by Hale, Mandy
“There’s something you need to know about the men in this family, though,” she went on. “They all tend to struggle with the idea of commitment—even E’s dad. He asked me to marry him, then changed his mind and canceled the wedding four different times before we finally made it down the aisle.”
My eyes widened. “Four times?!” I exclaimed. “How on earth did you handle that?”
She reached over and patted my hand. “God, honey. God is how I handled it. He had told me who I was going to marry, and I never wavered in His promise, no matter how ridiculous E’s dad acted.” She chuckled. “He would call to cancel the wedding, I’d say, ‘Okay. Call me when you change your mind again.’ Then he’d call to say he wanted to marry me, and he couldn’t imagine his life without me in it, and I’d say, ‘Okay. I knew all along how this was going to play out.’ I just stood on God’s word. And eventually, E’s dad stopped running from what he knew God was telling him, and the rest is history.”
I shook my head. “Wow. Your faith . . . Wow. I’m in awe of you right now!” We both laughed. “I wish I could have one speck of the faith you must have had to keep taking him back, even after he canceled on you so many times. I probably would have given up after the first time or two and told him to get lost!”
“I thought about it,” she admitted. “Believe me, I thought about it. But thirty-five years and four kids later, I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.”
We sat in companionable silence for a moment. Then she spoke up again.
“Mandy, Mr. E received a prophecy over his life when he was very young that he was going to one day be a world changer, and his dad and I aren’t letting go of that promise without a fight. We’re not giving up on him. No matter how far he strays from the path or how far from home he wanders, we’ve never lost hope that God would bring that prophecy to fruition.” She looked over at me with a smile. “Don’t you give up on him either.”
“No, ma’am, I won’t,” I promised.
We were distracted a moment later when someone cried out, “The final precinct is in!” Someone else grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume on the TV. This was it. The vote was too close to call, and it was down to one final precinct to decide the outcome of the election.
When the numbers were tallied on the screen, revealing the final vote, a disappointed silence fell over the room. Next to me, E’s mom sighed deeply. E’s candidate had lost.
I stood and looked around the room for him, my eyes darting right and left. Where was he? I needed to see him, to be there for him in that moment, to smile and let him know that it would be okay.
Suddenly I spotted him on the other side of the room. He was standing there, alone and rather forlorn, a short distance away from the crowd. As I watched him, he reached up to push his hair back with one hand, then turned to scan the crowd just as I had been doing only moments before. His eyes finally landed on me, and I knew he had found his target. We stood there, crowds of people milling around between us, the chatter in the room picking up as people began to hug, console one another, and congratulate the candidate on a solid campaign. His eyes had such a look of disappointment, my heart broke for him. Then, with a sad smile, he lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, as if to say, “Well, what are you gonna do? You win some, you lose some.” It was in that moment, watching him rally from a gut-wrenching loss from across the room of a gymnasium in Boone, North Carolina, that I realized I was in love with Mr. E. Hopelessly, helplessly, madly in love with him. I guess perhaps I had known it since the first time I spotted him across the room in that silly fedora four years earlier, but it took seeing this vulnerable, open, unguarded side of him to really bring my feelings into focus. And to give me the courage to be just as vulnerable, open, and unguarded with him. It was time to let down the walls.
The next morning Mr. E, his parents, and I went to church together. It was wonderful to stand next to him in that church pew and for the first time get to watch him worship God. He had such a look of intensity, passion, and awe on his face as he raised his hands to heaven and sang, I think it made me fall in love with him a little bit more.
The next day was the Fourth, and we were hanging out at Mr. E’s parents’ pool that morning when his cell phone rang. It was Crawford! Quite coincidentally, Crawford was returning home from another part of North Carolina with his friend Joy and thought since they were close by, they would just stop off in Boone and spend the Fourth of July with us. This was turning into one heck of a holiday! Crawford and Joy arrived later that day, and the four of us joined E’s parents, his brother, his sister-in-law, and his two nieces downtown for the parade and fireworks show.
It was an absolutely magical night.
We strolled through the streets of beautiful downtown Boone, hand in hand, surrounded by Mr. E’s tribe of wonderful friends and family, and I didn’t think my heart had ever been so full. We played games, drank lemonade, and ate cotton candy, and later, as Mr. E and I sat side by side on a park bench, I looked over at him and nudged his shoulder with mine.
“Hey, remember our first kiss?” I asked him.
He looked up at me with a brilliant smile. “How could I ever forget? It was two years ago on this very night, several stories up in the skies of Nashville.” He took my hand. “That’s a memory I will always hold right here,” he said, bringing our clasped hands up to his heart. He leaned over then, a serious expression on his face, drawing closer and closer, until . . .
Boom! Just then the fireworks started with a bang. He stopped, looked at me with a rueful smile, then stood and pulled me to my feet so we could rejoin the group. As we stood there with everyone watching the firecrackers light up the sky above us, my head leaning against his shoulder in contentment, an idea came to me.
“Hey,” I whispered in his ear, over the sound of the fireworks. “Come back with me tomorrow when I leave.”
He looked over at me with surprise.
“Really?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! It would be so much fun! You can meet my parents and my sister and my nieces. I can give you the grand tour of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and heck, I’ll even take you to see the World’s Largest Cedar Bucket.”
He laughed. “Well, I could only stay for a few days. I’m supposed to go to the beach with my family next week. Would that be okay?”
“Of course!” I said. “Joy is coming back to Nashville with Crawford, and she has to drive right through Boone on her way home in a few days anyway. You can ride to Tennessee with me and hitch a ride back home with her. It will be perfect!”
He looked at me with a grin. “Okay! Let’s do it!”
That night we all piled in at Mr. E’s parents’ house for what felt like a giant slumber party, E and Crawford sleeping on the pullout couch in the living room and Joy and me bunking in the guest room. The next morning we awoke to find Mr. E cooking a grand breakfast for the entire gang; he was even decked out in an apron and a chef’s hat for the occasion. He looked so silly, I had to giggle.
Before Mr. E, Crawford, Joy, and I set out for Nashville, Mr. E’s parents wanted to have a group prayer. Joy was going through a painful divorce, Crawford was just beginning the first phases of what was sure to be a long custody battle, E had just lost the campaign he had worked so hard on, and I was still balancing my full-time job with my responsibilities to The Single Woman. All of us were at very defining crossroads in our lives, and E’s dad wanted to cover us in prayer.
We all gathered in the living room and prayed fervently as a group for almost two hours that morning. Mr. E’s dad was a powerful intercessory pray-er, and it didn’t take long until tears were running down all of our faces. He prayed so passionately for The Single Woman platform that day, claiming that lives would be changed and souls would be won for the kingdom through my message, that God would open new doors and lead me to the right opportunities, and that my Twitter following would experience a growth spurt unlike anything I had experienced over the past six months. As we
loaded up our luggage and said our final good-byes a little later, I turned to Mr. E’s parents. They both held out their arms, and I embraced them simultaneously.
“Thank you both, so much, for everything,” I said, feeling a little choked up. “You’ve both been so wonderful. I have absolutely loved spending this time with you and getting to know you.”
“We feel the same,” Mr. E’s mom said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Now don’t be a stranger. Come back and see us real soon.”
The four of us hit the open road, Crawford and Joy leading the way in her SUV, me and Mr. E trailing behind in my little sedan. I breathed a sigh of contentment as we rolled down the open road. What a spectacularly amazing weekend it had been. I almost hated to get back to the real world so soon.
We were about an hour into our trip when I happened to glance up and see signs for Lake Lure, North Carolina. That sounded familiar. Why did I feel like I had heard of that town before?
Then it hit me.
I grabbed my BlackBerry and quickly tapped the name of the town into Google search. When the results popped up a second later, I bounced in my seat and started clapping with excitement.
“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” I cried, barely able to contain my elation.
Mr. E looked over at me with a confused smile. “What is it?”
“Those signs back there said ‘Lake Lure, North Carolina.’ Do you know the significance of Lake Lure, North Carolina?” I asked, grinning from ear to ear.
Mr. E shook his head. “Nope. What?”
“Parts of Dirty Dancing were filmed there!” I screeched. “We have to go!”
“Really?” Mr. E asked. “Oh, wow, that would be cool! Do you know how far off the exit Lake Lure is?”
I did another quick search. “The town of Lake Lure is only about six miles off the exit!”
Mr. E and I exchanged glances. “Let’s do it!” we agreed in unison, doing a fist bump.
I called Crawford to tell him that we were stopping off in Lake Lure to scope out the locations where Dirty Dancing was filmed and that he and Joy could go on if they wanted, and we would catch up. A few minutes later Mr. E and I were winding our way down a narrow two-lane road toward Lake Lure.
“Isn’t this how most horror movies begin?” he cracked. “If both of our cell phones lose service, we’re outta here!”
The Blue Ridge Mountains rose up all around us. The view was absolutely breathtaking. Finally we came upon the quaint, little town of Lake Lure. To the left of us stretched an expansive blue lake lined with adorable little lake houses. We could see boats floating out on the water, people kicked back on docks with fishing reels skimming the lake, and cyclists peddling through town in twos and threes. It was simply beautiful. But how on earth to figure out exactly where Dirty Dancing was filmed? I instantly recognized the lake from the movie, but the research I was able to do on my phone before losing my signal also said something about Lake Lure being home to the rock steps that Baby practices her dance moves on. It was one of the most iconic scenes in the film. I needed to see those steps.
“Okay, the Internet said something about a ‘Boys Camp Road,’” I told E as I fiddled with my phone, trying to find a signal.
“There it is!” I cried, seeing the sign in front of us. Mr. E turned onto the road, and I looked around eagerly for familiar sights, but all we could see was what looked like a clubhouse for an apartment community to our right. There were no apartments, just the clubhouse. We decided to pay a visit to the clubhouse and see if we could find anyone to point us in the right direction.
“Future site of Firefly Cove at Lake Lure!” a sign boasted as we made our way into the building.
“Hello?” I called as we walked in to what looked like a beautiful but vacant sitting room. There didn’t seem to be a soul in sight. “Is anyone here?”
Suddenly we heard the sounds of shuffling feet running toward us, followed by the excited giggles of what sounded like two young children. Two boys burst into the room like wriggling puppies, a man following right on their heels.
“Oh, hi,” the man greeted us. “I’m sorry, my boys and I were swimming out back and didn’t hear you pull up. How can I help you?”
I somewhat sheepishly explained to him that we were just passing through and saw the sign for Lake Lure, and my lifelong love of the movie Dirty Dancing inspired us to pay the town a quick visit to see if any of the old filming locations were still standing. The man smiled, obviously having heard this same story a time or two.
“Sure, I can tell you exactly where to go,” he said. “I’m actually one of the developers for the new community of homes going up in this area, Firefly Cove. Firefly Cove is being built on the grounds where the movie was filmed, an old children’s camp called Camp Chimney Rock. Most of the cabins and other buildings that you might recognize from the film have been torn down, but the steps leading up into what was the dance hall in the movie are still standing.”
I looked over at Mr. E with an excited grin. Jackpot!
The man beckoned for his boys to wait for him on the couch, then walked Mr. E and me out onto the front porch. “Just continue down this path a little less than a mile.” He gestured to the road in front of the clubhouse. “And you’ll come to a clearing on the left. That’s where the steps are. Now, keep in mind, the bridge in front of the steps is gone, which throws some people off. And the steps have been damaged some over the years, so they don’t look exactly how they looked in the movie. But people still get excited to see them, so I’m sure if you’re an avid fan of the film, you’ll recognize them automatically.”
We thanked him, Mr. E shaking his hand, then turned to go. “I hope you enjoy the sights!” the man called after us.
We got back in the car and continued down the path. It felt like we were meant to be here, meant to be on this journey together. I had always wanted to see the locations where Dirty Dancing was filmed; I just never dreamed Mr. E would be the one beside me when I did. It was almost more than my childlike, movie-obsessed, Hollywood-ending-loving heart could take.
“Wait, there!” Mr. E cried, pointing off the left. “There are the steps!”
I looked up the hill in the direction he was pointing, and suddenly I saw them. Those were the steps. A little worn down maybe, and a little aged by the hands of time, but those were the steps. I started squealing in delight as Mr. E pulled off to the side of the road so we could get a closer look.
I darted out of the car ahead of him, stopping at the foot of the steps to gaze up at them in awe. These were the very steps that Jennifer Grey had sashayed up twenty-five years earlier. The very spot where film captured one of the most iconic scenes in my favorite movie of all time. Mr. E loped up behind me, snapping photos as I climbed the steps, turned to look playfully over my shoulder, and began emulating Baby’s dance moves all the way up the staircase. What a magical moment!
We climbed the final few steps together, pausing at the top, where Mr. E took my hand and asked me, “Remember that day you got to kiss a handsome gentleman on the Dirty Dancing steps?” Then with a dramatic flourish, he kissed me on the steps where my childlike heart had already been a thousand times before in my mind. I never dared to imagine that my “Johnny” would turn out to be the boy I had loved for as long as I could remember.
The next few days with Mr. E went by in a whirlwind. I had managed to take a couple of days off work, but the third day Alli and I would have to travel to Memphis for a work trip. Mr. E excitedly volunteered to go with us. He was always up for a spontaneous road trip.
I was thrilled to get to introduce Mr. E to my parents, and he and my dad quickly bonded. Even though Mr. E was more than a little eccentric, my parents had never seen me this excited over a guy before, so they welcomed him with open arms and open minds. “He is a good guy until proven otherwise,” my attorney father surmised.
The trip to Memphis, though something I had been dreading a bit, turned into another fun adventure with Mr. E along for the ride. He h
ad a friend who lived in Memphis whom he wanted to spend an hour or so with while we were there. After our work event, Alli and I dropped him off to hang with his friend Pete while we strolled along the riverfront in downtown Memphis and chatted. It was a beautiful, perfect summer day—not a single cloud in the sky. Alli and I found a little ice-cream shop on Beale Street and relaxed at a shaded table out front with ice-cream cones while we waited for Mr. E.
“It seems like you two are getting a lot closer,” she said as we sat there enjoying our ice cream and an unexpected breeze.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We really are. He seems to finally be allowing himself to care about me without running from it. And because of that, I’m allowing my guard to come down with him. It’s a little terrifying,” I confessed. “I guess I know somewhere in the back of my mind that he could run, hurt me, or disappear again, but it’s like it just doesn’t matter anymore. At some point in life, you just have to be willing to take the risk.”
Alli agreed. She was working on preparing for her own risk when college wrapped up for her in a few months, opting to pursue her lifelong dream of acting instead of rushing right into a full-time, nine-to-five job after graduation.
“I’m so proud of you,” I told her fondly. “I’m so proud of us! Look at the summer we’ve had. We’ve worked hard, played hard, loved hard, and risked hard. This has truly been the summer of no regrets.” I held out my pinky to her and she smiled, hooking her pinky in mine. We shook on it.
“Summer of no regrets,” she agreed.
On Mr. E’s last night, I told him I wanted to take him somewhere special.
Murfreesboro is home to a little colonial village called Cannonsburgh, which is supposed to represent the way the town looked in the 1800s. A few years earlier, my mom and I had visited the village on a fluke one day when looking for somewhere to sit outside and have lunch. We both fell in love with it, me in particular. The village has a mock mill, schoolhouse, general store, doctor’s office, and more, plus a beautiful little chapel where people hold weddings and a gazebo in the middle of the town that houses receptions. We loved to take my nieces there on warm summer days and have picnic lunches, and my nieces have grown to adore the village as much as we do. One of their favorite things to do is crank up the music on one of our cell phones and have a spontaneous dance party right there in the middle of the gazebo. One night when we were there at dusk, I discovered a switch that turns on strands of white twinkly lights lining the gazebo, and I knew right then and there that someday I wanted to bring the man I loved, whoever he might be, to that gazebo and dance under those lights.