The Great Good Summer by Liz Garton Scanlon

another listing?” she asks, almost sounding sorry.
    â€œYes,” I say. “Yes. I guess I’m looking for a Baptist church.”
    â€œI find a number of Baptist churches,” says the operator. And then she lists them. “Bradfordville First Baptist Church. Celebration Baptist Church. First Baptist Church. Highpoint Baptist Church. Immanuel Baptist Church . . .” She goes on and on, in alphabetical order. I scrawl them down in Paul’s spiral notebook as quick as Ican. I mean, my handwriting’s barely legible even when I’m sitting at a school desk, and this bus is no help at all.
    â€œWould you like the number for one of the churches I’ve listed?” asks the operator, and I say, “Yes, I’ll try First Baptist Church.” I just say that ’cause it seems like “First” is a good place to start.
    And then a computer connects me. My face flushes hot, and I lick my lips and the bus rolls on as I listen to the phone ring at the First Baptist Church in Tallahassee, Florida. We are heading in that direction, I think, but we don’t even know if that’s where we want to be.
    â€œGreetings,” says the voice on the other end of the line. “First Baptist.”
    â€œOh, um, well, hi,” I say.
    Dear God, I did not expect someone to pick up the phone.
    â€œMay I help you, ma’am?” she says, which makes me less panicky because she apparently thinks I’m a grown-up!
    â€œYes, I hope so. We’re looking for a church. The Great Good Bible Church of Panhandle Florida,” I say. And the woman doesn’t say anything when I pause. So to help her out, I say, “We were wondering if you know of it.”
    â€œIs it in Tallahassee?” she asks. But before she lets me answer, she says, “It can’t be in Tallahassee, ’cause Iwould’ve heard of it, and I’ve never heard of it.”
    â€œOh. Well. Okay, thanks.”
    It’s discouraging, during the research portion of an adventure, to hang up without any new information at all. And, especially, to repeat this particular portion of the research portion again and again. I call back and ask the operator to connect me to Immanuel Baptist Church. And then Northwoods Baptist Church, which I think is kind of funny since we’re in the South. And then Maranatha. And as I talk to the church secretaries, Paul crosses off the names of the churches, one by one. The secretaries all pretty much tell me the same thing: they’ve never heard so much as a whisper about The Great Good Bible Church. Not a whisper. One woman says, “I haven’t the foggiest, young lady,” which I guess means I’m not that grown-up sounding after all. “The Great Good Bible Church doesn’t even sound Baptist, if you ask me,” she says. And I kinda think she’s got a point.
    A couple of the ladies are extra nice, though. One says she’s never heard of The Great Good but we are always welcome to visit her church—“It’s where God’s people gather,” she says. And another invites me to be a part of their cozy flock. “Like a lamb coming in from the cold,” she says. And I promise you, I’m not just gone-off crazy,her voice sounds a bit like Mama’s. I’ve half a mind to head straight there. Like a little lamb.
    Paul finally makes a couple of calls for me, because I’m about this far from giving up, but he gets the same answer. The Great Good Bible Church may as well not even exist.
    My mind races straight past possibility and heads toward hopelessness. What if we go all this way and don’t find Mama? What if Mama doesn’t want to be found, at least by us? What if she’s not just gone for the summer but gone for good?
    I shake my head like a wet dog would, and I sit up straight. “I’ll finish up,” I say to Paul. “I’d rather have something to do.” And as I