by Lisa Smartt
“Clara, Clara, listen to me, Honey. Just listen for a minute. It’s gonna be fine. It is. Breathe deeply. Yeah, like that. Just keep taking deep breaths. Okay. Now start at the beginning. Start over. I’m listening.”
“Didn’t you think it was odd that we moved to Commerce my senior year?”
“No. Why would I think that was odd? People move all the time. I figured your dad or mom got a different job. No, I didn’t think it was strange.”
“My dad HAD to get a different job. We were all too embarrassed to stay in Birmingham. Birmingham was all my parents knew. They both grew up there. I’d lived there all my life. But then I messed it all up. I messed it up for everybody.”
“How did you mess it up?”
“I got involved with Jason Miller. It was the worst thing I could have done. The worst thing I’ve ever done.” She looked down at the hardwood floor and I grabbed another Kleenex. “He was 25 when he moved in with his aunt. She lived next door to us and we trusted her. He was looking for work. She made us think he was just between jobs and needed a place to stay. But he was bad news.” Her voice got lower and her face turned red. “He used me, Carlie. I was only fifteen when he started using me. Of course, because I was fifteen, I thought he loved me. I knew what we were doing was wrong but he kept telling me that it was right because he needed me, loved me, wanted to marry me. But that’s not even the worst. Oh no. It gets worse. Jason wanted to feel important. He wanted to feel like a big shot with his friends. So, he…” Her timid crying turned back to wailing. I worried that Doug would feel the need to call 911. But he knew I would help her, that I would take care of her. He wisely stayed in the bedroom.
“He what, Clara? What did he do?”
“He passed me around.”
“What?”
“He told me that I was wanted, that it wouldn’t hurt to be with his friends. So he’d invite men over and they would take advantage of me.” Her soft voice turned angry. “I know. You’re thinking, ‘Why on earth would you let them do that? Why wouldn’t you have more respect for yourself than that?’ Well, that’s the point, Carlie! I didn’t have respect for myself. And Jason knew it. He knew I would do whatever he wanted. And I did. For more than two years. By Thanksgiving of my junior year I was pregnant. I didn’t know who the father was. Didn’t even know some of their names. I was barely old enough to drive a car and I was going to have a baby. Daddy knew about Jason. But I never told him about the others. Daddy told Jason he would have him put in prison. But he didn’t. He knew I wasn’t raped. I was a willing participant. The shame alone kept him from pursuing any legal action. I had the baby in July and placed him for adoption. Daddy had already made a plan for us to move. So I started my senior year at Commerce High School. Not one person there knew that I had given birth to a baby only a month before. And that was the plan, for no one to know. Ever.”
“Oh Clara, how in the world have you kept this bottled up all these years? Why didn’t you feel you could tell me? I could have helped you, would have helped you. We lived together for the last four years and you never said a thing?”
“I couldn’t. When we moved to Commerce, I made a decision. I was never going to be with a man again. Ever. And I haven’t. I haven’t touched a man in years. I lived at home and commuted to college. I looked for a way to take care of myself.”
“Then why did you come? Why did you agree to meet Charles?”
“Because you are one stubborn and persuasive woman, Carlie.”
I laughed and wrapped my chubby arms around her frail body. “Yeah, I’m kinda proud of that actually.”
I pulled away and she spoke with unusual confidence. “And for the first time, I’m willing to face the fact that I’m lonely. Seeing you and Doug together on your wedding day made me realize that deep inside I still wanted to be loved. Not by Jason Miller or a man like him. No. I wanted something real.” She wiped tears from her eyes and lowered her head again. “But obviously the man will have to be very understanding. And I just don’t know if there’s a man out there who is like that. I’m limping, Carlie. No one can see it. But I am.”
“Clara Louise Johnson, you’ve come to the right place, sister friend! Yes ma’am. We’re goin’ on a dad gum full-out mission to find the right man for you. We just gotta find the fella who’s plugged into the kind of love that’s required. And oh, we’ll find him too. Don’t doubt me, Clara. When it comes to matters of the heart, I’m highly motivated.”
Chapter 6 CARLIE: Bachelor #1
Party time was fast approaching. I forgot to dust or vacuum but Doug said no one would notice because the food would be so good and the conversation would be so exciting that they wouldn’t even think about whether they could write their names on the coffee table. Doug must really be in love ‘cause he’s an obsessively clean person by nature. He may be the most organized person I’ve ever met. He has all his socks lined up like little sock soldiers in the sock drawer. It’s scary. And you should see the way he eats toast. He doesn’t like crumbs so he cuts each piece in nine exact pieces. I’m gonna quit explaining this before you stop liking him.
Those pigs in their blankets were delicious. I had to sample a few. The mini strawberry cupcakes were good too. Can’t serve food that hasn’t been properly sampled. Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Bart were bringing two gallons of boiled custard. Doug suggested we throw caution to the wind and not over think that decision. Charlene was bringing Ro-tel dip and two bags of tortilla chips. Charles wanted to bring something so we suggested Diet Coke and ginger ale.
Chester and Ida were bringing a layered red and green Jell-O concoction that Ida had seen in a woman’s magazine at the checkout counter at Dollar General. She called and explained in graphic detail the risks involved in the Jell-O project. If it wasn’t quite right, she wanted me to know that it’s ‘cause she didn’t have a snowman mold and she had to scratch the recipe down real fast while she was waiting for Jed Henderson to check out two dozen eggs, a singing Christmas card, and two bottles of cheap hair tonic. I assured her that an ample dose of culinary mercy was available, if needed.
When she heard about the fix-up with Charles Parker, Charlene was happy to come over early to do Clara’s hair and make-up. I think most normal people, especially women, have a soft spot in their hearts for matchmaking. Charlene was no exception. It didn’t hurt that I told her I wanted to buy all the make-up she put on Clara. Clara needed a fresh start. A make-over inside and out. Charlene would work on the “out” and I would ask God to help me work on the “in.” That’s called teamwork.
I carefully explained to Charlene that she needed to go elegant but not too over-the-top glamorous, seeing as how Charles was a mathematician and all. And boy, did she hit the nail on the head. By 6:30 Clara Johnson was lookin’ like a model out of the L.L. Bean Christmas catalog only with a little more lavender eye shadow. On Thursday I had gone to the stylish dress shop in town and asked my trendy friend, Christy, to pick out several new outfits for petite little Clara. I knew her size because when we lived together, I would sometimes find her clothes in the dryer. I knew she wore them too big so I went down a few sizes. When I held up the blue jeans, I realized I couldn’t have gotten into them even when I was in first grade. God bless her. Maybe Aunt Charlotte was right. She needed to eat more deviled eggs. No time for that now.
When I showed Clara the clothes, she was overtaken with emotion. I’m not much of a fashionista myself so I let Charlene pick the right outfit for the party. She chose simple new dark jeans that were tailored real nice. Her red jacket was kind of shiny but not sparkly. Nothing that would make a mathematician run for cover or anything like that. Her hair was loosely curled to perfection and looked prettier than I had ever seen it. Charlene definitely has the magic touch. Clara Johnson no longer looked like a woman trying to be invisible. She didn’t look like a child in sweat pants and no make-up. No. She looked like a beautiful full-grown woman. Everything on the outside was exactly as it should be. I asked Charlene for some priv
acy and she gladly walked into the kitchen.
Clara and I stood in front of the full-length mirror. “Clara, you look beautiful. Strikingly beautiful. But it’s not enough. It’s not. You have to understand who you are inside. Your identity. You are loved, friend, and you are able to love.”
It was 6:55. I hugged her and prayed God would show her the truth…and in less than five minutes too.
Charles Parker drove up right on time. I like punctuality in my matchmaking victims. When I get a little more experienced, I’ll be sure to list that as a rule in my promotional material. Charles drove a 10-year-old white Jeep Cherokee which looked to be in pretty good condition. I liked that. A 30-year-old Gremlin covered in Bondo would have been no good. But a brand-new sports car that cost more than our house would have been even worse in my book. Charles Parker, in case you’re wondering, I approve of your transportation choices. It made me think about what was said about baby bear’s porridge all those years ago, “It was just right.”
Of course, Doug and I went out on the porch to greet him. Aunt Charlotte was right. He was no Marlboro man. But Charles was a perfectly acceptable candidate for “Decent-Lookin’ Math Professor of the Year.” He was about 5’10”, short dark hair, John Boy Walton glasses, and a neatly-trimmed goatee. He was dressed perfectly. Ironed khaki pants and a solid brown shirt tucked in. New lookin’ trendy hiking boots. Not the big clunky mud-covered kind. You know, the kind that look like regular shoes. I don’t know if he dressed himself or if his mama pulled a last-minute, “Charles Parker, you best not wear faded jeans and an old t-shirt to a Christmas party.” I know. You probably think that a 29-year-old professional person like Charles Parker would know what to wear to a Christmas party. But if you do think that, it’s because you don’t know much about people who really love math.
Doug spoke first. “Hey Charles, welcome and welcome back to West Tennessee too!”
“Thanks, Doug! And I guess this pretty lady is your new bride, yes?”
Charles was now forever in my good graces. Don’t worry. It’s strictly platonic.
Doug flashed a big smile and proudly wrapped his arm around me, “It sure is! Charles, this is Carlie. Carlie, Charles.”
I extended my hand and welcomed him with the first thing that came to my mind. “Charles, it’s great to meet you. And don’t worry. I don’t hold your love for math against you. Or at least, I’m trying not to.”
He laughed with warmth and sincerity, “Thanks, Carlie. Yeah, I didn’t expect a famous writer to hold much affection for math. No harm done.”
“Well, despite my disdain for your beloved math, I’m still happy to have you as a guest. Come on in, Charles. We’ve got lots of good food and I want you to meet a dear friend of mine.”
A few hours earlier, when Charlene was working on Clara’s make-over, Clara had been surprisingly calm. She talked of her favorite colors and an expensive perfume she bought at Macy’s. It was like the make-up and clothes were helping to transform her. But now that calm was long gone. She looked pale and distraught. Come on, Clara. Don’t do this. Don’t go away right now. Stay with me. Stay with us. And for goodness sake, Clara, don’t mess up your chances with a decent-lookin’ math professor who has both a sense of humor and a well-trimmed goatee.
“Charles, this is a dear friend of mine from Commerce, Georgia, Clara Johnson. Clara, this is an old friend of Doug’s, Charles Parker.”
“Nice to meet you, Clara. Doug tells me you’re a kindergarten teacher, yes?”
She looked down at the floor. “Yes.”
Okay. I need to make a public service announcement right here and now. If you want to make a potential suitor think you’re not interested at all, just answer his questions with one word answers. Oh Clara, I’m literally going to start crying and then I’m going to eat that whole pan of blanket-laden pigs if you don’t pick up the enthusiasm. I might even hit you with the pan when I’m done.
Charles spoke with such kindness. “Well, I respect you for that, Clara. Really. It would scare me to death to face a whole room of little people. I don’t have what it takes.” Ten points for Charles Parker for trying to move things forward. Keep climbing that mountain, brother. Keep climbing.
Clara glanced down at the counter and nervously wiped up a punch spill with a paper towel. She moved away from Charles and toward the trash can to dispose of the towel. She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I just like little kids.”
He followed behind her and said, “That’s a noble quality, Clara. So, tell me about Commerce. I mean, I’m sure it’s not as much of a thriving metropolis as Sharon is, right?” Charles laughed and even touched her on the arm. He was doing everything he could to motivate eye contact. But I feared the Titanic had already hit the giant iceberg. Now we were just waiting for the body count.
Clara looked out the kitchen window as though she wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. “Yeah, Commerce is pretty small. Not this small, but yeah, not very big.”
I had never been so happy to hear Uncle Bart and Aunt Charlotte come in the door. Uncle Bart’s booming voice provided a much-needed distraction, “Well, hey ho and Merry Christmas, ever’body!” Uncle Bart was wearing brand new overalls from Rural King and a plaid shirt that had been new in the early 70’s. He was also carrying two big milk jugs filled with questionable light yellow custard.
Aunt Charlotte was in a full sweat and fanning herself with a church bulletin she’d found in the truck. “Sorry we’re late but we took a quart of custard to Bill Donaldson seein’ as how he’s been laid up with the shingles.”
I knew Aunt Charlotte would be wearing her beloved Rudolph sweater. The Rudolph sweater was famous all throughout Sharon because the little reindeer nose blinked off and on thanks to a tiny little battery pack secured in the right shoulder pad. Uncle Bart had kept that nose blinking long after the original battery pack had played out. I don’t know the details but I know it involved a Triple A battery and wiring from an old CB radio. Every year he said, “Now Charlotte, don’t get this here thing wet or you’ll be squallin’ for shore.” The Rudolph sweater had been the stuff of family legend for more than fifteen years. It was also about two sizes too small and I’ll just leave it at that.
Aunt Charlotte called it quits on the fanning and carefully cleaned her glasses with a Frosty the Snowman tea towel. When her glasses were securely back in place, she looked up and said with enthusiasm, “Charles Parker, well look at you! Now don’t you look jes’ like your Uncle Harold. My word. Bart, don’t he look jes’ like Harold Parker? Good golly, son, we hear a lot of fine things about you, yes, we do.”
“Well, thank you, Mrs. Charlotte. It’s good to see you and Mr. Bart again.”
“Now Honey, tell me again where you’ve been. Somewhere out west, yes?”
“Yes ma’am. Colorado”
“Well, law mercy, I never been to Colorado but I tell ya right now I got no use for high mountains. One slip of the foot and you’re dead as a dog.”
Charles was such a good sport. He laughed and said, “Yes ma’am. Those mountains are pretty awesome. But in a twist of good fortune, I’m back in the farm country of West Tennessee now.”
“Yes, sir. You should be thankful God done brought you back to HIS country.”
I was relieved that Aunt Charlotte was entertaining Charles. But where in the world was Clara? I wanted to believe she was desperately searching for a lifeboat. But, no. She was hiding in the bathroom evidently. She finally entered the kitchen looking paler than before. Even Aunt Charlotte couldn’t bring her to life. And here’s some wisdom you can take to the bank. If an older woman—wearing a battery-charged Rudolph sweater—can’t bring you to life at a Christmas party, you’ve got one foot in the grave already.
Here’s the whole evening in a nutshell. We all chose to trust God when we courageously drank Aunt Charlotte’s custard. Uncle Bart told us what he heard at the feed store, how the local school board election had been rigged by a lawyer in Nashville. We all bragged o
n Brother Dan’s German potato salad and then listened intently when he explained how the recipe came over on a big boat with his German relatives at the turn of the century. Charles entertained us with funny stories from his time in Colorado. And Clara? Clara spent the whole evening silently convincing Charles Parker that she wasn’t much of a catch, and he shouldn’t even bother baiting the hook.
At 10:30 everyone left and the three of us sat in the living room drinking cocoa. Doug made small talk for a while but was planning his exit strategy. “Well, girls, ya’ll feel free to stay up as late as you want, but I’m ready to call it a night.” He reached down to kiss me. “G’night, Honey.”
“G’night, Doug. And thanks for drinking the custard. It really was a leap of faith.”
He laughed and winked at me. I was completely enamored with Doug Jameson. As Aunt Charlotte would say, “God done blessed me real good.”
Seeing Clara curled up in a blanket on the couch brought me back to the mission at hand. I decided it was time for the direct approach. “Okay, friend. Start talking.”
“About what?”
“About Aunt Charlotte’s boiled custard. Gosh, Clara, what do you think? About tonight. About Charles Parker. About you. Where were you?”
“I was right here. You told me to come and I came. If Charles Parker doesn’t like me, so be it.”
“But that’s the thing, Clara! How could he know if he likes you? How could anybody know? You never let him in. At all. You were shutting him out completely. You never even gave him a chance. Why? I thought he was a great guy. He’s cute and nice and he seemed really friendly.”