Read The Mockingbird Next Door: Life With Harper Lee for Free Online Page B

to write except more stories about hunting for Harper Lee.
    The next morning, I went over my notes. I imagined she might want to know who had spoken with me.
    The knock came at the appointed time.
    I opened the door to my motel room. The light was harsh compared with the dark room. I blinked. Everything about the woman before me looked solid and practical: the short white hair, the large glasses, the black sneakers fastened with wide Velcro straps. Her bangs were cut high and straight across her forehead. She was solidly built and on the tall side. She wore a simple white cotton blouse over casual tan pants. She had on a bit of lipstick but otherwise no makeup or jewelry.
    “Hello,” I said. “Please come in.”
    “Miss Mills.” She smiled and stepped into the coolness of the room. I closed the door.
    “I’m so glad to meet you,” I said. “Would you like to have a seat here?” I motioned to the small table. Not that there was much alternative. Other than a chair pulled up to the desk against the wall oppositethe beds, the table offered the only place to sit. It was a bit cramped, shoved up against the window immediately to the left of the front door as you entered the room. I took the chair by the window and she sat to my left, facing the window. “I can open this if you’d like more light,” I said with a shrug. I wondered if she would prefer the privacy of closed curtains.
    “No, this is just fine. Thank you.”
    Based on what I’d read, I expected either someone of great reserve or perhaps someone angry about my being in town and unafraid to express her displeasure.
    She was neither. Her voice had a pleasant lilt, and although she was reserved while we exchanged greetings, as soon as we began talking she came across as down-to-earth and self-assured. She repeated nearly word for word what she had said on the phone. “Well, you’ve made quite an impression on Miss Alice.”
    “She was wonderful.”
    “I understand you had quite a conversation.”
    “We did. I just wrote her a note.” I nodded toward the desk. “I’ve been making the rounds and told her I’d keep her up to date on that. She told me I should talk to Dale Welch and Reverend Butts.”
    She scowled and leaned in a bit closer.
    Was that the wrong thing to say?
    “Pardon me. I didn’t hear you.”
    I raised my voice. “Your sister told me I should talk to Dale Welch and Reverend Butts.”
    The scowl deepened. She cupped her hand to her right ear. “What?”
    The air-conditioning unit just to my right and under the window seemed to have two settings: noisy and off. I switched it to off. The loud rumble and blowing abruptly ceased. It was a reckless move in summertime southern Alabama but it worked.
    “Is this better?” I asked. “I can turn it back on if it gets too warm.”
    Her face relaxed and she smiled. “No, that’s better.”
    Alice had filled her in on our conversations.
    Before we began talking in earnest, she was very clear: This would not be an interview. “Just a visit.”
    I agreed, and filled her in on the One Book, One Chicago happenings.
    I mentioned the movie showings. I’d enjoyed Gregory Peck’s remarks in a documentary about meeting Lee and filming To Kill a Mockingbird.
    At the mention of Peck, she leaned forward. Her eyes danced.
    “Isn’t he delicious?”
    She had as many questions for me as I had for her. She wanted to know more about the One Book, One Chicago program, and she also asked about the director of the program, Mary Dempsey, with whom she had spoken. She also asked about the specifics of my stay, including where I had gone, who had spoken with me, and what they had said. I didn’t feel I was being grilled; her tone was conversational.
    I did want to know what she thought of Monroeville today.
    “I read that when they were going to film the movie, they decided Monroeville had changed too much from the thirties for them to film here.”
    She made a face, as if she had tasted something sour.