by Lisa Smartt
His face turned red as he smiled. “Thank you, Sarah.”
The walk to the back door was empowering. I even stopped several times to greet fellow teachers and parents waiting in line. I saw my mama standing between Cora Belle and Mabel. Despite her slight scowl, I reached out to hug her. I whispered, “It’s fine, Mama. You don’t have to trust him. You have to trust me. Surely you can do that.”
Carlie and I sat on a wooden bench in a little garden area behind the funeral home. Nights were getting cooler now but I didn’t mind. The funeral home seemed warm and stuffy. The garden air was refreshing.
Carlie’s voice was unusually serious. “So, to hear Aunt Charlotte tell it, there was quite an uproar last night.”
“Just Jerry being stupid.”
“And now he’s been fired?”
“Yes. But that had nothing to do with Matthew or with me.”
“Agreed. So, I take it by that little public kiss just now, you’re no longer interested in Dr. Carter.”
“No. I never really was. Mama tried to tell me all the reasons I should be.”
“But that didn’t matter?”
“Not really.”
Our short conversation was soon interrupted. “Excuse me. I hate to bother you. I’m looking for Matthew Prescott.”
Chapter 39, CARLIE: Here Comes Trouble
Sarah and I were visiting in the garden when a strange woman walked toward us. Oh, I don’t mean strange like odd or weird-looking. I just mean we didn’t know her. I knew she wasn’t from Sharon. In fact, I felt pretty darn certain she was with the new television show in some capacity. Tall and beautiful with a really deep tan. And not the kind of tan old people have who own Chihuahuas and live in Florida either. No. I felt certain it was a California tan. Her hair was dark and pulled into one of those really smooth pony tails, like rich people always have in movies. Her make-up was perfect. Skin? Flawless. The beige pant suit looked like it came from something on Rodeo Drive. And then she opened her mouth. “I’m looking for Matthew Prescott.”
Sarah and I immediately stood. Sarah’s face turned pale. But I managed a few words. “Matthew? Yes, we know Matthew. We know him well. He’s just inside. We’ll show you the way.”
She smiled. Her teeth were the most perfect teeth I’d ever seen on a human being. We’re not talkin’ braces. We’re talkin’ veneers. Movie star teeth. Her voice was pleasant and kind. “I asked down at the diner and they said he’d be here. I thought that was a bit odd. I don’t want to interrupt. Is he attending a funeral?”
“No. Tomorrow is the funeral and tonight is visitation. The older couple Matthew’s been living with? Sadly, they both died. So the people of the community are coming to pay their respects and he’s greeting them.”
“Oh, that’s sad.” She looked toward the front door and then turned back to face us. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Julie Crawford. I’ve been friends with Matthew since birth.”
I extended my hand. “Carlie Jameson.”
“THE Carlie Jameson? The author?”
“Absolutely. Well, unless you represent a law firm for an outstanding speeding ticket or something.”
“I’m a huge fan. Really. A huge fan. The books. The movie.”
“Thank you. Would you like to sit a while? I mean, it’s pretty crowded in there right now because people are getting off from work. The crowd will thin pretty soon and it will be easier to have a conversation with him.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Sarah put her hand out. “I’m Sarah Simpson. Not famous. At all. Just a third grade teacher here in Sharon.”
“Nice to meet you, Sarah. And no offense to Carlie, but teachers are the real stars. So don’t ever apologize for changing the world, okay?”
“Thank you, Julie.” Sarah looked like she just found out her dog got run over. Julie’s physical beauty was one thing, but her kindness? Her kindness seemed like an overpowering death blow.
“You’re welcome. Carlie, I just started re-reading ‘A Single Woman’s Guide to Ordinary.’ Even better the second time around. Seriously. Matthew was in California recently. He told me it was an odd setup around here. A small town filled with famous people? Who would have thought? It’s no wonder the networks found him and decided to do a show. Ashley Harrison Robertson spends a lot of time here too, yes?”
“Yes, believe it or not, she does.”
Sarah cleared her throat. “You mentioned Carlie’s first book. Are you single, Julie?”
“Well, as Carlie’s book says, ‘Yes, but not by choice.’ Married for nine years. Investment banker. Ran off with the receptionist. Yada yada. Same old story. Divorced for a year now and still not used to it.”
Sarah nodded her head. “I’m sorry. So, did you travel from California? Is that where you live?”
“Yes. Matthew’s been through a tough time lately with his family. Thought it might be fun to have a surprise visitor from home. A familiar face, maybe.”
Sarah rose to her feet and reluctantly straightened her sweater. Her voice cracked, but I felt certain Julie didn’t notice. “Well, let’s not keep Matthew waiting. Here, Julie, we’ll go ahead and show you the way.”
“Thank you. It was a pleasure visiting with you both. Really. I see now why Matthew loves it here. He’s right. Southern hospitality at its very best.”
The three of us walked toward the front door. Mr. Groeden opened the door and his eyes grew large, like he’d never seen a beautiful woman before. Poor Sarah. Moments earlier, she had the world by the tail. Full of life. Courage. She’d even kissed Matthew in front of the whole town with no regard for what people thought. Completely fearless.
The worst part? The worst part was the fact that Sarah’s mama and Mabel were the ones visiting with Matthew and Brother Dan up front near the caskets. I knew how to avoid this train wreck if I could just get the train cars to cooperate. “Julie, let’s sit back here on the last pew until a few more people get through the line. Some of them have waited for a while and we certainly don’t want to stretch their southern hospitality to the limit, do we?”
She laughed. “Absolutely not.”
Sarah looked relieved. As her mama and Mabel came walking up the aisle to leave, I prayed they would smile and keep walking right on out the door. Smile and wave, people. Just smile and wave. But Mabel came to a complete halt.
“I don’t believe I know you, dear.”
“No, you probably don’t. I’m Julie Crawford.” Oh Julie, please don’t do it. Don’t say it. Don’t. Don’t say…and then she did. ”I’m from California. I’m here to visit Matthew.”
Sarah’s mother, Deloris, snapped her head. “Matthew? Are you kin to him?”
“No. A friend.”
Deloris looked directly at Sarah. “A friend, huh? Well, he’s pretty good at makin’ friends. That’s for sure.”
“Oh, we’ve been friends since we were babies. Neighbors growing up in San Diego.”
Mabel removed her glasses and adjusted her blonde wig slightly. When she did, a big brown piece of hair came flying out the side. Deloris tried to discreetly tuck it back in. But Mabel’s face turned red and she gave Deloris a look like she’d disrespected her mama’s grave or something.
There was something about Julie Crawford’s presence that made us all feel a little undone. Not good enough. Mabel was the only one to actually voice it. “You’ll have to pardon my appearance, dear. My good clothes are at the dry cleaners and Buddy Garrison’s on vacation and his nephew is runnin’ the place and he’s slow as molasses. Oh, and my Avon lady has been in the hospital too.” She leaned toward Julie and whispered, “Poor Gertrude. Shingles nearly killed her. But I need some fall lipstick colors bad. I mean, here I am stuck wearin’ this dang watermelon color from the beginning of the summer. I must look frightful.”
Mabel did look frightful. But Mabel always looked frightful. She was old but insisted on wearing big blonde wigs. She had a huge behind but wore stretch pants in bright colors. She
had lipstick on her teeth more than half the time. And none of us cared whether the lipstick shade was watermelon or autumn bronze. Her frightful appearance was normal. We’d all accepted it. And I’d certainly never heard her apologize for it.
Julie patted Mabel on the arm. “Oh, no apology necessary. I think you look fine.” First black mark on Julie Crawford’s name. Kind and sweet, yes. But she lies.
Deloris added, “Well, I’m sure you need to get on and see Matthew. Sarah can haul you up there. She’s been comin’ to visitation at this funeral home her whole life. She knows how it’s done.”
“Thank you. Really. Everyone has been so nice to me.” Julie stood and looked at Sarah, having no idea what she was really asking of her. No idea about the kiss on the cheek less than an hour earlier. No idea about what happened on the porch last night.
I interceded. “Sarah, don’t worry about it. I’ll take her.” I stood and pleasantly grabbed Julie’s arm, giving her no choice really. We began to walk slowly down the long aisle. I knew Matthew hadn’t seen her yet because the room was filled with people. Once the folks came forward and paid their respects, a lot of them sat in the pews to visit. Matthew was turned toward the caskets with his arm around Aunt Charlotte. Uncle Bart was standing to the side telling Brother Dan about the time Chester dressed up like Daniel Boone for the Christmas parade.
I touched Matthew gently on the arm. “Matthew, you have a special visitor.”
I decided to make special note of his reaction. This would give me the clues I’d need to decide if this truly was a friendship. ie. We made mud pies together. Or if it was something else entirely. ie. We made…well, I don’t want to think about it.
Sadly, his face lit up in a way that wasn’t very mud pie-ish. “Julie?”
She reached out and threw her arms around him. “Surprise!” He happily reciprocated. She was nearly as tall as Matthew and her head leaned over his shoulder a bit. For the first time, Matthew seemed completely out of place in our tiny town. He and Julie looked like they were cut from the same cloth. Beautiful people. Perfect teeth. Expensive cologne. Even his years in prison hadn’t changed the fact that he and Julie had grown up with backyard pools, expensive vacations, and house staff. Suddenly, the town of Sharon seemed provincial. Backward even.
Aunt Charlotte, never one to mince words, extended her hand and threw it all out on the table. “Hello, Honey. I’m Charlotte Nelson. And I do think you might be the purdiest woman I ever laid eyes on. Lord, have mercy, they grow ‘em big out there in California, don’t they? Oh, I don’t mean big like big around. No. Who am I to talk about big? No, I mean, tall and purdy and all fancy like. You look like you could be in one of them perfume commercials!”
Matthew laughed. “Julie actually did a few TV commercials back in the day.”
Aunt Charlotte beamed. “See, I knew I could spot talent a mile away. Welcome to Sharon, Baby!”
“Thank you. Thank you very much. I’m so sorry about the deaths. Uh, about…”
Matthew replied, “Chester and Ida Miller.” He shook his head and glanced toward the caskets. “The greatest couple you’d ever meet, Julie. Seriously. They both reminded me of Simon and Jean Carmichael. Absolute sincerity.”
Julie put her arm around his waist. “You heard that Simon and Jean are both gone now, yes?”
“I did. Sad. They held the neighborhood together. I can still taste her homemade carrot cake.”
Julie smiled as she moved her hand from his waist to his back and leaned in closer. “What about that year that Simon dressed up like Santa Claus and fell in George Clifton’s pool?”
Matthew laughed. “The red dye from the Santa suit put pink streaks in the water and George threatened to sue. Gosh, I’d almost forgotten about that. Been a long time.”
“It has been a long time.”
Matthew and Julie’s conversation might seem innocent and mud pie-ish to the average observer. It might seem like two neighbors just reminiscing about childhood. But when it comes to observations, well, I’m able to tell the difference between average neighborly interaction and “My husband left me and I think you look awesome in blue jeans” interaction. And I can assure you of one thing. Julie Crawford didn’t put on her best cologne, a tight-fitting tan pant suit, and fly all the way across the country to talk about the time Simon Carmichael fell into the neighbor’s pool.
Chapter 40, SARAH: I’m Not Julie…My Name is Sarah
Whatever I thought was going on between Matthew Prescott and me, well, evidently it wasn’t. An hour ago, I kissed his cheek. In front of the whole town too. Now he’s standing in that same exact place at the front of Groeden’s Funeral Home with his arm around a woman he’s known all his life. From California. Beautiful. Kind. Sophisticated. Recently divorced. She says she came to Sharon, thinking he might need a friend right now. But she doesn’t look like a friend.
I’d get up and leave except that would be too obvious. To everyone. Childish even. I’ll wait, wait for Carlie to tell me what to do next. I can tell by watching her up front that she’s crafting a plan. I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s destined to fail. Looks like people are starting to leave now and the three of them are coming back up the aisle. Matthew’s trying to make eye contact with me. But I can’t do it. I can’t. I’ll pretend to be searching for something in my purse. A lost receipt. A business card. A life.
His hand touched my shoulder and I looked up. “Julie, did you meet Sarah Simpson?”
“I did. Yes. Third grade teacher extraordinaire.”
I lowered my head again, unable to look at any of them. I prayed the tears wouldn’t come.
Carlie’s voice broke the silence. “Julie, where are you staying?”
“Not sure yet. Where’s the nearest hotel?”
Carlie laughed. “Well, you’ll not find a hotel in Sharon. We’re far too hospitable to need one of those. There’s a few in Martin. One in Dresden, I believe.”
Julie looked at Matthew and showed every tooth she owned. “Where do you live, Matthew? Have an extra room for an old friend?”
I stood up and spoke quickly without thinking. “You can stay with me. I have a guest room. It’s all made up and everything. Matthew just lives a few blocks away. You can see him as much as you want.” Tears were forming in my eyes but they hadn’t fallen yet. I looked at Matthew for the first time since Julie Crawford’s appearance. He looked at me and smiled like nothing had changed between us. But he was wrong. I grabbed my purse. “Well, I’m gonna get on home. I’m sure you and Matthew have a lot of catching up to do. And I still have food to make for the funeral dinner.”
Julie turned toward me. “You’re a caterer too? You must be the local renaissance woman, Sarah.”
I shook my head and smiled. “Caterer? No. We don’t cater funeral dinners around here. We all pitch in and cook and it’s like a big potluck. You’ll see tomorrow. Best food you’ll ever eat. I mean, if you like country food.”
“Well, I’m sure I’ll love it.” She opened her jacket and patted a completely flat stomach. “My waistline might not love it, but I’m sure I will.”
That was it. The end. I knew my tears were coming soon, so I quickly said my final words. “Julie, the door will be unlocked and I’ll leave written instructions on the table, if I’ve already gone to bed when you get in.” I started for the door but turned around briefly and managed an insincere smile. “Matthew knows where the house is. Make yourself at home.” I walked as fast as I could out the front door.
I could hear Matthew walking quickly behind me, like he was trying to catch up with me. But I was crying now so I walked even faster until I was almost running. I heard his boots stop at the sidewalk near the garden. His voice called out, “Sarah, it won’t be late! It won’t!” I flung my head back and waved.
I drove straight to the grocery store and filled a cart without speaking to anyone. When the check-out clerk, Mrs. Cramer, bragged about the good weather we’d been having, I managed a nod. It was only 8:14 when
I got home. I wanted to get out my IPod and play a bunch of romantic songs and have a good cry and eat a ton of ice cream and then watch, “While You Were Sleeping.” But I decided to do the mature thing. Cook. And clean.
The living room was already clean and neat because of my date with Brian Tuesday night. Unlike Chester and Ida’s place, my house isn’t crowded. I cleared out all the old furniture and knick knacks when my granny died. Some of it is in the attic. The rest is at my mom’s house (a bit of a hoarder) or at my cousin’s new apartment in Jackson. We donated a few things to We Care in Martin. My living room couch is almost brand-new. Tan leather with big burgundy pillows. I kept one brown plaid wingback chair because it reminded me of my grandparents. But the lamps are plain white. The coffee table and end tables are mission style. It’s not that I wanted to forget my grandparents. I didn’t. I never could. I guess it’s just that I wanted it to seem like my place. But it doesn’t. Not really. Every corner seems lonely now, longing for a time when the house was full.
The one thing I like about the old yellow house is the layout. Most older homes have a lot of little rooms. But my living room, dining room, and kitchen are all one big open area. When you walk in the front door, you can see the dining room table, the kitchen, as well as the living room. This motivates me to keep the kitchen clean. Or at least it should.
I walked into the guest room. It was the one room in the house that still looked like my grandparents. Old quilt on the bed. Round white lamp with raised bumps all over it. Even though I had just changed the sheets and dusted the furniture, the room smelled musty. I sprayed some fancy lavender spray a student had given me for Christmas. It had been years since I’d slept on that bed. My cousin, Marcie, slept on it last week. Said the mattress was getting thin and you could feel the springs. I laid down on top of the old quilt. Yeah. There’s what she meant, just on the left side. I scooted to the right and all was fine. The ceiling had one brown spot but it was in the corner. I looked at the end table. Just the old white lamp and two books. Granny’s Bible and “To Kill a Mockingbird.” First run. Hardback. Granny bought it at an auction years ago. Probably never read it.
