Free Not Without My Father: One Woman's 444-Mile Walk of the Natchez Trace by Andra Watkins Page B

floated from my chair, macerated feet forgotten. “I’ll be right back.”
    As I stumbled into the starry night, Dad turned to the musicians and yelled, “You ever heard that song Rednecks, White Socks and Blue Ribbon Beer? ”
    I dug into the trunk and cradled my little green book. White letters glowed through starlight. Would our crazy father/daughter sales team ever become a story like the one I just heard? I couldn’t imagine a hundred people reading my novel, let alone millions. I stood at the door and watched Dad, tapping his foot and singing along with the band.
    “Rednecks, whiiiiiiiite socks and Blue Ribbon beer!”
    Was Life about achieving success? Or was success a thing I made myself, following my rules? Whoever read my book, I was shocked to find myself having fun with Dad. People lit up when he talked and encouraged him to tell one more tale. I came back ready to hear him talk all night.
    The final chords of Dad’s song finished as I autographed my book and sat down to a two-inch slab of perfect pink medium rare-ness. Dad tucked into his piece of fish and talked through a bite. “I’m glad I insisted we come to this place.”
    “Did I hear you say you’re from South Carolina?” The owner stood behind us, our plates reflected in her glasses.
    “Yeah.” Flecks of fish fell from Dad’s mouth. “I live in Florence, and my daughter here’s from Charleston.”
    “Ever heard of Denmark?”
    For the second time in fifteen minutes, I almost snapped my neck. “How do you know Denmark?”
    “My only cousin lives there. She owns that antique store, the one in the old phone company building.”
    “You’re Caroline’s cousin?”
    She nodded. “You know her?”
    “She’s my friend Alice’s godmother. Alice just left this morning. She was my wingman all week, and she really wanted to come here, but you were closed last night.”
    “Oh my God. Alice Guess? I know her parents.”
    “I can’t believe she just missed meeting you.” I looked over at Dad, his chins mottled with remnants of dinner. “Can you believe that, Dad?”
    “I been around long enough to believe just about anything, Andra. Just about anything.”

YOU’LL NEVER WALK ALONE
    Elvis Presley
    I spent my first day of rest on my feet. As I shoved things into the car, I mourned the loss of the jacuzzi tub at our cozy inn. Dad stood beside his suitcase. Sugar-free cookies dangled from each hand.
    “Aren’t you gonna bring that bag out, Dad?”
    “Can’t bend over to pick it up. You get it.”
    “Why-oh-why-oh-why did Alice leave me?” Every muscle screeched when I rammed his suitcase into the back seat.
    At the beginning of the trip, I mapped my rest days. Sleep until ten. A long, scalding bath. Carb-loaded lunch mid-afternoon, hand-delivered to my bedside. A nap followed by another bath. Lights out early.
    Instead, I unloaded the car at a Marriott north of Jackson. While my legs wailed through dragging our things up three floors, Dad hung out in the lobby. Every time I stalked past, he responded to my murderous looks with, “I’m selling books!”
    “I wish I could sell you,” I muttered as I grabbed the last bit of groceries and slammed the trunk.
    Dad teetered into our two-bedroom suite and crowed, “Now, this is a room! I got a sofa right in front of the TV and everything.” He stepped around piles, rocked himself onto the sofa and started flipping channels.
    “Dad! Can you at least tell me where—”
    “Ssh. I’m watching this.”
    “Fox News? Seriously, Dad?”
    He toggled the volume to STUN. Even with my bedroom door closed, I couldn’t miss the developing story. A Malaysian jetliner bound for Beijing went missing shortly after takeoff from Kuala Lumpur. Dad morphed into his Gulf War I version. He spent hours worshipping the TV while talking heads speculated, ad-libbed and revealed secret military locations to fill air time.
    Even with earplugs, sleep wouldn’t come.
    When I limped past Dad, he was too hypnotized