by Lisa Smartt
“I’m all ears.”
He reached out to hold my hand but was still looking out the front windshield. His voice was serious. “It was a Sunday afternoon. Real cold. There was this man. Decent-lookin’, I guess.” He paused and smiled. “He’d only loved one woman really and she was gone. Only had one child and she was gone too.” He lowered his head and swallowed hard. “The memories haunted him, especially at night. Unbearable sometimes. So he prayed. Right there that Sunday morning in the middle of the choir singing ‘Rock of Ages.’ He prayed God would do a miracle. Give him another chance. That maybe this time he’d do it differently. Y’know? Be more appreciative. More understanding.”
I scooted closer.
He continued. “I ate lunch with Carl and Betty that day. Then got a call from Greenfield. Not for the wrecker. Just an old friend needing an estimate on fixin’ an ol’ truck in his grandparents’ yard. We talked a while and then I headed to the shop to check on some inventory. That’s when I saw your car. Parked right in this spot. I even laughed and said, ‘God, is that my woman up there?’ But it was a joke. I figured it would be an older woman. I mean, you do drive an old lady car, Clara. But when I looked through the window, I remember thinkin’ you looked pretty good for an old woman.” We both laughed quietly. “You were right to not trust me though. You didn’t know me. I understood that. But the more you talked, the more I wanted to get to know you. I didn’t want Doug to show up because I wanted you to need me, Clara.”
I spoke for the first time. “I do need you, Dusty.”
He turned his head toward me. “Then marry me, Clara.” He grabbed both my hands and covered them with his. “I love you. And I won’t leave you. Ever. You can count on me to protect you. I promise. Will you marry me?”
I didn’t think about it. I didn’t need to. I spoke one simple word with confidence, “Yes.”
He sighed with a sense of relief. He gently placed both of his rough hands on my face and leaned in to kiss me. “Thank you, Clara. Thank you.”
He wiped the tears from my face and for the first time I ran my hand over the scar on his chin. “Does it hurt?”
He smiled. “No. Not anymore.”
I’ve heard of men jumping out of airplanes with a proposal written on the parachute. I’ve seen stories of men who planned fancy dinners and hired string quartets. Then there’s the common story of having the proposal written on the big Jumbo Tron at a professional ballgame. But Dusty McConnell had the best proposal of all. He understood my greatest fear and spoke straight to my heart. Every man I’d ever known had used me, left me battered and exposed. But not Dusty. His scarred hands would protect me. He promised.
Chapter 48 CARLIE: Praise the Lord and Pass the Pickles
9:30 pm
“Doug, did Dusty say when he planned to come back?”
“No, Honey. I’m not his dad. And you’re not Clara’s mother either.”
“Well, I know but I’m worried. They could have had a wreck or car trouble or they could have gotten snatched up in a horrible tornado. The sky was looking kind of green earlier today. And we don’t always hear the sirens out here, y’know?”
He laughed. “Carlie, they both have cell phones. Besides, I feel certain that we’d get the news if a tornado had swept up a 20-year-old Chevy truck and thrown it into another county. Aunt Charlotte would have known five minutes before it happened, don’t ya think?”
I scooted next to him on the couch. “Great point, Honey. Great point.”
At 10:00 pm, the Paducah news anchorman announced that Elton John would be appearing in Memphis in the summer and that a petition had been started by a local radio station to get George Strait to be the opening act. Now there’s a concert I’d pay $100 to see. About that time, we heard a light tapping at the kitchen door and Dusty and Clara came strolling in.
I jumped up from the couch and said, “Hey, guys! There’s leftover ice cream in the freezer, if you want some. I think I even have some of those pink sprinkles you like, Clara.”
Clara said nonchalantly, “No. I need to get busy making some plans.”
“Plans? You can make plans when you’re back home in Commerce. I bet Dusty will take some ice cream. How ‘bout it, Dusty?”
“No. I need to help Clara with the plans.”
“What’s gotten into you two? Why are you being so industrious and what are you planning to do anyway?”
Doug walked into the kitchen and put his arm around me. Clara started smiling and Dusty shuffled his feet and put his hands in his pockets.
And that’s when it hit me. Nobody ever accused me of being a rocket scientist. “Oh my gosh! Are you guys? I mean, are you?” I was tongue-tied and flustered and I started crying at even the thought.
Clara ran to me, grabbed my arms, and said, “Yes, Carlie! Yes! We’re getting married.”
Doug shook Dusty’s hand and patted him on the back. “Congratulations, man! We’re happy for both of you!”
I just kept hugging Clara and then I just kept hugging Dusty. About that time Aunt Charlotte blew in the door. Uncle Bart followed behind with less enthusiasm. No light knock. No pre-visit phone call.
Aunt Charlotte asked, “Is something going on here? Is there somethin’ I need to know? Willie Carlisle called and said you was parked down there on the side of the road in Bradford for a long time.”
Clara hugged Aunt Charlotte and said, “I’m getting married! To Dusty. I’m getting married and moving here, Aunt Charlotte!”
“Well, praise the Lord and pass the pickles! It’s time for a celebration! Carlie, you got any champagne or apple cider?”
“Let me look.” I scoured the refrigerator. “We’ve got grape juice and Diet Sprite.”
“Well, mix ‘em together and let’s have a toast.”
On May 19th at 10:25 pm the six of us raised our red Solo cups into the air to toast the upcoming nuptials (be careful how you say that word) with a mixed drink of grape juice and Diet Sprite. Aunt Charlotte cried profusely. Uncle Bart handed her a Kleenex and asked Doug if the drought had hurt the farmers yet. The newly engaged couple walked into the living room with me to look at the calendar and set a date.
Dusty put his arm around Clara and spoke softly. “I know women sometimes like to spend months planning a wedding and caring about the cake and the dresses and all that but, for me, I want to cast my vote for sooner rather than later.”
Clara grabbed his hand and said, “Well, you’re in luck, Dusty. I’m not one of those silly girls who is worried about the wedding or the cake. I want to be married. To you. So I’m fine with the sooner.”
I spoke up with a voice of authority, “Well, as your official wedding planner, and I assume I can just assign myself that job, I’ll ask the first question. Where would you like to get married?”
Clara answered quickly. “Maybe it’s bad that I’ve thought about this before tonight, but I already know. If it’s okay with you guys, well, I’d like it to be small and simple and I’d like to get married here. In the backyard. Are you okay with that, Carlie?”
My voice cracked but I tried to remain ever-professional (seeing as how I was the wedding planner and all). I grabbed her hand and said, “That will be just fine.”
Dusty looked at the calendar and said, “What about June 25th? That’s five weeks from now. Is that enough time?”
Clara touched him on the knee and said, “Perfect.”
I have an opinion about weddings. Actually, I also have an opinion about guacamole and profanity in Broadway plays and little girls wearing make-up and well, about a lot of other things. But we’re talking weddings right now. Weddings can be beautiful and meaningful without spending months planning them. I mean, look at funerals. Most funerals are planned in two days but they usually have tons of flowers and special music and meaningful words from a minister, not to mention a delicious potluck meal in the church basement afterwards. This is not rocket science, people. Get with the program.
At 11:30 I politely escorted ever
yone out the door, saying the bride needed her beauty sleep and the newlyweds needed something else. Bart laughed and patted Doug on the back. Aunt Charlotte shook her head as she walked out the door and said, “That Carlie!” Dusty gently kissed his bride-to-be and told her he’d pick her up for church at 10:00. He brushed her hair off her forehead with his hand and said, “Sleep well.”
I happily sent Clara to bed and told her we’d plan the whole wedding tomorrow afternoon. I looked at Doug and said with a smile, “We’re not engaged. We’re married.”
He replied with one word, “Hallelujah.”
By 5:00 Sunday, the plans were made. Diane Perkins would sing. Doug and I would hire the catering with a local woman we loved. We called Clara’s pastor and he agreed to come from Commerce to do the message and the pronouncing of the man and wife part. Clara chose two bridesmaids and Dusty chose two groomsmen. Dusty wanted Carl Jenkins to be his best man and Doug to be a groomsman. Clara asked me to be matron of honor and I couldn’t believe what she said next. She wanted Aunt Charlotte, 63-year-old Aunt Charlotte, to stand up with us. It was perfect. Not in fashion sense, but in life.
Clara went back to Commerce on Wednesday morning with a detailed list of assignments from her life coach. Oh, did I forget to mention that I’m a life coach now? Yeah. I didn’t do too well with the matchmaking, but life coaches mostly tell people what to do and I think I have a real gift for that.
Clara would turn in notice on her apartment, contact Mr. Hobbs with her resignation, and see the counselor about getting re-assigned to someone in our area. There was one more thing she needed to do. But it was pure dread. She had to face the house. She hired someone Mrs. Irene knew to throw everything in the refrigerator away and clean the house. She made arrangements to give all the furniture and household goods to a local shelter. A realtor was prepared to list it. But before any of that could happen, she needed to go through and gather personal items. Pictures, family memorabilia, anything she didn’t want destroyed. Dusty promised to be there to help her. In a few weeks he would say the words, “for better or for worse.” Good thing he understood what they meant.
Chapter 49 CLARA LOUISE: Dark Corners and Cobwebs
It was a happy and sad day. Dusty was coming. My love. The one who looks out for me. But I’d also be walking into my childhood home for the first time since my parents were killed there. And for the last time too.
I knocked on Mrs. Irene’s door so she could meet Dusty. She came out into my parents’ yard because she’s a bit of a hoarder and was embarrassed by the state of her living room.
The three of us stood there and she filled us in. “The realtor came by, said painting the outside might improve the value. But I told him you’d already decided to just sell as is. Opal got it all cleaned up and lookin’ real good though, Clara. Real good. Your mama was a good housekeeper so there ain’t much to worry with. Neither of ‘em collected junk.” She held my hand as I wiped a tear. “I’m sorry, Clara. Real sorry.”
“I know. Thank you, Mrs. Irene. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I don’t. When we get finished, I’ll bring the keys to you and then the realtor can pick them up from you tomorrow. Is that okay?”
“Sure. Do you want me to go in with you, Darlin’?”
“No ma’am. Dusty’s here.” Dusty reached out for my hand.
“Well, you’re blessed to have a good man. Blessed.”
Dusty thought we should pray before going in and I agreed. Dusty prayed different from anyone I’d ever heard. He never used “thee” or “thou” or big words. He just said it. Said what he needed or what he was worried about. He wrapped his arms around me and prayed a prayer I would never forget.
“God, this is sad for Clara which makes it sad for me too. A bad thing happened here. Lots of bad things. Help Clara walk through this house and do what she needs to do. Remind her of some happy times. Make it a time of healing please. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”
Dusty removed the key from my hand and led me to the back door. The door was jammed but he used his shoulder to pry it loose. The house smelled like a combination of Lysol and stale bread. Dusty walked on the broken green linoleum and said, “Is there anything in the kitchen you’d like to keep, Clara?” I dug through the cabinet for a yellow bowl my grandma had used for making biscuits. “This is it.”
We walked into the living room and he held my hand. I spoke calmly, “Daddy was in that chair. It’s where he always sat. Mom was laying by the front door. There used to be a rug there. I’m sure they took it to the police station. There are four or five old photo albums in that bookshelf that I should take.” He gathered them up and put them on the coffee table and then took the yellow bowl and placed it carefully on top.
I started walking down the dark hallway. The paneling was an ugly dark brown and pulled away from the wall in several places. The avocado green carpet had been matted and dirty since my childhood. I pointed to the bathroom. “There’s only one bathroom and there’s nothing in there I want.” As we approached my childhood bedroom, I doubled over in what seemed like physical pain. Dusty bent over to pick me up. He whispered, “This is the past, Clara. It’s over and done. I promise.”
We walked into my old bedroom. I stood by the bed and wept like there had been a death there. I reached for him and he pulled me to his chest which had become a place of safety. “My innocence was lost right here. Lost forever. And what did Daddy do? He did nothing. Not one thing.”
Dusty held me as tight as he could. I could hear him praying but I don’t remember what he said. I just remember peace coming over me. It wasn’t like the bad things had never happened. No. I could still remember them, every one of them. It was more like the scars stopped bleeding. Now I knew what Dusty meant about his chin scar. It would always be there. His own father had abused him with a screwdriver but as time passed, it didn’t hurt as much.
I wanted nothing from that old room. No books or yearbooks or sheets or teddy bears. I walked away. I went to my mom’s closet and found a red coat I had given her for Christmas when I was sixteen and had my first part-time job at Walgreen’s. Dusty held it over his arm. I picked up a music box my great-grandmother had brought over from Poland and he took it. We already had the bank statements and insurance papers. I spoke calmly, “I’m ready to go, Dusty.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Clara, I’m saying this because I love you. Is there anything you could get that would be a good memory of your dad?”
I had to stop and think. I walked into the hallway and immediately took an old picture off the wall. I turned it around to show him. “We went to Six Flags when I was ten. I’d never been anywhere. My uncle took this picture of me and my parents. Mom had it blown up and she framed it because all three of us were smiling, and ‘cause, well, it made us seem normal I guess. Happy.”
He looked at the picture and smiled. “You were a beautiful girl, Clara. Still are.”
He gathered the things from the coffee table and we walked toward the back door. I turned one last time and forced a smile. “Mama could make some killer brownies. She sure could.”
Dusty locked the door and pulled it closed. For the last time in my life.
Chapter 50 CARLIE Two weeks later: Movies and Moms
It’s hard to believe we’ll be hosting a wedding in two weeks. I’m flying to California in the morning at the invitation of Ms. Watson. She’s proud of how the movie is going and wants me to be a part of it, for a few days anyway. I know she wouldn’t want me to stay for a month. But that’s fine because I wouldn’t want to stay for a month. I’ll only be gone three nights. Doug can’t come with me this time. He has some meetings at the bank and I understand. I asked Shannon to come with me. Dave was overjoyed as he said she desperately needed the time away.
California was still very California-ish. But I agreed with Ms. Watson. The movie seemed to be coming together better than I could have ever expected. Ashley was knocking it out of the park and
her co-star, Crystal Van Gogh, was phenomenal. No, she’s not kin to Vincent Van Gogh and she doesn’t like for people to ask either. She’s most famous for her starring role in a Disney Channel TV show and her short-term relationship with Justin Timberlake. If I haven’t said it lately, I love living in Sharon, Tennessee.
Chance Baldwin wasn’t our host at the studios this time. Emily, the beautiful curly-headed blonde woman who had been my greatest supporter in meetings, had been assigned to take care of us. When she met us in the lobby, I gave her a big hug. But her thin frame was clearly at least six months pregnant.
I pretended to pat her tummy. “Emily, I had no idea! Congratulations!”
She cowered. “Thanks.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m what’s wrong.” Her voice softened. “This whole situation was a mistake. The father and I have been together for more than two years. The baby wasn’t planned but I thought we were both pretty okay about it, even talked about getting married. Well, I guess I was the one talking about it. But he left for New Mexico two months ago. Said he can’t be ‘tied down to a family’ right now. Evidently, even the thought of it affects his…” She held up her hands pretending to make quote marks in the air, “his creative process.”
I replied, “I thought parents could still be creative. I mean, I’m sure there are artists and song writers and actors who have kids, right?”
“Ha ha. Yeah, but not according to him. Who knew that a D list lounge singer was so committed to his career, huh? My parents are back in Boston and not able to help right now. I have to work full-time. I want my baby to have a dad too, not one who ditches his responsibilities, but a real dad. I love this baby, Carlie. I do.”
“But?”
“But I’m thinking about making a different plan.”
We sat at the studio coffee shop with Emily for more than two hours while she poured out her heart. At one point, I put my arm around Shannon and silently prayed for a miracle.
