by Lisa Smartt
When he let go of her, she wiped her face and said with a smile, “I’m Clara. Nice to meet you.”
He chuckled, “I’m Jason. Nice to meet you too.”
She tried to gain her composure as she touched his arm. “And this is my dear friend, Carlie.”
“Yes, nice to meet you, Carlie. You’re the writer. I know your work. We talked about you in my Modern Lit class.”
“Oh, I can only imagine what a Literature professor would say about my work.”
“No. It was good. I mean, he says you speak the language of the people and I’m guessing that’s what you intended to do.”
I wanted to get the subject off of me as quickly as possible. “Absolutely. And Jason, Clara tells me you’re a writer too.”
“I hope I am. I’m nineteen so I probably can’t be sure yet. I write poetry, which is massively out of style right now. But I also write some short stories, some other stuff.”
“Most people would rather go to the dentist without anesthesia than to write something. So if you find yourself wanting to do it when you don’t have to…well, that makes you a writer.”
Jason smiled, “Thank you. For saying that.” He looked at Clara. “I looked through all your Facebook pictures. You’re right. The kids are cute and busy-looking. And your husband seems like a good guy, a good dad.”
Clara smiled and spoke with confidence, “He is. I’m blessed. Oh, and your family is beautiful too. Your parents. I mean, obviously they’re very proud of you. They still look young…just like when I first met them. Oh, and all the trips you guys have made? Wow. Impressive. And your girlfriend? Izzie? She’s beautiful and what a character, huh? I mean, her comments. She’s funny and smart and…I don’t know how to describe her.”
He laughed and when he did, his eyes almost closed, “Oh, she’s hard to describe alright. She’s like nobody I’ve ever met. You’ll have to meet her sometime. She’s small but powerful. I know I’m young. We’re young. But I can’t imagine meeting anyone else. I think she’s, you know, the one.”
“I’m happy for you. She seems like a remarkable girl, I mean, woman. And yeah, I’d love you to meet my family sometime too. Maybe we can plan a family trip to Louisiana. Would your parents, uh, would they be okay with that? With us coming out to meet them and your Izzie?”
“Oh yeah. Mom was all excited about me meeting you. She said it would probably mean a lot to you…and to me. They’ve always been totally open about the adoption, their respect for you, how they met you and all that. So yeah, they’d love for you to bring your family for a visit. They have a big house so there’s plenty of room for you guys to spend the night, if you want.”
Clara looked down at the table and said in a nervous whisper, “What did they tell you about your birthfather?”
“Yeah. That was always pretty sketchy. They just said he lived in Georgia and that’s all they knew. I’m sure if they’d known more, they would have told me. So what can you tell me about him?”
I bit my lip and silently prayed for Clara. I’m sure she brought it up because she wanted to get it over with.
She looked at him square in the eyes, which was unusual since she’s typically so timid. “Jason, I am so sorry. Really. I’m sorry about what I’m getting ready to tell you. I’m sorry about what I did all those years ago. But one thing I want you to know. For certain.” Tears started falling but her voice never cracked. She reached out and touched his hand, “I’m not sorry about you. I wasn’t sorry then. I’m not sorry now. You are a gift. A gift from God. I knew that years ago. I know it even more now.”
He never shed a tear. He smiled and said, “Thank you, Clara. That means a lot.”
She took a big drink from the peppermint latte I insisted on buying for her. “I was abused by a neighbor. At the time I thought it was consensual, like we were in a real relationship. I was fifteen. He was twenty-two. But now I realize he was a legal adult and should have been prosecuted. Both my parents had so many problems. I mean, they were just trying to survive. Financially. Emotionally. They didn’t actually have the energy to parent me. I don’t know how to describe it. I mean, it won’t make sense to you because your parents, well, they loved you and did stuff with you. I know my parents loved me but they didn’t know how to parent me. We were just three people living in the same house for years. I mean, does that make sense to you? Have you known people like that?”
“Yeah. That kind of sounds like Izzie’s story. Her parents didn’t have rules or family time or anything. She got in a lot of trouble in high school. I think she was just trying to get noticed.”
Clara looked at Jason like he had just spoken the winning answer on Jeopardy. “Yes! That’s what I mean. I understand Izzie’s situation. I felt completely invisible to my parents. Like just another piece of furniture or something. Anyway, the neighbor made me feel alive, wanted, like someone was going to take care of me. But he didn’t. He crushed me.”
“What was his name?”
“Ironically, his name was Jason. But he was nothing like you. He was the opposite of you in every way.”
“Do you know where he is? I mean, I probably don’t want to contact him, but if I did want to, would you even know where to find him?”
Clara’s tears fell gently and she wiped her face with a wadded up napkin. “No. I don’t know where he is. And yes, he could be your birthfather. It’s a possibility, but we don’t know for sure because, well…” She couldn’t continue.
Jason looked confused but then looked at me and said, “Because there were others?”
I handed Clara a Kleenex and suggested she go the bathroom and take a break. When she did, I went to the counter to buy three more lattes. I was so tempted to take over, but I didn’t need to finish Clara’s story. I didn’t need to tell Jason to understand the situation, to forgive her. No. I needed to just buy the lattes and be a supportive observer.
When she returned, she spoke with calm resolve. “The neighbor, Jason, well, he wanted to feel like a big shot with his friends so he, he got me to go along with some things that I regret.” She looked across the table with such kindness. “The truth is I have no idea who your birthfather is. I wish I did but I don’t. I didn’t even know some of their names. Some were in their 20’s. Others were old enough to be my father. Now I realize Jason probably took money from them. All of them. Anyway, it was a horrible time in my life. And I’m sorry I can’t provide more answers than that. I am.”
He didn’t look distraught at all. “It’s not a problem. I mean, yeah, part of me wanted to know for…I don’t know, curiosity. Genetic curiosity, maybe. But the important thing is that I had a father. All my life. Every day. And he’s still my father. Nothing you were going to say today was going to change that.”
Clara smiled. “You are an exceptional young man, Jason. And yes, I’m thankful for your mother and father. They’re special people and I knew, I just knew they’d love you…forever. I hope someday you can talk to my kids about that. That’s what we want to be for them. Something better than Dusty and I had.”
We sat together in the coffee shop for two hours. Finally, Jason said, “I’m supposed to meet my friends in a few minutes for the next session of the conference. So I guess this has to be good-bye. I mean, for now.”
Clara stood but didn’t shed a tear. “Thank you. Thank you for contacting me. Thank you for wanting to meet me. You’ll never understand what this has meant to me. It’s an answer to prayer. And you? You’re like no nineteen-year-old I’ve ever met, mister. Mature beyond your years.”
He laughed, “The Bain and the blessing of being an only child, I guess. At least that’s what Izzie tells me. She’s a Psychology major.”
They embraced. Beautiful.
Chapter 40 DAVE: Sunday
I survived another week. No. It wasn’t just survival. It was growth. But there were growing pains. Excruciating. I hadn’t thought this much about Shannon since right after her death. Now the pain and loss seemed to resurface in every se
ssion. I was being forced to walk through the pain because, for the first time, there was nothing there to deaden it. God knows I still crave a drink, especially at night. I wonder if I always will. One day at a time. One hour at a time.
I turned the radio on an 80’s station, showered, shaved, and put on khaki pants and a yellow oxford shirt. All because Collin was coming. I know Collin is just three and wouldn’t care if I wore my pajamas. But for some reason, it was important to look my best. Maybe I did it all for Doug and Carlie. Maybe I wanted them to know all their labor in caring for him wasn’t in vain. That I was getting better. That I was becoming healthy again. I met with our little rehab church out on the back deck. And after lunch, I counted down the minutes.
Sid approached my table. “Dave, you have a phone call.”
“Hello.”
Doug’s voice was disheartening, “I’m so sorry, man. Really. Collin is throwing up, like every thirty minutes. We kept thinking he’d get better before we needed to leave. We think it’s some kind of stomach bug. Maxine had it last week. There’s no way he can travel in the car, Dave. I’m sorry. I know this must be a blow.”
“Well, yeah, but there’s nothin’ you can do, right? I mean, he’s gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. Dr. Sherry said it’s a bad bug going around. If he’s not better in twenty-four hours, we’re supposed to bring him in again. But he’s drinking some Sprite now and we think it’ll run its course.”
“And James? How’s James doin’?”
“Oh, he’s in the same shape. You know how friends are? They share.”
“Man, I’m sorry. This must be runnin’ you and Carlie ragged.”
“We’re fine. Just concentrate on getting better. And again, I’m sorry we couldn’t make it. But we’ll be there next week.”
“Yeah, I understand. And thanks again, you know, for taking care of him.”
When I hung up the phone, I determined to be a grown-up. I wasn’t a college kid living in a dorm, hoping for a date to a fraternity party and being disappointed when I didn’t have one. I was here for a purpose. Recovery. I prayed God wouldn’t let the disappointment of the moment get me off course. How I missed Collin’s hug, his smell, his language, which was expanding daily. I explained to Sid that I wouldn’t need a visitation room today. He asked if I wanted to talk about it. I said Collin was ill and then turned to walk down the long corridor to my room. The great thing about Sid is that he knows when to shut up and leave it alone.
I turned on the radio and lay on the bed, hoping I would fall asleep. I was almost there when the knock on the door brought me back to life.
“Come in.”
Sid poked his head in the door and said with very little fanfare, “Get your ass out of bed. You have a visitor. Room 2.” And then he was gone.
A feeling of pure happiness came over me. Aunt Charlotte must have convinced Uncle Bart to drive her to Nashville. Or maybe Brother Dan’s conference in St. Louis had been cancelled. He’d been wanting to come see me and had faithfully sent letters containing prayers and words of encouragement. Either way, I had a visitor from the outside world and I was thankful. I quickly combed my hair and headed down the hallway.
The door was slightly ajar. I determined to glance in without notice. When I did, my face grew warm. Pure euphoria. Like a dream. Only, according to Sid’s loud insensitive voice, it was reality. She faced the bulletin board with her hands resting gently on her beautiful wide hips. It was like she was studying up on our schedule for the week. Even in institutional lighting, her long dark hair was shiny and I remembered the smell of it from our last hug. Her body, extraordinary. She turned quickly and smiled like we’d never parted, “Hey stranger.”
I walked toward the middle of the room. But for some reason, words couldn’t come out of my mouth. Every time I saw her she was more beautiful than the last time. How does that work? How does a woman grow more and more beautiful with each passing day? Or was I the one who had changed? Was I looking through different glasses? She definitely had battle scars. Mistakes. Regrets. But so did I. I knew she was limping. Emotionally. Spiritually. But everything in me wanted to carry her, rescue her.
As she held her arms out, she said with enthusiasm, “Surprise!”
I managed to walk forward as Ashley threw her arms around me with complete abandon. I pulled her in close and gently touched the back of her hair as she lay her head into my shoulder. I could feel her breathing. It was the happiest single moment I’d experienced since, well, since Shannon’s death. She had come. From California. From shooting a movie. Surely this meant something. Something good. She smelled like nothing I ever remember smelling. She smelled like bliss. Joy. Excitement. I wanted to kiss her. But I didn’t. She leaned back, smiled, and said with her native Alabama drawl, “What’s wrong, Dave? Cat got your tongue?”
Finally I stammered, “I’m, I’m just shocked. I mean, I had no idea this was even possible. I thought…”
“You thought I was busy shooting a movie in San Diego. Well, I am. But I have a few days off.” When she smiled, I realized she’d had something done to her teeth. They were perfect now. White. Absolutely straight. Something about that was unsettling. Beautiful, yes. But too perfect. “So, last night I got a hair-brained idea to come see my friend in Nashville. So here I am. Surprise! But don’t worry. The minute Collin gets here, I’m background music. No problem.”
“Collin’s not coming. He’s sick. Here, have a seat.” She sat on an uncomfortable green vinyl couch with her back toward the door. Occasionally a friend stuck his head in the door and silently mouthed something like, “Oh my gosh! It’s Ashley Harrison!” I just smiled and tried to ignore them.
For a moment, I was embarrassed that my reunion with Ashley was taking place in such unromantic surroundings. Fluorescent lighting. Old Psychology Today magazines and Reader’s Digests strewn on the table. Kids’ toys with low functioning batteries. Ashley was used to being treated like a queen. Hollywood. Room service. Now she was sitting on an old vinyl couch while, unbeknownst to her, gawking alcoholics came by to briefly stare.
She spoke with concern, “Oh no! What’s wrong with the little guy?”
“They think it’s just a stomach bug. Lots of throwing up and overall mayhem. James has it too. I think it just has to run its course.”
“Well, I’m sorry. That must be disappointing, since visitation is only once a week.”
“It is. But then, well, you showed up. Thank you…for coming, I mean, all this way.”
She beamed, “Oh, I’m doubly glad I came now.”
“So am I.” She had no idea. No idea how many times I’d dreamed of her. Wanted her. She had no idea the number of times I prayed she wouldn’t get caught up in the glamour of Hollywood or the mystique of Jean-Claude Van Damme and others like him. But then I distinctly remembered what she said, that she decided to come see a friend in Nashville. Not a knight on a white horse. No. A friend. An addicted friend. Sadly, that “friend” was me.
“So how’s it going, Dave? Really. Was it what you expected?”
“I didn’t know what to expect. I guess some of it’s harder than expected. Other parts, maybe a little easier. You wanna bottle of water or anything? I can get ya something.”
“No, I’m good. Fine. I met Sid. Out front. And you’re right. He’s a character. I was trying to kind of be discreet about my identity when I came in. I had on a cap, glasses. When he asked for my ID, I was worried.” She chuckled, “But that worry was totally unfounded. He had no idea who I was. Didn’t act like he cared that much either. He just said, ‘Dave, huh? Not a bad guy. You could do worse.’”
“That’s Sid alright. But he’s probably helped me more than any other person here. He gets addiction. He doesn’t pretend stuff or sugarcoat it. The other day, he said, ‘It’s hell out there, Dave. You think you’ll never drink again, that you’re off the damn stuff, but one day you’ll pass by a liquor store and you’ll get this feelin’, this feelin’ that you’d sell your kid jus
t to walk in the door. It’ll happen.’ So of course, I said, ‘And what am I supposed to do when that happens?’ Without missing a beat, he said, ‘Don’t walk through the damn door.’”
Ashley laughed, “He sounds like my dad. Never one to mince words. But faithful. Helpful.”
“How are you? I mean, I know the movie’s not your favorite. But are you doin’ okay? Despite that?”
Her expression fell, “Yeah, I’m okay, I guess. Sad sometimes.”
“About what?”
She looked down, straightened the magazines carefully, and said quietly, “You may think this is odd, but I’m…I’m sad about the baby. It’s not that I miss Blake. I don’t. At all. And it’s not that I don’t regret bein’ with him. I do regret it. But still.” She looked around like she wanted to make sure no one was listening. “That was my baby. My first baby. And he or she…” She wiped her eyes, “Well, he…he died.”
Without thinking, I quickly moved from the brown chair onto the couch right beside her. Reaching for her hand, I put my other arm around her shoulders and looked into her beautiful face. “I think it’s normal to be sad about that. Regardless of the circumstances. You’re a caring person. And yes, it is sad. It’s sad anytime a baby dies.”
Her beautiful dark eyes filled with tears. “Thank you. Thank you for that.” She leaned into my shoulder, closed her eyes, and pulled her legs up onto the couch. Neither of us said a word for at least a minute. I relished in the beauty of the moment. Her beauty. I had no fame. No money to speak of. Single father. Waging war against an addiction. But in that one moment Ashley needed me. Desperately. And I was there. Who knew a green vinyl couch could so quickly transform into a white horse?
Three hours passed like 20 minutes. She told me about the movie and we both laughed about the number of times she’d fallen over wooden boxes and I expressed sadness over the bruises she claimed were all over her body. I told her about my years as a pastor in Chattanooga. We spoke of places we’d been, people we’d respected, hard times, good times, and times we still couldn’t navigate. Grace. Forgiveness. Blessings even in the storms. When Sid appeared in the door, I saw genuine compassion on his face. “Sorry, man. Time’s up.” It was like a knife to my gut.
