Elvis Takes a Back Seat by Leanna Ellis Page B

they take special care not to dribble food or let it plop on the floor. Anything is possible in Topsy-Turvyville.”
    â€œAnything?”
    â€œAnything. So when you get lonely or sad or miss me, as I will be missing you, think of Topsy-Turvyville. Okay? And remember it is the place where things are not what they seem.”
    I’d forgotten that time, repressed it or locked it away somewhere safe—until now. I feel like I’m living in Topsy-Turvyville. My life has been turned upside down and backwards. But unlike Rae’s imagining, this place is messy, unkempt, and overwhelming. I want to go back to the way things were, to my normal life, to my hopes and dreams, to the time when I felt safe and secure—with Stu.
    Silence settles between Rae and me, but around us continues the noise of other conversations, plates clattering, a baby fussing. The children at the table near us drop crayons on the floor and whine for their food. Once more I shift my gaze out the window. Even from here I can see the dark outline of Elvis’s head safely tucked inside the back seat.
    â€œDid you miss your friends from Memphis? Your family, when you moved around so much?”
    â€œI made new ones.”
    New family? But I don’t voice my question. She makes starting over sound easy, but to me it seems as difficult as telling a lame man how to stand and walk. How can I ever make a new life for myself? Everything reminds me of Stu.
    Seeing Ivy emerge from the bathroom, I give her a wave. She drifts toward the table and slides into the chair beside me. She looks thin and pale; her shoulders slump with what seems like unhappiness. Still, she’s a beautiful young woman. Her short shorts and tight-fitting T-shirt grab the attention of several men sitting nearby.
    â€œAre you okay?” I ask.
    She sniffs and looks around. “What is that smell?”
    â€œLunch grease,” Rae says. “I’m having chicken-fried steak.”
    I hand the menu to Ivy. “I think I’ll have the vegetable plate. What are you going to have? That is, if the waitress ever returns.”
    â€œWe’re in no hurry, Claudia,” Rae says. “No rush.”
    There’s no deadline. No one waiting for us … or Elvis. But I want to get this trip over with as soon as possible. I don’t want to linger and stroll through Memphis or down Memory Lane. This isn’t a vacation.
    My gaze veers toward Elvis. An older couple walks past the Cadillac. First the man turns and looks back, probably noting the make and model. He touches the woman’s arm, then points at Elvis. Together they bend over, peering into the back seat. Eventually they enter the restaurant, theirheads bent together as they share a laugh. It’s tiny moments, snippets of others’ lives, that make me miss Stu the most.
    Ivy clicks her short nails against the wooden table. “Do they have soup here?”
    â€œWe’ll ask the waitress.” The conversation dies as we wait for the gal who brought us water when we first sat down. She gave us a toothy grin and said she’d be back “quick as a bunny.” But we are still waiting.
    Looking at Ivy, her thin arms, heavy makeup, and shocking black hair that contrasts with her pale skin, I remember Ben wanting me to impart some motherly wisdom to his daughter, but I am at a loss for words. I figure if I can get us talking at all, it might put us on the right course. But I don’t know what teenagers talk about. Boys? Movies? The latest music? I feel way behind the times. “I thought it might be fun to stay at the Heartbreak Hotel in Memphis.”
    Ivy shrugs.
    â€œHave you been there, Rae?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI called and got reservations last week.” No one seems interested. “I thought we could immerse ourselves in all things Elvis.”
    Ivy looks around at the other tables, her gaze settling on the family next to us. The children wiggle and