Love Finds You in Camelot, Tennessee

by Janice Hanna

  “I hear ya.”

  “You said that already.” Pete gave him a curious look. “You okay?”

  “No. To be honest, I’m having a few female problems of my own.” Steve started to open his mouth to share about Amy but stopped himself. No point in stealing the conversation away from Pete. Besides, what would he say?

  “You are?” Pete gave him a compassionate nod. “Feeling a little insecure with Jackson on the scene?”

  “Not sure ‘insecure’ is the right word. He’s just so stinkin’…”

  “Perfect?”

  “Yeah.” Steve sighed. “I feel like an idiot even saying it, but the guy is just too perfect. There’s got to be a chink in his armor somewhere.”

  “And you’re going to find it?”

  “I keep looking for one. Can’t seem to find anything—not yet, anyway.” Steve watched through the open window as Jackson continued chatting and laughing with Sarge, who couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “Everyone loves the guy. He’s great.”

  “Only…”

  “Only, I don’t. Which is wrong. I’m supposed to love everybody. Can’t really call myself a Christian if I don’t. But…” His gaze lingered on Sarge, who climbed into the passenger seat of his vehicle, letting Jackson take the wheel. “See there? See what a great grandson he is? Always making things easier on others. Always has the solution for every problem. Has a great attitude. Generous to a fault.”

  “Yeah. He’s a great guy.” Pete gestured out the window at Grady, who approached the van with an inquisitive look on his face. “Looks like we’ve got company. Do you mind?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Grady opened the sliding door on the side of the van and climbed inside. A couple of minutes later, Chuck joined them. Then Darrell.

  “What’s happening in here?” Darrell asked as he climbed inside. “A party?”

  “Hardly,” Pete said. “We’re talking about women.”

  “Ah.” Darrell’s expression brightened. “I like the subject matter.”

  “That’s because you haven’t had your heart broken yet,” Pete said, slumping again over the steering wheel.

  “Yeah,” Steve echoed. He turned his attention to the window, watching as Jackson and Sarge pulled away. After a moment’s pause, he looked at the other men and shrugged. “Eula Mae says I should write Amy a song.”

  “A song?” Pete appeared to be thinking about that.

  “Yeah. She says women need wooing and I’m apparently not very good at that.”

  “Hmm.” Grady cleared his throat. “Well, since y’all brought up the subject ’a women and all, I’ve got a couple ’a questions.”

  Steve turned back to look at him. “Like what?”

  “I can’t stop thinkin’ ’bout that scene you just acted out,” Grady said, the furrows in his brow growing deeper.

  “The forgiveness scene?” Steve asked.

  “Yep.” Grady nodded. “Seems like Arthur really loved Guinevere. And Lancelot too.”

  “Right.” Steve nodded. “He did.”

  “And he forgave them. In spite of what they did to him.”

  “Yes.” Steve bit back his thoughts on that issue. Grady would have to bring this up, today of all days.

  Grady exhaled and shrugged. “I don’t get that. If someone took off with my girl, I’d knock his head off. I wouldn’t forgive ’im. What’d make a person wanta do that?”

  “Love.” Steve and Pete spoke the word in unison then looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Love?” Grady didn’t look convinced.

  “I know you’re not a churchgoer, Grady,” Steve said. “And I don’t mean to preach, so don’t take this as a sermon. I just see so many similarities between the story of King Arthur and the story of God’s love for us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you said it yourself. It was his deep love for those who broke his heart that triggered his forgiveness. Same with God. It was His deep love for us—the ones who sinned and broke His heart—that triggered His forgiveness.”

  “I’m not followin’ ya,” Grady said. “How did I hurt God’s heart?”

  “We all do it, Grady.” Steve chose his words carefully. “We put ourselves first. We forget how much God has done for us and chase after things that we think can bring us fulfillment. In a sense, I guess you could say we’ve cheated on God like Guinevere and Lancelot cheated on Arthur. And God chose to offer forgiveness, even when it didn’t make sense.”

  “Ah.” Grady appeared to be in thought. “Wonder why He did that. I probably would’ve just wiped ’em out.”

  “Me too.” Steve nodded. “Arthur had a choice in how he reacted, and he chose to sacrifice his pride and forgive.”

  “Compassion isn’t a sign of weakness,” Darrell threw in. “God loves us even in our sin.”

  Even as his brother spoke the words, shame swept over Steve. He didn’t have time to think about it, though, because a rap on the door caught his attention.

  “Lookee there,” Grady said. “It’s Woody and Charlie. Hope they don’t mind a little sermonizing.”

  Steve sighed. Had his impassioned response to Grady’s question really come across as a sermon? If so, he’d been preaching to himself more than anyone else.

  “Probably wondering what we’re doing in here,” Darrell said. He opened the side door and gestured for them to climb inside.

  “Smells like an exterminator’s convention in here,” Woody said, waving his free arm. “If we’re having a meeting, I can think of a thousand other places I’d rather hold it.” He let out a sneeze. Then another. And another.

  “Hey, now.” Pete shot him a warning glance. “Don’t be knocking my business. I don’t criticize your directing skills.”

  “Sorry.” Woody climbed in then looked around for a place to sit.

  “Somebody move that container over for him,” Pete said. “Just be careful while you’re doing it. Don’t want to risk any leakage. That stuff’s pretty potent.”

  “So what are you guys talking about, anyway?” Charlie asked, climbing in behind Woody. “Everyone looks so serious.” He pulled over a box and sat on it.

  “Women.” All of the guys spoke in unison.

  “Ah.” A suspicious smile crossed Charlie’s face. Very interesting.

  Apparently Pete noticed it too. His eyes narrowed and his brows seemed to thicken.

  “Women are a mystery, aren’t they?” Charlie said. “Like mythical beings, really. They bring such joy to our lives.”

  Pete squirmed in his seat, and for a moment Steve thought the two men might have words over Lucy Cramden. He didn’t have long to think about it, however. From across the parking lot, something caught Steve’s eye. He watched as Fred Platt got out of his car and took a couple of steps toward the Civic Center. Just a few feet shy of the building, Mickey joined him and the two men began to engage in conversation.

  “I smell trouble.” Steve shook his head, wondering what he could do to stop the situation from snowballing.

  “That’s not what I smell.” Darrell pinched his nose. “Pete, I’ve gotta give it to you. Don’t know how you work with these chemicals all day long. I think they’re frying my brain.”

  “Really? I don’t even notice it anymore.” Pete shrugged.

  Steve leaned out the open window, hoping to distract Fred from Mickey’s prying questions. “Over here, guys.”

  Fred nodded and walked toward the van, with Mickey following close behind. Darrell opened the side door once again, gesturing for the two men to join them.

  “Are we gonna fit in here?” Fred asked, looking around. “This van is packed out.”

  “Shore.” Grady moved over. “We can always make more room.”

  “What’s so hush-hush?” Mickey asked as he climbed inside. “Big story brewing in here?” His nose wrinkled and he sneezed. “Smells like something else brewing, actually.”

  “Women,” Grady said. “We’re talkin’ ’bout women.”
<
br />   “Oh.” At once Mickey’s face tightened. “Not sure I’d better stick around, then.” He shifted as if ready to bolt.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Chuck said, taking hold of his arm. “You’ve meddled in our lives for weeks now. It’s about time we got to know you too. If you’ve got a story about women, we want to hear it.”

  Mickey sighed. “Don’t think so. I’m a closed book.”

  “Time to open it, then,” Steve said. “You’re in good company, man. Trust me. Your stories are safe here.”

  “Which is more than we can say about our stories in that newspaper of yours,” Woody muttered.

  “Out with it,” Pete said.

  Mickey started reluctantly. Slowly. He spoke of a broken marriage and an attempt to reunite with his estranged wife. By the end of his conversation, Steve felt like applauding the man for opening up and sharing his heart in such a vulnerable way.

  Chuck took it from there, offering advice and talking about his blossoming relationship with Annabelle. Steve listened in, amazed by the depth in his voice. He also found it interesting that Chuck, a butcher, could articulate his thoughts about women so beautifully.

  Then Grady took over, surprising everyone with his announcement that he’d had his eye on Blossom for months. Who knew?

  Woody went next, confessing his love for Eula Mae and sharing that his time in the hospital had only served to cement his feelings. Steve had to smile as the older man added a few additional thoughts on where he planned to take her for their honeymoon, should he work up the courage to pop the question. Disneyland. Wouldn’t that be interesting?

  Then Pete spoke up, his voice trembling as he shared about his affection for Lucy Cramden. He occasionally glanced back, as if to ask, “Charlie, are you listening? You have a problem with all of this?”

  Ironically, Charlie Hart sat in utter silence, not saying a word but his gaze shifting out the window. Steve couldn’t help but wonder about his unwillingness to join in. Very odd. And very unlike Charlie, who usually talked more than most of the other men put together.

  Fred Platt didn’t have anything to say either, though the pained expression on his face spoke volumes. Steve had a feeling there was more to the man than he realized. Far more.

  “Anything you want to add, Fred?” Steve asked finally.

  The county commissioner shrugged. “I’ve got a great wife. Two kids. But we’ve separated a couple of times. My wife says I’m married to my job.”

  Mickey grunted. “Ironic. My wife left me because she said I was married to my job. So that’s not the answer. I’ve come to the conclusion that work is a great filler till love comes along.”

  Steve found himself caught up in listening to the men and wanting to—what was it Grady had called it again? Oh yes. Sermonizing. He wanted to sermonize. To tell Mickey that there was a love greater than the one he’d experienced in his broken marriage, one that wouldn’t fail him. Still, with his heart in his throat, he could barely manage a word, let alone a whole speech.

  “So let’s go back to that idea Eula Mae had,” Grady said, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “She said Steve should write Amy a song.”

  “Yeah.” Steve shrugged. “But I’m no songwriter.”

  “Neither am I,” Chuck threw in. “But maybe if we all worked together, we could come up with a song—not just one for Amy, but for all our girls.”

  “All our girls?” Pete sighed. “I can’t even get mine to look twice at me.”

  “Well, maybe she will after she hears us sing this song we’re going to write.” Chuck nodded. “It could work.”

  “Wait.” Pete shook his head. “Now we have to sing too?”

  “Sure, why not?” Chuck laughed. “The ladies will have to give us an A for effort if we write ’em a song and sing it.” He paused. “Just have to think of the perfect time to do it. Timing is everything.” Chuck began to hum an unfamiliar tune. “You got any paper in this van, Pete?” he asked when he stopped. “An idea is coming to me.”

  Pete reached under his seat and pulled out a clipboard with several invoices on it. “Don’t think it’s terribly romantic to write a song on a Contract Killer Pest Control invoice,” he said. “Let me see if I can find a scrap of blank paper.” He rummaged around and came up with an old church bulletin, which he passed Chuck’s way. “Just use the page inside that they leave blank for sermon notes.”

  “Okay.” Chuck took the page. “I’m thinking it needs to be something really romantic.” After a few seconds of silence, he groaned. “Nothing’s coming to me.”

  “Give me that stupid piece of paper,” Mickey demanded. “I never claimed to be a songwriter, but I’ve written a poem or two in my day. And I am a reporter, you know. We do know how to write.”

  “Great idea!” Grady said. “It’s ’bout time you did sumpthin’ helpful ’round here.”

  “I like the idea a lot,” Pete added. “Mickey, you’re the perfect choice. Just add something really flowery and nice to sway the women, okay? Our lives—well, our hearts—are dependent on it.”

  “No pressure.” Mickey scribbled a few words then scratched through them. Then jotted a few more. And a few more. His wrinkled brow spoke of a deep concentration level, but no one dared interrupt him. “What do you think of this?” he asked at last. He proceeded to share what he’d written, his words lyrical and romantic. Steve could hardly believe something that beautiful could have come out of the hard-edged reporter.

  “It’s great,” Chuck said. “Sounds like a song from a radio.”

  “Do I detect suspicious behavior inside this vehicle?” The voice from outside the van startled Steve, who jerked and rammed his elbow into the door. He looked over to see Joe O’Reilly standing there in his police uniform with a curious look on his face.

  Steve spoke through the open window. “Hey, Joe.”

  “Hey yourself. Everyone all right in there?” Joe leaned forward, clearly curious.

  “Talking about women,” Pete explained. “Decided we’d all stay in here till we had ’em figured out.”

  Joe grinned. “Hope none of you have any plans for the next twenty or thirty years. Should I call out for a pizza? Maybe order breakfast while I’m at it?”

  “Good idea.” Steve laughed. “I’m getting plenty hungry in here. What about the rest of you guys? Want to head over to the diner for something to eat?”

  A rapid succession of yesses followed.

  Darrell opened the side door of the van, and one by one the men climbed out.

  “I hate to be rude,” Joe said, “but you fellas smell like you’ve been baptized in pesticide.”

  “We have,” Pete said. “And we’re better men for it.”

  “Amen to that,” Chuck said. “Feel like I’ve been reborn.”

  “I feel like I need a shower.” Grady paused, his gaze shifting up to Bugsy.

  Steve joined the men staring at the gaping hole in Bugsy’s side. It seemed strangely symbolic. “Do you suppose we’ll ever figure out what happened to him?” he asked.

  All of the men grew silent. Grady even removed his cap.

  Pete exhaled loudly, his eyes growing misty. “The way I look at it, it had to be a woman who did this to Bugsy.”

  “A woman?” Steve looked Pete’s way, dumbfounded. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because…” Pete brushed at his eyes with the back of his hand then looked Steve in the eyes. “Only a woman could leave a fella that torn up.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Acting is not a mystery. There’s nothing that I know that other actors don’t know. We all act, we’re all actors, we all know the same thing. The only thing that separates us is experience.

  VINCENT D’ONOFRIO

  Less than a week before the show was set to open, Steve found himself shifting into overdrive. Between his work at City Hall and the final plans for the build-out of the theater, he’d hardly slept a wink in days. Not to mention the Camelot rehearsals, which—due to technical difficulties—had tak
en twice as long as anyone had expected. Who knew the sound and lights guys would have such a big challenge with the outdoor theater setup?

  Still, as the hours tilted forward and opening day drew nearer, one thing remained abundantly clear. They would—and could—do this. With the Lord’s help. And it was the Lord Steve leaned on, as never before.

  Midafternoon on Monday he pulled into the parking lot of the Civic Center, surprised by all the other cars. In fact, he’d never seen the place so crowded. In the field to his right, Grady and Chuck worked to section off areas for additional parking. Come Friday night, they were going to need it. He hoped. In the chaos of preparing for the show, only one lingering question remained. Well, one critical question. Would the people come? Would folks really show up and support their tiny town by attending performances? Sure, they’d sold a couple dozen tickets, but most of those were to locals. Could they really sustain this effort, or would the whole thing be in vain?

  Don’t think like that, Steve. Keep a positive mental outlook.

  He had to do that, for both his sake and Amy’s. Over the past week or so, she hadn’t been herself. He’d never seen her so stressed out. Steve had kept his distance, in part because of her ever-growing moodiness and in part because she seemed to prefer the distance. He prayed it would end soon.

  Charlie pulled into the parking lot behind Steve, taking the spot next to him.

  Is that a woman in the car with him?

  Sure enough. And not exactly who he might have imagined. As soon as the realization settled in, Steve got out of his vehicle and walked over to the passenger side of Charlie’s truck. Opening the door, he called her by name. “Caroline?”

  She gave him a shy smile. “Hey, honey. Charlie was good enough to stop by and pick me up. I didn’t feel like driving today.”

  “You’re not feeling well?” Steve leaned against the truck. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know how concerned I’ve been.”

  “Oh, it’s not that,” she said. “I just thought it would be nice to ride with someone else for a change.” A smile turned up the edges of her lips. “Now, where is Amy? Natalie and I were supposed to meet with her to redo the hem in her wedding gown. Have you seen her?”