Free The Supremes at Earl's All-You-Can-Eat by Edward Kelsey Moore

Clarice would have lived in if fate, in the form of a three-hundred-pound, corn-fed Wisconsin linebacker with blood in his eye, hadn’t stepped in and transformed Richmond from a potential NFL legend into a recruiter at a university whose footballglory days were long past. Out of respect for her friend, Clarice never accepted a bit of credit for her hard work. Instead, she patiently tutored Barbara Jean, teaching her everything she knew about art, antiques, and architecture. Between the practical experience Barbara Jean gained from tending to the needs of her extravagant old home and from Clarice’s guidance, she eventually surpassed her instructor’s level of expertise.
    When she stood from the antique chair to stretch her lower back, Barbara Jean’s Bible tumbled to the floor. After she’d had dinner with Lester, counted out his pills, and put him to bed, the evening had become a blur. She didn’t recall that she’d been reading the Bible before she fell asleep. It made sense, though. She tended to drag out the Good Book when she was in a dark mood, and the shadows had closed in around her that night, for sure.
    Clarice had given Barbara Jean that Bible in 1977, just after Adam died. Lester had become frightened when his wife stopped speaking and eating and then refused to come out of Adam’s room, so he called in Odette and Clarice. They got right to work, each of her friends administering the cures they trusted most. Odette mothered her, cooking wonderful-smelling meals which she fed to her by hand on the worst days. And, during the long hours she spent sitting in bed beside Barbara Jean while her friend cried onto her broad bosom, brave Odette whispered into Barbara Jean’s ear that now was the time to be fearless.
    Clarice came brandishing a brown suede-covered Bible. It was embossed with Barbara Jean’s name in gold letters on its front cover and had “Salvation = Calvary Baptist Church” printed on the back. For weeks, Clarice read to her about the trials of Job and reminded her that the fifth chapter of Matthew promised “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
    But both of Barbara Jean’s friends had come bearing medicine for the wrong illness. More than courage or piety, what she needed, what she would scour Clarice’s Bible forwards and backwards searching for over the many years that followed, was a clue as to how to get out from under the boulder of guilt that rested on her chest andforced the breath out of her. Well intentioned as it was, Clarice’s gift just armed Barbara Jean with a long list of good reasons to be seriously pissed off at God while the weight of her guilt ground her into powder.
    Barbara Jean was finally able to leave Adam’s room after she and God came to an understanding. She would continue to smile and nod through services every week at First Baptist just as she always had, and she wouldn’t call Him out for being as demanding and capricious as the worst two-year-old child, ready at any moment to reach out with his greedy hands and snatch whatever shone brightest. In exchange for this consideration, Barbara Jean asked only that God leave her alone. For decades, the pact worked out fine. Then, with Big Earl’s sudden passing, God reminded Barbara Jean of who He was. Bringer of death, master comedian, lightning bearer. He made it clear to her that He had no intentions of honoring the terms of their truce.
    Barbara Jean put the Bible on the eighteenth-century candle table next to her chair and walked to the mirror above the fireplace to inspect herself. She didn’t look too bad—a little puffy, but nothing some time with an ice pack wouldn’t take care of. Also, the sun wasn’t up yet, so she still had time to get a little rest to ensure she would look good for Big Earl. And she was determined to say goodbye to her friend looking her very best.
    She had laid out her outfit for Big Earl’s service earlier that evening, before heading into the library.