I Don't Believe in Happily Ever After, Part Six, by L. A. Keller
“I gave up on happily
ever after. Maybe I'm not cut out for a relationship. Maybe, I just don't like
being committed to one person for longer than two weeks.”
======================
Part Six
Wyatt took his cue to leave, tossing Charlotte over his
shoulder against her squeals of protest.
“I hope to
see you before you leave,” he called out to Clare as the screen door slammed
behind him.
Mae led
Clare into the living room and pointed at the plaid reclining rocker indicating
she should take a seat. Mae walked to
the mantle and picked up a black and white photo in a tarnished silver frame.
“Child,
I’ve weathered many storms and so has this old place. I was born here, as were
your momma and you. My great granddaddy plowed this farm behind two mules and
his daddy before him. Your ancestors are buried in that cemetery on the
hillside. Your grand-pop planted that tree which you swung on when you were
younger than Charlotte."
“I know all
that, Granny. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay here. People move on, have
better lives. I hoped you would be ready to sell this old eyesore and move to
the city with me.”
Mae’s hands
shook but Clare wasn’t sure if it was from the anger she could see brewing in
her eyes or from age.
“I’m a God
fearing woman but right now I’m sorely tempted to take his name in vain.
Instead, I’m going to let you sit here with this photo and think about how
wrong your words are. You have no right to judge my life as not good enough.
You have no right to decide I should leave my home.”
“But
Granny.”
“I’m
disappointed in you, Clare. I’m very, very disappointed.” With those words Mae
dropped the photo in her lap and stomped down the hall. Clare flinched as the
bedroom door slammed.
Clare looked
at the faded image in the frame. It was taken the day her great grandparents
married. It was a grainy black and white
image of a grim woman with a white high-necked blouse and billowing skirts. She
stood behind a man seated in a hard backed chair, his hair slicked to the side
and a neatly trimmed mustache barely covering a slight smile.
It didn’t
appear as if either party was overly joyed at the prospect of married life.
Clare imagined they anticipated a hard life of laboring on the farm, with little
time for pleasure. She recalled Mae telling her the story of how Ian McGlennie
had requested, Clare’s namesake, Clara McNaughton’s hand. He had promised her
father he would never beat her, would make sure both she and any future
children would be fed and always have shoes. Not exactly the most romantic
gesture but they were steadfast in their love for sixty years and Clara was
devoted to him. Ian had been a good, hardworking man and a devoted father to
nine children. Mae’s father was the one of the second set of twins. Now, Mae
and Clare were all that remained of their legacy.
The sun was
starting to set and Clare regretted not purchasing wine when she drove through
the small town. She wandered to the dining room and turned the key in the
antique china cabinet. Why it remained locked when there was no one to sneak
into the liquor was a mystery to her but she was happy to find there was still
a dusty bottle of whiskey. Grabbing a
jelly glass from the kitchen, Clare dropped two ice cubes into the bottom and filled
it with the potent drink.
Unconscious
that she still held the picture, she wandered to the front porch and sat in a
rocker. She bit her lip and wished she would have had more patience instead of
blurting out her wish to sell the farm. On the long drive here, she had
rehearsed how she would present the plan to Mae. She would start by remarking casually how
much work the old place needed and then talk about her upcoming wedding and
finish with how many fun things there were to do in the city. She wanted to
take Mae to the theater and to hear the symphony. She would describe how easy
it was to dial for dinner delivery from any number of restaurants rather than
slaving in a hot kitchen for hours.
This was
all Wyatt’s fault! He stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong and filled Mae’s
head with false hope and big dreams. Clare swallowed the whiskey in one gulp
and decided she had wasted enough time. She was going to give Wyatt a piece of
her mind right now.
She left
the photo on the rocking chair and dashed inside to grab her keys. Mae remained
locked in her room. Clare contemplated leaving a note but decided it was easier
to explain after the fact.
Wyatt’s
family farm was only two miles down the road. Clare stomped on the gas and left
a hurricane of dust in her wake as the rental car bumped over the ruts in the
washed out gravel road.
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Happy Trails,
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Happy Trails,
Leslie
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