by Lisa Smartt
And that, my friends, was the final blow. Sarah stood, grabbed her purse, and handed Dr. Carter a piece of paper. “Brian, here’s Julie’s number. Why don’t you just call her? I’m sure she’d be glad to hear from you and answer every question you’ve ever had. Truthfully, you two would be perfect for each other.”
She thanked us both and stepped off the porch. She stood by her car for a brief moment. First time in months she’d stood there alone. Eventually she slid into the driver’s seat. Before she fastened her seatbelt, she looked at the passenger seat and dropped her head. The little joke they shared every week was no more.
ONE WEEK LATER:
For a whole week, the television folks have been all over town. They shot footage at Dusty’s Shop, Mabel’s Diner, and even at Dusty and Clara’s house. But the biggest announcement? The biggest news was that the pilot of “Sweet Southern Freedom” was debuting on television this Thursday. People began making plans for viewing parties. The convenience store owner, Mr. Freeman, ordered twice as many crispy chicken tenders as usual, preparing for the Thursday night rush. Homer Crittenden called the radio show nearly every morning reminding people to clean up their yards and call their out-of-town relatives.
Mabel even bought an expensive ad on the morning radio show. Mitch Smith did the voice-over and Conway Twitty provided faint background music for the ad:
“Thursday is the start of something new.
‘Sweet Southern Freedom’ makes its debut.
We’re all on TV and we want to celebrate.
So come eat at Mabel’s. The show starts at eight.
Come down to Mabel’s this Thursday night.
We promise there’s not going to be a fight.”
Okay. So it might have been just a tad bit slanderous to use the whole fight analogy, considering the circumstances of Matthew leaving town. But what can I say? At least the TV show buzz has distracted her from obsessing about the government spy program and ketchup companies making the bottles smaller.
On Sunday, Brother Dan announced that anyone was welcome to come to the fellowship hall Thursday night to view the show on a big screen Doug was setting up. When Brother Dan realized he was competing with Mabel’s business, he promptly said, “I’ll be ordering a big take-out platter of burgers from Mabel, so bring a side or dessert and invite your friends.”
When I picked up James from Sunday School, Sarah didn’t look like herself. Hair in a messy pony tail. Very little make-up. Her voice was weak. “I need to take a rain check on lunch. I haven’t been sleeping well and I need some rest.”
“Anything I can do?”
She turned away and began straightening the little wooden chairs. “Not really.”
“Matthew?”
“Yeah. It’ll get easier though. Everybody says it.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“No. I didn’t expect to. Have you been by Chester and Ida’s?”
“No.”
“For sale sign went up yesterday.”
“And how did that feel?”
“I don’t feel anymore. Or I try not to anyway.”
“And the show? Are you gonna watch the show?”
“I am. But not with a group. Too…I don’t know. Too embarrassing.”
“Painful?”
“Yeah. That too.”
“Well, call me crazy. But I haven’t given up on you two. I haven’t.”
She wiped her eyes and reached out to hug me. “Thank you, Carlie. Thank you.”
Chapter 50, SARAH: Suffering Through “Sweet Southern Freedom”
Every third grader seemed convinced they would make it into the pilot one way or another. On the way to the playground, Randall Glover said, “Ms. Simpson, I know for sure I’ll be on TV tonight ‘cause I was doin’ card tricks outside the furniture store and one of them cameramen said I was sure to be a star someday.”
“Well, someday might not be tonight, Randall. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
He stopped mid-stride and looked up at me with his big brown eyes. “I don’t want you to be disappointed either, Ms. Simpson. I mean, with Matthew Prescott not livin’ here no more.”
I had a feeling Randall and I were both in for some disappointment. I was certain his card tricks had hit the editing floor. And Matthew Prescott not living here? It would never stop hurting.
I poured some sweet tea and put on my favorite gray sweat pants. I dimmed the lights, hoping no one would drop by. I knew most people were at church or Mabel’s. They all understood why I wasn’t at either place. I instinctively smiled as the catchy opening song played against the visual backdrop of West Tennessee cornfields, men in overalls, and the scene of prison doors being opened. And then came the searing pain, the pain I fully expected. The pain I couldn’t have adequately prepared for. Dusty and Matthew standing in front of the sign at the shop. Both men smiling, wearing their blue shop shirts. A sign over their heads. “We believe in second chances.” When the camera closed in on Matthew’s smiling face, the tears came. I missed him. The conversations in the car. The porch sitting. Sunday dinners. The feel of his lips on mine. The way he cared for Chester and Ida. I was glad they weren’t here to see how it all ended.
Carlie told me the narrator was going to be that guy from “America’s Funniest Home Videos” and “Dancing with the Stars.” The opening monologue was perfect: “This is the story of two remarkable men, two men whose lives couldn’t have been more different. Dusty McConnell grew up in West Tennessee farm country. Dirt poor with an abusive father and a severe learning disability. Matthew Prescott grew up in San Diego. Wealth and privilege. Academic accomplishment. Law school student. What could these two men possibly have in common? Both made tragic errors in judgment. Errors that led to years in prison. And that’s where they met. Cell block 9. This is their story. A story of crime and punishment? Yes. But also, a story of mercy and redemption. A story of sweet southern freedom.”
I cried through the whole hour. All of it. I cried when they aired Matthew’s speech at the rally. I cried when I saw Chester and Ida makin’ homemade ice cream on the front porch. I had to blow my nose when Dusty talked about the death of his first wife and baby. But when did I cry the most? When Dusty put his arm around Clara and said, “This woman has changed my life. Every morning I wake up and have to pinch myself. Every day I want to move forward as a husband, a father, a businessman. She makes me want to love people more. Oh, and she’s beautiful too. Absolutely beautiful.”
I had to chuckle when the music started playing and they rolled the credits. There was Randall Glover, on his bike outside the furniture store, doing card tricks for Bart and Charlotte Nelson. Charlotte waved to the camera and nearly hit the poor boy in the face with her arm Jell-O. Randall laughed. She pinched his cheek. It was perfect. A perfect ending.
I threw in laundry and graded some papers. I’m usually in bed before the 10:00 news. But for some odd reason, I stayed up. I couldn’t believe it was the top story. Mark Cameron announced it with fervor: “Tonight was the debut of ‘Sweet Southern Freedom,’ the reality show that follows two men who were once cellmates in a Nashville prison, but now live productive lives on the outside.”
They showed several clips from tonight’s episode. Then they went to a big room where a test group of people from Jackson were ready to be interviewed about the show. Every woman between twenty and ninety had the same comment, just in varying forms: “Those boys are just precious. And that handsome Matthew is single. I have a niece he should meet.” “My new man crush? That’s easy. Matthew Prescott.” “Is it wrong to be in love with an ex-con? I hope not.” I turned off the TV and said to an empty house, “No. It’s not wrong to be in love with an ex-con. But it’s complicated. God knows it’s complicated.”
Chapter 51, CARLIE: If Only Coconut Cake Could Cure a Broken Heart
When the credits rolled, the fellowship hall erupted with applause. But then Aunt Charlotte stood and yelled, “Oh, Bart, it’s us!! There we are wi
th that little Randall Glover! What a doll baby!” But then her demeanor changed quickly. “Oh, Lawsy, I nearly killed the poor boy with my arm jiggle. Good gosh, why did you let me eat that coconut cake tonight? Oh, and that pecan pie? Why?”
I started to comfort her, but my cell phone went off. “Just let me grab this and I’ll get back with you, Aunt Charlotte.” I walked toward the back door.
“Hello.”
“Carlie? This is Shayla McGuire. I’m dying to get your take on it. I mean, you saw the show, right? What did you think?”
“Great. Homerun. Really.”
“That’s what our test audience thought too. It was just like I expected. Matthew Prescott is going to be the new reality show heartthrob, Carlie! And that’s going to be nothing but good for ratings.”
“I’m sure. Speaking of Matthew, I take it you guys have kept up with him, yes? I mean, I guess the next episode, you’ll show him moving to California and then you’ll be shooting out there some, right?”
“Oh, Carlie, we’ve already been shooting footage of Matthew in San Diego. Great footage. He’s working at an investment firm. An old neighbor hired him and he’s doing well. Joined a gym. Wears a suit every day. Quite a contrast from his life at Dusty’s Shop.”
“Yeah. I’m sure. Does he like it? The new job, I mean? Being back in San Diego?”
“Well, I haven’t really asked. But what’s not to like, Carlie? No offense. You know I think your area is quaint and lovely, but Matthew is a Californian. He always has been. And San Diego? Well, that’s about the best California has to offer.”
“Yeah. It’s great there. Beautiful. Where is he staying?”
“He’s staying at a hotel downtown. His new boss is helping him out. But he’s looking for an apartment. Why so many questions about Matthew? Tell me you don’t have a crush on him too. Wow, Carlie, I thought you and Doug were inseparable, joined at the hip and all.”
“Shayla, please. No. It’s just that, well, with the way he left town, there’s just some unfinished business here. That’s all. I want him to do well. We all do.”
“I’m sorry about him beating that man up. I am. I know he could have gotten into a lot of trouble. But that whole storyline will be killer for ratings. We couldn’t have come up with something better ourselves. When the producers saw episode two, they practically accused me of setting it all up. They literally called Matthew to verify that it happened that way, and with no prompting from any of us.”
“It was sad. The whole thing. He lost a lot in that deal.”
“Or maybe he gained a new job and a new exciting life in California. Try to think positively, Carlie.”
“I guess. Anyway, I thought the show was great tonight. We laughed. We cried. Good television, Shayla. And that’s getting harder and harder to find.”
“Thank you for the idea. Well, I’ve got to run. Daddy and I are going out to celebrate. Have a good night, Carlie. Don’t party too hard in Sharon, Tennessee, tonight.”
“Oh, it’s gettin’ downright crazy over at the dessert table. Uncle Bart and Homer Crittenden are about to come to blows over the last piece of coconut cake.”
“Seriously?”
“Gotcha! They’re just talkin’ smack and blowin’ smoke. That’s what we do in a small town, Shayla. It’s all in fun. Good night.”
“Good night.”
And that’s when I knew. The time had come. California, here we come.
Chapter 52, Carlie: Livin’ it Up at the Hotel California (Did using that phrase violate any kind of copyright laws? If so, contact my lawyer. I mean, please recommend a good lawyer.)
I don’t remember the last time Doug, Dusty, Clara, and I went somewhere without the kids. Dusty and Clara were only staying two nights because he doesn’t like closing the shop. Plus, we agreed that leaving all five kids with Uncle Bart and Aunt Charlotte was either a beautiful act of faith or a really dumb idea. Thankfully, Sarah agreed to bring over supper one night and help. Brother Dan assured us he was only five minutes away. And all of us agreed that even if they didn’t take baths or brush their teeth, two days of questionable hygiene would not jeopardize their futures.
Aunt Charlotte’s final words were still ringing in my ears. “Now Carlie, don’t you worry none. Not one bit. I’ll be sure to keep the back gate closed. I learned my lesson with Sunshine. Not that any of these young’uns are like a calf. No, these young’uns are much more important than a calf so don’t you worry none.” Then, just to prove that she was smarter and funnier than any of us, she yelled out, “Bart, better head down to CO-OP for more of that sweet feed! We got five extra mouths to feed.”
I’d been to Los Angeles more times than I could count. But San Diego was a completely different feel. Laid back. Relaxed. Beautiful. We stayed at an airport hotel to make it easier when it was time for Dusty and Clara’s return. Doug and I were planning to drive to Los Angeles for a few extra days. I had to meet with my agent. We were going to dinner at Dave and Ashley’s house, as she was on a short break from the film.
Waiting in line at the rental car place, Dusty patted Doug on the back. “Okay. So what’s the plan, Doug?”
“Tonight we rest. Thought we’d go have dinner at this little place Carlie heard about down on the beach. Then in the morning, we meet in the lobby at 9:00 sharp. Operation Find Matthew Prescott.”
Dusty smiled. “Oh, it’s an operation now, huh? Like a real military mission and everything?”
Doug responded, “Absolutely, man. There will be all kinds of obstacles. Difficulties. You better prepare yourself.” He grabbed Dusty’s arms and shook him lightly. “Are you prepared, Dusty? Are you?”
Dusty busted out laughing and then managed a few words. “Let me guess. Carlie’s got the address of his workplace. And you’ve got the GPS unit in your suitcase?”
Doug smiled and turned toward the counter. “Okay. So there aren’t that many obstacles. All that’s left now is acquiring transportation that can withstand gunfire.”
THE NEXT MORNING:
At my recommendation, the four of us even discussed what we were wearing. We all had to be in sync. Functioning as one unit. A matchmaking unit of awesomeness. Okay. That was overkill. But nevertheless, we agreed we’d all wear business casual. Not too intimidating. But not too slouchy either. Clara even pulled her beautiful red hair into a Julie Crawford ponytail. Smooth and perfect-looking. Dusty questioned whether his eye patch and a scar on his chin would look a little too suspect. Doug said, “No. You look perfect. In order to get what we want, we might need to scare the receptionist at some point.” Note to self: Get Doug out of Sharon more often. He’s on a roll.
The investment firm operated on the top two floors of a really tall building downtown. The elevator ride was pleasant. But then it hit me. “Oh gosh. We haven’t even thought about…”
Doug put his arm around me. “About what?”
“Ever since that pilot show aired, well, Matthew’s kind of…famous. They might think we’re psychotic fans or stalkers or something.”
Doug said, “No. We look like business people. And how often are stalkers married couples with southern accents?”
“Are you kidding? I saw a Lifetime movie about a Georgia woman who had three husbands and was stalking an Atlanta newscaster.”
“Did she wear black dress pants and carry Ritz crackers in her purse?”
I started laughing. “Go ahead, Doug. Make fun. When you get hungry later, you’re gonna be begging for those Ritz crackers. Ready or not, here come the Beverly Hillbillies.”
The elevator doors opened to a rush of noise and activity. But one beautiful young blonde woman was calm, sitting on what looked like a bar stool behind a big counter. “May I help you?”
Doug smiled and extended his hand. Such a suave businessman. “Yes, I’m Doug Jameson and we’re here for Matthew Prescott.”
She cringed. “Is Matthew expecting you? Are you with the network?”
“No. He’s not expecting us. We’re old fri
ends.”
“I’m afraid Matthew’s in a meeting right now. I’m sorry.” She put a small notepad on the counter. “Would you like to leave a message for him? I’ll be glad to put it with his messages.”
Doug stayed calm. “No. We’ve come a really long way. Is there some way you can at least tell him we’re here? We’re more than glad to wait. We’re not opposed to waiting.”
“Hmm. Not really. You see, we have security policies in place. If you had called, we might could have set something up. But as it is, I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.”
“Doug? Carlie?”
All four of us turned our heads. But we didn’t recognize the man walking toward us. I mean, we did. But he looked…different. Not better or worse. Just different. Dark suit. Shorter hair. Big smile. Shoes I recognized only from magazine ads.
Dusty ignored top-floor business protocol and ran. They hugged like it had been way longer than a few weeks. Matthew punched him in the arm. “You are a sight for sore eyes, man.”
“You too. Of course, we feel like you never left seein’ as how you’re on TV every five minutes. Is it the Teen Heartthrob channel? Isn’t that your new network, Matthew?”
Matthew shoved Dusty. “Very funny. Look who’s talkin’?” He put his hands up like he was making quote marks in the air. “’I’m just a poor boy from West Tennessee, makin’ it big on A & E.’ So, what brings you guys to town? And where are those cute kids?”
Clara smiled. “At home. With Uncle Bart and Aunt Charlotte. I know. We must have been drinkin’ when we made that decision. But, no. We weren’t. Or I don’t think we were.”
Dusty raised his eyebrows. “Honey, forgive me. You have no idea what I put in your sweet tea that night. I just needed a few days alone with ya. That’s all.”
Clara laughed and kissed his cheek. “Good move, Dear.”
Doug took control of the train and moved it on down the track a bit. “Look, we know you’re crazy busy. Any chance you have a few minutes to visit?”
“Sure. I just got out of a meeting. Why don’t you guys come into my office? Right this way.”
