Doug and Carlie's Love Conspiracy (Doug & Carlie Series Book 2)

by Lisa Smartt

  We stayed at their home for two more hours. A few games of cards. Yard darts. Boy scout stories and bad school pictures. Justin cried when he burned his hand on the grill. Jake’s mom wrapped it in ointment all the while telling him that good little boys do what they’re told and don’t touch things they’re not supposed to touch.

  That was it. Little Justin and I had the same problem. I hadn’t been good. At all. And she would have none of it. They all pretended the table scene had never happened. Jake’s new girlfriend surely didn’t blurt something out about her shameful past or the fifteen-year-old son who lives in Louisiana. But I knew. I knew it was all still there, just bubbling beneath the surface.

  At 3:30, we stood in the front yard and waved our good-byes. I had no idea what was going to transpire in the car. At first, there was silence. And then more silence. I’m not a good communicator usually. If someone depends on me for leadership in verbal communication, well, they must be pretty bad off.

  “Jake, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I think I’ve just been so broken and so hidden all these years. I thought I was on this new plan of sharing the truth. And I crossed the line. Clearly, I crossed the line. And I’m sorry. I didn’t know your mom would react like that, but I’m sure I just surprised her and it’s my fault. I’m just glad you said they’re not making decisions for you…cause I’m sure your mama’s gonna tell you to run.” I laughed nervously while I scanned his face for information. “She’ll probably tell you to run and never look back. But you won’t, right? You said that you weren’t going anywhere.”

  Jake didn’t look happy or sad. He just kept looking straight ahead. “Don’t worry about it, Clara. They’ll get over it.”

  But they wouldn’t. I knew it and Jake knew it. That’s when I knew his family was a lot like mine. Bruised and broken. The difference? They were all “perfect” enough to cover it up. You could look at my parents’ faces and see their sadness. You could look at their house and see the hopelessness. But not at the Smiths’ house. No. Everyone was clean and beautiful. But it was never enough. Emily had embarrassed them terribly with her lack of a college education. Little Justin disappointed them because he wasn’t mature enough to give up his pacifier. Julie wasn’t strong enough to face her fears about the pregnancy. All of these were tragedies…until now. Now their precious baby, Jake, had brought home a woman who had given birth to a baby. And she didn’t even know who the daddy was. Emily, you can thank me later. With one fatal swoop, I made you and your lack of education look a whole lot better.

  Chapter 38 CARLIE: Love On the Run

  Monday morning

  Doug has to wear a suit and tie today because lots of bank people are gatherin’ in Martin for some kind of regional highfalutin bank meeting. Doug looks good in a suit. More than good. Ridiculously good. In fact, I’m not sure he should be walking around Sharon and Martin in a suit because women are going to physically chase him or pull up to him in their cars and roll down the windows and say silly things like, “You’re SO cute. Are you married?” And then he’s gonna say, “Heck yeah, I’m married. And she’s the greatest too, so back off.” And then they’re gonna feel all sad and downtrodden and discouraged. And I’m not the kind of woman who wants to inflict that kind of pain on single women. Seriously. (I know. Doug doesn’t really talk like that, but still.)

  Usually Doug and I have at least 30 minutes of coffee time in the morning. But not today. We overslept and he has to be in Martin by 7:30. So I made a “to go” cup and threw a granola bar and a banana in a big Ziploc bag and sent him on his merry way, praying he wouldn’t unknowingly inflict emotional pain on the women of Sharon or the surrounding area.

  At 9:00, I realized something was wrong with Clara. She never sleeps this late. She came home before supper last night and didn’t want to spill the beans either. She suggested we watch a movie so she could rest her mind. Rest her mind? I don’t think so. She’s avoiding something. I also haven’t heard from Aunt Charlotte this morning about Dusty’s situation. Get with it, people. I need to stay informed.

  I decided to make a lot of kitchen noise so as to wake Clara gently. I dropped a non-stick frying pan on the stove top. I hit a metal bowl with a big whisk. Right before I was gonna drop the muffin pans on the floor, she came walking out of the guest room wearing gray sweats and a red Georgia t-shirt. I knew she was glad to see me so I rang out with my cheeriest of greetings. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

  “Are you building a skyscraper in here? Why so much noise?”

  “Uh, no. Just the regular stuff. Thought I’d make us some whomp biscuits. Have a seat and I’ll get your coffee.”

  “Carlie, look, I’m not staying until Wednesday. I’m leaving this morning. You and Doug need your privacy and I need to get back home anyway.”

  “What? What are you talking about? We have plenty of privacy. You’ve spent most of the time with Jake. You haven’t been in our way. And speaking of Jake, what’s goin’ on? There’s somethin’ you’re not sayin’.”

  She rubbed her tired-looking eyes and took a big gulp of coffee. “I don’t think it’s gonna work, Carlie. I’m sorry. I tried. He tried. It’s just not a match. We come from two different worlds and it’s not fair to either of us. And it doesn’t help that I messed it up pretty badly with his family yesterday.”

  “How did you mess it up? You don’t tend to mess stuff up, Clara.”

  “Oh, I did this time. You won’t believe it. I told them about the baby, the men, the adoption. Big massive mistake. They’re like this perfect everybody-do-right family and I embarrassed myself and Jake. I don’t think he’ll get over it. And I’m not sure he even should. I have not gotten one text, call, or e-mail since he dropped me off at 4:30 yesterday afternoon. When we left his parents’ house, it was early. I figured we’d go do something fun. He said he needed to drop me off early and get back to his apartment. He needed to rest up for the big work week.”

  I didn’t like where this was going. “Rest up? He’s an insurance salesman, not a bear wrestler. That’s ridiculous. What was that big declaration Saturday night about staying with you and not walking out? That’s it. I’m gonna call him right now and get this straightened out.”

  “Don’t you dare! Look, I appreciate your help but I’ve decided. I’m not ready for a relationship. All of this stuff with Jake just proves that. Let’s go back to the way things were. You be happily married. And I’ll be lonely and content. Deal?”

  “No. Not a deal. Not a deal at all.”

  Clara put her coffee cup gently in the sink. She didn’t even drink half of it. She reached for my hand and looked out the kitchen window above the sink. “Look, the buttercups are starting to bloom.” Her eyes were filled with sadness as she turned to face me. “You won’t change my mind, Carlie. I’ve already got my stuff packed. I’m going to take a shower and be on my way. I love you. I do. If you love me, let me have some time to get this worked out. Give Jake some time, okay?”

  I hate it when people ask for time to get something “worked out.” Let’s say a busy mom gets asked to be the president of the Parent Teacher Association. What’s the first thing she says? Give me some time to get it worked out. I don’t buy it. “Give me some time.” is code language for, “Not on your life. I’d rather be covered in molasses and thrown on an ant bed.”

  But Clara is a big girl, even though she has a tiny rear end, and I have to respect her boundaries. Or at least look like I am. The minute I heard the shower running, I called Aunt Charlotte.

  “Aunt Charlotte, it’s all gone to pot over here. Something’s not right with Jake and Clara. She’s going home this morning. I know. I agree. Well, yeah, come over as soon as you can. I don’t know how much longer we’ve got.”

  In less than 30 minutes, Clara strolled out of the bedroom rolling her little black suitcase which was probably perfectly organized with all the socks rolled up in one section and the clothes meticulously folded. She had on very little make-up and her hair was still damp
and in a pony tail. Old jeans and a purple t-shirt that said “Commerce Elementary ROCKS!” In the background of the t-shirt was a graphic of a young kid with an electric guitar and two huge speakers. I don’t know. Sometimes I think we’d be better off going back to one-room school days when schools didn’t have t-shirts or fancy computers or mandatory guidance classes about hygiene. I mean, people fell in love and got married long before mandatory hygiene classes were invented. And those folks stayed married too. Maybe that’s the problem with relationships now. Everyone is too darn clean.

  It was the first time since Charlene’s make-over that it almost seemed she was regressing to the old Clara. Or maybe she was just in travel mode. She wouldn’t see anyone she knew and I guess the “not pulled together” look was excusable.

  “Clara, you can’t leave right now. You have to wait for Aunt Charlotte. She has a gift for you. She’s on her way.”

  “A gift?”

  “Yeah. I’m not sure what it is, but one thing I can promise. It’ll be interesting. And it probably won’t be new. So just smile and act happy. That’s what we always do.”

  Aunt Charlotte burst through the creaking kitchen door carrying a gray plastic Sears bag so loaded down that part of its contents poked through the bottom of the bag. She was grasping the bottom and talkin’ a mile a minute. “Mornin’, Girls! Mornin’. What’s this I hear about you leaving, Clara Louise Johnson?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m heading back to Commerce.”

  “Well, I sure hate that. I was hopin’ I could show you how to make them pickles Carlie and I are becomin’ so famous for makin’. Ever body who’s eaten one says it’s the best pickle they ever ate. Chester even wants to financially invest in our company. But he only had a five-dollar bill so I told ‘em not to bother.”

  “Oh, I appreciate it, Mrs. Charlotte. But no, I better be on my way. Thanks a lot. Maybe next time.”

  “Well, that’s a shame seein’ as how I brought the cucumbers and the jars and ever’thing.”

  Aunt Charlotte looked nervous. She should be nervous. Pickle makin’? That was her brilliant idea to lure Clara into staying long enough for us to knock some sense into Jake Smith? She felt like pickle makin’ was gonna seal that deal? Oh, Aunt Charlotte. This one’s got Kaboom written all over it.

  Clara spoke with quiet confidence, but I could see the pain written in her eyes. “It’s been a pleasure, Ladies. Come to Georgia and see me.”

  Aunt Charlotte and I looked at each other with despair. We had failed at our mission to keep Clara in Tennessee. We hugged her and told her to come back soon. She drove away while we stood on the porch waving.

  Then Aunt Charlotte raced into the house like the porch was on fire. She quickly called Debbie to get Jake Smith’s phone number. I thought we should let sleeping dogs lie. But Aunt Charlotte felt like the hound needed to be poked with a big stick.

  In a matter of minutes, I heard Aunt Charlotte’s loud pseudo-professional voice. “Hi, Jake, this is Charlotte Nelson. How are you today, Hon? Yes. Yes, I agree. Life insurance is a good investment. But baby, I’m calling today about a personal matter. Carlie and I don’t know what happened ‘tween you and that lil’ Clara Johnson. But she’s high-tailing it back to Georgia right now and we figure, well, we figure you might not want that to happen. Yes. Yes, I’ll get off the phone and let you take care of that. I will. Come see us in Sharon sometime, Honey. Bye.” A look of satisfaction rested comfortably on Aunt Charlotte’s chubby face. “Carlie! He’s gonna call ‘er right now. Yes, sirree. We done good. Real good.”

  Chapter 39 CLARA LOUISE: Don’t Wimp Out at Wimpy’s

  Everybody says the road to I-40 is one big speed trap and I don’t need a ticket especially considering what I’ve been spending on gas lately. But no more. No more trips. No more wandering aimlessly. I’m staying home for a while.

  The phone reminded me that Carlie wouldn’t let me go so easily. I expected as much. But when I scanned the screen, I saw Jake’s number. He must be planning his farewell speech.

  “Hello.”

  “Clara, what are you doing? Are you really on the road back home?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, don’t be. Listen, I’ve had some time to think about the way yesterday went. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what Mom said but I’m even more sorry about what I didn’t say. I want you to give me another chance, Clara. Don’t just blow out of town. Where are you?”

  “I’m almost to Greenfield.”

  “If you’re willing to stop, stop and I’ll come to you. How ‘bout that?”

  “I guess that’d be okay. There’s a hamburger place on the left. Is it too early for lunch for you? How about just meeting me there? It’s called Wimpy’s.”

  “Yeah, I know Wimpy’s. That’s fine. I’ll explain to my boss and be there as soon as I can. Should make it by 11:30.”

  “I’ll be waiting. Bye.”

  Doug and Carlie had told me about Wimpy’s. It was best known for a giant burger. But I wasn’t hungry at all. I felt like I’d never be hungry again. The wait staff was so friendly and an older woman told me to sit wherever I liked. I chose a booth that was kind of hidden. A young woman with blonde braids brought me a glass of water and I told her I would wait for my friend before ordering.

  I sat in the booth for more than 45 minutes, long enough for the staff to feel sorry for me. Finally, they stopped asking if I wanted more water or an appetizer. They wanted to save me the embarrassment. At 12:00, I wanted to get up and leave but I didn’t. I knew I owed Jake an explanation. He wasn’t ignoring me. Something had just delayed him. I observed the townspeople as I waited. Friendly talk of weather and crop planting. An old bald man in a wheelchair was flirting with a friendly old woman in the other booth and I found it pleasantly amusing. The door opened and I prayed it would be Jake. But it wasn’t Jake. Shock and an odd sense of happiness.

  Dusty McConnell stepped through the door, took off his cap, and ran his fingers through his hair. He spoke pleasantly to the older woman at the counter, “Mornin’ Ms. Jessie. Is my order ready?”

  “Not yet, Dusty. Give me a few minutes. Here’s your drinks.”

  “No rush. Those fellas need to keep workin’ anyway.” He laughed and sat on a stool with his back toward me. He sipped on a big drink and asked the petite older woman next to him if she ordered the giant burger. She patted his arm and said, “Not today, Hon. Not today.” He wore faded blue jeans and a green t-shirt that said, “Farmers feed the world.” No disagreement from me.

  One might think I had a decision to make. Would I go over and speak to Dusty? Or would I sit quietly hoping he wouldn’t notice me? But I didn’t even have to think about it. I would remain deathly quiet. Dusty McConnell was going to appear before a judge on drug charges. Dusty McConnell couldn’t even leave the state of Tennessee. Besides I was waiting for my insurance agent who already knew all my ugly secrets but liked me anyway. No, I wouldn’t approach Dusty. I would sit still and pretend we’d never even met. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t. From the first time I met him, he fascinated me. He was good-looking and his voice was pleasant. It’s like he could be an emcee or something. But there was something more. A kindness in the way he spoke to people.

  I watched him bend the bill of his cap back and forth while he watched the news on TV. Ms. Jessie shook her head, “Dusty, the world’s going to hell in a hand basket.” He laughed, “Well, not the whole world. I’d say our corner of it’s still pretty good, Ms. Jessie. And I, for one, don’t plan on spending any time in hell. Somebody paid my way.”

  “You’re right, Honey. You’re right.” She smiled and handed him a big bag. “I put extra napkins in there. And a cookie for each of ya. On the house.”

  “Thanks, and tell Jerry thanks for cookin’ it too. Have a good day!” I felt a wave of incredible sadness as Dusty McConnell rose from the creaky stool and headed toward the front door. He wasn’t a hardened criminal. At all. He was the opposite. He was scarred, but unlike m
e, he had recovered. He wasn’t hiding from people. He was kind and considerate and full of life. Humble and hard working.

  Jake walked in and waved at me from the door. For some reason, a reason I’ll never understand, Dusty McConnell’s head turned slightly and then he jerked. Jake walked quickly to the table and Dusty just stood there staring at me. He nodded his head slightly. He didn’t touch the door or sit back down. He just stood there holding a food bag and a drink carrier. It was like the day he stood next to my car. Waiting. Observing. Jake sat across from me and immediately apologized for the tardiness but my eyes were still looking at the front door.

  Jake fumbled with his keys. He was clearly frustrated. Was he frustrated with me or with his work? He spoke as though he were in a terrible hurry. “Mr. Jones wanted us to stay for a conference call with corporate. I couldn’t tell him no or my name would be mud.”

  I reassured him, “It’s fine. Really.”

  I saw Dusty moving toward the table and I felt sadness and joy. I couldn’t explain it. Jake looked ridiculously handsome in a white shirt, silver tie, and dark blue pants. Dusty looked like a mechanic who had removed his coveralls because it was a pleasantly warm day and he was coming to pick up lunch at Wimpy’s. How was any of this to be explained? Only one absolute truth lingered in the air. Farmers feed the world. On that much we all could agree.

  Jake was talking endlessly about work and his many obligations when he noticed Dusty standing at the booth. He paused and said, “Can we help you?”

  He put out his hand, “I’m Dusty McConnell. I’m friends with Clara here.” He looked straight at me. For the first time, I noticed the color of his eye. It was a beautiful bright blue like those pictures I’d always seen of Caribbean waters. It didn’t match his dark skin and hair at all. He set the drink carrier on our table and held the paper bag in his right hand. He put his left hand in his pocket nervously. “Clara, it’s good to see you again. How’s the car runnin’? Any problems?”