A Change of Heart by Philip Gulley Page A

innocently enough. She and Miriam had come to town for their weekly grocery shopping. While Miriam was at the Kroger, Amanda had walked over to the Dairy Queen and there they were, her mother and father, sitting on the bench eating ice cream cones. It had been awkward at first, but they’d agreed to meet the next Saturday morning, and it had gotten easier each week.
    They’d apologized for leaving her, for their drinking, for the years of neglect. Then came the tears. Ralph and Sandy hugging Amanda, crying over the wasted years. It embarrassed Oscar Purdy to watch them, so he let them meet in the little shack behind the Dairy Queen, where the Dilly Bar freezers were.
    Amanda had much to tell them: winning the National Spelling Bee, traveling to Atlanta for the Future Problem Solvers of America’s annual convention, making the A honor roll every semester, getting her driver’s license, and planting flowers with Miriam for Deena’s wedding.
    They told her how they’d gone to church, gotten saved, and stopped drinking. How Ralph was working at the glove factory in Cartersburg and Sandy was working at the Wal-Mart in Amo, and how they hoped to move out of the tourist cabins and into a real house with an extra bedroom so Amanda could come and maybe stay the night.
    They couldn’t visit long. It took Miriam forty-five minutes to buy groceries, so they had only a half hour. But they made the most of it. Amanda told them about her week, and they hugged her close and told her how proud they were of her, that she’d be the first woman president.
    “Where do you want to go to college?” Ralph asked one Saturday. “A smart girl like you ought to go to Harvard or Yale. If that’s what you want, you just say the word. I’ll work three jobs if I have to.”
    “No, I think I want to go to Purdue and maybe become a teacher,” Amanda said.
    “You’d be the best teacher this world has ever seen,” Sandy said. “You’re so smart. You were reading by the age of three. Did you know that?”
    No, she didn’t. In fact, she knew hardly anything of her childhood. So they told her. Her first word, her first steps, her favorite teddy bear, which they brought to her one Saturday. She hid it in her closet, behind a cardboard box that held her winter clothes, which is where Miriam found it in early September when the thermometer dipped into the low forties and Amanda needed a long-sleeved shirt.
    She’d asked Amanda about it after supper, when Ellis was out herding the livestock into the barn for the night and they were about to do the dishes.
    “I’d rather not talk about it,” Amanda said.
    “Well, that’s your prerogative, I suppose.” She smoothed Amanda’s hair. She hesitated. “So how are your mother and father?”
    “How would I know?”
    “You’ve been meeting them at the Dairy Queen on Saturday mornings.” She pulled Amanda to her. “It’s a small town, honey. And some people like nothing more than to tell everything they know.”
    “Now I suppose you won’t let me see them,” Amanda said.
    “Not at all. They’re your parents, and you’re almost an adult.” Besides, you’ve never given us any reason not to trust you.”
    “What about Ellis? Does he know?”
    “Not yet.”
    “When were you going to tell him?”
    “I think he should hear it from you,” Miriam said. “That is part of what it means to grow up. You talk openly and honestly with people.”
    “What if he doesn’t let me see them?”
    “I don’t think he’d do that,” Miriam said. “If he does, I’ll have a talk with him.”
    “What if I want to go live with them?”
    “Let’s take one step at a time. Besides, you’ll be going off to college before you know it, and it’ll be a moot point. Now, why don’t I wash and you dry and put away?”
    “It’s a deal,” Amanda said, reaching in for a hug.
    Had it ended there, it would have been fine. Amanda could have seen her parents, Ellis would have eventually come around, and the