by Lisa Smartt
The Sunday potluck was more crowded than usual even though Dave and Ashley decided to skip out on it. Ashley always drew such a crowd so she sometimes skipped out on Sharon social events to help maintain decorum. (I’ve always wanted to use that word “decorum.”) Aunt Charlotte was busy organizing the dessert table, but she paused and whispered, “Bet they’re all here to get a look at Matthew. Don’t ya figure?”
I nodded my head in his direction. “And yet, there he is. Looking normal. Disappointing, I’m sure.”
Aunt Charlotte rarely picked up on my sarcastic chiding. She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I reckon it might be for some.”
“I was joking. I think there’s just a lot of people back in town because school’s starting. That’s all.”
Matthew approached us, looking like a fraternity kid in his khaki pants and navy polo shirt. “Ladies, prepare to be amazed.”
Aunt Charlotte yelled out, “Do tell!”
“These are the one-and-only famous peanut butter cookies of my childhood. My neighbor’s recipe. Made by yours truly. Yes, with my very own hands in the pleasant but outdated kitchen of Chester and Ida Miller.”
I clapped with enthusiasm, “Here, here, my boy! I must give them a taste!”
Aunt Charlotte scolded, “Not till Brother Dan says the prayer, you won’t. Mama used to say the food would rot in your stomach if it wasn’t blessed.”
“Look at these cookies, Aunt Charlotte! And look at this fine young man who prepared them. They’re blessed alright. Blessed for sure.” I picked out a small one and broke it in half. Aunt Charlotte reluctantly participated in my debauchery.
Her eyes widened and she smiled so big, we could see her missing molars. “Oh Honey, them are some kind of wonderful. What’s your secret?”
Matthew winked and set the plate on the table. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it?”
Jerry Conner ran up to Aunt Charlotte like the house was on fire and then spoke more quietly than usual. “I’m not supposed to do this on Sunday, Charlotte. But I figured you should know. Carl’s boy? He’s suing you. Suing you for personal harm, fatigue, damage to a vehicle. I don’t know all the legal terms. I’ll be bringing the papers by sometime next week. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. Might want to think about getting a lawyer.”
Aunt Charlotte broke down in loud sobs. “Suing ME? He’s the one who done killed Sunshine! And no, sir. I ain’t gettin’ no greasy lawyer, Jerry. You can forget about that.”
“Look, I understand. I do. Just lettin’ you know.”
Matthew handed Aunt Charlotte a napkin from the dessert table. “Maybe I can help.”
She removed her glasses and wiped her eyes. “I thought you was a mechanic.”
“I am. But I spent years studying law too. Couldn’t sit for the bar. But I know a lot about the legal system. I could at least do some preliminary work.”
“Oh Baby, that would mean the world to me. Carl’s boy’s a snake though. A snake, I tell ya! Who else would kill a woman’s calf and then turn ‘round and sue her? Only that Smith young’un. Good Lord, he needs to focus on goin’ to drivin’ school, not suing an old woman like me.”
“When you get the papers, let me know and I’ll come help you.”
“Oh, thank ya, Darlin’! I’ll even cook supper for ya. Surely you’re tired of Ida’s Shepherd’s Pie by now. I ain’t never seen people who like Shepherd’s Pie more than them two. And not an ounce of fat on either of ‘em. Must be that horrible lowfat powdered milk they get from that store…oh, can’t think of the name of it. Where all them green beans are three for a dollar ‘cause the cans are dented.”
Matthew laughed. “It’s a deal.”
Chapter 8, CARLIE: Hollywood Comes to Sharon
Ashley invited me to come sit on her porch Sunday afternoon while the boys took naps. We call these little meetings “Friend Therapy.”
“Where to next, Carlie?”
“Philadelphia next week, speaking to a university group about the connection between writing and rural life. What about you?”
“I was scheduled to meet with my agent on Thursday in LA. But I convinced her to come here. She’s never been to Tennessee. I told her she was culturally deficient. That got to her, I guess. We’re picking her up in Nashville on Wednesday.”
“Well, look at you. Ordering people around. The perks of stardom, eh?”
“The only stars I care about right now are the ones in the sky.”
“And that’s why we all love ya. Oh, I forgot to tell you the bad news. Guess who’s gettin’ sued?”
“Jerry Conner?”
“Probably should be, but no. Aunt Charlotte. It’s all about that whole calf-in-the-street fiasco.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish. Seems Billy Smith is suing for personal distress, injury, and destruction of property. Or something like that. But Matthew said he’d studied the law a lot when he was in prison and he’d be willin’ to help her with her case.”
“A mechanic and a lawyer, huh? Sharon’s very own Renaissance man.”
“I don’t think he’s an actual lawyer. He said he couldn’t sit for the bar exam, but he knows a lot about the law and could at least do a preliminary assessment of her case.”
“Poor Aunt Charlotte. Bad enough to lose Sunshine and now this.”
“Okay. Changing the subject, but I have a question for you. What do you think of Sarah Simpson?”
“I like her a lot. Collin loves her. Why?”
“Well, I’ve been thinkin’. You know, she turned 30 last year. And there’s something about her 30th birthday party you probably didn’t know ‘cause it didn’t exactly make the front page of the newspaper.”
“Yes?”
“Jerry Conner asked her to marry him.”
“No.”
“He did. On her actual birthday too. We were all over at her mama’s house having cake in the backyard and listening to her little brother play Kenny G. songs on his saxaphone. All of a sudden, it was like Jerry had wasps up his britches. He got all nervous and twitchy and ran up to the cake table and just blurted out, ‘Sarah, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Will you marry me?’”
“He did not.”
“He did. Oh, it was pitiful to watch. I mean, they’d been out all of five times maybe. And he just blurted out a marriage proposal. Right there, in front of everybody. And there was Sarah, mouth open, face turning the color of school glue. The crowd was just silent and Jerry’s face grew redder by the minute.”
“And?”
“Well, finally, Sarah’s mama broke the silence by saying, ‘There’s more ice cream inside, everybody! Let’s all go inside and give these two their privacy.’ Whew! That Deloris sure knows how to swoop in and save the day. Of course, we were all glancing out the window every few seconds. But we tried to be discreet about it. Five minutes later Sarah came running in the house and locked herself in the bathroom. We could all hear her crying and flushing the toilet every 30 seconds. So we knew that was our cue that Sarah Simpson’s 30th birthday party was officially over. Well, everyone understood that except Uncle Bart. He thought we should stay and find out what happened between her and Jerry. Plus, he kept saying, ‘But Deloris promised us Butter Pecan ice cream.’ Doug finally promised to bring a whole half gallon to his house if he’d leave. He did. And Doug had to drive all the way to Martin to find a store that was still open.”
“So I take it her answer was ‘no.’”
“Yeah, and Sarah being the sensitive type, I think it just crushed her to embarrass him like that. Word travels fast around here. She knew everybody would find out.”
“But he embarrassed himself, didn’t he? Proposing in front of everybody? And when they’d only been out five times?”
“Thank you. Yes, that’s what I tried to tell her. But I don’t know. She felt sad about it. Plus, she later told me a part of her thought about saying, ‘Yes.’ She was 30. Jerry was a decent guy. Maybe s
he should have just decided to love him, to make it work.”
Ashley looked at me. “But you’re glad she didn’t decide that?”
“I am. She’s right. Jerry is a decent guy. But, I don’t know. He’s not right for Sarah.”
“Wait a second. You’re not planning one of your matchmaking things, are you?” Ashley started laughing. “I thought you learned your lesson with that principal and pet dander debacle.”
“Hey, I can’t be responsible for a man with dander issues.” I smiled as I looked out on the lake. A family of ducks had formed a perfect line on the water. “And yes, I am matchmaking. Kind of. Maybe.”
“And who’s the lucky bachelor? You wouldn’t keep a secret from one of your very best friends, would you?”
“No. Not normally. But yes, this time I’m keeping a tight lip. I just need a little time. Besides, I don’t want you to accuse me of jumping the gun. I’m not Jerry Conner, y’know.”
Chapter 9, CARLIE: Shayla McGuire Comes to Town
I like giving tours of our farm. I especially like giving tours to people who haven’t spent much time on a farm. Such is the case with Ashley’s agent, Shayla McGuire. According to Ashley, Shayla spent most of her life in Toronto and moved to LA five years ago. She, Ashley, and Collin were to arrive at 9:00 am. I made blueberry muffins (from a box) and strong coffee and then sat on the porch. James played on the swing set, enjoying his last days of summer freedom.
They pulled into the drive at 9:20. Ashley immediately began her apology tour as she opened the car door. “Oh, Carlie! Sorry we’re late. We just…well, there were just…”
A blonde woman, wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt shouted, “It was me! Just couldn’t get going this morning.”
“No worries! Come on up!”
Collin ran to the swing set as Ashley and Shayla approached the porch.
“Carlie, this is my agent and friend, Shayla McGuire. Shayla, this is the famous Carlie Jameson.”
Shayla put out her hand and as she did, I noticed she had on very little make-up. Blonde hair in a ponytail. Green eyes. A regular girl, but beautiful in a natural way. Unpretentious. She had perfect eye contact but sounded almost nervous. “It’s an honor to meet you. Really. I love your work. The books as well as the movies. And if Carrie Blackstone ever doesn’t do right by you, well, I’m available to represent you.”
I laughed, “Never let an opportunity pass you by, eh? I like that. Thank you. I’ve gotta ask. You’re way younger than I expected. How did you become an agent so young? Must be a go-getter.”
“I hope so. But I did get some big breaks. My dad has been in the business for forever. Ashley was my first big client. I was lucky. She signed on with me before, well, before…”
“Before she became an A-list celebrity?”
“Exactly. And now? Now I’m left catering to her constant diva demands.” She smiled and placed her hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “It’s a burden. A cross to bear really.”
“Oh, I’m sure! You wouldn’t believe what she’s always demanding of the Sharon folks! Why, she asks for lemon with her water nearly every time we go to the diner downtown. Uptown Sally. That’s what we call her. Pretty soon she’ll be asking for biscuits without gravy. Oh, and if she gets another Oscar nomination, no tellin’ what kind of nonsense we’re gonna have to tolerate around here.”
Ashley shoved me in the shoulder. “Look who’s talkin’. Shayla, you’ll have to see this diva’s shower in the upstairs bathroom. It even has surround sound.”
I attempted to set the record straight. “Only to pipe in romantic music to keep the marital flames burning. Priorities, people! It’s not common knowledge but REO Speedwagon and Lionel Ritchie can literally change the direction of a marriage.” I laughed. “Seriously. They have that kind of power. Okay. You gals, have a seat on the swing. I’ll bring out some muffins and coffee and we can chat before the tour.”
It’s weird how I kept getting images wrong. I’d envisioned Matthew as looking like a thug. He didn’t. I’d envisioned Shayla as looking like Kim Kardashian, complete with leopard print leggings. But she didn’t. She looked like us. Like Sharon people. Well, not exactly. Mabel, down at the coffee shop, does wear tight leopard print leggings. But Mabel looks nothing like Kim Kardashian. At all. Trust me. No relation.
I came back out to the porch carrying a tray. I learned that from the movies. No one in my family ever carried a tray to serve guests. But I had seen it in “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” and even though I wore mom jeans, I was determined to live with the same style and grace as Katharine Hepburn.
“So, Shayla, tell me your life story. Really. Start at the beginning. Or wherever you’d like.”
“You’re not making book notes. Are you?”
“Who me? Absolutely not. I’ve got nothing more than a coffee spoon in my hand. But I should warn you. I have a pretty good memory.”
She grabbed a muffin and smiled. “Yeah, I was afraid of that.”
Ashley put her arm around Shayla. “Look, it’s only right that I should warn you about something. Carlie’s not just a best-selling author. Oh no. She’s a matchmaker. A really bad matchmaker. But still. You’ve been warned.”
Shayla laughed while I spoke calmly, “Ashley’s just jealous that she doesn’t have my gift. A great actress? Absolutely. But she’ll never have the keen insight I do. She’ll never understand why the organist at First Methodist and the retired postmaster are meant to be together. She’ll never have the courage to make that happen. That’s where I come in. Yep! The people around here depend on me, Shayla.”
Shayla leaned back in the porch swing. “I’m definitely looking for someone with insight. I’m on a project, Carlie. A project you might be able to help me with.”
“Oh, I love projects. I mean, especially projects that other people have to accomplish. How can I help?”
“You may have heard about the reality show called, ‘Standing My Ground.’ Ever heard of it?”
“No. Can’t say that I have.”
“Yeah. It tanked after only three episodes. It was supposed to be about these seismologists and how they can predict potential earthquakes. But evidently the general public doesn’t really want to get to know seismologists and they aren’t as interested in earthquakes as the network thought.”
“So, what does that have to do with you?”
“Daddy and I helped with the casting. Oh, the network is not blaming us. They said the show was their idea. But we’re kind of wanting to pitch something, something that might make up for it. Something fresh. Something people would be interested in watching.”
Ashley sat her coffee cup on the table. “Tell me you’re not wanting to cast Carlie in a matchmaking show. I love the woman. I do. But the postmaster is like 100 years old and he’ll never tolerate Ms. Eula’s constant complaining about her arthritis. He’ll be out by the second date.”
Shayla spoke with half humor and half seriousness. “I don’t know. That might be pretty interesting to watch though.”
I jumped to my feet. “I’ve got it! I do! An idea.”
Ashley looked frightened. “Yes?”
“Shayla, what about, well, what about an ex-convict who runs a small business and hires an ex-convict and then puts an ad in the paper telling everyone in the community that the new guy is an ex-convict. And everyone has to come to grips with it all and the small town rallies around the man…or doesn’t rally…and the guy, uh, well, I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know how it’s gonna finish ‘cause it hasn’t finished yet. It just got started.”
Shayla leaned forward. “Is this real? I mean, you’re not saying you know of a real life situation like this?”
“As a matter of fact I do.”
“And you think they’d be willing to tell their story? I mean, on a TV show?”
“Uh, well, no. I’m not sure they’d be willing. But we won’t know if we don’t ask, right?”
Shayla responded as though she’d won the lottery. “This sou
nds marvelous. Really! Where do we find these guys?”
“Well, we could find them down the road in Bradford. But let’s not disturb them during work hours. No. Let’s make a plan that will be much more conducive to a ‘yes.’ What are you doing for supper tomorrow night, Shayla?”
She grinned. “Well, I do believe I’m meeting you and a couple of ex-convicts, Carlie.”
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, you are.”
Chapter 10, Carlie: Hollywood Comes Knockin’
The very next morning the big news around Sharon was that Billy Smith had decided not to sue Aunt Charlotte. Seems Matthew Prescott went to visit him yesterday afternoon, explained some things about liability and well, I don’t know…about hitting a calf in broad daylight, I guess. It seems to me that most reasonable people know that a person who hits a 100 lb. calf in a 30 mph zone in the middle of the afternoon is a brick shy of a full load anyway. I’m not sure if that’s what Matthew Prescott said. But I do know his successful efforts merited an invitation to a chili supper at Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Bart’s house last night. I saw Mrs. Ida at the Dollar General Store this morning and she gave me the whole scoop. She was buying TUMS, and telling everyone in the store that poor Matthew was up half the night with heartburn.
We usually got together with the McConnells on Friday night anyway. So a pizza party at our house wasn’t the least bit surprising to Dusty and Clara. Inviting Dave and Ashley and their out-of-town guest, Shayla, wasn’t surprising either. When Dusty asked if Matthew could come, well, it all seemed to just be falling in place. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that things that seem to be falling into place sometimes go Kaboom! Just ask the primary school principal and the girl who runs the animal shelter.
Dusty, Clara, Matthew, and the kids arrived early. James asked if he could put gel in his hair before they arrived. I later learned he wanted the gel because it made his hair curlier and, in his words, “Molly just loves my curly hair, Mama!” Lord, help us. Seriously.
When Dave pulled the Escalade into the driveway, James and the kids ran out to greet Collin. When Shayla got out of the backseat, she looked almost nothing like the young girl of yesterday. She had on a bright blue blouse tucked neatly into fitted black dress pants. Her blonde hair hung loosely around her face and she wore make-up. Not too much, but enough to show she meant business. She was beautiful. I had to wonder if Matthew would notice. Of course, he would. Would her beauty complicate the project? I had no idea. Truthfully, it was too late to care.
