanut. You get to see the world all at once.”

And for another minute or two, they just stood together in that high, bright stillness, the city and the shining river laid out beneath them, and somewhere far beyond Jess’s imagination, Texas waiting at the end of their road.

Jess watched her from the backseat, wide-eyed. She had her knees tucked up just a little, one foot out of her sandal, the other gently tapping the fabric of her booster seat. A red lollipop, already half-melted and sticky, was clutched in her right hand, her fingers shiny with sugar. She didn't know the words, not really, but she knew the music. It was in her mama’s voice, and that was reason enough to join in.

So Jess opened her mouth wide and let out a warbly little echo, tuneless but earnest.

“Wook out Mamaaa, dere’s a white… somethin’… comin’ up da rivaaaa…”

Glenda kept singing, her smile just visible at the corners of her mouth as she drove. She didn’t correct Jess, didn’t laugh, just kept on with the next line:

“With a big red beacon and a flag and a man on the rail…”

Jess chimed in a beat late:

“Wif a big red beakin’ an’ a flag an’ a… MAAAAN onna whale…”

Glenda chuckled low in her chest. “Close enough, sugar bean,” she said over her shoulder. “You sound like a whole band back there.”

Jess beamed. She slapped the back of her seat with her free hand for rhythm and sang again, louder this time, but still entirely Jess-ified:

“MAMA SAY, GUNS GON’ GO BANG, AN’ I GON’ YELL… POWDER!”

She twirled her lollipop dramatically in the air like it was a microphone, juice smeared on her cheek, her whole face glowing with joy.

“Is this ‘bout Misty’s farm?” Jess suddenly asked between verses, her brow furrowed with childish logic. “Is she on da boat?”

Glenda laughed, really laughed that time. “No, baby. Not Misty. It’s just a story. About a boy watchin’ the world change right in front of him. It’s a sad one.”

Jess blinked, nodding slowly like she understood more than she really did. “I gon’ make it happy one,” she said firmly. “Wif the ducks an’ the pony. An’ da boat don’t come no more.”

Glenda felt her throat tighten a little at that. “You rewrite it however you want, darlin’. That’s what songs are for.”

Jess nodded again, satisfied, and resumed her little singalong with renewed determination, words half-invented, rhythm entirely her own.

“Gonna hug the powder, say no bang bang/
Gonna splash da boat, say go ‘way now!”

The music wound on, guitar solo crackling through the old speakers like firelight. Glenda let it move through her—hands steady, foot easing off the gas a touch. Trees lined the roadside, tall and watchful. Somewhere overhead, a bird swept low across the sun.

Backseat, Jess laid her head against the window, her voice soft now, humming more than singing. Her lollipop drooped, forgotten in her fingers. Her eyes fluttered, just barely open.

Glenda glanced at her in the mirror, her baby girl and her own reflection framed by the song that had traveled with her since she was a teenager. Her voice stayed quiet now, almost whispering the closing lines:

“Just think of me as one you’d never figured…”

She didn’t finish the lyric aloud.

Instead, she reached out and turned the volume down gently, letting the last notes roll through the quiet like a river slipping out to sea.

The car rattled gently as it picked up speed, tires humming against the sunbaked road. Cicadas buzzed from the pines lining the highway, their song rising and falling like heat waves in the air. Jess had gone from a riot of chatter to a meditative hush, her little face squinting out the window with a serious expression that only toddlers could wear so earnestly.

She was tracking the sky.

The telephone wires stitched across the horizon in perfect rhythm—tick, tick, tick—as they zipped by, and with every third or fourth pole, Jess would lift a pudgy finger and whisper, “Pwane? Pwane?”

“Nope, baby,” Glenda replied with a grin, easing the truck around a gentle bend. “Just the wires. No airplanes yet.”

But to Jess, each flicker of wire might well have been a wing. Her nose pressed to the glass, breath fogging the corner, she watched the empty blue with the kind of hope that only a child could sustain for miles on end.

“Maybe it hiding,” Jess murmured after a long silence.

Glenda snorted softly. “Hiding, huh? That’d be one sneaky airplane.”

Jess nodded sagely, curls bobbing. “It shy.”

“Well, maybe we’ll see it when it’s ready,” Glenda said, stealing a glance at her daughter in the rearview. The child had the look of a philosopher mid-revelation, brow furrowed as she pondered the sky’s secrets.

The road dipped low, curving through farmland dotted with rusting tractors and hay bales stacked like fortresses. A windmill spun lazily in the distance, its creak lost beneath the hum of the tires.

The highway stretched out before them, an endless ribbon of asphalt shimmering in the heat haze. Glenda hummed along to a country music station, her eyes scanning the monotonous landscape. A fly buzzed annoyingly around the rearview mirror, and she swatted at it with a sigh.

Suddenly, Jess shrieked with an ear-splitting delight, pointing out the window. Glenda squinted, momentarily startled, before following Jess's enthusiastic little finger.

Just off the road, separated by a barbed wire fence, lay a field bathed in the golden afternoon sun. And in that field, a handful of majestic horses grazed peacefully. Their coats, a rich chestnut and sleek black, glinted in the sunlight. Jess's eyes widened as big as saucers, her face erupting in a joyous grin.

"Wow!" Glenda exclaimed, slowing down the car to give Jess a better view. "Look at those horses, honey. Aren't they beautiful?"

Jess, completely enthralled by the sight, bounced in her seat. Her little hand shot out the window in a wobbly wave. "Hi, horsey!" she squealed, her voice brimming with excitement.

One of the horses, a large chestnut stallion, lifted its head and seemed to meet Jess's gaze for a fleeting moment. It snorted softly, perhaps a greeting in its own equine language, before returning to its grazing.

Jess giggled, waving even more frantically. "Hi horsey! Hi, hi!"

Glenda's heart swelled with a warm affection for her daughter. This simple encounter with a few horses had brought such pure joy to Jess's face. It was a reminder of the world's simple wonders, the things that adults often take for granted. But for Jess, in this moment, the horses were more than just animals. They were giants from a storybook, magnificent creatures with flowing manes and powerful builds.

For a few precious moments, they sat there, car idling by the side of the road, mesmerized by the silent conversation between a toddler and a majestic horse across the fence. In that shared space, imagination bloomed brighter than the Alabama sun. The field transformed into a magical kingdom, the horses, noble steeds awaiting a fearless rider. Jess, with her boundless enthusiasm, became a brave princess on a quest, waving goodbye to her loyal subjects before embarking on her grand adventure. It was a memory Jess would surely hold onto long after the last mile of the trip was driven, a tiny seed of wonder planted in her heart, ready to blossom into countless stories and dreams.

The sun had dipped low by the time Glenda steered them into downtown Little Rock, the day’s light turning syrupy and soft, stretching shadows across the sidewalks. The Arkansas River glinted between the buildings as they found a parking spot near the River Market District. Jess was still chattering about Pancake’s “Bear School,” but when Glenda opened the car door, the hum of evening life caught her attention.

The air smelled faintly of grilled food and river water — warm and just a touch damp, with a hint of honeysuckle from somewhere nearby. People strolled along the brick sidewalks in twos and threes, voices low and pleasant. Somewhere down the block, a street musician strummed an acoustic guitar, his voice carrying in lazy waves.

Glenda took Jess’s hand. “C’mon, sweetie. Let’s go stretch our legs before bed.”

They wandered toward the riverfront, Jess keeping up a steady rhythm of questions and observations. “Why the street bumpy?” she asked, hopping over a crack in the brickwork.

“Old bricks,” Glenda said. “They’ve been here a long time.”

“They tired?”

Glenda laughed softly. “Maybe a little.”

As they neared the water, the Junction Bridge came into view — its steel frame lit in changing colors, sliding slowly from deep blue to a warm gold, then to a soft rose. Jess’s grip on Glenda’s hand tightened.

“Mama, it’s a rainbow bridge!” she exclaimed, eyes wide.

“It’s a light-up bridge,” Glenda said. “They built it a long time ago for trains, but now people walk on it. And at night, they turn on all those colors.”

Jess tugged her forward until they were close enough to see the lights shimmer on the water below. She tilted her head back, counting aloud in a sing-song voice: “One… two… free… five… seven… no wait… one, two, free…”

“You skipped some,” Glenda said gently.

Jess furrowed her brow, starting again with great seriousness. “One, two, free, four, five, six, seben, eight… eleven?” She glanced up at Glenda, puzzled.

“That’s a lot of lights,” Glenda offered, smiling. “Hard to keep track when they change colors.”

Jess considered this, then nodded sagely. “I just gonna say ‘a lot of lights.’”

They stood for a while, watching the colors shift and blend — the bridge glowing blue against the darkening sky, then melting into a deep, rich purple that shimmered on the water. Boats moved slowly beneath, their navigation lights winking in the current. Jess kept pointing out the reflections, insisting they looked like “sparkles in the river.”

As they walked along the paved path, Glenda spotted a man selling cold drinks from a cart. She bought a lemonade for herself and a small cup of shaved ice for Jess, who immediately let Pancake “taste” it before taking her first spoonful.

“It’s cold on my teeth,” Jess giggled, hunching her shoulders in mock shivers.

When they looped back toward the car, the bridge behind them glowed a steady golden hue, the water beneath it dark except for the rippling light. Jess looked over her shoulder one last time and waved.

“Bye-bye, rainbow bridge!” she called, her voice carrying in the quiet.

Glenda squeezed her hand, feeling that small, warm palm against her own, and thought how these little detours — counting lights, tasting ice, waving to bridges — were the real heart of the trip.

By the time they reached the motel, Jess was yawning, her earlier excitement mellowed into that soft, drifting state just before sleep. Inside, the hum of the room’s air conditioner welcomed them back, and the day’s last colors faded beyond the curtained window, leaving only the neon motel sign buzzing faintly in the Arkansas night.

The sky outside was turning a deep, soft blue when Glenda steered into the gravel lot of a low, squat building with a flickering neon sign that read simply: Catfish House. The paint on the siding had faded to a kind of dignified cream, the windows trimmed in forest green. A single ceiling fan spun lazily on the covered porch, where two older men in feed caps sat on a bench, swapping quiet conversation.

Inside, the air was thick with the mingled scents of frying oil, cornbread, and coffee that had been percolating all day. The décor was a perfect time capsule — wood-paneled walls, framed black-and-white photos of fishing tournaments from decades past, and red vinyl booths whose edges had softened with wear. In one corner, a jukebox glowed faintly, its plastic cover yellowed with age.

Jess’s eyes darted everywhere as they walked in. “It’s like… like a movie house,” she whispered, though her “movie” meant anywhere with a look so different from home.

Glenda smiled and steered her toward a booth near the window. The seat gave a friendly squeak under their weight.

A waitress appeared almost instantly, a woman in her sixties with hair the color of fresh snow, teased into a soft helmet, and a smile that crinkled her whole face. Her nametag read Darlene, though it was pinned slightly crooked on her uniform.

“Well, hey there, sugar,” she said to Jess in a voice warm enough to melt butter. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Jess blinked up at her, half-shy, half-curious. “I’m Jess,” she said solemnly.

“Well, Miss Jess,” Darlene said, leaning down a bit, “I reckon we can find somethin’ for you that’ll make your tummy happy.” She glanced at Glenda. “Y’all want menus or you know what you’re here for?”

“Catfish and hushpuppies for me,” Glenda said without hesitation. “And for her—”

“I want… ’sketti,” Jess piped in hopefully.

Darlene chuckled. “No spaghetti tonight, sugar, but how about some chicken fingers and fries?”

Jess nodded, satisfied, and Darlene scribbled their order on her pad. “And to drink?”

“Sweet tea for me,” Glenda said. “And a milk for her, please.”

While they waited, Jess stood on the booth seat to look at the fishing photos. She pointed at one where a man in bell-bottom jeans held up a catfish nearly as long as his leg. “That’s a big fish!”

“Bigger than you,” Glenda agreed.

Glenda and Jess had a booth near the window, though the view was mostly the parking lot and a row of sycamores beyond. The sky was darkening now, just post-dusk, that soft in-between time when the world feels a little quieter and even the jukebox seems to play slower.

Jess sat across from her mama, legs swinging under the table, hands wrapped around a plastic cup of ice water. A paper straw poked out the top. She’d insisted on unwrapping and inserting it herself, though she’d bent it near the middle, and it made a faint creaking noise every time she took a sip.

Glenda leaned back against the booth, tired but content, her arm resting on the backrest, her other hand gently smoothing the folded napkin on her lap. She’d ordered catfish, hushpuppies, and coleslaw—a childhood favorite, something that always made her think of Fridays in her small-town Alabama youth. Jess had gotten the kid’s meal: grilled cheese, fries, and a scoop of applesauce. She’d also charmed a cookie out of the waitress already, who’d called her “sugar” and “darlin’” and winked at Glenda like the whole thing was their little secret.

But Jess was frowning now, eyes narrowed suspiciously at her mother’s side of the table.

“Mama,” she said, squinting up at her, “you say you get… cat?”

Glenda blinked, then broke into a warm laugh, shaking her head. “No, honey. Just fish. That’s what it’s called, though—catfish.”

Jess’s face remained skeptical. “But it a cat? Like Chloe-chloe cat?”

“No, baby girl,” Glenda said gently, leaning in a little. “It’s not made from cats. It’s just a kind of fish. Got these little feelers on its face, like whiskers. That’s why they call it that.”

Jess’s mouth fell open. “Da fish got cat faces?!”

Glenda chuckled, nodding. “Kind of. Not a full face, no little meow mouth or nothin’. But whiskers, yeah. They live in rivers, mostly. Muddy water. Real slippery. But they’re good eatin’. Fried up crispy, dipped in hot sauce—whew.”

Jess still looked suspicious. “Do they go meow underwater?”

That made Glenda laugh so hard she had to press her napkin to her mouth. “No, baby. They don’t make a peep. Least not that I’ve ever heard.”

Jess nodded slowly, clearly not convinced, and leaned forward on her elbows. “You gonna eat a fish that try be a kitty?”

“I am,” Glenda said, folding her hands together on the table. “Been eatin’ catfish since I was about your age. My mama used to fry ‘em fresh on the stove. We’d catch ‘em right out the creek. She’d bread ‘em in cornmeal, drop ‘em in hot oil—sizzled like fireworks. Whole house smelled like supper.”

Jess tilted her head. “It smell like Chloe?”

Glenda smiled, patient. “It smells like dinner.”

Just then the bell behind the kitchen window gave a sharp ding, and their waitress—a woman in her fifties with high pink lipstick and a bun that had been touched up by Aqua Net—sauntered over with their plates balanced expertly on her arms.

“Here we go, y’all,” she said, sliding the dishes onto the table. “Catfish plate for Mama and one grilled cheese with extra pickles for the little miss.”

Jess gasped. “Yay! Pickle pickle pickle!”

The waitress winked at Glenda. “She’s a hoot.”

Glenda grinned. “She gets it honest.”

Jess immediately picked up a fry and inspected it, but her eyes were locked on Glenda’s plate, where the catfish rested golden and steaming, crisp edges curled from the fryer. Two hushpuppies sat like little brown moons on the side, and the coleslaw was heaped in a small bowl, flecked with pepper.

“That it?” Jess asked in a whisper. “That the cat one?”

Glenda nodded, reaching for her fork. “That’s the one.”

Jess watched, wide-eyed, as her mama cut into a piece and took a bite. Glenda closed her eyes briefly, savoring it.

“Mmm. Just like home,” she said.

Jess, still holding a fry in one hand, leaned forward and whispered, “It scream?”

Glenda nearly choked laughing. “No, baby. It didn’t scream.”

Jess sat back, nodded once, satisfied. “Okay. Den you can eat it.”

“Why thank you,” Glenda said with a smile. “I appreciate your blessing.”

Jess grinned, finally taking a bite of her grilled cheese. A string of cheese stretched as she pulled it apart, and she giggled as it stuck to her chin. Glenda reached across the table and dabbed it with her napkin.

They ate quietly for a while, the soft murmur of the other diners filling the space around them. The jukebox near the counter crooned something slow and scratchy. Outside the window, the lights of passing cars blurred in the dark.

Jess chewed thoughtfully, then asked, “When I big, I can eat da cat too?”

Glenda looked at her with mock seriousness. “If you mean catfish—then yes. When you’re big. Not before.”

Jess beamed. “I be a catfish lady when I big. Wif a boat. An’ I gonna make ‘em not scream.”

Glenda shook her head, laughing so softly it warmed the whole booth. “Sounds like a plan, baby girl. Sounds like a real good plan.”

And with that, she took another bite, savoring the taste and the moment, her daughter munching happily across from her, the long day beginning to fold into memory, one golden hushpuppy at a time.

The sound of frying oil and the low murmur of other diners filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware. Jess traced her finger along the table’s Formica edge, the pattern worn smooth from decades of elbows and coffee cups.

When their food arrived, the smell alone was enough to make Glenda’s stomach growl. Her plate held two golden fillets of catfish, their crusts crisp and flecked with cornmeal, a generous pile of hushpuppies, and a scoop of coleslaw in a small white dish. Jess’s plate had four plump chicken fingers, fries stacked in a neat little heap, and a ramekin of ketchup.

Darlene set them down with a flourish. “There you go, sugar. And don’t you worry, I’ll be right back with somethin’ sweet.” She winked at Jess before heading off.

Glenda squeezed lemon over her catfish and took the first bite — tender, steaming fish inside a perfect, crunchy coating. Jess was already dunking her first chicken finger into ketchup with more enthusiasm than precision.

“This good,” Jess announced around a mouthful.

“I’m glad,” Glenda said, popping a hushpuppy into her mouth. The little ball of fried cornbread was just the right balance of crisp outside and soft, oniony inside.

Halfway through the meal, Darlene reappeared with a small plate. On it sat a thick oatmeal cookie, studded with raisins and still warm enough to scent the air with cinnamon.

“This one’s for you, sugar,” she said, sliding it in front of Jess. “Don’t tell the cook I snuck it to you, now.”

Jess’s eyes went wide. “You sneakin’?” she whispered, clearly delighted at the idea.

“Just a little,” Darlene said, grinning.

Jess took a slow, dramatic bite, then sighed in contentment. “It’s so good, Mama.”

“Better save some for later,” Glenda suggested, knowing she wouldn’t.

When the plates were cleared and the bill paid, Darlene leaned down once more. “You be good for your mama on this trip, now. And come see me again next time you’re in town.”

“We goin’ Texas,” Jess informed her.

“Well then, y’all have a safe road and a sweet time.”

Back outside, the air was cooler, the neon sign buzzing faintly against the deep blue sky. Jess clutched the last crumb of her cookie in one hand as they walked to the car, the sounds of the diner’s screen door squeaking shut behind them.

Exhaustion finally caught up with Jess after the long day's drive. As the neon glow of a Memphis motel sign flickered outside their window, Glenda gently lifted Jess from her car seat, her little body limp with sleep.

Inside the cool, sterile room, Glenda peeled off Jess's sweaty clothes and tucked her into the crisp sheets of the double bed. Jess, for a moment, seemed to fight the sleep, her eyelids fluttering open and closed against the unfamiliar surroundings. But with a yawn that stretched wide enough to swallow her whole face, she snuggled closer to Glenda, her tiny hand burrowing into the crook of her mother's arm.

"Mama?" Jess mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. "What's the mostest we ever drived?"

Glenda chuckled, her own eyelids feeling heavy. "The mostest, huh? Well, honey, this trip is pretty long. But it's nothing compared to some of my drives when I was younger."

Jess's head tilted, momentarily alert. "You drived too, Mama?"

"Oh yeah," Glenda said, a smile tugging at the corners of lips. Back then, gasoline wasn't quite as expensive, and freedom felt boundless under a wide-open Texas sky. I used to drive just like we're doing now."

They passed an old service station that had long since given up the ghost, vines swallowing the pumps, the roof collapsed in on itself. Glenda made a note to check the map at the next gas station—not for directions, but to make sure they weren’t too far from the next decent bathroom. Jess would nap soon, and when she woke, she’d need a stop. There was a rhythm to these long hauls with a little one: lull, burst, crash. She timed it by the light in Jess’s eyes and the sudden stillness in her limbs.

But for now, Jess remained upright, observant, her eyes back on the telephone wires.

“Maybe pwane hiding inside the wires.”

Glenda raised her brows. “Now that’s a thought.”

Jess leaned forward, whispering to herself. “Tiny pwane. For tiny people.”

Glenda nodded slowly, playing along. “Oh, like fairy planes.”

Jess gasped. “Yes! Fairies! They have wings. They can fly!”

“So we’ve got cow-planes and fairy-planes,” Glenda said. “What do you suppose the fairies do when they land in Plano?”

Jess didn’t hesitate. “Eat pancakes.”

Glenda grinned. “Well shoot, I hope they leave us some.”

As the road stretched ahead, lined with the lush greenery that marked the approach to Plano, Glenda eased off the gas pedal, her eyes catching sight of something that would undoubtedly thrill her little passenger. On their right, a wide-open field bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun revealed a few horses, their coats glossy and shimmering as they milled about peacefully.

"Jess, look out your window." Glenda said, a subtle excitement in her tone.

Jess pressed her face against the car window, her hands smudging against the glass as she pointed excitedly. "Horsies, Mama! Look, big horsies!"

The toddler's delight was palpable as she watched the majestic animals. They seemed like creatures from a fairy tale, so close yet untouchable, moving with an effortless grace that held Jess's rapt attention.

Glenda slowed the car even more, allowing the moment to linger. "They're beautiful, aren't they? You wanna say hi to the horses?"

Jess nodded vigorously. She pushed up on her toes in her car seat and waved her little hand. "Hi, horsies! I Jess!" she squealed, giggling as one of the horses flicked its ears, almost as if acknowledging her greeting.

The simple joy of the interaction, a child waving to horses in a field, filled Glenda with a warmth that echoed the sunlight dappling through the moving car. "They're saying hi back to you, sweetie," she encouraged.

Jess continued to wave until the horses were just a distant part of the scenery behind them. She settled back into her seat, her earlier energy momentarily spent but her smile wide and bright.

"Mama, horsies fly too?" Jess asked, the wonder of flight still very much on her mind.

Glenda chuckled, catching Jess's eye through the rearview mirror. "No, baby, horses don't fly, but they can run very fast—almost like flying across the ground."

"Fass like me?" Jess questioned, the concept of speed now merging with her fantasies of flight.

"Yes, fast like you when you run around our yard," Glenda affirmed, her heart swelling with love for her imaginative little girl.

The car continued its journey, the image of the horses fading into the backdrop of other roadside wonders. Each mile brought new sights and sounds, and for Jess, each was a magical part of this grand adventure to Plano, where even the horses might just fly, in the eyes of a two-year-old seeing the world through a lens of wonder.

The roadside diner in Texarkana was the color of an old Easter egg—sun-faded teal with a stripe of peeling pink trim that wrapped around its boxy frame like a crooked ribbon. It sat just off the highway, where the Texas pines gave way to flat stretches of pasture and long fences lined with rust. A neon sign in the window blinked half-heartedly: OPEN. The kind of place where the coffee was always hot, the air smelled like fried onions and bacon grease, and the jukebox never quite worked.

Glenda pulled the truck into the gravel lot with a slow crunch, parking beneath the shade of a leaning pecan tree. Jess, now wide awake and energized from her nap, practically bounced out of her car seat the moment the engine cut off.

“We here?” she gasped, peering out the window as if she expected to see Memaw herself on the porch. “This Plano?”

Glenda chuckled, stretching her arms as she opened the driver’s side door. “Not quite, baby. This here’s just the start of Texas. We got a ways to go still. But we’re gonna get ourselves some lunch first.”

Jess furrowed her brow as she climbed down from the truck with Glenda’s help. “But it Texas?”

Glenda nodded. “Sure is. First town past the border. East Texas. Smell that?”

Jess sniffed, then wrinkled her nose. “Smell like bacon and mop.”

Glenda laughed loud, throwing her head back. “That’s the smell of a good diner, sugar.”

Inside, the place was cooled by ceiling fans and hope. The floor tiles were worn smooth, the counter lined with cracked vinyl stools that squeaked when sat upon. The booths were a faded mustard yellow, and a little bell above the door jangled as they entered. The only other patrons were an elderly couple sharing a banana split and a trucker flipping through a newspaper the size of a road map.

A waitress in her late sixties with hair the color of fresh snow approached with a notepad in one hand and a jug of sweet tea in the other. Her nametag read Laurel, and she wore it like a badge of honor.

“Well, hello there,” she said warmly, eyeing Jess with fond amusement. “Aren’t you just a sugarplum and a half.”

Jess beamed, cheeks dimpling, curls still slightly wild from her car nap. “Hi, I’m Jess!” she chirped, immediately resting both elbows on the table after Glenda lifted her into the booth. “We from ‘Bama. But Mama’s from Texas!”

Laurel’s eyebrows rose with delight. “Is that so? Well, now we’re just about kinfolk then, ain’t we?”

Jess nodded eagerly. “Yes ma’am. Mama was borned here. Inna diff’ent town but still Texas.”

Glenda, sliding into the booth across from Jess, smiled sheepishly. “Plano,” she said. “Up near Dallas.”

Laurel poured them both glasses of tea and leaned against the edge of the booth with a grin. “Ahh, city girl,” she teased. “You comin’ home to visit kin?”

“Yes ma’am,” Glenda said. “Gonna stay with my mama a spell. Brought this little one along so she can get properly spoiled.”

“I wuv Memaw,” Jess declared, then turned to the waitress with wide eyes. “Do y’all got pancakes?”

Laurel chuckled. “Well honey, we sure do. We got regular ones, blueberry ones, chocolate chip if you’re feelin’ wild. I can even ask Cookie in the back to make one shaped like a bunny or somethin’.”

Jess gasped. “Like a dinosaur?”

Laurel tapped her pen on her chin, playing along. “Hmmm. Might be able to manage a brontosaurus if I sweet-talk the grill. But if it comes out lookin’ more like a fried turtle, you’ll still eat it, won’t you?”

Jess giggled so hard she nearly fell over in the booth.

Glenda covered her face with one hand, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “You’ll have to forgive her. She’s been trying to see airplanes all morning and started imagining flying cows.”

“She named it Sunshine Moo!” Jess interrupted proudly, “It a cow and a pwane. It fly and moo.”

Laurel blinked, then let out a wheezy laugh that filled the room like a gospel choir.

“Well darlin’, that might be the best thing I’ve heard all week. Sunshine Moo. I’m gonna remember that one. I bet Cookie’ll love it.”

Glenda raised her tea glass in salute. “It’s been a long drive.”

Laurel nodded knowingly. “East Texas’ll do you right. We’re the warm-up act for the rest of the state.”

As she headed off to place their order, Jess sat back in her seat, swinging her legs under the table with a pleased little hum. She looked around the diner with the glowing curiosity of a tourist in a wonderland.

“Mama?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“This a real Texas place?”

“Sure is,” Glenda said, sipping her tea. “Smells like Texas, sounds like Texas. See that lady with the tall hair? That’s how you know for sure.”

Jess giggled behind her hands. “I gonna tell Memaw I went to Texas two times now. One in the car, and one in the pancakes.”

“You go ahead and do that.”

They ate slow, in no rush. Jess’s pancake did come out shaped something like a dinosaur—a bit squatter and wider than intended, but Jess declared it perfect. She made Glenda give it a name before cutting into it. “Dino-Jones,” Glenda said, without hesitation. “The bravest of the syrup-sauruses.”

Laurel returned once to refill their drinks and again just to sit with them for a few minutes, swapping stories about the best places to stop on Highway 31 and telling Jess that she should “watch the skies, ‘cause sometimes them Texas clouds do funny things when they like you.”

When the check came, Glenda paid in cash, slipping a generous tip beneath the syrup-stained receipt. Jess hopped down from the booth and gave Laurel a spontaneous hug around the knees.

“Tell Cookie thank you for my dino,” she said. “And if you see Sunshine Moo, tell her we miss her.”

“I surely will, sweetheart,” Laurel said, misty-eyed. “Y’all travel safe now.”

Back in the truck, Jess yawned and leaned against her frog, watching the fields pass as they rejoined the highway. The sky above was vast and unmarred.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Texas feel nice.”

Glenda smiled, her heart warm as the road beneath them. “That’s ‘cause it’s home.”

The sun was dipping low when they finally turned off the highway, the long drive from Little Rock behind them, and Texas rolling out ahead like a memory you could smell. Jess had dozed off for a bit near the state line, lulled by the motion of the car and the muffled hum of the tape deck, but she’d stirred again when they passed through the outermost edges of Plano—a flash of golden arches, a water tower painted with the city name in cheerful block letters, and the cluster of crepe myrtles lining the sidewalk like a welcoming party.

Glenda knew this stretch of road better than most people knew their own faces. She had walked it as a girl, barefoot some days, back when the pavement still carried heat through dusk. She’d driven it in her first car, a powder blue Plymouth that wheezed every time it hit a hill. And now, returning again with that daughter in tow, she felt something tighten low in her belly. Not anxiety, not even nostalgia—just that slow, weighted knowing that came with returning to the place that first made you.

Jess was awake again, head bobbing slightly as she peered out the window with wide, curious eyes.

“Mama?” she asked, voice hushed like she was entering a church. “We here?”

“We’re close,” Glenda said, slowing the car as they passed a familiar corner. The convenience store on the lot was new, but the pecan tree by the fence remained—same trunk, same crooked bend, like it had been waving all this time.

Jess leaned forward against the seatbelt. “What it look like?”

“You’ll see in a minute.”

The neighborhoods of her childhood passed by in little blinks. The brick ranch homes, the well-worn mailboxes with faded decals, the lawn chairs sitting empty on porches like old men waiting for company. She passed the old library—once Lucille’s domain—and the elementary school she’d attended for three years before skipping two grades and being teased mercilessly for it. Her chest ached, not with pain, but with weight. All these years later, the city still had her fingerprints.

They turned onto her street at last—North Oak View Drive—and Glenda rolled the car to a slow crawl, her heart catching as the familiar house came into view. It looked almost exactly the same. The white siding gleamed faintly in the setting sun, and the wide front porch stretched across the face of the house like an open arm waiting to gather them in. The shutters had been painted a softer blue than she remembered, and the flower beds had been tidied since her last visit—Phoebe’s doing, most likely—but the bones of it were unchanged.

“There,” Glenda whispered. “That’s it. That’s Memaw’s house.”

Jess pressed her face to the glass, breath fogging a small patch. “Dat’s you old house?” she asked in awe.

Glenda nodded. “The house I grew up in.”

Jess’s lips parted like she was looking at a castle. “It big.”

“It’s home,” Glenda said, turning into the driveway.

The tires crunched over gravel, and the car coasted to a stop beneath the carport. For a moment neither of them moved. Glenda kept her hands on the wheel and stared at the porch steps, her chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm. It was always like this when she came back—like stepping into a version of herself she hadn’t worn in a while. There were echoes in that house. Old arguments, old laughter, quiet nighttime comforts whispered between walls.

Jess unbuckled with the practiced impatience of a toddler and scrambled out of the car as soon as Glenda opened the back door. Her little sneakers hit the ground and she stared up at the house, backpack dragging slightly on her shoulder, curls wild from the car ride.

Jess took a deep breath, like she needed to prepare her whole body for what came next. Then she took her mother’s hand.

Together, they walked up the three porch steps—each one creaking in that familiar way Glenda had known since she was Jess’s age. The door was painted the same soft green it had always been, a color Phoebe claimed looked “historically optimistic.” The iron handle was cool to the touch.

Jess, a whirlwind of blonde curls and boundless curiosity, toddled through her Lucille's house like a tiny explorer on a mission. Every corner held a new treasure: a dusty china doll with missing limbs, a box overflowing with mismatched buttons, and a grandfather clock that chimed a deep, resonating bong every hour.

But nothing captured Jess's attention quite like the grand piano standing proudly in the living room. Polished to a gleaming black, it seemed to dwarf the rest of the furniture, its imposing presence commanding respect. Jess stopped short, her eyes wide with wonder. The intricate curves of the legs, the smooth expanse of the ebony keys, the gleaming brass hardware – it was a sight that held her spellbound.

Lucille, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun, watched her granddaughter with a warm smile. Jess, completely mesmerized, took a hesitant step towards the piano, her tiny hand reaching out to touch the cool, smooth surface.

"Isn't it beautiful, sweetheart?" Lucille asked, kneeling beside Jess.

Jess simply nodded, her eyes wide and sparkling. The piano seemed to hold a million secrets, waiting to be unlocked by the touch of her fingers. The polished black surface reflected Jess's image, a tiny explorer dwarfed by the instrument's grandeur. Yet, there was a spark of determination in her eyes, a hint of a challenge that the piano presented.

"It is," Lucille continued, her voice filled with a wistful longing. "But I never learned how to play it, much to your Ima's dismay.

Now Phoebe. She's the one who can make those beautiful sounds come out of the piano."

"Ima plays?" she chirped, her voice laced with awe.

"Like a dream," Lucille said, a touch of pride tinging her voice. "Maybe someday, you can learn too."

The seed of an idea, tiny and fragile, took root in Jess's mind. Maybe, just maybe, those beautiful sounds could be coaxed from the piano's keys by her own tiny fingers. The thought filled her with a sense of wonder, a yearning to explore the world of music that lay within reach. It was a world filled with possibilities, a secret language waiting to be deciphered.

Jess, however, being a toddler, wasn't one for long-term planning. The melody from downstairs tugged at her, promising immediate gratification. With a squeal of delight, she grabbed Lucille's hand, her little body already bouncing with anticipation.

As the twilight deepened, casting long shadows across the living room, Phoebe, a woman with kind eyes and a smile etched by countless laugh lines, finished her lullaby. The last notes hung in the air, a sweet, melancholy echo. Jess, nestled comfortably on Phoebe's lap, sighed contentedly, her eyes heavy with the drowsiness that follows a day filled with exploration.

Phoebe, sensing a spark of curiosity lingering beneath Jess's drooping eyelids, chuckled. "You know, sweetie," she said, her voice as soft as the melody she had just played, "this piano isn't just for beautiful songs."

Jess's eyes flew open, a sliver of alertness battling with the sleep tugging at her lids. "Not just songs?" she mumbled, her voice thick with drowsiness.

"Nope," Phoebe said, her smile widening. "Music is like a language, with its own words and stories to tell. Some stories are happy and fast, while others are slow and sad."

She lifted Jess's tiny hand and placed it on the smooth surface of the piano keys. "These black and white buttons are called notes," she explained, tracing a pattern with her own finger. "By pressing them in a certain way, we can create melodies, just like sentences in a story."

Intrigued, Jess forgot about sleep for a moment. She poked hesitantly at a few keys, a discordant jumble of notes filling the air. Phoebe chuckled, the sound like wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze.

"See?" she said, her voice filled with warmth. "You're already creating your own story."

Gently, Phoebe placed Jess's tiny fingers on a row of white keys. "This," she explained, "is called a scale. It's like learning the alphabet before you can write a story. It helps your fingers get used to the piano."

Jess mimicked Phoebe's movements, pressing the keys with surprising accuracy. A simple melody, tentative and sweet, filled the room.

Phoebe's smile widened. "There you go," she said, her voice overflowing with pride. "You're a natural!"

Suddenly, a memory surfaced in Phoebe's mind, a warm wave of nostalgia washing over her. "You know," she said, her voice softening, "this piano holds memories for me too. When I was a little girl, just like you, my own grandmother taught me a special song."

Jess, captivated, looked up at Phoebe, her eyes filled with anticipation. "A special song?" she echoed, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," Phoebe said, her eyes twinkling with emotion. "It's a Jewish hymn, a song my grandmother used to sing to me on Friday nights. It's a song that talks about peace and light, about welcoming the Sabbath."

With a gentle hand, she repositioned Jess, her lap a makeshift cradle. Then, her fingers danced across the piano keys, weaving a melody both familiar and comforting. The song, sung in Hebrew, filled the room with its warm, soulful sound. It spoke of family gatherings, of flickering candles casting flickering shadows on the walls, of a sense of peace and belonging that transcended words.

As the song ended, a comfortable silence settled over the room. Jess, her head resting on Phoebe's chest, listened to the gentle rhythm of her grandmother's heartbeat. The unfamiliar melody lingered in the air, a foreign language that somehow felt strangely familiar, a lullaby sung in a tongue older than time itself. In that quiet moment, nestled in the warmth of her grandmother's embrace, Jess absorbed not just a song, but a piece of her family's heritage, a connection to generations past woven into the very fabric of the music.

Curiosity, a boundless wellspring in a two-year-old, propelled Jess towards Phoebe and Lucille's bedroom. The door, ajar after their morning storytelling session, beckoned her like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

Tipping over the threshold with the cautious grace of a seasoned explorer, Jess found herself in a room bathed in the soft glow of morning light filtering through lace curtains. The air held a comforting scent of lavender and old books, a fragrance unique to her grandmothers' space.

Everything here held a story, waiting to be deciphered. A worn armchair sat by the window, its cushions seemingly molded to the shape of countless bedtime stories. A dresser, adorned with seashells and other travel trinkets, whispered tales of faraway lands. And on the bedside table, nestled amongst a clutter of reading glasses and antique compacts, a framed photograph caught Jess's eye.

The photo, its edges slightly softened by time, depicted three women, their faces radiating youthful exuberance.Jess, perched on the edge of the plush bed, crawled towards the photograph, her tiny hand reaching out to touch the cool glass. "Who are dese?" she inquired, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Phoebe, who had been watching Jess's exploration with a smile, entered the room and knelt beside her. "Ah," she said, her voice filled with a soft warmth, "this is a picture of me and some of my dearest friends, a long time ago."

Gently, she picked up the photo, careful not to disturb Jess's tiny hand hovering over the image. "This is me," Phoebe pointed, "when I was much younger.”

“And that's Felicity. She was my secretary for many, many years. We first met oh, over 30 years ago now, in Las Vegas."

The name sparked something in Jess's mind. It sounded vaguely familiar, a place mentioned in hushed tones by the grown-ups. "Vegas?" she echoed, her voice laced with curiosity. "Is it big? Like Texas?"

Phoebe burst out laughing, the sound like wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze. Wiping a tear from her eye, she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially in Jess's ear. "Everything is bigger in Texas, honey," she said. "But Vegas has its own kind of magic. It's a city that never sleeps, filled with bright lights and exciting shows."

Jess's eyes widened with wonder. A city that never sleeps? It sounded like a place straight out of a fairytale. In that moment, a seed was planted in her imagination, a seed that would blossom years later into a yearning to experience the magic of Las Vegas for herself.

The following day, sunlight streamed through the living room window, casting playful patterns on the well-worn rug. Jess, a whirlwind of blonde curls and boundless energy, burst into the room, her tiny voice filled with barely contained excitement.

"Mamaw! Ima!" she squealed, launching herself at Lucille and Phoebe in a flurry of hugs. "You gotta hear what JT did!"

Lucille chuckled, her arms wrapping securely around Jess. "Oh dear," she said, feigning alarm. "What did that mischievous pup get up to this time?"

Jess, perched on Phoebe's lap, wriggled with delight. "She, uh," she began, her brow furrowed in concentration, "she, uh..." Her face fell momentarily, the memory failing to translate perfectly into words.

Phoebe, a twinkle in her eye, patted Jess's hand gently. "Don't worry, darling," she said. "Take your time. We have all day to hear about her adventures."

Taking a deep breath, Jess puffed out her chest with importance. "Okay," she declared, a determined glint in her eyes. "So, JT, she was ou’siede. By the big bush."

Lucille and Phoebe exchanged a knowing smile. The "big bush" was a landmark in their backyard, a sprawling mass of greenery that seemed to hold endless fascination for Jess and their resident canine troublemaker.

"And then," Jess continued, her voice rising in pitch with excitement, "she saw a squirrel! A big, bushy-tailed squirrel!"

Her grandmothers leaned in, captivated by their granddaughter's narrative. Jess, with the flair of a natural storyteller, used her tiny hands to imitate the way the squirrel scampered up the tree, its bushy tail a taunting flag.

"And JT," Jess said, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, "she wanted to chase it sooooo bad! But Mama wouldn't let her."

A chorus of understanding laughter filled the room. The image of JT, the ever-enthusiastic retriever, straining at the leash, was all too familiar.

Upon arriving at Glenda's mother's house in Plano, the warmth of the afternoon sun was matched only by the warm welcomes of Grandmothers Lucille and Phoebe. The spacious old home, filled with memories and the scent of freshly baked cookies, opened its arms to little Jess, who was bursting with stories and energy.

As soon as Jess wiggled out of her mother's arms, she scampered towards her grandmothers, who were seated comfortably in the cozy living room. Lucille's eyes twinkled behind her glasses, and Phoebe's kind face broke into a wide smile as Jess approached.

"Gamma Lucille, Gamma Phebe, guess what!" Jess started, her speech bubbling over with excitement. "Chloe and JT did funnies!"

Lucille patted the sofa beside her, inviting Jess to climb up. "Did they now? Tell us all about it, darling."

Jess clambered onto the cushion, her feet swinging as she settled in between the two grandmothers. "Chloe, she plays in water! Splash, splash, splash!" Jess flailed her arms dramatically, mimicking the dog's enthusiastic water play. "And JT, he runs, zoom zoom, catch ball!" She threw her hands forward, pretending to launch a ball across the room.

Phoebe laughed, her voice a gentle rumble of amusement. "Oh, those pups are quite the pair! What else did they do, Jess?"

Jess leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. "JT, she sneaky! She steal Chloe's toy and runs. Run so fast!" She punctuated her story with a quick dash across the living room floor, embodying JT's mischievous spirit.

"And what does Chloe do?" Lucille inquired, thoroughly entertained.

Jess stopped her sprint, placed her hands on her hips, and shook her head with exaggerated solemnity. "Chloe barks. Ruff, ruff! But JT, he no give it back. He play keep-away." She nodded sagely, as if imparting a great life lesson about the dynamics of canine siblings.

Phoebe reached out to ruffle Jess's hair affectionately. "You make sure to tell us more about Chloe and JT tomorrow, okay? We love hearing about your adventures."

Jess nodded vigorously, pleased with the attention and the joy her stories brought. "Okay! More tomowwow. I tell lots and lots!"

That night, a low rumble in the distance startled Jess awake. She bolted upright in the unfamiliar bed, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The room, once bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp, was now plunged into an inky blackness. Another, louder rumble shook the house, followed by a blinding flash that illuminated the room for a fleeting moment, starkly etching the shadows of the furniture onto the walls.

Jess whimpered, clutching her doll, so tightly its fabric seemed to disappear into her tiny fist. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over like a cup filled to the brim. "Mama?" she called out, her voice a trembling whisper lost in the sudden roar of the storm.

From the next room, a warm light flickered to life. Glenda appeared in the doorway, her face etched with concern the way a map might be marked with winding roads leading to a hidden treasure. "Hey, monkey," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm in the chaos, approaching the bed and scooping Jess into her arms. "What's wrong?"

Sobbing softly, Jess buried her face in Glenda's shoulder. "Scawy," she mumbled, pointing a shaky finger at the window. Rain lashed against the glass in a relentless assault, the sound like a thousand tiny drummers keeping a frantic beat. In the distance, jagged streaks of lightning danced across the dark sky like a celestial ballet gone wrong.

Glenda peered out the window. The world outside was a canvas of swirling darkness punctuated by flashes of brilliant light. The wind howled like a lonely wolf, whipping the trees into a frenzy. She knew logic wouldn't erase the primal fear from her daughter's eyes. Jess needed something more, a way to explain the storm in terms a two-year-old could understand.
"See that light?" Glenda pointed towards the window, her voice a gentle anchor in the storm's fury. "That's lightning. It's like a big camera flash in the sky, but way brighter."

Jess peeked out from behind Glenda's shoulder, a flicker of curiosity battling with her fear. The lightning was mesmerizing, terrifying in its raw power, yet strangely beautiful.

"And that loud noise?" Glenda continued, "That's thunder. It's like the sound the camera makes when it takes a picture, but much louder. Listen closely."

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, a blinding snapshot of the storm's fury, followed by a delayed rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the very foundation of the house. Jess held her breath, listening intently. This time, the sound wasn't quite as frightening. It was more like a giant grumbling in its sleep, far, far away.

"See?" Glenda said, her voice a gentle whisper. "The louder the noise, the further away the lightning is. So, this rumble means the storm isn't right on top of us."

Jess pondered this for a moment, a thoughtful frown creasing her forehead. "Not close?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Nope," Glenda said, pulling Jess closer. "We're safe and snug inside. The lightning can't get us here. And Mama's here too, to keep you safe."

The next morning arrived with a gentle dawn, casting soft hues through the kitchen windows. Jess, already bubbling with the excitement of a new day, scampered into the kitchen where Lucille was just beginning to set up for a breakfast treat.

"Morning, Gamma Lucille! What we makin'?" Jess chirped, her feet pattering on the cool tile floor.

Lucille turned with a warm smile, tying an apron around her waist. "Good morning, sweet pea. Today, we're going to make pancakes. Would you like to help me?"

Jess nodded eagerly, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of cooking. "Yes, please! I help lots!"

Lucille fetched a small stool for Jess to stand on, positioning it safely next to the counter. She handed Jess a large mixing bowl and a wooden spoon, perfect for little hands. "First, we need to mix our ingredients. Can you pour this milk into the bowl for me?" Lucille handed Jess a small jug filled with milk.

Carefully, Jess tipped the jug, her tongue poking out slightly as she concentrated on not spilling. "I did it, Gamma!"

"Very well done!" Lucille praised, then showed her how to crack eggs. "Now watch this. We tap the egg gently on the side and then pull it apart like so." Lucille demonstrated, then handed Jess an egg. With a little guidance, Jess managed to crack her first egg, a look of triumph spreading across her face.

"Now, we stir everything together until it’s smooth," Lucille instructed. Jess stirred with enthusiasm, the batter slowly turning into a smooth, creamy mixture. "Good job, my little chef!"

Lucille then heated up a skillet on the stove, explaining to Jess the importance of getting the pan just the right temperature. "Now we'll scoop some of our batter and pour it right here on the skillet." She showed Jess how to pour the batter, forming perfect circles.

As the edges of the pancake started to bubble, Lucille said, "See those bubbles, Jess? That means it's time to flip them." She slid the spatula under the pancake and flipped it, revealing a golden-brown underside.

Jess clapped her hands, delighted. "It’s like magic, Gamma!"

"It sure is," Lucille laughed, flipping another pancake. "In a few minutes, we'll have a stack of warm pancakes ready for you, me, and Grandma Phoebe to enjoy."

They continued the morning with Jess learning to set the table, placing forks and napkins in each spot. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the sweet scent of pancakes, a symbol of the simple joys shared between granddaughter and grandmother.

As they sat down to eat, Jess looked up at Lucille with bright eyes. "Gamma, I love making pancakes with you."

Lucille reached over and squeezed Jess’s hand gently. "And I love making them with you, sweetheart. It’s a special morning for us."

Together, they shared the pancakes, topped with syrup and a sprinkle of powdered sugar, each bite savored amidst stories and laughter, creating memories that would stick just as sweetly as the breakfast they had made together.

After breakfast, Jess, still brimming with the satisfaction of a successful cooking endeavor, followed Phoebe into the living room where the morning sun cast playful patterns on the floor. As they settled down on a cozy sofa adorned with hand-knitted throws, Jess’s eyes fell upon a framed photograph of a giant dog with a gentle, drooping face.

"Who dat, Gamma Phoebe?" Jess pointed at the picture, her curiosity piqued by the large, fluffy creature.

"That," Phoebe began, her voice tinged with fondness as she picked up the frame, "is Ike. He's my big, friendly St. Bernard. He's very special to me."

Jess's eyes widened in awe. "He big! Bigger than me?"

Phoebe chuckled softly. "Oh, yes, much bigger than you, Jess. Ike is so big that when your sisters first met him, we waited until they were just a little older than you are now, so they wouldn't be scared. He’s as friendly as can be, but his size can be quite surprising!"

Jess leaned closer, examining the photo of Ike with intense interest. "He look nice. He like hugs?"

"Yes, he loves giving hugs. And he’s very gentle, even though he’s as big as a small pony. We'll introduce you to him another time, when you’re a little bigger. Would you like that?" Phoebe’s eyes were gentle, reassuring.

Jess nodded vigorously, the idea of meeting such a giant, friendly dog sparking excitement and anticipation. "Yes! I be big soon, then I meet Ike. We be fwiends."

"That’s right," Phoebe agreed, setting the photograph back on the mantle. "And until then, you can look at his pictures and imagine all the fun you’ll have. Ike loves to play in the snow and cuddle by the fire. What do you think you’d like to do with Ike when you meet him?"

Jess thought for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration. "We play ball! And... and I pet him lots. He fluffy?"

"Very fluffy," Phoebe confirmed with a nod. "And he loves being petted. I think you’ll get along wonderfully."
Phoebe's eyes twinkled with mischief as she watched Jess's fascination grow. Deciding to add a bit of humor to her tales of Ike, she stood up, her hands held out to the sides as if balancing a great weight.

"He's a bit like an elephant, you know," Phoebe began, her voice playful. She started swaying from side to side, mimicking a heavy, lumbering walk. "He walks like this," she demonstrated, each step exaggerated and slow, "and because he's so big, sometimes he knocks things over without even meaning to!"

Jess giggled, delighted by Phoebe's antics. She stood up on the couch, trying to imitate the swaying walk. "Like dis, Gamma?" Jess asked, her little body wobbling as she copied the elephantine stride.

"Exactly like that!" Phoebe laughed, clapping her hands in delight. "Now imagine Ike, with his huge body, accidentally bumping into a table or even people. He doesn’t mean to, it’s just because he’s so large!"

Jess’s eyes were wide with amusement and a touch of awe. "He knock down people? Not mean it?"

"Not at all, he’s very sweet," Phoebe reassured her, sitting back down and pulling Jess into her lap. "He's just not always aware of how big he really is. Sometimes, when he’s happy, his tail wags like a big windshield wiper, and anything near him might just go flying!"

"Whoosh!" Jess swung her arm, mimicking a tail knocking things over, her laughter pealing through the room.

"Whoosh, indeed!" Phoebe joined in the laughter. "And when he gets really excited, it’s like a little storm in the house. But everyone loves him because he’s just so lovable and fluffy."

Jess nestled closer to Phoebe, her imagination tickled by the thought of such a huge, clumsy, loving creature. "I not scared. I strong, I meet Ike and hug him big!" she declared boldly, her small arms demonstrating the hug she envisioned.

"I know you will," Phoebe said, her voice soft with affection. "And Ike will be so happy to meet a brave little girl like you."

The bell above the toy store door jingled merrily as Phoebe and Jess stepped inside. The air hummed with the excited chatter of children and the cheerful strains of a toy train chugging along a miniature track. Jess, her blonde curls bouncing with anticipation, immediately scanned the shelves, her eyes searching for treasures.

Phoebe, a knowing smile playing on her lips, nudged her granddaughter gently towards the back of the store. There, nestled amongst a sea of stuffed animals, stood a magnificent sight – a velvety brown horse with a flowing mane and a tail that seemed to beg to be braided. Its large, soulful eyes seemed to follow Jess as she approached, a gasp escaping her tiny lips.

"Horsie!" she squealed, her voice filled with delight.

This, of course, was no accident. Phoebe, well aware of Jess's love for all things equine, had orchestrated this little surprise with the kind storekeeper earlier. A silent conversation, a knowing wink, and the horse had been strategically placed, just waiting for Jess to discover it.

Jess, completely smitten, reached out and tentatively touched the horse's soft fur. "Can I have it, Ima?" she asked, her voice laced with hopeful excitement.

Phoebe chuckled, her heart swelling with love. "Of course, sweetie," she said, kneeling down to Jess's level. "This horsie can be your new friend."

Jess's face broke into a wide grin as she hugged the stuffed horse to her chest. In that moment, the rest of the toy store faded away, replaced by the joy of a new companion.

As they walked towards the counter, Jess, still clutching her precious horsie, turned to Phoebe, her brow furrowed in curiosity. "Ima, did you have lots of toys when you were little?"

Phoebe paused for a moment, a wistful smile gracing her lips. Growing up in rural Nevada, toys had been a luxury her family couldn't always afford. "Not really, honey," she said gently. "But that doesn't mean I didn't have fun. I’ll tell you all about it, how about over a milkshake?"

The screen door slammed shut with a bang, announcing Jess's return before she even rounded the corner of the house. Glenda, engrossed in a book on the porch swing, looked up with a smile as her daughter, a whirlwind of blonde curls and barely contained excitement, burst into view.

"Mama! Mama!" Jess shrieked, her tiny legs pumping like pistons as she raced towards Glenda. clutched tightly in her arms was the new prize – the magnificent stuffed horse Phoebe had procured at the toy store.

"Whoa there, little cowgirl!" Glenda chuckled, scooping Jess up in a hug. "Easy there, or you'll run yourself out of breath."

Jess, momentarily breathless, pointed a chubby finger at the stuffed horse. "Look, Mama!" she gasped, her voice thick with excitement. "Ima got me a horsie!"

Glenda's smile widened as she took in the sight of the velvety brown horse, its mane and tail cascading down its sides like a luxurious waterfall. "Wow, Jess," she said, her voice filled with warm surprise. "That's quite a horse you have there! What's its name?"

Jess, her brow furrowed in concentration, considered this for a moment. Then, a grin split her face. "Star!" she declared triumphantly.

"That's an interesting name for a horse."

Jess's eyes sparkled with delight. "Yep!" she said, bouncing in Glenda's arms. "We gonna explore everywhere! We gonna find a creek and climb trees, just like Ima did!"

From the doorway, Lucille watched the scene unfold, a soft smile gracing her lips. Memories, like gently strummed chords on a guitar, fluttered through her mind. Memories of her own childhood spent exploring the sprawling fields behind their farmhouse in Ireland, of building forts out of hay bales and chasing butterflies with her siblings.

"Sounds like quite the adventure you have planned, Jess," Lucille said, her voice warm and inviting. "Come here, let me see."

Jess, eager to share her new treasure, wiggled out of Glenda's arms and ran towards Lucille, who knelt down to get a closer look at the stuffed horse.

"He's very handsome, Jess," Lucille said, running her fingers over the soft fur. "But don't you think Star needs a saddle and a bridle so he can take you on all your adventures?"
Jess's eyes widened with possibility. "A saddle? And a bridle?" she echoed, her voice filled with wonder.

"Of course," Lucille said, her eyes twinkling. "Every good horse needs proper equipment. Maybe tomorrow, we can see if we can find him some at the tack shop in town."

The prospect of outfitting Rusty for his grand adventures sent Jess into another round of excited squeals.

A blanket, spread like a giant patchwork quilt, stretched across the cool grass. Glenda, her back nestled comfortably against the rough bark of an old oak tree, gazed up at the vast expanse of the night sky. Beside her, a tiny figure bundled in pajamas shifted restlessly.

"Mama," Jess mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, "tired..."

Glenda chuckled, her gaze softening. "I know, sweetie," she murmured, extending a finger and gently tracing a circle on Jess's forehead. "But look," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper filled with wonder, "can you see all those sparkly things up there?"

Jess, roused by the promise of something new, lifted her head, her eyes blinking against the sudden brightness of the star-dusted canvas above. "Sparkly?" she echoed, a sliver of curiosity fighting against the tug of sleep.

"Yes, honey," Glenda said, pointing towards a cluster of stars that shimmered like scattered diamonds. "Those are stars, and they're like tiny little suns, way far away."

Jess, mesmerized, tilted her head back further, her brow furrowed in concentration. The vastness of the sky seemed to hold a million secrets, waiting to be unraveled. It was a world unlike anything she had ever seen before, a breathtaking expanse that sparked an insatiable curiosity within her two-and-a-half-year-old mind.

"See those five stars?" Glenda asked, gently guiding Jess's gaze to a specific constellation. "They kind of look like a smile, don't they?"

A giggle erupted from Jess's tiny lips. "A smile?" she echoed, her eyes sparkling with delight. Unlike the fatigue that had shadowed her moments ago, wonder had taken its place, chasing away drowsiness with the promise of discovery.

"Yes," Glenda said, her voice filled with warmth. "And from now on, whenever you see those stars together, we can call them 'Jess' smile'. It's your very own constellation, a special smile just for you."

Jess, completely captivated, pointed a chubby finger towards the celestial grin. "Jess' smile!" she declared, her voice filled with a newfound pride. The world around her faded away, replaced by the twinkling expanse above. The blanket beneath her became a spaceship, soaring through the inky blackness, and the stars themselves transformed into celestial friends, winking down at her with their faint, shimmering light.

Glenda wrapped a comforting arm around her daughter, their bodies forming a tiny island of warmth amidst the vast ocean of night. The cool night air, punctuated by the chirping of crickets and the distant hooting of an owl, seemed to create a lullaby especially for them. As Jess drifted back to sleep, a small smile playing on her lips, Glenda continued to gaze at the stars.