by Karen M Cox
“Well, it’s her decision isn’t it?” James replied. “If living up there isn’t what she wants, the ball’s in her court, and she’s the only one who can pitch it.” His voice rose a little with agitation. “I refuse to feel sorry for people whose lives aren’t what they wanted because they were afraid to take a chance.”
“You really think Laurel’s just too timid to come down off her mountain?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, maybe that’s what makes her happy. I’m just saying that there are a lot of people in the world who have their fates handed to them. Makes it hard to feel sorry for the ones who are persuaded to take a path other than the one they really want. I mean, look at Benwick. He got a raw deal that he had no control over. He found the life he wanted and went for it — but then he lost Fiona. Laurel, on the other hand, could have anything she wants if she had the fortitude to stand up and go for it. I know for a fact she’s had at least one chance to leave, and she turned it down flat, apparently without any regrets.”
Laurel stepped back, startled and, for the first time in a long time, angry. How dare he gossip like that about her with Heather, of all people — shallow Heather with her school-girl giggle, low-cut halter tops, and shoe obsession. Furthermore, he made a brazen assumption that her situation in life was all her own choosing. What a condescending, judgmental comment! And what self-absorbed bitterness to assume that she had not been hurt by what had transpired between them and had no regrets. Well, if he wanted to play the martyr to make himself feel better, so be it. Her eyes stung with tears. Perhaps the old James was really and truly gone for good. Life and the passage of time had changed her, so it stood to reason that he had changed as well — and maybe not for the better. It bothered her, though, to think that he still viewed her decision all those years ago as some kind of cop-out, when it was more about caution and being there for her family.
“Look, I’m not saying anything bad about Laurel,” James was saying, “or about you all for being concerned about her. That’s real nice of you. But what I admire is someone who knows what she wants and then goes for it. It’s the only way to truly live a full life.”
“Oh, I agree with you completely,” Heather concurred with the blind enthusiasm of youth and infatuation. “I would much rather be resolute and determined than wishy-washy.”
Laurel could hear the smile in his voice. “No one could say you aren’t determined, Heather, once you decide on something.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I’m going to get another beer. You want one?” His voice was coming closer and closer, and before Laurel could gather her wits and get away, she came face to face with him in the hall. He looked startled.
“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t see you there.”
All she could do was to stare at him wide-eyed and vulnerable. He raised his eyebrow. “You all right?”
“Fine,” she muttered, and pushed past him and down the hall to the kitchen, intent on busying herself with salad and forgetting all about James Marshall.
* * *
After dinner, the dishes were cleared, the baby was put to bed, and the new group of friends decided on a game of poker to round out the evening, using pennies to make the game interesting. Laurel didn’t care to play, however, and started making noises about heading home when John Benwick approached her, a large book in his hand and an earnest look on his face.
“I dug this out of my suitcase. It’s Fiona’s work — the coffee table book of photos she published. Would you like to see?”
Laurel smiled. “I’d love to see it.” She walked around the back of the couch and sat down, propping her feet on the edge of the coffee table and setting the book at an angle on her knees. John sat beside her, pointing out various pieces as she perused the pages.
“That one was a favorite of hers.” He indicated a cup with cherry blossoms on it. “She loved flowers.”
Laurel ran her finger over the photo. “It’s lovely work — so intricate.”
“She was very talented.” He cleared his throat. “I guess it’s a little maudlin to haul this thing around with me wherever I go . . . ”
Laurel reached out and patted his shoulder. “You miss her, of course. It’s normal that you want to remember.”
As they leafed through the book, Laurel could feel a palpable grief simmering just below the surface, leaving her with the distinct impression that John Benwick, understandably, was heading for a significant depression. She wondered whether his friends had seen this tendency in him. He talked incessantly about his fiancée, not always in sadness, but she was almost always the focus of his conversation. After a while, he even seemed to realize this himself.
“You’re very kind to listen to me talk about Fiona. It’s hard for Eric and James to hear me miss her like this and know they can’t do anything to fix it. They loved her too; everybody loved her. Sometimes I just feel like I’m going to buckle under the weight of losing her. So thank you. It feels good to talk about it — to get it off my chest.”
“I’m convinced it always helps to work through your grief somehow, but people do that in a variety of ways: through talking, through exercise, even through art and music.” She paused. “Don’t you have any family to talk to, John? Or other friends to help you cope that weren’t so close to Fiona?”
“No family to speak of. My father died when I was a teenager, and my mother tries, but she lives far away from me, and we aren’t very close. No brothers or sisters, and as for other friends, well . . . I’m not exactly the best company right now, am I? Making friends seems like an insurmountable challenge.”
“It’s a challenge worth taking though,” Laurel went on. “You might consider a support group. Grieving is a process, and it takes time to move through it. Have you ever heard about the stages of grief?”
“No, I don’t believe I have.”
“I think it would help you to do some reading about it. There are five stages and we have to progress through them all, although it takes people different amounts of time to move through each one. What you don’t want is to get stuck. You want to keep moving through them until you finally reach acceptance, and then you’re ready to move on with your life.”
“The idea of moving on with my life seems impossible right now, but I know you’re right; I really have no other choice.”
“And, from what you’ve told me about Fiona, she was a woman who loved life and loved you, and she would have wanted you to live it to the fullest. She would want you to be at peace.”
“You’re right about that too. She was a very caring person.”
“So, don’t you think you owe it to her to try?”
“I suppose when you put it that way, it makes perfect sense.”
“Good,” Laurel smiled, vaguely aware of the irony of counseling someone to get on with his life, when she had spent the last eight years pining for a man who had left her far behind. A burst of rip-roaring laughter assaulted them from across the room, and Eric called out, “What are you two talking about so seriously over there?”
“We were talking about books,” Laurel replied, swirling the wine in her glass and drinking the last of it down in one big swallow. She smiled at John, and he sent a tentative smile back, but it was a genuine smile, tinged with humor rather than sadness. It changed the look of his face, and she could see how a woman might fall for him. Feeling that familiar prickle on her neck, she turned to look at the card players. Sure enough, James was watching her curiously, but somehow her earlier trepidation had lessened. Now that she knew what he really thought of her and how he had no use for people like her, she needn’t worry about trying to impress him. She felt the stranglehold of anxiety loosen, and she stood up in a decided fashion.
“Is there room for one or two more? I think I’d like to try my hand at this game.” She walked over to the table.
“Sure,” Eric answered her. “Pull up a chair. We’re always ready for another sucker . . . I mean another player, right guys?”
<
br /> “Right,” came the chorus of replies.
She beckoned to John and pulled up a couple of chairs. “Well then, somebody deal us in.”
* * *
The next morning, Laurel was up early, feeling stronger than she had in a long time. Sure, there would always be some regret about James, but having inured herself to his presence for the most part, she felt that perhaps now she could move on. Counseling John Benwick to do the same had reinforced her resolve. It was time to stop hiding on the mountain and go live the rest of her life.
She fixed tea and oatmeal, worked a couple of hours on ideas for new pottery designs, and then decided to head over to the marina. It was Thursday, so she needed to do her father’s payroll for the next day. Then, she’d go by the Pendletons’ houseboat and touch base with Ginny before they went out on the lake for the day. They had invited her along, of course, but this time, she declined. Despite her newfound resolution regarding James Marshall, she wanted to keep a little distance between them.
The four Pendletons, minus Heather, were at the boat when Laurel arrived. She and James had gone out for a walk along the docks.
Laurel hadn’t been there five minutes when Virginia commented that she needed some supplies from the marina store and asked Carrie to walk up and fetch them.
“I’ll go with you,” Laurel volunteered. “I’ve got work to do at the marina office anyway.”
They set off and soon saw Heather and James strolling leisurely toward them from another pier. Heather was talking, her hands moving in wide, animated gestures, and James was smiling. He looked relaxed, walking with his hands behind him, wearing khaki shorts, a polo shirt and topsiders with no socks. Laurel’s breath caught in her throat as she watched him stroll toward her. He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and she couldn’t help but look at him.
Carrie called out, and they looked up at the same time.
“Hey,” Heather greeted them cheerfully. “Where are you two going?”
“Just up to the shop to get some things for Virginia.”
“Here, we’ll join you.” Heather took James’s arm and pulled him in behind the two women.
They had almost reached the marina store when they met a man heading out to the shore. He stepped aside for the ladies to pass on the narrow dock, and started with recognition.
“Well, hello, Laurel.”
She looked more closely, and then her face broke into a smile. “Dr. Edwards!”
“Cooper, please.” He held out his hand to her and clasped hers in a warm grip, using both his hands to hold her fingers fast.
“Yes, Cooper, of course. What brings you here?”
“Came to see your father. After you and I met up at Woodland, I realized it had been far too long since I’d seen him and decided to make the trek down from Benton. There’s really no excuse — me being as close as I am. Shameful I haven’t come before.”
“I’m sure he was glad to see you.” A gust of wind took a wisp of hair over her face, and she brushed it back with a delicate hand. Cooper Edwards’ gaze warmed, and his eyes slid down her form with admiration.
“And now I run into you as well — my lucky day. I would have come by to visit you, too, if I’d known how to contact you,” he hinted.
“Oh, I don’t have a phone, but you can always reach me through Dad.” Laurel rarely told anyone where her cabin was. Anyone close enough to visit her at home knew where it was already.
At last, Cooper noticed her companions and paused, expecting an introduction.
“Oh, these are some friends of mine; this is Carrie and Heather, and this is James.”
Cooper nodded hello to the other three. “Well,” he said, turning back to Laurel, “I guess I’ll be heading out. Have to be back for class by three.”
“Of course; don’t let us keep you. I’m glad you came to see Dad though. I’m sure it was the highlight of his week.”
Cooper laughed and looked down in an attempt to appear humble, but it rang false on him.
“The pleasure was mine, I’m sure.”
“Goodbye then.”
“Au revoir.” He leaned over then and, to her surprise, took her elbow and kissed her cheek. James stiffened slightly, and so did she.
“Who was that?” Carrie asked after he was out of earshot.
“A friend of Mr. Elliot’s of course. Weren’t you listening?” Heather replied in an exasperated voice.
“He’s cute for an old guy — very distinguished.”
“He’s a professor at my old college.” Laurel, more than a little curious at this spontaneous visit, turned to watch him walk away. “I ran into him last week at a craft fair.”
“And he drives all this way to see your dad for the first time in years, and then he drops a little lip love on you?” Carrie teased. “Have you been holding out on us, Laurel?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s my dad’s friend and, therefore, mine.”
“He didn’t look at you like he wants to be friends. I didn’t see a ring on his finger either. You should think about it,” Carrie sing-songed.
Laurel waved her off and continued toward the marina so quickly that she didn’t catch James’s scowl as he watched the man disappear into the distance. After a second, he followed along behind the girls, but the easygoing smile he sported earlier was long gone.
Chapter 19
Because the Harvilles and John Benwick planned to leave for California right after the Fourth of July holiday weekend, Stuart and Virginia Pendleton decided to invite everyone on a two-day, houseboat excursion. The weather promised to be hot and sunny, so Dylan and James said they would also bring their motor boats along for skiing.
“I’m terrible at skiing,” Carrie pouted. “It’s all I can do to get up on two skis. I’m not like Stu, who can ski on one. Even Heather’s better than me.”
“I don’t know about that,” Heather answered. “I haven’t skied on one in a few years. I might have forgotten how.”
“It’s like riding a bike; you never forget,” James reassured her. She beamed at him in return.
“Do you ski a lot in California?”
“Yeah, we go when we can.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Carrie,” Virginia encouraged her as she packed a cooler into the ski boat. “I’m going to ride in the houseboat with Stu, Eric, Millie, Susan and Gary.” She counted them on her fingers as she listed each one. “Dylan, Crosby and Spring will take Dylan’s boat and meet us at the campground, and John’s going with James and the girls in his boat. What do you want to do, Laurel?”
“I don’t care. I’ll ride with you . . . ”
“Why don’t you ride with us?” John asked as he approached the boat with a slalom ski under one arm and a couple of life jackets under the other. “You know the lake better than any of us; you can make sure we don’t get lost on the way.”
“Sure, if you like.”
“Great, that’s settled, then.” John gave her an affable smile. They had developed a comfortable friendship over the last several days, and the results were not lost on Eric Harville. A few nights before, he had pulled Laurel aside and said low in her ear, “I don’t know what you said to John that night at James’s house, but whatever it was, I’m eternally grateful to you. He’s been better this past week than I’ve seen him in months — since Fiona got sick.”
“I’m sure it was nothing you hadn’t said to him before. Sometimes it just takes an objective person from outside the situation to validate a close friend’s opinion.”
“You’re a wonder, Laurel Elliot. Why hasn’t some lucky guy snapped you up yet?”
“You know, I wonder that myself sometimes.” She laughed, not completely at ease but better. Now that she knew James’s true opinion of her, she was doing her best to let go of the past and her lingering feelings of regret. She patted Eric on the shoulder and went into the other room before he could read too much into her expression.
Now, she told herself, she hadn’t a care in th
e world. The boat ride was marvelous, and in the bright morning sunshine, the five of them looked like something out of a beer commercial. John drove with James sitting beside him at shotgun, and the Pendleton sisters stretched out on the side seats, sunning themselves. Laurel lounged along the rear seat, reading the new John Grisham novel. She might not be as sexy as the Pendleton girls were in their bikinis, but she felt pretty enough in her violet one-piece and the gauzy cover-up tied about her waist. That feeling was validated when she saw James’s aviator-covered eyes turned her way. His mouth hung slightly open and she tilted her head to the side as if to ask ‘What?’ He closed his lips with a snap, sat up and turned toward the front, pointing out something in the landscape to John.
On the way to the campground, they all took turns skiing. Laurel had already been out a few times with Dylan and Crosby that summer, so she was fine after a couple of initial spills. John was charged with spotting for a while, but then he grew tired of watching the others and offered to drive. Carrie did her stint on two skis, just barely making it up and quickly signaling that she was ready to stop. Heather clamored for her turn, so James and John obliged her next.
“I want to slalom ski,” she insisted.
“Are you sure you want to try that right off the bat?” James asked while helping adjust the straps of her life jacket. “Two’s a little easier, especially if you haven’t been on skis in a while.”
“No, I can do one.” She threw the ski in the water behind the boat and jumped after it. As she wrestled with putting her left foot in, he called to her, “Not so tight on the boot. You want your foot to come out of it if you take a spill.”
“I don’t like the way it slips around on my foot.”
James shook his head but said nothing. John moved forward slowly, tightening up the rope. She grabbed the handle when it reached her, and the boat pulled her slowly through the water.
Laurel and Carrie shielded their eyes from the sun and watched as Heather tucked her right knee behind her left and curled into a little ball in preparation. She gave the thumbs-up, and John punched the gas. She disappeared behind the water spray for about ten seconds, but then she popped up to the surface — a brilliant smile on her face. The three of them clapped and shouted as she got her bearings and leaned back.
