LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

EPILOGUE

July 1989 to Present

BEHOLD, CHILDREN ARE A HERITAGE FROM THE LORD (Psalm 127:3)

            It was strange having Cat for a housemate, especially as I went through the grieving process. But it was such a blessing having her there! It was both sad and wonderful to hear little Debbie follow Naomi’s lead by calling Cat Mommy.

            Cat did something in raising our girls that some would not approve of. I myself didn’t approve at first. What she did was not tell the girls who was birthed by Becky, and who she herself gave birth to. She didn’t want one to feel favored over the other due to biology. But she did sell me on it with one simple point.

            “As sinners, we are all adopted into God’s family,” she explained.

            As I dwelt on that, I came to like what she was doing. Plus, she also suggested giving them the option of them knowing when they reached a certain age.

            When Cat first moved into our three bedroom condo, we were platonic roommates. I had my room, Cat had hers, and the girls shared the third. But as the wounds of my grief began to scar over, living with a woman I was extremely attracted to started to wear on me more and more.

            Unbeknownst to me, Cat had the same thing going on, but she didn’t show it until three days after the first anniversary of losing Becky. I came home to find her in her old Hooter’s uniform. My jaw dropped as she spread her arms open and grinned. “What do you think?”

            I plopped on the sofa, put my face into my hands. “Cat, you’re killing me!”

            “Hey now,” she scolded, placing her hands on her hips. “I may have gained fifteen or twenty pounds since I last wore this, but I think it distributed pretty well.”

            “Tell me about it. It’s also snugger than I remember.”

            “So you think I’m fat!”

            “No, no, no!”

            “I’ll have you know, muscle weighs more than fat. I may be a little heavier now, but I’m firmer and in better shape.”

            “I’ll say.”

            “You’ll say what?”

            “I’ll say it’s getting harder by the day to live in such close proximity to you.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked with a hurt look on her pretty face.

            I stood and gripped her shoulders. “Catlina, you have to marry me!”

            “Is that a demand?”

            “Yes!”

            “Well then, I guess I have no choice but to marry you.”

            “Do you mean it?” I asked happily.

            “I do,” she smiled. “Pun intended. But wouldn’t you like me to agree willingly?”

            “As in free will?”

            “Exactly,” she replied with a grin. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and pushed downward. I got the hint.

            I went to one knee and taking both of her hands in mine. “Catlina Clutterbuck, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

            She knelt in front of me. “Yes, I would be honored, most honorable Mr. Burl. But you have to promise me one thing.”

            “Anything, my Princess, just name it.”

            “A little brother for little Debbie and Naomi.”

            “I’ll do my best. But what if we end up with nine more sisters for little Debbie and Naomi, and then your biological clock stops ticking?”

            “We’ll just have to keep going through the motions and hope for a miracle, kinda like Sarah and Abraham. Are you willing to do that?”

            “Am I ever!”

            Pastor Kenny Clutterbuck, Cat’s brother, had recently transferred to a church near Milwaukee. Forgive me Cheese Heads, but as a member of the Chicago Bears football team, I didn’t want to be married in Packer territory. So Cat and I got hitched on August 19, 1990, at an outdoor chapel in a park on the North Shore, with Lake Superior in the background. I also bought us a nice little acreage just outside of Two Harbors where we lived during football’s off season.

            Ten months after marrying, and not quite a year after promising to give our girls a little brother, Joseph Kenneth Burl joined our family. Nineteen months after that, Benjamin Loyd Burl was added. Two boys for the price of one promise. Over the course of the next ten years, we adopted two more girls and two more boys. We were a big fun filled family that shared lots of love and laughter.

            During the 2004 football season, I injured my right knee making an actual football play. Although a punter for sixteen seasons, I recorded four tackles, threw two touchdown passes, and ran for two touchdowns during my playing career. But it was my fourth tackle that ended my career.

            After having knee surgery on my kicking leg, and being only a few years from forty, I didn’t even try a comeback, I simply retired. It was wonderful! I had more time with my family, and I also drew close to God like never before. When my three oldest children decided to be baptized, I joined them.

            Cat was the first to hug my dripping wet body. There was a huge smile on her face as tears ran down her cheeks. She had been praying for years that I would take my relationship with Christ to the deepest level. She even let me know that she had guilt over my football career interfering with my walk with the Lord. For it was she that talked me into trying out for my college team.

            I had thought this guilt ridiculous. For it was my football career that gave our family no financial concerns. But when I retired, in my thirties mind you, I also took up painting again. I also talked Cat into painting again with me. We began doing Biblical themes. They became quite popular. After twenty years, and over a hundred paintings in circulation, I surpassed my total income as a Chicago Bears employee.

            I actually enjoyed it when Cat gloatingly gave me a big ‘I told you so. God has ways to take care of us, Mr. Golden Leg.’

            “It’s not a golden leg anymore, it’s an olden leg.”

            So, now back to where I started this tale of two loves. It had been thirty five years since Becky passed away. My daughter had asked me to tell her about the eighties, and the two women I was in love with. I had kissed Debbie on the forehead.

            But before I started, I looked to my left and noticed Naomi staring trance like at Becky’s tombstone. My two oldest daughters were now thirty-six years old. Although tempted a few times, they had never asked who Becky birthed and raised for their first year of life.

            Cat and I always paid our respects in remembrance of Becky once a year by visiting her gravesite. There was a big lilac bush behind the cemetery in an adjoining park. Becky had loved lilacs, so Cat always picked some fresh flowers from the bush to put on her grave.

            Since the girls had been adults, there was only a half a dozen times we all went together. Debbie always became sentimental, talkative, and inquisitive. Naomi always became wistful, quiet, and sad. If they knew the truth, I always supposed their behaviors would be the other way around.

            Cat came walking up to me and our girls. She had a bouquet of lilacs in her hand. She handed one of the flowers to Debbie. “Here, Sweety, you always loved the smell of lilacs.”

            “Thanks, Mom,” Debbie grinned, sniffed the flower, and put an arm around her sister. They nodded at each other. Then Debbie said, “Dad, before we get you to reminisce, we feel the time has come. Naomi and I want to know.”

            Cat and I looked at each other. Cat bit her lower lip, then smiled wistfully and shrugged. “Why don’t you do the honors, Honey.”

            I couldn’t speak, so I simply put my hand on Debbie’s cheek. Both daughters drew a breath and Debbie put a hand to her chest. The sisters looked at each other. Then Debbie looked at Cat, but Cat was staring at her daughter’s feet, much the same way Naomi had been staring at Becky’s tombstone.

            “Mom,” Debbie called. Then Cat looked up and into her adopted daughter’s eyes. Debbie stepped toward Cat and hugged her protectively. “I’m sure Becky would have been an excellent mother. But I love you with all my heart, Mommy!”

            “Oh!” Cat gasped. Then with a croaky voice she said, “I love you with all my heart too, my darling Daughter. You’ll always be my little Debbie.”

            Then the four off us were in a group hug. All eight eyes wet with love and remembrance.

THE END

            WRITER’S NOTE: Next week I will be starting a story called ‘Heavy Metal Miracle.’ It is the tale of a famous guitarist who finds redemption and love after years of sex, drugs and rock and roll. His biggest surprise is finding out he has a teenage son by a girlfriend from his youth.