The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
Fifteen year-old Matt Benson moves with Robert, his widowed father, to Boaz, Alabama for one year as Robert conducts research on Southern Baptist Fundamentalism. Robert, a professor of Bible History and new Testament Theology at the University of Chicago’s Divinity School enlists Matt to assist him as an undercover agent at First Baptist Church of Christ. Matt’s job is to befriend the most active young person in the Church’s youth group and learn the heart and mind of teenagers growing up as fundamentalist Southern Baptists.
Olivia Tillman is the fourteen year old daughter of Betty and Walter Tillman. He is the pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ. Robert and Matt move to Boaz in June 1970, and before high school begins in mid-August, Matt and Olivia become fast friends. Olivia’s life is centered around her faith, her family, and her friends. She is struck with Matt and his doubts and vows to win him to Christ. Over the next year, Matt and Olivia’s relationship blossoms into more than a teenage romance, despite their different religious beliefs.
June 1971 and Matt’s return to Chicago comes too quickly, but the two teenagers vow to never lose what they have, even promising to reunite at college in three years after Olivia graduates from Boaz High School.
The Boaz Secrets is told from the perspective of past and present. The story alternates between 1970-1971, and 2017-2018. After Matt left Boaz in June 1971, life happened and Olivia and Matt’s plans fell apart. However, in December 2017, their lives crossed again, almost miraculously, and they have a month in Boaz to catch up on forty-six years of being apart. They attempt to discover whether their teenage love can be rekindled and transformed into an adult romance even though Matt is 63 and Olivia is 61.
In 2017, Olivia and Matt are quick to learn they are vastly different people than they were as fifteen and sixteen year old teenagers– especially, when it comes to religion and faith. Will these religious differences unite them? The real issue is the secret Olivia has kept. Will Matt’s discovery destroy any chance he and Olivia have of rekindling their teenage relationship?
Chapter 32
May 1971
The next to the last week of school was filled with review and preparation for semester exams. It seemed Pastor Walter and even Betty herself conspired against me and kept Olivia figuratively locked in her room after school pouring through a half-year of notes in seven subjects. More likely it was their way of attempting to convince her that boys were and would forever be an impediment to her lifelong dream of becoming a missionary.
Mr. Jackson in Vo-Ag and Dr. Ayers in Biology had achieved something no two teachers had ever accomplished in my life. Each of them, in their own way, had become a trusted adviser. Dr. Ayers was comfortable relaying her perspective on most anything I wanted to discuss. She knew she had taken on, at least in part, the mother role to me. Mr. Jackson was a totally different story. I don’t think he had a clue how his insights were burrowing into my psyche. His little sayings as we worked in the shop or hung out as a class in the large grove of pine trees next to the school on his side of the building were not intended just for me. He treated everybody the same. I think he had a hard time growing up. He had been in the military and after a time trying to find a way to make a living, had gone to college at Auburn to become a teacher.
Tuesday in Vo-Ag, Ryan and I were working on a lawn-mower in the shop when he walked by and overheard us talking about my upcoming date Friday night with Olivia. He saw we were having trouble with the pull rope and gave us a hand. When he finished he said, “sometimes the cover is better than the book.” He then walked over to Larry and Tinsley who were goofing off as usual. When Mr. Jackson left I thought, ‘sometimes, you say such stupid things.’ It was normal for me to fail to see the connections he was making. In this case, was our lawnmower the cover? Or, was he referring to Olivia? If so, did he know something I didn’t? Whatever he meant, I suspected there was some wisdom buried in there somewhere.
Mine and Olivia’s first date was disappointing at best. That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy every second with her. I had picked her up and driven us to the Dairy Queen. Wade and James were there, predictably according to Olivia. She insisted we share a foot-long hot dog knowing we would want popcorn and candy at the movie. Shane was ten times better than I had anticipated. I someway identified with Alan Ladd as Shane. He came to the small Wyoming town with one simple purpose, to be a farmhand. Then, his world was turned upside down by a local conflict. Both Shane and myself got involved with violence. His of the real kind, physical, but my experience was also one of aggression. Olivia Kaye Tillman had involuntarily torn my life apart. She had infiltrated my soul, my mind, my body. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
The best part of the night was the sweet time we had before the movie ended. I figured with the guns blazing on the big screen might be the time to privately present the Cameo ring I had purchased for Olivia. We burrowed down in our seats where we could exchange all the words needed. She was flabbergasted and cried. I told her this was just practice. Practice for the time in three years for me to give her a real engagement ring. For now, I was wishing her health, happiness, and hope for our future. Since everything was timed, after the movie I drove Olivia back to her house and was hoping for a long and passionate goodnight kiss on her front porch. Just as I was about to press my lips onto Olivia’s, Wade and James appeared out of nowhere. No doubt this was part of Pastor Walter’s plan, as was the beaming porch light, aglow with, I suspected, a higher wattage bulb than needed to cast darkness away from an entire parking lot.
I saw Olivia less during the final week of school than I did the week before. Her schedule was rigid. All, no doubt, the creation of her father. Taking exams during the day and studying for more exams at night. I had never had much trouble taking tests. I did study but nothing like Olivia. For someone who bought into the Bible she was extremely critical of everything else she read. I was thankful for her curiosity because that gave her a good reason to call and talk every night during this last week. She shared how important her questions were and someway convinced Pastor Walter that I could help her find the answers she needed. I was impressed with Olivia’s cunning. Maybe I was wrong. Probably was. Likely, she truly was curious about things seemingly unconnected to us or most of the subjects she was studying.
The only good thing about the last week was when it was over. I hadn’t seen her except in Poetry class and Mr. Johnson had been unusually strict, and focused on getting through the last two chapters of our textbook. Wednesday night was a bust also. Olivia, like over half of the other youth group, was absent. I regretted going just as soon as Brother Randy stood in the middle of the circles. I think he spoke about the body as the temple of the Holy Ghost and specifically encouraged us to eat a healthy diet. He ended his forty-five-minute lecture by saying, “feed the Ghost too much sweets and Satan will devour you.” I think he meant to say Holy Ghost. I didn’t understand if Satan would devour me for the sweets or what. I didn’t care too much for sweets anyway, so I guess Satan would choose kids like Tommy Dobbins who kept staring at me from his seat behind where Brother Randy was standing. Tommy looked like he needed to lay off the sweets. I had seen him eat two slices of chocolate cake in the Fellowship Hall less than an hour earlier.
I had been dreading it for over a month. At the end of April Olivia had told me that the youth group’s annual mission trip to New Mexico was the first week after school was out. She had asked me, repeatedly, to go with her. At first, I wanted to but after talking with Ryan I decided I would rarely see Olivia, she would be teaching Vacation Bible School all day while I was getting sunburned helping put a roof on a new building another Southern Baptist church would have waiting for the adult men and the older male teenagers. Nights would be spent singing and listening to testimonies about God showing up and showing out.
The eighty-member team left the Church’s parking lot at 5:00 a.m. on Saturday. I had said my goodbyes to Olivia the night before at the Lighthouse. I had wanted us to practice dating some more, even make another attempt at a real date like we had two weeks earlier. A new rule put that to rest. It seemed Brother Walter had forgotten to spell out some of the fine print. Olivia could go out with the same boy but only at three-week intervals. At midnight, right after Randy had quieted the band and said one of the shortest prayers I had heard him say, Olivia grabbed my hand and pulled me out through the front door. “Darn rules, come on and walk me home. I’m leaving early in the morning and away from Daddy for a week.” We had taken our time and stopped at the darkest spot on Elm Street, where the street lights didn’t quite reach. It was our first real embrace and kiss since our lovemaking on the leafy, muddy forest floor on the trail beyond Club Eden. I may have been wrong, but Olivia seemed more passionate than ever, like, if it weren’t for her careful scruples she would have easily let me do a little exploring. It was getting more difficult to recall Mother’s exact instructions on being a perfect gentleman.
James and I spent the next week hanging out at his house and at the gym with him trying to teach me how to dribble, shoot, and pass the round ball he loved nearly as much as life itself. He shared with me how this year was the second in a row he had refused to go on the youth group’s mission trip. “Seems to me the same people get saved again every year. And, I hate trying to be a carpenter. It may have been good enough for Jesus, but he didn’t know about basketball.” James was always a straight-shooter in multiple ways.
The youth group had left on May 28th and were supposed to return Saturday, June the 5th. However, one of the buses broke down in Amarillo, Texas five hours after leaving Albuquerque, New Mexico. A delay in obtaining the needed parts delayed the three-bus caravan from arriving in Boaz until late Tuesday evening. Instead of having four days with Olivia before Dad and I pulled out of Boaz on Thursday the tenth, we would have one day, only one day to say our goodbyes.
No doubt it was Betty who came to our rescue. She did everything imaginable to distract Pastor Walter. I think she created two emergencies, one in the afternoon and one in the evening. The first one was a fender-bender her and Reba Ericson got into in Albertville. The second was an extended prayer meeting. It seemed three different people had special prayer requests and needed some counseling after the service disbanded. At the time, I hadn’t known any of this, but Olivia had shared it with me in a letter the week after Dad and I got back to Chicago.
After youth group Wednesday night, Olivia and I had set outside on the front steps of the old auditorium. I wanted to be alone, alone, with Olivia. I invited her to go home with me and help me finish packing. I knew Dad would be late. He and Travis Ayers were visiting one final time with Brother Gorham at Clear Creek Baptist Church. He had invited them to go out after the service for coffee and dessert at Shoney’s in Albertville.
I had donated mine and Dad’s beanbag chairs to the Lighthouse, so they were still in the den. Olivia and I packed up my bookshelves and settled down in the two chairs for our final talk, hand in hand, for possibly three long years. We both cried as we repeated the same words we had for weeks. This time it seemed we both, especially Olivia, were running through the short version.
“Let’s go back to your room.” Olivia said squeezing my hand.
My bed was still in total disarray. It was rented furniture and only the covers would make their way back to Chicago. I hated making my bed every morning and had pretty much stopped after Mother had died. Dad hadn’t seemed to care. “Okay.”
After we entered my room Olivia turned in close to me and pressed her head against my neck and shoulder. She was too tall to lay her head over my heart but that was what she wanted. “Lay down across your bed. I want to hear your heart.” It had happened during Spring Break, at Aurora Lake. She had discovered our talks took on an even more intense nature when she was listening to my heartbeat. Tonight, I assumed our talks would return to that verbal zone that reminded me of the physical component that had been added during the rain dance we had laying on the forest floor.
It was the most natural thing, at least what I assumed was natural. I didn’t have experience to draw on. Only my imagination, fed by a few steamy novels I had some way read at home thanks to one of my three Chicago amigos, painted a clear picture of how it would be. Our talk and Olivia’s heart monitoring had quickly evolved into her laying on top of me and kissing me like never. I mean never. The evolution continued. She rolled over and moved straighter up in my bed placing her head on one of my pillows. I followed her lead and lay beside her. Our bodies drew closer and our lips encouraged our hands. Mother seemed to leave the room. I was glad. I can’t remember who made the first move. I think it was mutual. We giggled a little as our clothes came off, but seriousness took over. I raised myself on my elbow and considered Olivia’s precious face, intermittently kissing her and asking her if she was okay with what we were doing. I told her, “I love you too much to destroy our relationship. I want all of you. Right now, but only if that is what you want.”
It was more than natural. If Olivia had asked me during our time, the time our bodies were joined and dancing, to admit I believed in a supernatural being, I would have eagerly agreed. Thankfully, she didn’t. I would have thought we would have been so much more awkward than what we were. It was like Olivia was my teacher. Maybe she had read a little more broadly than I had thought. The only interruption that we had once we were committed to sharing our bodies was my total lack of preparation. I didn’t have a condom. I had never had a condom. I didn’t even know where you bought a condom. The decision came quickly. Neither of us, during these precious moments, were patient. “Make love to me Matt.” Those were words I heard. I’m still not sure my mind hadn’t played a trick on me as it often had. We did make love, and I have never regretted it. Olivia was all the woman I would ever want.
The walk back to Olivia’s was too quick. I don’t think either of us said a word. Our hands, together, said volumes. I was the happiest I had ever been. Our heads and our hearts were as one. We were committed to each other forever. Ours was truly a once in life love.
Dad and I pulled out of Boaz at 6:00 a.m. the following morning. Olivia had wanted to come see me off, but I had convinced her it wasn’t for the best. I wanted our time together at my house and our walk back to hers to be our last memories of being together until we would be together forever in just three short years.
The Pencil-Driven Life 