Page 22 of Prospect Year

Lola turned toward Mia. The excitement on her face rivaled the hope filling him. Each step across the blacktop spurred a new question on Lola’s mind. What if the man didn’t remember his mom? What if he did? Did Lola really want to know the truth?

The man was standing on his porch before they stepped foot in his yard.

Lola approached him and introduced himself and Mia with a handshake and stated his dilemma.

Mr. Jones studied Lola a moment before giving him a smile. “Yeah. Come have a seat.”

Lola followed Mia toward an arrangement of lawn furniture and sat in the chair beside her where they faced the old man. “Do you remember my mother, Anja Baur?”

“I do. I haven’t thought about her in many years. My wife and I wondered what had happened to spur their sudden departure” His head bobbed as he recalled the time. “She was a year younger than our daughter, but they were friends. She spent a good bit of time here. When the neighborhood kids hung out in the yard, there was one fella she gave her attention to. Don’t recall the name but I do believe he was from the neighborhood.

“My wife would know. She talked to them more than I did. She’d always have drinks for them and let them know they were welcome. When your mother left, Penny, that’s our daughter, was worried about her. At times, she mentioned thinking she’d show up on our doorstep one day needing a place to stay. That puzzled me. But now, it makes sense.”

“Is your wife here to talk to us?”

The man’s smile was soft and reminiscent. “I wish I could say yes. But she passed four years ago. She had a good fight but eventually cancer took her.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Lola offered his condolences and fell silent searching for what he needed to ask.

“You say you’re looking for information on your mother’s family?”

“Not exactly. I’m searching for information on my father. All I have to go on is the address where my mother grew up. She was seventeen when I was born so I hoped to find a clue here.”

“That sounds about right. All I can tell you is that the family was very strict. Grandparents, I believe they were the mother’s parents, were immigrants. From Germany, if I recall correctly. Never talked to them since they spoke very little English. That would explain the sudden move if they discovered she was pregnant.”

“What about a family named Monroe?”

“There were Monroes who lived down the street. The boy went into the military. They lived there until they both passed years ago. Can’t say I know more than that.”

Lola wished he knew more about Mac to ask specific questions. But until this moment he had no reason to question Mac about his background or even his given name. He knew nothing other than Mac Monroe. And he only knew that much from paperwork at the garage.

“Our kids loved going to the Burger Hut after school and during the summer. We joked that it was their second home. I’ve been there a few times. The walls are filled with photos through the years. Plus, the original owners still run it. Maybe they can recall something.”

Burger Hut. That was also on Mia’s list. Lola stood. “I appreciate your time. You’ve helped more than you know.”

***

Lola rolled to a stop in front of the burger joint where his mother enjoyed spending time as a teenager. Or so he hoped. Has it changed much since then? It had a vintage look about it. He smiled toward Mia next to him and led her inside.

Mia tapped his shoulder and walked past him.

The old man was right. There must be three generations of kids filling the walls. He strode next to Mia and began scanning faces in the photos.

“Some of those photos go back a-ways. Looking for yours?”

Lola whirled toward the young girl clearing a table. “Someone I know used to hang here.”

She laughed. “They’re most likely on the wall somewhere.”

“Would the owner be around?” Lola asked.

“Sure thing. I’ll get him.” She wiped the table and gathered the tub of dishes and disappeared.

Mia’s finger began tapping a furious cadence on his back. He whirled around to see her staring at a photo. “Find something?”

Her eyes were wide when she looked his direction.

She hadn’t seen a photo of his mother, young or old. What could have made her so excited? He zoned in on the face she pointed out. He sucked in a breath and froze. This was not possible. He leaned closer. There, smiling back at him with his arm around the young version of his mother was himself. Or at least the spitting image of him. The boy had eighties style black hair with Lola’s face. He was happy. So was his mother.

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