“Park the car,” Donald said to Charles William. “Come in the store. This is too uncivilized. This terrorizes me. Park the car. Take something to Derry and let me get this child’s address. Here, my dear.” He reached in and helped Irise out of the front seat. “Drive around back through the alley, Charles William, and park by the back door. I can’t imagine this. Using a bookstore for a drive-in. Come along, we’ll call Derry and tell her where you are.” Charles William shook his head, smiled, and obeyed. Donald took Irise and me back into the store. “Now, my dears, look around the store while I call Derry and see if there’s anything I can send her while you’re going. Let me get that back door for Charles William.” He disappeared to open the door. Irise and I giggled and began to look at the art books. Irise found an Italian monograph on Giotto and a book of English gardens and I wandered back into the poetry department and began to read. Charles William came in the back door and was loudly directed to the art section to see a new book about the French Surrealists. “Life is the urge to ecstasy,” Donald muttered. “I don’t know if they’re educating you at Georgia Tech or not, Charles William. I worry about you. And you all drink too much. Well, let me call Derry and see if there’s anything she wants.” He went over behind the desk and rang a number and began to talk on the phone in a loud voice. “They’re here with me. Yes, I’m loading them up before they leave. Rhoda, yes, she reads poetry. Clutch them to your hearts, the ancients said, every strand of hope. What happened? The old Jet magazine article about Till? I might have one somewhere but send it back. Of course I saw it. Imagine them writing that. Bragging about it. All right, I’ll send it on then but mail it back to me, Derry. Well, you never returned that article from The Guardian. All right. That’s fine. Good. Say hello to Charles. Fine. Goodbye.