Page 51 of Ice Ice Maybe
He held up a hand, taking a few more deep breaths before straightening up. “I’m okay.”
Mrs. Dalton rubbed his back. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
“Me too,” Zena said. She turned to me, her eyes brimming with gratitude. “Thank you, Nolan. I think you saved his life.”
Mrs. Dalton echoed the sentiment, hugging me. “You most certainly did. Thank you.”
Mr. Dalton nodded, looking humbler than I had ever seen him before. “Yes, thank you. I appreciate that more than you know.” He clapped me on the back twice.
I smiled, knowing that couldn’t have been easy for him to say. “Of course. I’m glad you’re okay, sir.” My heart was racing from the adrenaline. Trying to lighten the mood, I added, “Though I’m pretty sure Mrs. Dalton said live a little, not die a little.”
There was a moment of stunned silence before Zena and her mom guffawed, the tension of the moment dissipating. Mr. Dalton even chuckled, though it turned into a small cough.
“Well,” he said, his voice still rough, “I suppose that’s one way to make a road trip memorable.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Zena asked.
Mr. Dalton nodded. “I’m fine. I’m ready for another strawberry, although this time I will focus more on the chewing part.”
As we savored a few more of the sweet, sun-ripened strawberries, I pulled out my phone to check our progress to Nashville. Something on the map close by caught my eye. In fact, it was just over on the other side of the highway. My eyes widened as I zoomed in on the screen and processed what I was seeing.
“What is it?” Zena asked.
I looked up with a mix of excitement and mischief bubbling up inside me. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Tell me,” she said.
I shook my head. “It’s a surprise, but it’s something that was obviously meant to be. You’ll see.”
After we finished our impromptu strawberry feast and death scare, we got back in the BMW and I drove to our surpriselocation. Mr. Dalton eyed the entrance back onto Highway 40 East that I had passed.
“Why aren’t we getting back on the interstate?” he asked, gesturing toward Nashville.
“We need to make a quick pit stop,” I replied mysteriously, driving across the bridge to the other side of the highway. I made a right between the Shell station and McDonald’s.
Zena leaned forward from the back seat. “Suddenly in the mood for a Big Mac and fries?”
“Tempting, but I’m good,” I said.
Fortunately, nobody saw the museum sign with the arrow pointing down the street. We rounded the bend past a couple of motels. In the rearview mirror, I saw Zena’s eyes get wider. Okay, she’d spotted the sign but kept quiet.
Mrs. Dalton was the first to notice the giant mural on the side of one building. “Look! There’s Tina Turner! What is this place?”
Mr. Dalton squinted at a sign. “It looks like we’re at the West Tennessee Delta Heritage Center and Tina Turner Museum.”
Mrs. Dalton’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “That’s it, Nolan. I’m adopting you.”
We got out of the car and walked inside the Flagg Grove School building, where we were greeted by a friendly docent named Charlotte, who shared the history of the one-room schoolhouse.
“This school was once attended by young Anna Mae Bullock, aka Tina Turner, and built by her great uncle in 1889,” she said. “The school was originally in Nutbush, but they moved it here to Brownsville and refurbished it.” She gestured off to the side. “Those are the original desks and chalkboard over there. Look around and let me know if you have questions.”
We thanked Charlotte and decided to start with the exhibits in the glass cases that featured costumes Tina had worn while performing in concert. As we passed an older couple who turnedaway from a display of gold records, I was going to share a friendly nod and a smile when Zena surprised me.
“Hello,” she said warmly to the couple.
The couple turned, their faces lighting up with smiles.
“Well, hello there,” the woman replied. “Isn’t this all just so fascinating?”
