CHAPTER 9

 

Clarye became a highly successful, well to do writer. After all the past years of pain and suffering in her life, she’d finally turned things around and turned to her secret passion of writing. She lived in the quiet, trouble free suburbs. Her home was serenely filled with live roses of all colors, no matter what season of the year. Her sanctuary, as she called it, was a seven bedroom house, located far and away from the street. The drive was lined with the most beautiful green, towering oak trees. There were no steps leading to the entrance of her house, nor were there any inside because she made sure everything was “handicapped accessible.”

Throughout her life there had been so many barriers that barred her from going places and doing things in the outside world, so she was definitely not going to be shut away from her own house.

The house had a huge kitchen with a seven feet island that stretched across the center of the glossy tile flooring. A glassed in sunroom was situated off the entrance of the kitchen. The sunroom was Clarye’s own private getaway. It was filled with greenery, a ceiling fan and, of course, built in wall speakers that piped in the relaxing melodies of her favorite artists both gospel and secular. There was no telephone in this room. Its only furnishing was a tangerine sofa with a matching recliner and a custom made kitty house for Elliston, her cat. There was also a state of the art, top of the line computer system that sat in one of the corners of the sunroom. She had a fourteen karat gold picture frame that held a picture of her loving, sweet husband, Gavin, who was the center of her life.

Gavin was her knight in shining armor, her Mr. Right, her Mr. All of That and More. After three failed marriages, Clarye thought that never would she find true love. That is, until Gavin waltzed into her life and changed everything for the good.

Gavin Elliston owned a chain of grocery stores throughout the Midsouth that had become quite successful throughout the city, thus making him an extremely wealthy man and a much sought after bachelor.

Clarye recalled the first time she laid eyes on him. She was in a frenzy as she made the final preparations for her grandson, EJ’s eighth birthday party. In her haste, she had forgotten to get one of the most important items, ice cream. And, of course, a party was nothing without ice cream.

It was a cool, welcoming fall afternoon. The trees breezily moved back and forth being swayed by the soft wind blowing. Clarye breathed in deeply allowing the fresh, clean air to fill her lungs. She still wore one brace on her pencil thin legs. She gently lifted her braced body into her customized Mercedes SUV and sailed off to the store. The last thing Clarye wanted to do was to make a trip to the store, but she had no choice since Eric and Jeremy had left earlier to take EJ to the amusement park.

She had become accustomed to her sons or her cook, Thelma doing all the grocery shopping. But somehow, ice cream did not make it on anyone’s shopping lists. Clarye breathed a somewhat heavy sigh and told herself that she’d better get on with it, and do what she had to do, especially if she was going to make EJ’s party a success.

Clarye was determined to do everything herself rather than seeking help from, Ada. As she sped off down the winding, mile-long drive of her home, she began to smile to herself at the thought of how far she had come and what had led her to this point in her life.

Here I am, forty-three years old, a successful, and wealthy author with a beautiful home and loving family and friends. God, how I thank you for this bit of sunshine in the midst of the storms of my life, she thought, with a somber smile on her face.

Life for Clarye had not always been so grand. She felt that she had definitely paid her dues. Only seven years had passed since she was an office manager working long, tiring hours, for a small but fast paced doctor’s office. In addition to that, she was attending college studying to get her degree in journalism. On top of that, she was writing every spare minute she could. One of her life long dreams was to see her books in print. People had always told her that she could make it in the writing world. They would visit her then sparsely furnished three bedroom home and spot her framed poetry on almost every wall in the house.

“Clarye, have you ever thought about getting your poems published?” Many of her friends and family asked time and time again.

“Yes, I have thought about it but I just don’t know if it will ever happen,” Clarye would answer, unsure of herself. “But I hope and pray it does one day. I sure as heaven don’t want to be discovered after I’m dead and gone like some folks,” she said.

Clarye had been writing ever since she was a child. She continually amazed even herself when she went back and read some of the things she wrote. With a look of astonishment and disbelief, she would often say, “Hey, this is good, this is really, really good, even if I must say so myself.”

When she submitted a short story to a leading magazine for a much needed $5,000 monetary prize, she had no inkling of an idea that it would be the changing point in her life. But it was because she won the prize and almost instantly she started receiving phone calls from publishers all over the country who wanted her to write for them. After what seemed like hundreds of rejections of her past works from many of these same publishers, she was now the one being pursued, sought after and chased down. And she loved every moment of it.

Her first novel became a bestseller mere weeks after it hit the bookstores. Her debut novel skyrocketed her to fame and wealth. Since that time, Clarye had written seven novels and each of them landed at the top of the New York Times bestsellers’ list.

In spite of her wealth and fame, she continued to remain very low key, rather shy and a homebody. She didn’t particularly like appearing on the talk shows and doing interviews that came along with being a bestselling author. She could never become accustomed to traveling from city to city and town to town. She hated to see herself on TV or videos. All she could focus on was her heavy limp, little legs and the brace and crutches she used. She did not realize that people loved her because of the real life stories she wrote, and not the way she looked. She stood for realness, reality, instead of the fakery of Hollywood and the literary industry that was portrayed time and time again. Clarye represented “real folk” as one fan described her style of writing.

Clarye, however, remained adamant about her decision to not be in the limelight. She refused to life out of a suitcase, neglecting her family while trying to impress this person and that person. She finally convinced her publisher that she would no longer be in the forefront all the time. The public knew not only her novels but also they knew her name and face now so she didn’t see the need for people to physically see her all the time.

“Look, if my books don’t sell on their own merit, then so be it,” she said. Of course, the publisher was willing to give Clarye whatever she wanted to keep her happy and to keep her writing bestseller after bestseller.

Once again, Clarye’s thoughts flashed vividly as she said out loud, “Who would have imagined that I would be driving a luxury vehicle that I’ve always wanted and living in a fabulous home, complete with all the simple, yet finer things in life?” She was finally living her dream. Clarye didn’t have time to answer her own question because an angry driver behind her honked incessantly. She bolted back to reality and quickly remembered the mission she was on, to get ice cream.

She quickly whirled into the vacant parking place with the blue and white sign that read, “Handicap Parking $100 Fine.” She carefully stepped down out of her truck, grabbed her crutches and rushed inside the grocery store. She was in such a hurry that she did not see the man standing in front of her very eyes. Boom she ran right into his chest.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I really am. Please forgive me. I was in such a hurry. My mind was going in a thousand different directions.” Clarye continued babbling, as her sons often said she did, not bothering to look up and not really noticing the gentleman she had almost plowed down. But when her eyes finally met his, she just knew her mouth must have fallen wide open, because she found herself looking into the most gorgeous, deep brown eyes she had ever seen.