The Book of CarolSue Read online

  Chapter 36

  CarolSue

  Louisa and I felt ourselves in a holding pattern for days after Gary left that night. We knew something was in the air, some Plan being set in motion, and that made Louisa especially nuts because, as I’ve mentioned, Louisa is always the one concocting a Grand Plan. Gary came each afternoon to spend time with Gracie and left either before or after supper, sometimes bringing something extra useful for Gracie like a plastic crèche with BPA-free manger animals so she could suck on them, the shepherds, and the wise men without poisoning herself. He said he’d prefer we not let her teethe on the holy family, however, but since Louisa and I doubted she could be quite that discriminating, we put them away. She seemed to like the donkey best anyway, doubtless because it put her in mind of Rosie Two, as it did look more like a goat than a donkey and she’s a very bright baby. Not that either of us said that first part to Gary because we are also bright and didn’t care to start something.

  When Louisa asked Gary what he was doing about a job, he said, “I’ve got something in the works. Trying to do the right thing, Mom.” But that’s all he’d say. Just as importantly, he said nothing about taking Gracie out of Louisa’s house to be with him. Maybe that wasn’t practical where he was living, or maybe he couldn’t support her. Thanks to Charlie, I certainly could, but I didn’t want him to think I wouldn’t take care of her financially if he needed help with that. When I told him, he smiled and thanked me, but that was all.

  As a fountain of information, Gary’s spigots were completely shut off.

  Tentatively at first, we moved things around. It was Louisa’s suggestion. “Look,” she said, one morning at breakfast. “Let’s redo Gary’s old room into a room for Gracie. You shouldn’t be sharing a room with her. This is silly. She needs her own room. She’s going to need more furniture. We’ve been playing make-do for a long time.”

  “That makes sense,” I said, getting up for more coffee. “But what about you? How about you move back into your old room and I take the guest room?”

  “And give up napping?” Nobody can scoff at an idea like my sister. “I wouldn’t be comfortable in Harold’s bed with Gus. Think about it, Sister. I love the guest room, anyway. It’s airy and light, and I might redo that, too. But I will pack up Harold’s things now.” She sighed. “I’ll need help with that. Maybe you’d like to pick a new color? Gus would paint it.”

  I pulled her eyes to mine and covered her hand, resting on the kitchen table, with mine. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s time. I’m ready. But you get to keep Glitter Jesus. Or put Jesus in Gracie’s room, let him watch over her.”

  “The eyes traumatize her, and they bother me at night, too.”

  “Well, Gus and I can’t . . . it’s creepy to glance up and be watched by Glitter Jesus.”

  “Gary checks every day or we could just put him in the garage,” I said.

  “Don’t I know it! Bless his heart.”

  “Then for the time being, it’s back to the living room, I guess. We can stick it behind the couch when he leaves after supper.”

  “Gotta be careful to put it up after lunch, though.”

  “We’ll remind each other.”

  But of course, it only took us two days until Gary showed up at three thirty and we’d forgotten to replace Glitter Jesus on the living room wall. Not only that, Louisa hadn’t locked the front door when she went out to sweep the dead leaves from the stone walkway. Not that she’d ever refuse Gary entry, but I don’t blame her for guarding her privacy after how she found out he wanted to get her off her land to build a church on it. That happened a couple of years ago, but some betrayals are never forgotten, and a section of our hearts gets fenced off and guarded forever after, even with people we truly love.

  So Gary walked in, which put Louisa in a quiet smolder right away. I tried to smooth things over, but Gary made it worse by asking, “Where’s Jesus?”

  Now, that’s always a bad question to ask Louisa, because she has a whole repertoire of smart-ass answers depending on where we actually stashed Gary’s painting. I hurried to cut her off.

  “Oh gosh, look, it fell off the wall again! We’ve got to fix that hanger, Louisa!” I said, retrieving Glitter Jesus from behind the couch. As usual, glitter fell off and glinted from the couch as I pretended to adjust the perfectly fine adhesive hanger on the back of the lightweight black velvet surface and affixed the monstrosity to the wall again.

  “I can touch up that glitter and bring a new back for it. I’m thinking I’ll do one for the baby’s room.”

  “Oh, she can enjoy this one,” I said, before Louisa said something worse.

  “I’ll get to it,” Gary said. “But I have a job. I came to tell you. And to ask you to take care of Gracia. She’ll need you both.” He took Gracie from my arms. I’d been playing with her while Louisa fooled with peeling vegetables in the kitchen.

  “Get back from where?” That was Louisa. She was wiping her hands on a dish towel.

  “From what?” I chimed in.

  “Honduras. I’m going as a missionary.”

  “Bless your heart!” I’m serious, Louisa and I said it at exactly the same time.

  “I signed up with an ecumenical religious charity. They send both lay people and ministers, but since I’m ordained, I can go as a minister.” He was extremely proud of this. Louisa must have been thinking exactly what I was. Did those people know how Gary had gotten himself “ordained”?

  “I figure I can see Rosalina, and while I’m working there, I can help her find a way to come back. Legally.”

  “Are you crazy?” That, of course, was Louisa.

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” I said. “What about Gracie?”

  “None of their workers has been killed. Yet, anyway.” He thought he was amusing when he said this. “And I’m doing the right thing. I have to at least try. For Gracia. Rosalina tried to do the right thing. I have to, too. If you’ll take care of her.”

  Louisa grew serious and did an about-face. “I think I can see your point. You’re trying to fix things. Of course we’ll take care of her.”

  “I’ve told you, I’ll always be here for her. How long will you be gone?” I said.

  “Well—there’s that. I signed up for a year. That’s the commitment they need for them to provide living expenses. And, you know, the situation with my church—”

  “We know,” Louisa said.

  “I can call and if you’ll learn how, we can Skype so I can see Gracie. And I can fly home for some visits, too.”

  “I can do that Skype thing,” I said.

  And he applied for an expedited passport. Within three weeks he was gone.

  * * *

  Gus seemed to appoint himself Gracie’s protector. Whatever had upset him about Rosalina seemed to be gone. He was as tender toward the baby as he and Louisa were toward each other, especially after he knew Gary’s Plan.

  Our land tilted farther from the sun and the darkness came earlier and earlier as we four settled into comfort. Gus was around more and more, and I took Gracie on outings so we wouldn’t “wake them up” while Gus and my sister napped. During an unusually warm week right before Thanksgiving, Gracie and I went walking by ourselves. I insisted on learning how to manage the backpack. I always carried my cell phone, though. I owed it to Rosalina—and Louisa—to keep Gracie safe. At the same time, I thought about the illusion that we can protect children from the dangers of the world, even from their own wild, dangerous hearts and the firecrackers they’ll light using their precious lives as fuses. Louisa and Harold hadn’t been able to protect Cody from a drunk driver. And look how Rosalina’s father had tried to get her out of harm’s way and now she was back, directly in its path.

  I would just have to do the best I could with what was left of my life. We all would. And so would Rosalina. In the woods, I talked to Gracie as we went along. I told about her mother and father, her grandmother, her grandfather Harold, and my dear Charlie. And I told her tha
t she and I together would learn our land and these deep woods that are like sentries around our sanctuary, guarding us and the animals who are refugees here.

  We didn’t go far; we weren’t ready for that and couldn’t risk getting lost. Jessie was with us, too, and she knew the way, but I stuck to the wide, main trail I remembered from walking it with Louisa and Gracie. It led us to the source, to Rush Run, the creek that has run strong and clear through the farm for generations, carrying on still, ready for the next.

  Acknowledgments

  Abiding gratitude to Stacy Testa, who supports me and my work with steadfast, caring expertise. No author could hope for more attentive, skilled, or loving representation. Special thanks to Tara Gavin, who acquired and first edited this novel, and to Elizabeth May, who finished the work of bringing it out when Tara left Kensington prior to its publication. First readers are always especially helpful; in this case, as with all my work, Stacy’s editorial feedback was invaluable. Authors Patry Francis and Donna Everhart also contributed their good insight.

  I’d like to express my gratitude to the members of the Kensington Publishing Corporation team, with special appreciation for the people who have worked with such care on the preparation of the manuscript, especially Tory Groshong, copy editor, and Carly Sommerstein, production editor. Vida Engstrand, director of communications, handles publicity with enthusiasm and creativity, with Crystal McCoy. Kristine Mills is responsible for the beautiful cover and book design.

  My husband, Dr. Alan deCourcy, continues to regularly save my computer from an unnatural, possibly violent, end. His love and faith have sustained me through this and multiple books as well as life itself. My sister Jan is practically a one-woman Southern publicity department, and that’s only one of the hundreds of reasons I adore her, as I do Alan and our family, who are dear to me beyond words: Brooke, Matthew, Andrew, Alyssa, and Ciera. It is they who keep me going, along with the support of our extended and still-growing family. My love and gratitude to each of them.

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  THE BOOK OF CAROLSUE

  Lynne Hugo

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  The suggested questions are included to enchance your group’s reading of Lynne Hugo’s The Book of CarolSue.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. If you have a sibling, did you have roles in your family? For example, was one of you supposedly the smart one? Or the social one, the athletic one, etc.? How do you see CarolSue and Louisa acting in, or sometimes breaking out of, the roles they have played in their family? If you have a sibling, has any of this happened in your family?

  2. How did you react to Gary’s relationship with Rosalina? Did you feel he took advantage of her? Did she take advantage of him?

  3. People grieve in many ways. How would you compare and contrast CarolSue’s grieving with Louisa’s?

  4. What do you see as the role of animals in The Book of CarolSue?

  5. If you have read The Testament of Harold’s Wife, how do you compare the two novels? A third book may be coming, to complete a trilogy. What characters from the first two, other than Louisa and CarolSue, would you most like to see again? Why?

  6. What do you imagine as the best futures for these characters? Was the ending satisfying?

  Reminder: the author is available by Skype or FaceTime, or in person if you live in the greater Cincinnati area, to join your club for all or part of your discussion or just to answer questions. You are invited to contact her with your individual or group thoughts about any of these questions, or anything related to her work, through LynneHugo.com. Thank you so much for your interest!

  Keep reading for a special excerpt of Louisa’s story.

  THE TESTAMENT OF HAROLD’S WIFE

  A Novel

  From award-winning author Lynne Hugo comes a witty, insightful, refreshingly unsentimental novel about one woman’s unconventional path from heartbreak to hope . . .

  After losing her husband, Harold, and her beloved grandson, Cody, within the past year, Louisa has two choices. She can fade away on her Indiana family farm, where her companionship comes courtesy of her aging chickens and an argumentative cat. Or, she can concoct A Plan. Louisa, a retired schoolteacher who’s as smart, sassy, and irreverent as ever, isn’t the fading away type.

  The drunk driver who killed Cody got off scot-free by lying about a deer on the road. Harold had tried to take matters into his own hands, but was thwarted by Gus, the local sheriff. Now Louisa decides to take up Harold’s cause, though it will mean outsmarting Gus, who’s developed an unwelcome crush on her, and staying ahead of her adult son, who’s found solace in a money-draining cult and terrible art.

  Louisa’s love of life is rekindled as the spring sun warms her cornfields and she goes into action. But even the most Perfect Plans can go awry. A wounded buck, and a teenage boy on the land she treasures help Louisa see that the enduring beauty of the natural world and the mystery of human connection are larger than revenge . . . and so is justice.

  Look for THE TESTAMENT OF HAROLD’S WIFE on sale now.

  Chapter 1

  Larry

  Sometimes in the shower he’d think of it. Or it would get going in his head at night if he got up to pee and didn’t fall back to sleep quickly. Like a movie rerun with no stop on the remote. Blinking and shaking his head sometimes worked, but he had to do it right away. If the movie got past the thud, the steering wheel fighting his hands, he had to let it play to the end to hear how he’d shouted, “There was a deer! It was a deer,” at the back of the do-gooder woman who’d stopped at the accident.

  “Honey, what’s the matter?” LuAnn said once when he hadn’t known she was awake, and she went up on her elbow and wiped his face with her finger. “It’s okay to cry.”

  “What the hell are you talking about,” he said, not a question. “Shut up, will you,” not a question, either. He’d been looking at porn to get his mind on better things, but then he long-armed the magazine under the bed, switched off his lamp, and shimmied down with his back to her. If he hadn’t, she’d have kept talking.

  She’d made it worse saying that crap when he might have still been able to get it to stop. And then he’d had to let it play to the end again, to hear what he’d yelled, even though he’d seen the movie, hell, he’d made the damn movie, and he knew how it went:

  A heavy thud, and then another, something recoiling off the hood. He jerked the wheel to an overcorrection back across the center line, off the shoulder. Get the truck under control, get it stopped. Goddamn, he’d dozed and hit something.

  Prob’ly a deer. Rut season. They were all over the roads in the damn early dark. He’d never hear the end of it from LuAnn. Not his fault, dammit. He hadn’t had that much, not that much, he’d get Chuck to tell her.

  Don’t just sit there, get out, check the truck. Shit. Front end a mess. Headlight and . . . oh Jesus. Jesus. What is that? Oh Jesus. No. No way. Don’t look. A random sneaker and papers is all that is.

  Gotta be a deer, there’s deer all over the roads now. Rut season. Gotta be a deer. Truck ought t’drive okay. Get outta here, then figure what to do. Lose the empties outta the truck first, walk ’em t’the other side of the highway, other side, throw ’em in the brush. Lotta highway trash. Farther away. Don’t trip. Wipe ’em clean. LuAnn’ll see the truck. Probably look inside. Thinks she’s smart.

  Okay. Cross back, get t’the truck. Go, steady. Keep your eyes open.

  A long lull in traffic. Lucky.

  He was just checking the truck so he could get it straight to tell LuAnn what happened.

  Wouldn’t you know the damn do-gooder in a six-year-old blue Civic would pull up right then. “Are you all right? Oh my God! Did you get 911? Have you checked him? Where’s the other car?” Bitch freaking out, holding a cell phone to her ear, running toward what lay crumpled on the gravel shoulder of the highway, the sun bleeding all over the blackening sky by then.

  “It just now happened. Call 911! It was a deer! There was
a deer!” He yelled at her back, yelled it twice, then followed her.

  He could make the replay finally stop if he turned up the volume on how he yelled it again, too, as he caught up to the woman with the cell phone, to get it right in his head: “It was a deer! There was a deer!”

  Chapter 2

  Louisa

  I am Louisa, Harold’s wife. Or I was. Now the last best friends I have are Jo, Beth, and Amy. The four of us still mourn Meg. I’m the only one who’s finished Little Women, but when we have tea out in the yard, I read it aloud to them from the battered copy I bought at the library sale. I have all the classics now.

  They don’t care to hear more than a paragraph at a time, but so what? They’re beautiful, my friends, my comfort. My looks are closest to Beth’s, a brownish blond, but hers are wholly natural while mine are compliments of Miss Clairol. Amy is purely white but for a couple of stunning black streaks that also run in her otherwise cheery temperament, while Jo is a quick-eyed, pretty, russet auburn, like my sister down in Georgia. All of us are old, I suppose. My mind rebels at the word. Old is something that I once thought I’d never have to worry about because time took forever to pass. I won’t think about it now, and you shouldn’t focus on it, either. None of what’s happened had to do with age anyway. It was all set in motion by two selfish men, one of them my son and one a stranger to us both, neither more than half my years, so if you’re one of those people who think it’s youth that matters, you’ve been warned.

  I thought about changing my name to Meg, after my husband killed her, which was right before he killed himself. That doesn’t sound good, does it? Well, it was quite the right thing to do. She was sick and it’s wrong to allow suffering. We all miss her terribly. I didn’t change my name, even though it would have made us a more coherent group again, because I thought my sainted mother would be upset. That’s an expression Mom used to indicate someone was dead, calling them sainted. My sister, CarolSue, and I say it now as a joke. But my son, Gary—a name I would surely reconsider if I had the opportunity since I’ve learned it means “spear carrier”—would claim his departed father is definitely not sainted because he died on purpose. He would say it as a black-or-white fact, too. After everything that’s happened, he cannot stand to look in the shadows. I’ll never be able to count on him to kill me when my time comes. But I can take care of myself.