This was supposed to be another column about golf. I wish it was but a tragedy changed that. I’m not sure why it happened; certainly it never should have. Why couldn’t the predator have had the car wreck before rather than after; or a heart attack, or been kidnapped himself? That never happens though does it?
No, instead he got to his destination safely, where he waited for Beverly Carter to arrive.
She thought she was going to show a house to a prospective client. She was working, when most of us were fighting through five o’clock traffic, heading to our homes of comfort and security and a little peace from the day. Beverly was still working, doing what Realtors do, she was showing a house.
It was late on Thursday night, the night she went missing that I first heard about it. It’s never a good feeling when you can’t get in touch with your spouse, especially these days, when we are all so instantly connected. You know what I mean, that familiar fear soon creeps in, and the thoughts about what could have happened begin running through your mind.
It wasn’t that long ago that I couldn’t reach KM, she wasn’t answering her cell; I called and texted but there was nothing. Too much time went by and I got in my car to go look at the grocery store where she usually shops and to the side of the parking lot where she usually parks. I sat waiting at the red light, across from the store; I was still too far away to get a good view. The light at last turned green and I moved, staring at the spot where she would be, trying to wish it so.
Then I saw what looked like her car and the wave of fear was covered in relief, but I still was not totally sure. But then I saw her, pushing a cart my way and all was right with my world (Of course, she wasn’t that thrilled with what I had to say to her so a little of that world-rightness was diminished, but that’s OK too).
I didn’t know Beverly but I remembered her and went into the dusty attic above our newsroom where we keep the bound past editions. I found what I was looking for, the pictures from the North Pulaski Awards of Excellence I had taken back in March of 2013. It was a 1920’s theme, the days of molls and mobsters and gin joints. The photo was in the top right corner. Beverly, decked out as a flapper, grinned widely at my camera. Next to her was her husband Carl, in his pin stripes and fedora. It was a happy night. There should have been more.
So we have processed the horror of the past 12 days. It seems important, now as much as ever, that we reach out for those we love; if for nothing else than to push the darkness out of our hearts and know again what God intended it to be like, before the gift of free will, and the sin that sometimes comes with it.
I didn’t know Beverly Carter but wish that I had, because it is plain to see, from the many photos of her with family and friends that she was a person who knew how to love.
And that’s what she leaves behind. I pray that her love envelops all those she cared about, who must be feeling so much loss right now.
I hope they feel her presence. I hope it gives them peace and strength to keep going, and to love each other as she loved all of them. It’s what we all need I think, now more than ever.
Jay Edwards is editor-in-chief of the Hamilton County Herald and an award-winning columnist.
Contact him at jedwards@dailydata.com