Doug and Carlie's Love Conspiracy (Doug & Carlie Series Book 2)

by Lisa Smartt

  Chapter 51 CARLIE Two weeks later: The Wedding

  It was hotter than it should have been on the day of Dusty and Clara’s wedding. Well, I guess it’s not for me to determine what the weather “should” be on any given day. Thankfully, the forecast had predicted the heat wave accurately and Doug had rented these big cooling machines you can use for outdoor events in the summer. You can hide them by renting these pretty white terrace-looking things too. I reminded Aunt Charlotte not to stand in front of the cooling machines with her dress hiked up. A story for another day.

  Speaking of dresses, it was a challenge for Clara to choose bridesmaid dresses that would look good on a really tall, chubby 33-year-old and a really short, chubby 63-year-old. I mean, how many brides face that kind of challenge? But she did it. We did it. I think we got the dresses from the “grandmother of the bride” collection instead of the bridesmaid collection but we didn’t tell Aunt Charlotte. Besides, we looked good in our long flowing lavender dresses. The dresses were sleeveless and made of chiffon but they came with these beautiful beaded long-sleeved jackets…because grandmothers don’t usually want to show off their arm fat. And truthfully, neither did I.

  Doug and I bought matching gray suits for Doug, Dusty, and Mr. Jenkins as part of our wedding present. We knew Dusty wouldn’t want to wear a fancy tux and he shouldn’t have to. A fancy tux just didn’t go with his persona. And yes, every person has a persona, even if they’re not famous.

  Folks started gathering at 6:30 for the 7:00 wedding. I told Uncle Bart he could skip wearing a tie, if he helped park cars. He was happy to oblige. Several people came from Commerce. Teachers and church friends. Dusty’s uncle and aunt came from Paris. Tennessee, not France. I doubt that had to be clarified, but better safe than sorry. Mrs. Jessie came along with some of the other folks at Wimpy’s. Several people from Dusty’s church in Bradford came, including the pastor and his young family. The two boys who work at Dusty’s shop cleaned up real nice, wearing khaki pants and ironed shirts. Al was flirting with the young blonde piano player who plays every week at First Baptist. Truthfully, I’m thinking the young blonde piano player might turn out to be the best outreach campaign that church has ever had.

  Uncle Bart parked the last car and then asked everyone to take a seat as the ceremony was about to start. Brother Jim walked up front with Dusty, Mr. Jenkins, and Doug following faithfully. I peeked out of one of the rental terrace things to get a good look at Dusty. He rubbed his lips together a bit and then ran his fingers through his hair. I think that’s just Dusty’s nervous tic. You know how some people grind their teeth or click their fingernails together. Dusty does the hair thing. He smiled broadly as the music started playing. I helped Aunt Charlotte position her white rose bouquet and handed her a wad of Kleenex to hold discreetly under the blooms. She walked down the aisle slowly and proudly like a blue ribbon hog at the fair. (That’s a good thing. No, really. It is.) I did everything I could to hold back tears as I turned to Clara and said, “I’m leavin’ now, but I’ll be right down front if you need me, okay?” She laughed. “Clara, are you ready for this?

  She reached out and patted my hand. “I am.”

  I walked down the aisle, pretending I was marrying that hot-to-trot Doug Jameson again. Even though I was wearing the grandmother dress, he was giving me the eye and I was giving him that powerful “come hither” look too. Just as things were starting to sizzle between us, we remembered we were here to celebrate Dusty and Clara’s wedding and I stood faithfully next to Aunt Charlotte and glanced toward the back for Clara’s march down the aisle.

  The music changed and the crowd stood. Audrey Hepburn, disguised as Clara Louise Johnson, walked confidently down the aisle and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. She wore a simple sleeveless white dress with lots of pearls and beading and a beautiful wide satin sash around her tiny waist. A simple thin veil draped behind her stunning red hair. I looked over at Dusty and he was star struck. In love. I couldn’t help but think about the years I’d lived with Clara. All that time she’d been in hiding. Fearful. But now? Now she was all out in the open. Willing to love. And be loved. I nudged Aunt Charlotte and asked for a Kleenex. She handed me a wad of rose petals by mistake.

  Brother Jim spoke of the sacred institution of marriage. Commitment. Unconditional love. Sacrifice. Respect. But he also talked about the need for fun, companionship, physical intimacy. Doug winked at me and I winked back. Only I can’t wink very well and it may have looked like a reaction to pollen in the air. Eventually, he asked Dusty and Clara to face each other and share their vows.

  Dusty spoke first, “I promise to love you, Clara. To take care of you, to protect you. In good times and in bad. I will never leave you. Ever. If someone wants to hurt you, he’ll have to get through me first, Clara. I’m serious.” He grabbed her hands and enveloped them in his own as she cried and as he spoke with more intensity. “Clara, from this day forward, by God’s grace, I am watching the gate. I am. God is keeping watch over me. And I am committed to keeping watch over you. So you can rest peacefully. I’m giving you my name as a seal of that promise.”

  I handed Clara a rose petal to wipe her eyes. Less than effective. Then she began, “I’ve never trusted a man, Dusty. But God has worked in my heart and I’m changing. Today I vow to trust you, to walk with you. I vow to respect you and be kind to you. I make a promise in front of all these people to walk toward healing, even if I limp sometimes. I vow to walk in forgiveness and repentance, asking God to help me love you with every fiber of my being.” She spoke with clarity. “I’m free, Dusty. I want to walk with you in that freedom.”

  Well, everyone in the back yard was crying. I mean, who wouldn’t be? Even Uncle Bart acted like he had the sniffles. It didn’t even bother me that I wasn’t the matchmaker for these two. Evidently a broken down Ford Focus is a better matchmaker than a tall chubby writer. I’m not going to spend a lot of time analyzing that. Besides, we all knew who the matchmaker was. Dusty and Clara exchanged rings. They kissed passionately. And that, my friends, is the end, no, the beginning of a great love story.

  The next morning, Doug and I sipped coffee and reminisced about our own love story. Each marriage has chapters, some pleasant, some difficult, but all with a glorious purpose.

  I sat a gift bag in front of him on the table. “Honey, I have a little present for you.”

  “A present? And it’s not even my birthday.”

  “I know. But what can I say? I’m generous.”

  He pulled back the tissue paper and held up a little white stick. “Carlie, is this, uh, is this…” He stood and smiled as I reached out to hug him.

  “Doug, you work at a bank. Surely you recognize a plus sign.”

  THE END

  Book #3 Doug and Carlie: Matchmakers on a Mission

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  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my husband, Philip, and our two sons, Stephen and Jonathan, for their willingness to load the dishwasher and their endless support of this project. Special thanks to Philip for being a hard-working, dependable college professor who provides for our family. His hard work gives me freedom to do mine. His love gives me inspiration. I’m forever grateful.

  I’d like to thank my dad and mom, Jack and Regina Golden, who raised me to see the potential in wounded souls. Their God-inspired service to those in need has changed my life.

  I’d like to thank my in-laws, Les and Sylvia Smith. Your love for each other and the world speaks volumes.

  Special thanks to my mom, Regina Golden. She spent hours and hours proofing this book and all preceding books. Her endless knowledge of comma placement, hyphens, and grammar has blessed me beyond measure. I’m especially thankful for her words of encouragement along the way. There are times I would have given up had she not convinced me to keep going.

  I’d like to thank my dear friend and fellow writer, Merry Brown. Th
is book would have never happened had she not pulled me out of a dark place with the words, “Why don’t you meet me three times a week and we’ll write?” She has been an endless source of encouragement, support, and friendship. Her savvy tech ability has produced my book covers and my back covers. She even wrote the funny lines on the back of this book. She keeps me from flinging my computer through a window almost daily.

  God is the source of all healing and restoration. To Him be the Glory forever and ever.