Read Online Blue Like Elvis by Diane Moody - Free Book Online Page A

forth.
When I got close enough, Elvis picked me up and sat me on his knee.
    “Well, aren’t
you just the cutest little thing? How old are you, Rayce?”
    Dad says I
whispered “four” and never once took my eyes off the King.
    “Four? Well, you’re
just about all grown up, aren’t you? I hope some day I have a pretty little
girl like you.”
    “What would you
name her?” I asked.
    “Well, now, I
don’t guess I’ve thought about that too much, seeing how I’m not married yet.
What do you think I should name her?”
    “You could call
her Rayce.”
    He threw his
head back and laughed. “Well, I just might do that. I like cars that go real
fast, so maybe that would be the perfect name for her.”
    Of course, Dad
says I had no clue what my name and fast cars had in common.
    “Rayce, maybe
some day your daddy will bring you and your mommy out to Graceland to see me
sometime. Would you like that?”
    “What’s a grassland?”
I asked.
    Dad says Elvis
had a good laugh at that one, then went on to explain it was where he lived. Dad
said Elvis gave me a big kiss on my cheek before setting me back down.
    Imagine that. I was kissed by Elvis.
    I shook off the
memories. Well, the memories I knew only because Dad had shared them over and
over. And I tried to remember why it was that I didn’t really care that much
about the superstar. I guess I should’ve, what with having met him and all. It
wasn’t that I didn’t like him. I was just indifferent. Well, who knows, maybe
that would all change now that I was back living in Memphis.
    Heck, we’re
practically neighbors.

Chapter 8
     
    Tucker called
later that evening. We only talked a few minutes. Apparently one of his friends
had a family emergency come up and Tuck was going to have to cover his shift
for him the next night. Which meant he wouldn’t be able to make it to Bible
study. Which meant I wouldn’t be going either.
    After I hung up, I
uttered a quick prayer of thanks for that resident’s family emergency.
    Then I uttered a
quick prayer for forgiveness for thanking God for that resident’s family
emergency.
    I decided to go
downstairs and watch some TV, but as I left my room, I could hear Sandra crying
in her bedroom. I tapped on her door. “You okay?”
    She was sitting in
bed with a book on her lap, her face buried in her hands. She mumbled something
in Spanish as I took a seat at the foot of her bed. “Sandra, what’s wrong? What’s
the matter?”
    She wiped her face
with the edge of her bedsheet, sighing and carrying on and on. I braced myself,
trying to figure out what in the world could have happened in the ten minutes I
was on the phone with Tucker.
    “It’s just . . .
it’s just . . . oh, it’s just so sad. I can’t bear it.”
    Someone must have
died. A family member back in Puerto Rico? Sandra was the only member of her
family who lived in the states. She’d come to America to go to college,
graduating from Mississippi College, a Baptist women’s school not far from
Memphis. I’d had trouble imagining my spunky little roommate at a women-only
school. She was so high-spirited and expressive—and oh, how she loved to flirt.
She took the art to a whole new level. I couldn’t even begin to imagine her
towing the line at a small Baptist college with no male students.
    “Sandra, did
someone die?” I asked quietly.
    She shot me the
strangest look. “What?”
    “I mean, you’re obviously
upset and crying and—”
    Her mouth formed a
long, oval “O” just before she broke out laughing. “No!” she said, sucking in
air between her guffaws. “No! It’s Anna Karenina! She’s in this impossible
situation, and she’s pregnant with the count’s son but her husband refuses to
give her a divorce and warns her if she leaves him, she’ll never see their son
Seryozha again. Then the count’s horse falls, throwing the count off, and the
horse has to be shot and . . . and it’s all so terribly tragic,
I can hardly bear to read