Doug and Carlie: Matchmakers on a Mission (Doug & Carlie Series Book 3)

by Lisa Smartt

  Dave was embarrassed but I told him not to worry as baked beans had never caused any real injury to a human being I was tempted to put James in the all-around shower, but bad dreams for the rest of his life seemed like an unfair punishment for temporarily not wanting to be “fwiends” with “Cowin.” So I left Doug, Dave and Collin to serve their own peach cobbler. I put James in the big bathtub in the hall bathroom and distracted him with bubbles. He calmed down and I resolved that the matchmaking conversation was destined for another day.

  While I was putting James in his pajamas, I heard Dave’s car pulling out of the driveway. I walked back into the kitchen to find Doug putting away leftovers and throwing the paper plates in the trash. James reached for his daddy and said a tearful, “I’m sowwy I mean to Cowin.” Doug smiled and put him on his shoulders for the now-familiar bedtime ritual. Like most moms, I feel this huge wave of joy and accomplishment when our clean two-year-old is put into his bed for the night. It’s like a big neon sign over my life that says, “Your life has not been wasted. A clean two-year-old is asleep in his bed and Honey, that ain’t easy.” Even on the nights he hasn’t had a bath and I have to take out that word “clean?” Well, it’s still a victory.

  Ten minutes later Doug walked into the kitchen and I reached out for a hug. “Well, that was a fiasco, huh?”

  “Boys will be boys. No real harm done. Dave said Collin was tired too and they better call it a night.”

  “I know. I was just hoping, well, I was hoping that I’d get to talk to him about Ashley. It’s obvious he likes her. And you know me. I can’t stand the fact that two people like each other but nobody’s movin’ it forward. Takin’ a chance and all.”

  “Oh, I took care of it for you.”

  “What?”

  “I took care of it. The matchmaking.”

  “Well, look at Mr. Jameson, why don’t ya? All socially suave and cool. And with a great butt to boot. How did I get so lucky?”

  He laughed as he pulled the overflowing trash bag out of the can. “Pour us some tea and I’ll meet you out on the swing and tell you all about it.”

  There was a nice chill in the air so I grabbed a big brown and navy quilt his grandma had made for the county fair decades ago. Doug was grinning when he sat down in the swing and put his arm around me. “Before we start this conversation, there’ve got to be some ground rules.”

  “Lay it on me, Mr. Matchmaker.”

  “You cannot ask overly detailed questions which I’m not prepared to answer.”

  “Like?”

  He squeezed my shoulder tighter. “You know what I mean. Things like ‘Did he look sad when he said that? Glad? Indifferent? Was he fidgety? Did you ask if he was going to call her tonight? Tomorrow? Send flowers? Did he say anything about Shannon? Did he cry? Did he look like he was going to cry? Did he look like he wanted to cry but was trying to hold back from crying?’ Honey, really. I don’t have any of those details. You’ve got to let me tell this story like a guy. Deal?”

  He knew me. Oh, how well he knew me. I laughed and raised my right hand. “Deal.”

  “Okay. Collin was getting restless and Dave said they needed to go home. I said, ‘You really should call or write to Ashley. She’s a nice girl.’ He said, ‘Okay. Do you have her number?’ I said, ‘yes’ and gave him her business card which was under Billy’s Body Shop magnet on the side of the fridge.” Ten seconds of silence.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Wait! That’s your matchmaking story? The whole story?”

  Doug looked at me like a dyslexic student looks at a spelling test. “See? I knew it! I knew this wouldn’t be good enough for you. Yes. That’s the story. I told him to contact her. He asked for her info. Yes. That’s the beginning, the middle, and the end. He pulled his son out of the high chair. He went home. Neither of us cried or read poetry to each other. And no. We didn’t hug. The end.”

  I started laughing. “You did good, Babe. You did good.”

  There are some things about life I know for certain. Dave is lonely. The all-around shower scares me. James doesn’t like to be hit in the face with baked beans. Dan Dubois is not worthy of Ashley. And if something happens to me, Doug Jameson will never have paisley throw pillows on the couch.

  Chapter 11 CARLIE: Dusty and Clara’s Big News

  Sometimes I wish we all lived in a great big compound on a great big farm. Dusty and Clara, Dave and Collin, Uncle Bart and Aunt Charlotte, Michelle and her family, Chester and Ida, and Brother Dan and his new wife, Margaret. We would all have the same size houses, just in different colors because people like me would get turned around and be walking into the wrong house unless they were color-coded.

  But I doubt we’ll ever be living in a compound because country people feel kind of weird about that. Besides, everyone seems perfectly happy in their current locations. We’re happy in the family farmhouse just outside the town of Sharon. Last year Dusty and Clara bought a beautiful new brick house just outside Greenfield. We can be there in less than fifteen minutes. Dave and Collin seem happy in the small rent house down the road. Uncle Bart and Aunt Charlotte have lived in the same little green house in downtown Sharon for forty-seven years. Michelle lives one street over. Chester and Ida live in a tiny gray house behind the Kwik Mart (which should be spelled Quick Mart in honor of school children everywhere). Brother Dan and Margaret live in the parsonage behind our church. So I guess it would stir up too much trouble to try to consolidate everyone now. But the thought was still a happy one.

  Dusty and Clara are coming over for dinner Friday night because Dusty went by the bank and told Doug they wanted to talk to us about something. I’m dying to know the big secret but, of course, Doug had no details. We’re leaving for Spain in less than a month and I hope their big news is happy news. I was glad Maxine’s cousin was on the schedule to clean the house Friday morning. I always said I wasn’t going to hire someone to clean. But I also said I was giving up carbs forever. Live and learn.

  Friday Night

  Dusty asked if I would make my famous Chicken Spaghetti. I don’t know if he requested it because he really does like it that much, or if he’d heard enough stories about my other food failures that he wanted to play it safe.

  Dusty and Clara are like family so they always do that “knock and then go ahead and open the door” thing that country people often do. Growing up, when we went to MeeMaw’s or Aunt Sadie’s we always did that. We’d rap lightly on the door and then open the door and say the same thing every time, “Howdy do! It’s not a robber. It’s just us!”

  Dusty opened the door and immediately removed his camo cap. He has this odd little ritual where he takes off his cap and then runs his fingers through his dark hair a certain way. Clara confided in me that the first time she saw him do that, she was overcome with attraction. Truthfully, I think she went weak in the knees but didn’t know to use those words. Dusty has a black eye patch on his right eye and a prominent scar on his chin, both given to him years ago by his abusive father. But Clara’s right. He’s handsome and more importantly, humble. Kind. Patient. Not a perfect man, but perfect for a woman who believed she was unworthy of a man’s love. Perfect for a woman who desperately needed stability and protection. Perfect for Clara. Beautiful red-headed Clara who spends every day telling second graders not to hit each other.

  “Come in, Guys! Come in! The spaghetti’s almost ready. Oh, we just can’t wait to hear your news!”

  Dusty replied with enthusiasm, “Well, we can’t wait to tell you either.”

  Supper looked good except I burned the garlic bread to a crisp. Doug said it was because I was busy being hospitable, and that ultimately that was more important. God bless him. If he didn’t get the blue plate special at Sammy’s every day, the man would starve.

  Two seconds after the “Amen” was spoken, I said, “Help yourself to the spaghetti and spill it, you two! Spill it!” Of course, Doug and I both had our suspicions.

  Clara said
timidly, “Well, it seems our little family is growing.”

  I stood to my feet and started clapping wildly! “Augh! We knew it! We just knew it! Didn’t we, Honey? We said last night, ‘Oh I bet they’re having a baby!’ Oh my! Congratulations! I just have to hug you! Both of you!” I ran to both of them and squeezed with all my might. “Oh my gosh, another little friend for James. Our cup runneth over! Oh Doug, I bet it’s a girl too. Yep! Oh, I know it’s a girl ‘cause who else is James gonna marry? Annabelle is the only girl in the church nursery and she pulls his hair every Sunday. Clearly they’re not compatible. He’ll marry your little girl, Clara!! I just know he will!”

  Dusty and Clara both laughed and then Clara reached for Dusty’s hand and said, “Well, maybe Dusty can explain it better than I can.”

  “Explain it? What’s there to explain?” I winked at Doug. “I mean, no offense, but we definitely know where babies come from.”

  Dusty grinned. “Yeah, but we’re not having a baby.”

  I said, “Wait a minute. I’m lost.”

  “Our family is growing. But it’s not the way you think. You know how I visit the guys in the jail every Tuesday night?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, a few months ago I met this guy named Sam. He reminds me a lot of myself when I was in prison. Made a lot of mistakes, but wants to turn his life around. The problem is Sam’s older and has a little bit longer rap sheet than I had. His chances of getting out are a lot less. He’s going to be transferred over to Nashville and will end up doing at least ten years before he’s even up for parole. He and his girlfriend had three kids together but she died two years ago from an overdose. After her death he was using and dealing a lot more and got himself in a whole lot of trouble. Armed robbery. Drug dealing. His mother’s had the kids for more than a year now but she’s alone. She’s got emphysema and a lot of other health problems. Last month she told him she just can’t do it for ten more years. She was gonna have to call CPS and place them into foster care. Sam begged her not to. Said give him a little more time and he’d get something worked out. He was crying real bad and showing me the pictures, saying he’d never been a dad to ‘em, that he’d messed up real good this time. That’s when it hit me. Sam didn’t have to keep messing up. There was an answer. A good answer.”

  Doug said solemnly, “Wow. How old are they?”

  “Four, Six, and Eight. Two girls and a boy. I’ve got a picture here. They’re beautiful children. Really.” He pulled a photograph out of his billfold that looked like it was taken at one of those cheap photo studios with the ever-familiar bluish-gray school picture background. “The little one’s name is Molly. This is Mandy and the boy’s name is Will.”

  Dusty was right. They were beautiful children. All three of them were thin. MeeMaw would have called them “wormy.” Molly had a dark complexion with little dark brown pigtails that were tied with blue ribbon. Mandy was much lighter with bright red hair that was cut short and looked almost exactly the same color as Clara’s. Will looked a lot like Molly. Handsome. Dark hair and features. His blue t-shirt seemed too small and his smile seemed less than genuine.

  Doug patted Dusty on the back. “You always were an over-achiever, man. I mean, why parent one little baby when you can parent three kids, right?”

  Dusty smiled with pride and joy. “Yeah, why not?”

  Clara spoke up. “And we want you guys to know that this isn’t gonna be a foster care situation. It’s an adoption. For life. I mean, it will take a while for it to be finalized. But Sam is revoking all parental rights. He knows, he knows he’s placing them with us, well, forever. That we’ll be their real parents. Their grandma knows that too.” Clara’s voice became shaky. “And that won’t be easy for him or for the grandma. I get that.”

  Clara was the only one of us that really did get it. The only one who had ever given life to a child she didn’t parent. Yes. If anyone understood Sam’s pain, it was Clara.

  I grabbed Clara’s hand. “This is so exciting! Have you met them?”

  “We did. A social worker took us to the grandma’s house and we got to spend several hours with them. The social worker had already told them all about us, about the plans. Will was suspect at first, which of course, we understand. The good thing is that we want their grandma to still be their grandma. Neither of us have parents and we’d already told the social worker it would be way healthier for them if she was still in their lives. She agreed. The grandma, Mrs. Overton, was overcome with emotion, with joy, probably with relief. She just kept hugging us, both of us. The kids are precious. I mean, we don’t know them well and we know there’ll be a lot of trauma and all at first. But I don’t know. When we stood there looking at them, it was clear. To me and to Dusty. They were meant to be our children.”

  I started crying because it was all so incredibly beautiful. James started crying because he wanted more strawberries. I put a few more strawberries on the tray of the high chair even though his face was already stained bright red. “So, when does all this go down? I mean, when will they be moving in?”

  Dusty smiled. “Soon. The legal stuff will take a while. But Clara and I have the approval we need to move them in. They’re scheduled to move in two weeks from tomorrow. I was worried about the felony on my record but because it’s a private adoption, there’s a little more leniency. Plus, the social worker says our home study went well. Sam really wants us to be their parents.” He put his arm around Clara. “And we really want them to be our children.”

  “Oh my gosh! This is all just too wonderful for words. Okay, we need to have a shower. We’ll have it in the church basement on Saturday. A week from tomorrow. I’ll need to make a few calls. You’ll need to register at Wal-Mart, Girlfriend, as Target and the fancy stores are an hour away and nobody has time for that.” I grabbed the note pad by the phone and started scribbling.

  A question mark appeared on Clara’s face. “What do you mean? Register for what? They’re not babies, Carlie.”

  “Right. So you’ll register for school clothes, and underwear, and Goldfish, the crackers not the little guys that swim in an aquarium…’cause girl, you got no time to be cleaning an aquarium. You’re gettin’ ready to be a mama and worrying about algae build-up can’t be on your agenda. We’ll go together tomorrow to register. You’ll need to get their clothing sizes.” I continued to scribble on the pad. “Oh, and we’ll need bedding and twin beds and dressers.” I stood and said, “Honey, if you can give James a quick wipe off and get him to bed, I need to have a little meeting with the mom-to-be.”

  Doug reached down and said, “C’mon Buddy, me and Uncle Dusty are gonna give you a spit bath.”

  James laughed and yelled, “Mama, Daddy ‘pitting!”

  Chapter 12 CARLIE: Ashley Comes to Town for the Shower (Yeah right)

  Early afternoon of the shower found me washing James’ hair, making spinach dip, and mixing up a delicious Kool-Aid punch which combines the practical southern goodness of orange Kool-Aid with the sophisticated taste of ginger ale. Or that’s what I always tell people.

  Ashley flew in late last night and rented a car. She’d slept till 11:00 but now sat at the kitchen bar relishing the day’s plan. “I can’t believe it. Three at once. What a shock. I mean, you go from being a couple one day to the parents of three kids the next day. I can hardly wait to hear all about it.”

  “Oh, it’s exciting alright! And the party is shaping up too. I think a lot of people are coming. Dave and Collin will be there. I mean, I asked him yesterday if he was coming and he said, ‘Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it.’ So, well, I guess that’ll be nice, right?”

  Ashley smiled as she carried her coffee cup to the sink. “I was wondering when this would come up.”

  “What? The party?”

  She smirked, “Yeah. The party. I knew you were just dying to tell me all about the party. No. Dave. I was wondering when you’d bring Dave up.”

  “I was just telling you who would be there that you’d know.” I sti
rred the ginger ale and poured the concoction into an old apple juice container for transport. Then I started working on the spinach dip.

  Ashley put her hands on the counter and looked out the big kitchen window. “He called me, y’know? A few days ago.”

  I stopped mashing the cream cheese. “What? He called? And you didn’t tell me this why?”

  “Nothing to tell. It was the most uncomfortable conversation of my life. I’m serious. He stuttered. I stuttered. I asked how Collin was doing. He asked about my next movie. After about six minutes, he said, ‘Well, I just wanted to see how you were. Sounds like you’re doing well. Bye.’ I’m serious. It was exactly like that.”

  “What do you expect? His wife is dead. He hasn’t dated in years. Look, if you want a smooth-talking, debonair lady’s man, you can find one, friend. Hollywood is full of ‘em and I bet they’re just waiting to have a go at Ashley Harrison too. They are. But I think, at least I hope, you’re looking for someone better than Dan Dubois.”

  Ashley laughed and hung her head as though she were ashamed. “Dan Dubois. Now there’s a piece of work, huh? Yes. I’m looking for someone better than Dan Dubois. Thankfully, that shouldn’t be too hard to find, right?”

  I put my hand on her arm and looked straight into her eyes as though I were going to say something incredibly profound. “I’d marry Chester before I married Dan Dubois.”

  As Ashley headed for the shower, she glanced back and said with a giggle, “Now stop putting ideas in my mind. I love Mrs. Ida far too much to be a home-wrecker.”

  Two local police cars manned the church parking lot just to insure there was no trouble for Ashley at the shower. One of the policemen was twenty-something Jerry Conner who had once been a star football player in Fulton. Ol’ Jerry must have gone weak in the knees when Ashley got out of the car ‘cause he later told the men at the barber shop that she was flirting with him. She wasn’t.

  A few teenagers asked for autographs. Ashley was happy to oblige. An older woman who had spent too much time in the tanning bed said, “My granddaughter has just been dying to meet you.” She snapped a picture of Ashley standing next to her twelve-old granddaughter who was proudly wearing her soccer uniform. About thirty or forty people stood in the ditch across from the church just to get a look or take a picture.