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 8

December 7, 2017

Thursday night in the basement for James’ prayer group I had acted like a love-struck dumb teenager.  I hoped Olivia hadn’t paid too much attention.  Although, it was glaringly obvious to me that I had stuttered on two or three sentences, and I nearly tripped as we took our seats.  Now, I had convinced myself that my being completely frozen when our eyes had first met had been matched by her own shock as her smile seemed to linger just past the time it took me to melt enough to speak.

Hopefully, for the both of us, the initial awkward moment we encountered and endured faded into memory and was replaced by a mutually rewarding conversation after the prayer service had ended.  When the group dismissed, Olivia had asked me to meet her on the front steps in ten minutes.  She had wanted first, to stay behind to speak with Randi Radford, Randall’s widow.

I had waited at the bottom of the stairs and was vividly reminded when she came out the front door of the old auditorium that her manner and movements were etched in my mind.  They almost unerringly matched that of Olivia the 14-year-old teenager I had stood here with after first meeting her, after the skit where she suggested her, and Ryan go to her house after the movie and play cards with her family instead of going parking.  Her simple descent down the stairs was (I hate the cliché), poetry in motion.  She had always, to me, defined, a woman of grace.

Now, back in my hotel room, I could recall every word that had been said.  “Thanks for waiting on me Matt.  I’m speechless.  I never imagined seeing you here.  Did you know that it has been over forty-six years since we have seen each other?  I have to say, that I still am so sorry for what I did to you.  It’s unforgivable.”

“It is, but time has a way of creating the forgiveness.  Otherwise, life is smothered.  I have to admit, it wasn’t easy, and it did take a very long time.”  I responded, having rehearsed this little speech forever.

“Thanks for being so respectful and kind.  Can I ask you what you are doing in Boaz?”  Olivia said setting her purse down and pulling on the jacket she had been holding.  The temperature was approaching freezing, but I wasn’t cold at all.  I could feel a bead of sweat forming on my upper lip.

“You can.  I am here for James Adams.  I guess the proper thing would be to include your father and brother too.  I know this must be very difficult on you.”  I said straightening the collar to her coat.

“It is the most awful thing I have ever encountered.  I can’t imagine what, especially Wade, is going through.  I will never believe he could have killed sweet Gina.  You remember Gina Culvert from school?  She was in your and Wade’s eleventh grade class.”

“Barely.  She was a cheerleader, right?”

“Yes.  Her and Wade married shortly after high school and, as far as I know, had a great marriage.”  Olivia said, obviously cold.  Her teeth were chattering.

“I assume you are married and have children?  Hope that’s not too personal a question to ask.”  Over the years I had intentionally avoided the urge to investigate Olivia.  I figured it wouldn’t take a private investigator to find her and to learn about her life after she ditched me.  But I hadn’t.  Now, standing in front of the woman who had broken my heart, I wanted to know everything about her.  I wanted her forty-six-year biography.

“I was married.  Jack, Jack Crowson, my husband, died of cancer in April 2008.  We never had children.  I was in my late thirties when we married.  He was over ten years older.  Children were just not in the cards for us.”

“Olivia, you are freezing.  I don’t want you to catch a cold out here.”  I said thinking and hoping Olivia might suggest we go to MacDonald’s or somewhere for a cup of coffee.  But, she didn’t.

“You’re right.  I think I’ll head on over to Warren and Tiffany’s.  They now live in the Church’s parsonage.  He was Associate Pastor for years but has been pastor since 2014, I believe.”

“Thanks Olivia for talking with me.  Would it be possible to find a time to share a cup of coffee?  I’d love to hear more of your story, if you wouldn’t mind.”  I was surprised at my courage.

“I’d love that.  I have an idea.  Let’s meet for lunch but for now, why don’t you call me in a couple of hours.  That’ll give me time to warm up and to visit with Warren and Tiffany.  By 10:00 p.m., I’ll be in my old room.  My cell number is 706-294-7319.”

“Let me write it down.”  I pulled a notepad out of my back pocket.  It was a habit I had developed during my undercover work.  I almost laughed out loud at my thought as I was writing down Olivia’s phone number.  “I’ll call you at ten o’clock sharp.”

I walked to my car and drove to MacDonald’s for a large coffee before heading to the Key West Inn on Highway 168.  I had checked in before coming to the prayer service.

I didn’t know why I had wanted coffee.  I never liked it when I was hot.  My encounter with Olivia had made me sweat.  It wasn’t about sexual desire.  I was simply nervous, extremely nervous.  And when I got caught in that state, I always broke out in a sweat.  By 10:00 p.m., I was back to normal.  Watching nearly three episodes of Seinfeld reruns probably helped.  If Kramer couldn’t make you laugh, no one could.

“Olivia, this is Matt.  Is now still a good time to talk?”

“Perfect.  I’m in my Crimson Tide bean-back chair.  Can you believe that Mom and Dad kept my room like a shrine?  It’s just like it was when I was a kid.  I would have thought that Warren and Tiffany would have dismantled it.  Seems like there’s plenty of bedrooms in this castle for my four grand-nephews and nieces.”

“I want to apologize.  Earlier, when you mentioned your husband dying in 2008, I didn’t respond.  I want to say that I am very sorry for your loss.  I know what it’s like to lose a spouse.”  I said, truly sorry, and in no way wanting Olivia to feel sorry for me or to prompt her to ask about Alicia.

“Sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do.  I have always assumed you married.”

“Alicia and I married in 1984.  Dad had introduced me to a rising star in the Divinity School.  In a sense, she and I hit it off like the two of us, back in our day.”

“Children?”

“None.  It’s difficult talking about it.  Alicia was killed by a drunk driver.  I discovered from her journal that she was, that very night, going to tell me she was pregnant.  It was devastating to lose her.  She was a wonderful woman.  I guess I don’t have a very good record when it comes to long-term relationships.”

“Matt, that certainly wasn’t your fault.  I am so sorry for your loss, you’re double loss.”  Olivia said, thoughtful and clearly concerned.

“Let me ask you.  Do you feel this all very strange?”  I said.

“Are you referring to us?  What with our meeting today after forty-six years and now talking on the phone?”

“Exactly?”

“Maybe it’s God will that I do what I should have done way back in the day.”

“What do you mean?”  I said.

“To be professional about our relationship.  To be open, honest, and avoid as much hurt as possible.”

“From your statement I take it that you still believe God has a plan for everything?”  I had to say it.  This was no place to tip-toe around the issue that, to me, had destroyed our teenage love.

“This is going to blow your mind.  Are you sitting down?”

“I am.”

“Matt, I no longer believe.”  Olivia said it with a confidence that had me speechless. 

It took me a minute to respond.  “That’s not something to kid around about.”

“I’m not kidding.”  She went on to tell me a little about her journey concerning her loss of faith.  I didn’t find it unusual.  I had read and heard about this type thing.  What was surprising was that it had happened to Olivia.  The one person in the world that I would have bet my life that would have forever remained unalterably committed to Jesus, God, and Christianity.

“I don’t know what to say.  I won’t say ‘I told you so.’  That would be insensitive, even mean.  Maybe I’ll just say welcome to the family.”

“That’s the first sign I’ve noticed that you are still rather funny Matt Benson.”  Olivia said recalling how she used to call me by my full name after she had tried to persuade me of my need to be saved.

“Let me ask you, was it an interest in science that finally convinced you?”

“Actually, that came later.  Maybe I should say, it was Jack’s sickness, the cancer, that prompted my interest in reading more broadly than I ever had.  In seminary, it’s slanted you know.”  She tried to continue, but I interrupted her.

“Seminary?  You went to seminary?” 

“You really don’t know?”

“Olivia, all I know about you, other than what you have told me tonight, is what I learned back in 1970 and 1971.  To be frank, after you ditched me, I promised myself that I would never do anything that would enable me to discover what was going on in your life.”

“That’s cold, but I fully deserve it.  I not only attended Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Dallas, Texas, but I taught there for years, I resigned in 2010 and have been at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill since 2011.  I teach Bible related subjects there but simply from a historical and not a theological standpoint.”

From here, our conversation went deeper into Olivia’s story of how she walked away from her faith.  It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when the talk subsided, and our alertness faded.

“Matt, I’m about to crash.  Please know how much I have enjoyed our dialog, everything about seeing you tonight.  Is it too much to ask that we have lunch?  I really need to tell you what happened after you returned to Chicago in the summer of 1971.”

“Olivia, I’m going to be very direct with you.  These past few hours have been the best time for me in ages.  I would love to see you again.  I only have one request.”

“What’s that Mr. Benson?”

“That we be completely honest with each other.  At this stage of my life I need and want the truth.  I hate mind games.  I would love to know the inside story, what went on in your head and heart.  Please.  Is this too much to ask?”

“Not at all.  I promise to be totally open with you.”  Olivia said.

“So, when is this lunch you are talking about?”

“I have commitments tomorrow.  How about Saturday?  A late lunch?”

“That’s good with me.  I assume we couldn’t just go to the Lighthouse, could we?”

“I’m afraid that’s long gone.  Funny you bring that up.  I have wonderful memories of our Saturday afternoons.  That place was truly a beacon among the storms for a lot of people.”

“Do you want to meet somewhere Saturday?  Or, would you be okay if I came by and picked you up.  We could drive somewhere together.”  I again surprised myself with my boldness.

“This is sounding more like a date.  Is it?”

“Only if you want it to be.”  I said.

“Pick me up at 1:30 here at Warren’s.  Okay?”

“See you then.  Goodnight Olivia.”

“Goodnight, uh, no, good morning Matt.”

With that we ended our call.  I lay across the bed and reminisced for another hour before falling asleep.  If I dreamed, I don’t remember.

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 7

July 1970

It was my fourth Wednesday to be living in Boaz, and I still had not met the girl who was becoming more perfect and more mysterious in my mind as every day went by.  The first two Wednesdays she was in New Mexico on the Church’s missions trip.  The third kept her home.  According to Youth Pastor Miller, she was sick with a virus.  Last Sunday Dad made me go with him to First Baptist Albertville, so I missed a chance to at least see Olivia.  Hopefully, today would be the day I met the mysterious ninth-grader.

I spent half the morning at Boaz High School.  It was my second trip to register.  Last Monday, a week ago Monday, I had gone and a lady, a Ms. Gilbreath, in the office told me I needed my birth certificate and records from Woodlawn High School.  I had returned home and called Mrs. Beaumont to request she mail a copy of my ninth and tenth grade transcripts to Boaz High School.  I had also called Mrs. Gregg, our neighbor across the street.  She was watching our place while we were away.  Dad had given her a key.  He had also told me to bring my birth certificate, but I had forgotten.

When I walked in, Ms. Gilbreath saw me and smiled.  “Hi Matthew.”  No doubt she had received my records. 

“You can call me Matt.  It’s shorter.  Matthew sounds too, well, Bible.”

“Okay Matt.  Looks like we have us another scholar.  Congratulations on being a straight A student.”  She said walking to the counter where I was standing.  She was probably fifty or so years old.  Attractive, a little.  No make-up.  I would have bet my life that she was deeply religious.

“I’m pretty average at Woodlawn.  But, I do work hard and try to keep up.  I’ll do my best to do the same here at Boaz High.”

“We are all set to complete your registration.  I just need to know which electives you have chosen from the list I gave you last week.”

“I’ve decided on Poetry and Vocational Agriculture.”  I said.

“Mr. Johnson’s Poetry class is a mixed class.  Oh, that sounded weird.  What I meant is there will be all ages, from ninth-graders to seniors.  There are so few interested that we cannot limit registration to simply one grade.”

“That’s okay.  I don’t see a problem.  I’m used to mixed classes at Woodlawn, truly mixed.”  I said wanting to gauge how well my subtle humor would affect Mrs. Trudy Gilbreath.  I had just noticed her name tag.

“We don’t have that problem here.  Thank the Lord.”

“Yes, thank the Lord.”  To her, I wasn’t humorous at all.  I was deadly serious.

“I’ll register you for Poetry and Vocational Agriculture.  Oh, here.  I almost forgot.  Here’s the Pirate Practice.  It’s our guidebook.  Read it and know it inside and out.  It will keep you out of trouble.  The first day of school is Monday, August 10th.  We’ll see you then.” 

I rode my bicycle home.  I was as frugal as Dad, well, almost.  I tried to conserve my weekly advance.  For the next hour I sat out front in the swing and read through the Pirate Practice.  It seemed all standard.  I then took a long run all the way to the Boaz Country Club and back.  I returned and napped until Dad woke me a little before 5:00 p.m.

As usual, Dad and I walked to First Baptist for the Wednesday night fellowship meal and services.  No way was I going to miss my fourth opportunity to see, and maybe meet, Olivia.

I sat with James Adams, which had become my custom after the first week.  Two missionary couples had taken an interest in Dad and the five of them unintentionally pushed me away.  Tonight, Wade Tillman and Randall Radford, along with James and me, sat over in the corner by the back door.  As I listened, and the three basketball stars discussed their skills at passing, including making passes at lucky members of the opposite sex, I saw a group of girls sitting two tables over.  James and Randall were bantering back and forth about how the twins were already dating, even though neither of them had started the ninth grade.  Randall surprised me when he said he knew the two guys who had moved in on the two Boaz girls.  “That’s not going to work.  No Aggie is going to get first servings from either of these girls.  James, you agree?”

Even though I might at times have less than honorable thoughts, I would never have said such a filthy thing.  Girls were not food.  I couldn’t help but think of Mother, she had made sure that I had learned the importance of treating members of the opposite sex with honor and respect.  She had said that gentlemen never tried to take advantage of anyone, especially of a young girl.  Mother also taught me that even when I had a girlfriend and she appeared willing to explore and become a little loose, as she called it, a gentleman maintained control.  I didn’t have any personal experience in these things, so I believed Mother knew what she was talking about, and she believed I had the ability and power to become a true gentleman.

At 6:30 p.m. I was seated in the Church’s basement with about fifty other kids.  After the mission’s team had returned, Youth Pastor Miller had added another concentric circle to accommodate the growing youth group.  I tried to not be so conspicuous, but I was able to look all around me.  I again was disappointed that I could not see Olivia.  Or, maybe all the facts I had gathered about her were wrong.  Maybe, Olivia was that rather plump redhead sitting directly across from me.  The poor girl needs a Dermatologist.

Pastor Randy, as he instructed us to call him, again, just like last Wednesday night, stepped into the middle of the two circles and began his sermon.  It was nothing like what Pastor Tillman had done on Sunday mornings.  I guess the energetic youth minister knew that young people are wholly different than adults, with unique ways of learning.  Last week Pastor Randy had talked about freewill and how it was a blessing and a curse.  He had said, the decisions you make during your teenage years will go with you the rest of your life.  If they are good decisions, you will be rewarded.  If they are bad, well, you can fill in the blanks.  It will be like shooting blanks.  You won’t hit your target, your goals.”

It seemed last week’s talk beat us up.  He seemed to leave us with the thought that we had one chance to get it right, and if we got it wrong, we would be forever doomed.  Tonight, it was a radically different talk.  He called it redemption.  “Only God’s children get a second chance.  If you screw up, you may suffer some unpleasant consequences for a while, but you can start over.  No matter what you have done.”  He said walking the circle and engaging, it seemed, with every one of us.

I particularly liked how he interacted with our group.  He would be talking and then would call someone to the center with him.  Tonight, I thought it was absolutely fitting that he called Randall Radford out and said, “big double R, we all know you are a young man and you have the desires that all young men have, which is to pursue the girls.  If you don’t allow God to guide your mind, you will most likely make some mistakes.  Oh yes, sin is fun for a season, but it always comes at a price.  I’m not trying to embarrass Randall, but simply want each of you to know, whether you are a young man or a young woman, sexual desires are possibly the most difficult desires to conquer.  Hear me carefully, you cannot, by yourself, even come close to defending yourself, warding off the attacks.  Satan will use every one of his powers to seduce you into believing that it is okay to fool around, to go all the way.  Let me tell you the world will tell you, gosh, it is already telling you, do what you want, do what feels good.  Hear me carefully, that is a lie.  Be smarter than that.  Call on the power of Jesus to come walk beside you and let Him battle the Devil.”

Pastor Miller went on for a full forty-five minutes, keeping Randall Radford beside him the entire time.  I was feeling frustrated when the two of them walked outside the circle towards the refreshments table along the back wall beyond the ping-pong tables.  As everyone else got up and started following them I remained seated and pondered what I had just heard.  It all sounded pretty good.  Especially, if you believed that God and Jesus existed.  What I didn’t understand was the detailed mechanics of how it worked.  How would I ask Jesus to help me?  I figured it was by simply saying a prayer.  But then, did He always respond positively and invisibly go tie up the Devil and change my mind about those sexual desires Pastor Randy spoke of?  I was confused.

Standing in line for some lemonade I learned that at 7:45 we were to reassemble for a skit.  While all the youth were enjoying refreshments a group of adults had moved all the chairs to the other side of the basement.  I hadn’t paid any attention before to a stage with an open set of long curtains over behind a large row of boxes that seemed to divide the basement.

I sat with James and Wade on the front row.  James had encouraged me to follow him if I wanted to finally see Olivia.  The skit was in two scenes.  Both took place in a make-shift cardboard box car.  Someone had done an excellent job of creating a make-believe Bonneville.  I suddenly thought I should have persuaded Dad to buy the 1964 model David Adams had offered. 

The first scene opened with a boy and girl inside the car.  The sound of crickets and a background setting out along the edge of some woods, indicated the couple was alone, parking.  Without words, the two started making out, kissing.  Remember, it was a skit.  They didn’t kiss but it sure looked like they did.  After a few moments of intense kissing the boy said, “you wanna get in the back?”  The girl responded.  “I know we shouldn’t but okay if that’s what you want.”  The scene ended with the boy and girl crawling into the back seat and disappearing from the audience’s view.

The crowd was howling until Pastor Randy got up and said, “I hope you know that was what you are supposed NOT to do. Now, let’s watch another scene.”

In a few minutes the curtains reopened, and the setting had changed.  The car and the woodsy background had been moved to the right side of the stage.  In the center was what no doubt was a movie theater.  Another boy and girl sat with their faces away from us.  It hit me like a brick.  I could see this girl had silky straight blond hair.  I had no doubt this was Olivia.  I missed details from this skit I’m sure.  But, the gist of it was, as the two were exiting the theater walking back to his car, the boy asked her if she wanted to go parking.  I didn’t think that’s probably how it would happen, but I acknowledged time was of the essence in theater productions.  The girl said, “I don’t think that is a good idea.  Christians are to flee temptation.  Why don’t we instead, go play cards at my house.  My parents love playing cards.”

There were a few boos coming from the back of the audience.  Again, Pastor Randy stood up front and seemed disappointed.  “Ladies and gentlemen, that’s what I want you to become.  I pray you will take this seriously.  Olivia, in the second scene, was obedient.  She let Jesus help her avoid a dangerous situation.  David and Karen, in the first scene, were virtually doomed by their initial decision to go parking in the first place.  Take note of this example.  If you get inside the lion’s den, you stand a big chance of getting mauled.  You are safer on the outside.  The key to battling sex sin is to be smart, make wise decisions.  In other words, stay close to Jesus, listen to Him, allow Him and the Holy Spirit to control your every thought and action.  That’s it for tonight.  Take care and see you on Sunday.”

It didn’t take five minutes for everyone to leave.  Except me.  I couldn’t move.  I was still in a daze from seeing Olivia after she and Ryan had left the movie theater and she had faced the audience.  I was in no way disappointed.  She was more beautiful than I had let myself imagine.  She was tall, maybe as tall as me.  I couldn’t tell exactly since she was up on the stage.  Her straight blond hair came down to her shoulders.  It looked natural, not dyed.  She wore baggy clothes, so I couldn’t tell much about her figure, but she was not as slim as had been described to me by James. 

As I was contemplating what I would say to her the first opportunity I got, the basement lights went out.  I realized that whoever was the last to leave had not seen me.  I was on the stage side of the row of boxes and they would have blocked the view.  “Hey, I’m still here.”  I didn’t know what else to say.  I sure didn’t want to get locked down here.

“Whose there?”  It sounded like a mix between Pastor Randy’s voice and a young girl.

“Matt Benson.”  I said walking back towards the main door.

“Come on Matt or you’ll be stuck here until Sunday.”  Pastor Randy said.

As I rounded the row of boxes I saw Olivia standing beside the youth pastor.  She was smiling.  “Hey Matt, I’ve been hearing about you.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Olivia said walking towards me and reaching out her right hand.

I took her hand.  I almost held on too long.  That would not have been the right way to start off.

“Matt, this is Pastor Tillman’s daughter and she helps me manage a rowdy bunch of teenagers.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”  I said looking straight into Olivia’s eyes.  They were blue.  Oceanic.  I hated that word, but it popped into my head.  Olivia surely wasn’t a rising 8th grader.  She was too, well, mature looking.

“I hear you’re from Chicago.  I’d love to hear about the windy city.  I’ve always wanted to visit there.  Will you be at the Lighthouse this weekend?”

“Lighthouse?  I’m confused.”  I responded barely able to listen and respond while experiencing a shock, a feeling I had never had before.

“It’s a weekend hangout on South Main Street.  It’s run by none other than Pastor Randy and a group of adult volunteers.  That sounded funny, Randy is an adult too.”  Olivia giggled.

“Well, you are not an adult Ms. Olivia, and don’t you forget it.”  Randy said.  I wasn’t sure what his intent was.

“The Lighthouse was started last year to give local young people something to do, a Christian alternative from hanging out at the movie theater or the skating rink.  Too much temptation around those places.  There’s always plenty of good food, music, and fellowship.  I’m usually there on Saturdays.  Come if you want to.  Again, I’d love to hear about Chicago and your Christian experience.”  Olivia said.

I could tell Pastor Randy was ready to leave by the way he was looking back and forth.  Olivia apparently had concluded I was a Christian.  Boy, was she in for a surprise.

“Sorry, I assumed you are a Christian.  Matt, have you been saved?”  Olivia blurted out.  I couldn’t believe what she had just said.

“Uh, I need to get home.  I’m already late.  Dad will be worried.  I’ll try to come to the Lighthouse on Saturday afternoon.  We can talk about my Christian experience and Chicago if you want.”

By the time we were up the stairs and outside the church I was pouring sweat.  I was glad it was nighttime, and my discomfort wasn’t so apparent.  I said goodbye and started walking west on Sparks Avenue. 

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 6

December 4, 2017

Yesterday’s ten-hour drive from Chicago, along with the near half a century jaunt my mind had traveled, had left me exhausted, so much so that I had spent the night at the Hampton Inn in south Guntersville.  It was like a mighty wind kept me from ascending the mountain after crossing the last body of water before leaving the beautiful little town encircling the Tennessee River. 

I had slept until nearly noon, eaten the Hotel’s continental breakfast and now was within a mile of College Avenue in Boaz.  After looking at Google Maps, I had decided to take Highway 205 from the bottom of the mountain in Guntersville, through Albertville, and on into Boaz.  I passed the Downtown Mini-mart and turned right onto College Avenue.  At 1:15 I was sitting in the swing, what looked like the very same one Olivia and I had sat on the night before I left Boaz over 46 years ago. 

When I drove into the driveway of the now empty rental house I had not intended to get out of my car.  Was it the same force that kept me in Guntersville last night?  I had thought about this during my entire ride this morning.  If I didn’t know better, I would think I was being guided or prompted by some unseen hand.

I lay my head back and reminisced.  Soon, I was sitting at the dinner table of Walter and Betty Tillman.  Wade was there.  It was what we had called dating practice since Olivia had not been allowed to start dating until she was 15.  Olivia sat across from me, her parents careful to protect their young and inexperienced, somewhat naive daughter.  For some reason my subconscious had skipped over the first several weeks that I had tried to persuade Olivia to see me as more than an evangelical project.

“Sir.”  At first, I thought someone was standing outside the Tillman’s window hollering to get the Pastor’s attention.  Suddenly my mind was jolted forward nearly half a century.  “Sir, may I help you?”  The young lady stood halfway down the sidewalk from the street.  She had on a painter’s smock and was holding a paint brush.

I almost tripped forward as I stood up.  “Hello.  I’m sorry.  I used to live here.”

“The house is for rent if you are interested.  I can go get the key if you want to see inside.” 

“Do you own the property?”  I asked for some strange reason.

“I inherited it and the one next door.  My grandmother left them to me when she died.  I live two doors down from here, in the bright yellow house.”

“Was your grandmother Clara Rollins?”  I asked.

“Yes, did you know her?”

“I sure did.  But, she didn’t own this house when my father and I rented it in 1970.  I think it was a Mr. Adams who owned these two houses.”

“He sold them to a Mr. Weathers.  My grandmother bought them from his estate after he died.  She then passed away in the early 90’s.  She was ninety -seven when she died.”  The woman by now had walked onto the porch steps and had laid her wet paint brush on a towel she had placed on the concrete ledge that encircled the porch.

“By the way, I’m Matt Benson.  May I ask your name?”

“I’m Brandi Ridgeway.  What brings you here?  I assume you don’t live around here anymore?”

I gave Brandi a brief, but thorough, accounting of my story, including the year that my father and I had spent in Boaz.  She responded with her own story.  It turned out that Clara Rollins was really Brandi’s great-grandmother and Belinda Rollins was her mother, now deceased.  After a Q & A between us I figured out that Belinda would have been a classmate of mine during my eleventh-grade year.  I apologized for not remembering her mother.  For some reason she brought up the pending criminal cases against several residents. 

“It’s rather funny to me that the largest church in town is holding a prayer meeting for two of its former pastors.”  Brandi said, now sitting directly across from me on a concrete ledge.  She had encouraged me to resume my seat in the swing.

“Would you be talking about Walter and Wade Tillman?”  I asked.

“Yes, every Thursday night at 6:30 First Baptist Church of Christ holds a prayer meeting in the old auditorium.”

“Are you referring to the Sparks Avenue location?”

“Yes, around the time Grannie Clara died the Church built a huge new facility, but they still use the old one for the Hispanic services and other stuff like these prayer meetings.”

“I think what has happened in this crazy town is ridiculous.  And now, ninety-nine percent of the locals believe that God can be talked into saving these men from what seems to me a certainty they will spend the rest of their lives in prison, and that assumes they don’t get the death penalty.”

“I take it you are not much of a fan of the Tillman’s.  What about James Adams?”

“To me, he’s no different.  Do you know James?”  Brandi asked.

“Yes, I knew him in high school.  It’s been years since I’ve seen or talked to him.  After I left Boaz we kept up with each other for years and years.  Even though we haven’t been close in probably twenty years I wanted to come, surprise him, and hopefully encourage him, just show my support.”

“I guess you have a right to support a murderer if you want.  You should fit right in with the big crowd that comes to the weekly prayer meeting.”

“I’m not much of a prayer warrior.”

“Me either.  Well, I’ve got to get back to my painting.  I started yesterday on the outside of the back porch.  It’s time to turn yellow into green.  Nice to meet you Matt.”

I stood.  “Nice to meet you too Brandi.  Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee while I’m in town. I’m planning on being here until New Year’s.  At least that’s what I’m thinking right now.”

“Thanks, but you are a little too old for me.  I don’t see older men.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  I guess in the South asking a woman to go have a cup of coffee is a come on, unlike in Chicago where all it means is, ‘I would enjoy talking with you.’  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it that way.  I simply meant I have enjoyed talking with you right here today and I just thought it would be nice to continue our talk.  I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“No big deal.  Come to think of it, you are cute for an old man.  See you around Matt.”  With that, Brandi picked up her paint brush and towel and headed back toward her house.

I sat back down in the swing and laughed out loud.  Cute.  Old man.  I was 63.  I certainly didn’t think I was cute, but I’m a long way from being old.  Sixty-three was old when I was sixteen, but now it is, at most, middle aged.  I laughed some more.

At 6:30 p.m. Thursday night I slipped into the back of the old First Baptist Church of Christ auditorium.  Outside, I had almost turned back after I reached the landing at the top of the stairs.  I now realized that Brandi was right.  I was not only old, but I was crazy old.  Why else would I be here?  It made no sense at all.  I tried being quiet as I walked inside.  There was no one seated under the balcony.  As I turned the corner I could see a man at the front behind the podium with his head bowed.  Nearly every pew was occupied, most full of folks leaning forward, also with their heads reverently bowed.  I decided to turn right and take the stairs up to the balcony.  I would like nothing better than to become invisible.  Maybe no one was upstairs.

I was correct in one respect.  No one else was upstairs.  The problem was I was anything but invisible.  As soon as the man concluded his prayer he looked up at me and said.  “Sir, the balcony is not safe.  We are having it renovated.  I encourage you to come join the rest of us.”

It seemed every eye turned and looked at me.  I thought I heard someone right down below me say, “Can’t he read?  There’s a sign at the bottom of the stairs.”

I walked down and sat under the balcony.  I was relieved when dozens and dozens of questioning eyes turned back towards the man behind the podium.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out that he was Warren Tillman, the current pastor, and the son of Wade Tillman and the grandson of Walter Tillman, both former pastors and now, presently, criminal defendants.  After a few other remarks he sat down, and another man took the stage behind the podium to lead the prayer service.  He referred everyone to their ‘prayer list.’  He instructed everyone to break up into their groups and go to their assigned areas.  A young girl, maybe six or seven, walked back to me, with the encouragement of what should be her grandmother, and handed me a sheet of paper, the ‘prayer list.’  I smiled and thanked her.

“If anyone doesn’t yet have a prayer group please choose one.  For example, if you have been led to pray for Walter Tillman, that group is meeting downstairs in the small auditorium.  The locations are listed on the back side of your ‘prayer list.’

I turned the sheet over and noticed that the James Adams prayer group was meeting in the basement.  This was all too real.  The basement had to be the same basement I had spent a year in with the youth group during 1970 and 1971.  I didn’t know how to pray, didn’t even believe in prayer, but I had to take this opportunity to see, once again, the place where I fell in love.  The basement at First Baptist Church of Christ is where I found my Olivia, my once in life love.

It didn’t take me but a few minutes to follow the path etched deeply in my mind.  When I exited the stairs I turned right, like I knew where I was going.  Directly to my spot in the huge circle of chairs that Youth Pastor Randy Miller always had setup and waiting for us on Wednesday night.  I looked in that direction and saw four or five people standing around a tall woman who was facing the other way.  One of the group, a woman, the grandmother of the young girl who had given me a copy of the ‘prayer list,’ looked towards me and said, “this is the James Adams prayer group.  Is that who you want to pray for?”

As soon as she started speaking, the woman in the center of the circle, the woman who was facing away from me, turned to look at who the grandmother was speaking to.  I nearly fainted.  The tall and drop-dead gorgeous woman was Olivia Tillman.  I would have recognized her anywhere and at any time, even a million years from now.  Although I was probably twenty feet away, her blue eyes penetrated my heart like we hadn’t been apart for nearly half a century.  I stood still.  Frozen.

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 5

June & July 1970

Three days had gone by since I had first met Associate Pastor Peter Grantham on the front porch steps of First Baptist Church of Christ, and I still hadn’t met Olivia Tillman.  That didn’t mean I hadn’t learned more about her.

That night, Dad and I had walked over for the 6:00 p.m. Wednesday night fellowship meal.  He then had attended the 6:30 Prayer Meeting and I had, reluctantly, sat and listened to a Raymond Radford lead a handful of kids, most seemed younger than me, in a short Bible study taken from Genesis, centered on what made Eve eat the apple.  I later learned that Mr. Radford owned Radford Hardware and Building Supply Company in Boaz and his son, Randall, and about 40 other members of the ‘Explosion’ team, whatever that was, were in New Mexico on their annual summer missions trip.

Mr. Radford shared with us that six junior high aged kids had already been ‘saved’ during the Vacation Bible School the youth were holding at the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in southern New Mexico.  The youth were holding this two-week school while their adult chaperons were helping the Tribe complete three Sunday School rooms on the back of the church building they had been working on the past three summers.  I gathered that the team had left last Saturday morning and had arrived late Sunday night.  By lunch time Monday, all sixty adults and youth were busy working diligently to spread Christ’s gospel.

Dad dropped by the youth center down in the basement shortly after Mr. Radford had released us for what he referred to as ‘hang time.’  I told Dad to go on home, that I wanted to stay.  I whispered to him that I was on a mission.  He smiled and winked at me and walked away. 

Within a few minutes I was talking with the only other kid who looked older than 13.  He was sitting in the corner eating cookies and drinking Kool-Aid from a table I had noticed when Dad had left.  James Adams was the son of David Adams, the man who Dad had rented our house from.  I wasn’t hungry after the fellowship meal, but I did join him in the red bean bag chair sitting across from him.  We seemed to hit it off very quickly.  He was laid back and easy going.  He asked me where I was from, what had brought me to Boaz, and if I played basketball.  I gave him my pat answers to the first two questions and told him I liked basketball okay but had never played except in pickup games in our Chicago neighborhood.  He seemed to want to talk about nothing else, which didn’t interest me, so I finally asked him did he want to play ping-pong.  One of the two tables on the far side of the large room was unoccupied.

He easily beat me in five games.  I think it was his reach.  After he stood up, I noticed how tall he was, several inches taller than my five feet ten-inch frame. His arms appeared to be a foot longer than mine.  During the games, I learned he had been sick with a virus last Saturday when the missions team left for New Mexico.  He said he had planned on going but couldn’t leave the bathroom.  “It was coming from both ends.”  James, no doubt was an open book type of guy. 

I asked him about the youth group and what goes on when everybody is in town.  James said that the youth minister, Randy Miller, and Pastor Walter’s daughter, Olivia, were the heartbeat of the youth ministry.  “Randy is the thunder and Olivia is the lightning.  Even though she’ll only be a 9th grader this year she operates like she is in college.  She’s sold out for Christ.  Let me give you some advice.  Don’t think because you are the new cool guy in town that she will be fawning all over you.  I’m not sure Olivia has ever thought about having a boyfriend.  Now, that doesn’t mean she’s homely.  She’s drop-dead gorgeous, could easily pass for an A-Team cheerleader, that’s the varsity team.  Sometimes I think she’s not fully human.  She’s so dedicated to God, and her father’s work here at the church.”

James and I had talked for nearly two hours, an entire hour after Mr. Radford had ran everybody out and locked up the basement door.  James and I had sat outside on the Church’s front steps.  I had learned that he and Wade Tillman, Randall Radford, John Ericson, and Fred Billingsley were five guys known as the Flaming Five and they lived for the basketball court.  James invited me to start coming to the Boaz High School gym on Thursday nights to watch them scrimmage.  He also said that I was welcome to join them any time.  I quickly declined and told him I would just stick to running.  He said, “see there, you are a natural, all you would have to do is learn to dribble, shoot, and pass.”  I thanked him, told him I might come watch him and the other members of the Flaming Five, and walked the three blocks home.

For the next two weeks I had developed a routine.  Jog or ride my bike around town early every morning during the week.  Divide the rest of my day between watching TV and reading.  Thursday nights I hung out at the gym watching the Flaming Five devour every five-man team that challenged them, except last week when a group from Emma Samson High School came up from Gadsden.  This was a close game but, so far, it was the only time I saw James’ team suffer a loss.   Wednesday night and Sunday mornings, Dad and I went to First Baptist Church of Christ.  Last night, I had thought I would finally meet Olivia since the mission’s team had returned yesterday on my birthday.  I had, as usual, gone down to the basement after the fellowship meal and was astounded by the number of kids.  I could feel an electricity in the air that was clearly absent the other times I had attended.  I was disappointed to learn that Olivia couldn’t make it.  Seems like she had caught a bug like James’ on the return trip from New Mexico.  Word was, she was holed up next door in her bedroom at the Church’s parsonage where she lived with her parents, her brother Wade, and her sister Juanita.  I learned that Wade and Juanita were close to my age and would also be in the eleventh-grade.

Dad and I had spent nearly all day yesterday looking for me a car.  He had told David Adams at Adams Chevrolet, Buick & GMC that we would return today and make the final decision between a 1964 Pontiac Bonneville and a 1965 Chevrolet Corvair. I had instantly fell in love with a 1965 Chevelle Malibu SS396 hardtop coupe.  I knew that wasn’t going to happen.  Dad confirmed that when he said, “too much car, way too expensive.  You’d kill yourself with that much power.”  Dad was insanely particular, about most everything.  This certainly didn’t preclude him from wanting to test drive the Bonneville and the Corvair one more time.  I knew there was no use in trying to argue that nothing likely had changed since yesterday and that he already knew he was going to buy the Corvair.  Why?  It was cheaper on gas. 

After we returned to the dealership with the Corvair, and after Dad and David Adams spent another thirty minutes talking about the reliability of the rear-mounted air-cooled engine, we drove Dad’s truck to First State Bank of Boaz and met with Fritz Billingsley.  I quickly learned that Dad had, two days earlier, gone to visit Mr. Billingsley who had approved a $1,000 loan with Dad signing as co-signor and guarantor.  As a birthday present, Dad was paying the difference between the car’s cost and the money I was now borrowing.  I liked Mr. Billingsley.  He was personable and seemed interested in me.  He asked if I had met his son Fred.  I told him we had met at church and that I was enjoying watching him play basketball on Thursday nights along with the other four members of the Flaming Five.

After signing my life away, Mr. Billingsley gave me a $1,000 check made payable to me and Adams Chevrolet, Buick & GMC.  Dad and I returned to the dealership and signed a few more documents.  Dad was glad David Adams had someone on staff to bind the insurance coverage.  He handed me the keys and I quickly sat down in my very first car.  Dad made me take him for a long ride towards Attalla and back before he would let me drive all by myself.  Even though we had spent weeks in Chicago with Dad teaching me how to drive.  He even had borrowed cars from half of his fellow professors just to expose me to different vehicles.  As I drove down Main Street I let irrationality control my thoughts.  I was now a quasi-adult.  Cool.  Had bought my own car.  Owed a bank money.  I could feel the eyes of the three girls that crossed Highway 168 in front of me as I sat at the red light.  They were thinking, ‘I sure would like to meet that good-looking guy in that cool car.  I wonder if he has a girlfriend?’

By the time I got home, reality set in.  Having my own set of wheels now, not just bicycle wheels, but those of a real car, didn’t mean I wasn’t still a full-fledged kid.  My little car didn’t mean I was any smarter.  In fact, trying to go to sleep at midnight, all I could think about was how on earth I would ever be able to befriend Olivia Tillman.  It seemed from what James had said, she would never even notice me, certainly she wouldn’t become human enough to think I was cool with my new car.  My five-plus year-old car.  As my subconscious rose up to take me towards my dreams, I wished tomorrow was Wednesday and it would be the day I finally got to meet the gorgeous Olivia.  The dreams started with a question, ‘how had she become some sort of goddess to me?’

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 4

December 3, 2017

“You will always be remembered here with fond affection, but just as important, for your contributions to cutting edge Biblical scholarship ever since you arrived in 1962, at least a decade before most of the current staff was even born.  With this, we wish you well.  Please come back for a visit very soon.”  Laurie Zoloth, Dean of the University of Chicago Divinity School, ended her detailed biography of Robert Benson’s life and career, and his conversion to professor emeritus.

I had walked across the campus from my post at the Department of Ecology & Evolution to Swift Hall to join my honored Dad and celebrate with him the end of his 55-year career here at the Divinity School.  What made today equally special was Dad’s birthday and its coinciding with his official retirement.  Professors Arnold Davidson and Michael Fishbane had spoken before Dean Zoloth, with them excelling at alternating everyone’s emotions from sad and back to happy through their stories of working with Dad and experiencing his many sides, including his ability to uncover the tiniest of relevant leads from a mountain of, what academics referred to as ‘garbage data.’  The ninety-minute formality was now over and Dad and I, along with Professors Davidson and Fishbane, were continuing our celebration, on a more private basis, at Piccolo Mondo on East 56th Street.

After the four of us sat down at a corner table in the busy near-campus restaurant, and as Fishbane encouraged Dad to try the Fettuccine Apulliana, I couldn’t help but recognize another coincidence.  This one didn’t bode as pleasant as Dad’s retirement and birthday.  Later this afternoon, after a leisurely lunch and a brief meeting, hopefully, with Sally Edgeworth, one of my doctoral students, I was driving to Boaz, Alabama.  It would be the first time there since Dad and I drove away after the completion of my eleventh-grade school year in June 1971.  The occasion was anything but a vacation.  I was going to offer all the support I could to my good friend, James Adams, who was facing criminal charges and a Federal jury trial.

“Robert, just last night I read your article, “A Jew-less Faith” in The Journal of Religion.  A long discussion ensued between the three Bible scholars with me attempting to display interest and understanding.  The article’s thesis was that Christianity had been hijacked by America and its infatuation with Republican politics.  After a lull in their discussion, Davidson asked Dad how his 1970’s Alabama research on Baptist Fundamentalism had affected his career.

“I’ve thought a lot about that question myself.  Looking back, it is easy to say that if Matt and I hadn’t spent that year in Boaz, Alabama, I don’t think I would have pursued my theory.  It was the people there, their beliefs, traditions, and daily lives, that spawned such an interest.  I was fortunate to be in the right place at the right time to capture a preview of Americanized Christianity before it spread across the country.”  Dad said, dipping a french fry into a mound of ketchup.  I knew he would reject the Fettuccine Apulliana.  He wouldn’t dare spend $25.00 on lunch.

My meeting with Sally took an hour longer than I had expected or wanted.  After thirty minutes to return to my house on Claremont Drive, I was finally ready for the ten-hour drive to the little town that I would never forget.  It was there that I discovered that love, real love, had the power and capacity to either displace or circumvent vast differences in deep-seated beliefs.  I was both excited and sad.  Forty-six years ago, a wonderful teenage girl and I had held each other for the last time outside a four-room rental house on College Avenue.  Olivia and I both thought at the time that our separation would be temporary.  It was only three short years until she would graduate high school and be able to join me in college.  It hadn’t worked out that way.  She had chosen, or had it decided for her, that I was not worth it.  The love we had discovered had wilted and virtually faded from my mind.  It was as though something more powerful than love had prevented Olivia from taking the road our hearts were seemingly destined to travel.  The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost blasted across my mind, especially the stanza:

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

The last of today’s sunlight faded as I drove south through Gary, Indiana.  I was beginning to despise all of today’s coincidences.  Once again, I had stopped at the same interchange that Dad and I had stopped at for him to fill up his truck with gas and for us to eat breakfast at a Waffle House.  It was the same I-90 and I-65 exit but the 1970’s service station had long been razed and replaced by a multi-million-dollar Pilot Truck Stop.  There was still a Waffle House but no doubt it too had been completely transformed.  Even still, I couldn’t help but pull in, fill up my truck—Dad’s influence here too—and enjoy a quick cup of coffee in the imaginary spot where Dad and I had sat over forty-six years ago.

South of Nashville I had to pull into an I-65 rest area.  It was past midnight and I could barely hold my eyes open.  I found a quiet spot on the back side, a parking spot behind the one where the diesel engines of a dozen or more semis were humming their drivers a midnight lullaby.  I slept for over an hour, woke up from a dream about being thirsty while walking across a desert with nothing in sight but an ocean of sand.  I walked inside the Information Center, used the bathroom, and bought a cup of vending machine coffee. 

Between Nashville and Decatur, Alabama all I could think about was the past, what my life had been like since June 1971 when I had left Boaz.  For over a year Olivia and I had communicated, mostly through our letters, but with an occasional phone call.  At that time, it seemed nothing had changed.  During my entire high school Senior year, I firmly believed that Olivia and I would follow our dream and be together just as we had planned when I left Boaz.  Then, I couldn’t see it happening.  I have since reread her letters a million times.  Now, with the benefit of hindsight, it is easy to spot little clues.  I couldn’t help but think that if I had shared them with Dad, he would have spotted them immediately.  As that first year apart passed, Olivia spoke more and more about her prayer life and how she wanted to honor and please God.  I think it was in December 1971, maybe January 1972, she started interjecting her duty to honor her father.  This doesn’t mean we didn’t speak about our love for each other.  Again, looking back over these letters, it was clear that Olivia was deeply troubled about something.  I still wonder if it was about God and Walter Tillman or if it was about something else.  I will never know because during the fall of 1972, during my second month at Harvard I received Olivia’s ‘Dear John’ letter, followed by her late-afternoon phone call declaring she had decided to break up with me.  I will never forget her words, “Matt, you know I love you, but God has other plans for my life.  I can’t keep you hanging on.  I have to let you go.”

I almost flunked my first semester at Harvard.  I don’t know how long it took for me to regain some form of normalcy, but I know without a doubt I experienced post-traumatic stress syndrome.  To me, it was every bit as bad as if I had been blown up in Iraq or Afghanistan.  I’m sure I’ve forgotten a lot of the details, but I know I would never have made it if it hadn’t been for Dad.  From then on, every night for the next four years, Dad called, and we talked for at least an hour.  I now realize what a sacrifice this was for Dad.  He was extremely frugal with his money and his time.  He must certainly have recognized how near death I was to have committed his most valuable resources to saving his only son.

After graduating Harvard with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biology, I moved on to Duke University in Durham, North Carolina for my Master’s and my Ph.D.  I then did a two-year postdoctoral fellowship at the University of California, with Timothy Prout, Ph.D.  In 1981, with these excellent educational credentials and, I’m sure, a little help from Dad, I was hired by the University of Chicago’s Department of Ecology and Evolution as an Associate Professor of Evolutionary Biology working under the direct tutelage of the world-famous Jerry Coyne, assisting him in his work with evolutionary genetics.

Of course, my education and profession weren’t my entire life.  I had met Alicia Harrison in 1982.  Once again, I must thank Dad.  Alicia was a new associate professor of linguistics in the Divinity School.  Her office was across the hall from Dad’s and he liked her from the beginning.  Long story short is that he introduced us.  I had walked over to visit him the day before our Christmas holidays began.  Alicia didn’t have family so Dad invited her to share Christmas dinner with the two of us.  Less than a year later we married.  If losing love one time wasn’t enough, fate, God, whatever, visited tragedy once again on my delicate heart.  In January 1984, Alicia died two hours after being t-boned by a drunk driver while she was driving Dearborn Boulevard to begin her day at the Divinity School.  Later, I discovered in her journal that she had planned on telling me that night that she was pregnant.  She had written, “found out yesterday that I am pregnant.  I wanted to tell Matt this morning before work but thought it best to wait until tonight when we have more time to celebrate.  Can’t wait.  He will be overjoyed.”

As I exited I-65 and turned east on I-565 towards Huntsville, I now, once again, realized, why I had remained single after Alicia died.  I was doomed, destined, tainted, to never have love, real love, live in my life.  There was something inside me, something opposite from fertile ground, that was like poison to a long-term and healthy relationship.  As I drove towards Boaz I wished, long ago, I had pursued counseling or psychiatry or a ten-year Himalayan meditation, something, to discover why I could not hold on and succeed with a woman I loved.

Crossing the bridge into Guntersville, across the Tennessee River, I became almost sick thinking I was returning to the place I first fell in love.  I knew beyond doubt that I had loved Alicia, but I also knew that my love for Olivia Tillman was unique, a once in life love.