The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.
Over the years, I had several times entertained the notion of returning to Boaz. In 1987 when Lewis was born, I realized that I had already practiced seven years in Atlanta, two more than the minimum I had agreed with Matt. But, at that time, I had two cases that chained my focus.
In late summer 1992, I had a weird cloud of nostalgia hover over me raining down feelings of revenge I had never experienced. The 20th anniversary of Wendi and Cindi’s death had occurred in May. Also, it didn’t help that Randall and Fred had been elected to the First Baptist Church of Christ’s deacon board. Nor, the fact James Adams was elected Mayor. An afternoon spent with Matt over the Labor Day weekend, disabused me of this strong pull. Although he still wanted us to practice law together, at some point he argued that revenge was an irrational reason to ground my decision. Once again, I listened to the wise Matt and followed his advice.
In January 1993, Mama El died. She was 92 and just went to sleep. The doctor said, “her heart finally gave out.” I think it finally gave up. After Gramp’s death in 1965, Mama El lost her way. To an outsider, she adjusted well. She continued her daily life pretty much as before: gardening and canning, and church and church and church. That was all pretty much a front. In her heart, she was the loneliest person I’ve ever known. Alone, late at night, even in the coldest weather, she would sit out on the back porch looking over the garden, across the pasture, and to the oak grove on the southeast corner of the pond where Gramp’s had died. I’ve often wondered whether Wendi and I would have had such a love affair if she had lived. There was no other romance like Gramp’s and Mama El’s. But, just like for Wendi and me, God or fate or something had other plans for Gramp’s and Mama El. After Mama El’s funeral and before Karla, Lewis, and I returned to Atlanta, I almost decided it was time to move home. I thought, I wanted to live in my own home, breathe the air Mama El breathed, and sit in her chair on the porch with her throw over my lap. She was, in a way, the architect of my inner life growing up. Like Gramp’s was for my outer life. But, we didn’t move back. Law and life in Atlanta kept getting in the way.
In 1995 Matt called and told me he had been diagnosed with brain cancer. Karla and I were in Orlando on a week’s vacation. The two of us spent the next several days walking around Disney World discussing what all we had to do before we could move. Karla loved her teaching job and although reluctant, she bravely agreed to once again resign her position and follow me. By the time we returned to Atlanta, Matt called with the good news that he had been misdiagnosed and only had a small non-cancerous tumor that doctors believed would not give him any problems and that hopefully would eventually dissolve. Again, I had no clear reason to return to Boaz.
This all changed in 1997.
The Pencil Driven Life 