by Rachel Hauck
Coffin Creek. The environment Huckleberry claimed was dying. But as Elle parked alongside Jeremiah under the drooping branches of a live oak, she could hear the dissonant song of life thriving in and along the creek’s murky water.
“This is where you’re taking me to dinner?” she asked, approaching Jeremiah as he waited by the backyard gate in the silver light of the “starry, starry night.”
“Yes, but”—he swung her into his arms—“you don’t have to cook.”
“Please tell me you’re not cooking.” She laughed against his chest. The first and last time Jeremiah cooked for Elle he served his house specialty, mac-n-cheese with cut-up hot dogs.
“Never fear.” He fastened his arm around her waist and walked with her to the back porch. “Close your eyes.”
“Close my eyes?”
“Yes, close your eyes.”
Elle made a face. She didn’t liked surprises. “Okay, but I’m counting to ten, then opening them.”
“Give me twenty.”
Standing with her eyes closed, she could hear Jeremiah fumbling around, running across the sun-washed boards muttering, “Hot, hot, hot.” She heard the scrape of a match, followed by the kitchen door opening, then banging shut. The aroma of tomato sauce and garlic bread. Her stomach rumbled.
“What are you doing?” Twenty seconds had passed.
“Okay, open them.”
When she did, Elle found her back porch warm and inviting with hundreds of white lights twinkling around a crystal-and-china-set table for two.
“Jeremiah, this is beautiful.” She peeked under the foil-covered plates, her pulse racing. Arlene had one thing right: something was up.
“The lasagna is courtesy of Mrs. Marks.” Jeremiah held out a chair draped with a blanket. “For you.”
Elle sat though she floated. “If this is what Arlene is sad about, I’m most certainly not.”
Jeremiah knelt next to her, eye to eye. When his lips met hers, Elle’s heart throbbed in her throat, against her temples. Her senses were addicted to him.
“I hope I haven’t overwhelmed you by moving too fast, too soon.”
Too late. “What else would a former wide receiver do but run fast once he caught his girl?” She inhaled the air around him. “I just need a moment to catch my breath now and then.”
Jeremiah cupped her neck with his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “My first Sunday at Beaufort Community, Pastor O’Neal introduced me and asked me to say a few words. I sat on the first row during worship, focused but feeling at home in my new church. I’d practiced my two-minute greeting in front of the mirror a dozen times.”
“How could I forget? You captured us all that morning.”
“I wasn’t prepared to look out over the congregation and see a gorgeous strawberry blonde with apple-green eyes.”
She pressed her lips to his palm. “I certainly wasn’t prepared for you.”
“For a split second, I was caught in this Star Trek-like vortex. You were the only person in the room and I couldn’t remember what I wanted to say or, oddly enough, where I was.”
“You exaggerate.” Elle exhaled the same moment the creek released its breeze.
“The next few times I preached, I found you in the congregation during worship and made sure I never looked your way.”
“So, how does this answer Arlene Coulter’s speculation?” Elle huddled close to Jeremiah, shivering with the night chill and anticipation.
“First things first.” Raising his hand, Jeremiah dropped a small black-velvet box next to her plate, then looked into her eyes. “Elle Garvey, will you marry me?”
What? “Marry you?” She glanced from him to the ring box and back again. She’d expected a lot of things—but not this. After two months of dating, was he serious?
“Marry me. I love you. You are exceptional. I’ve waited a long time to ask a woman this question. Elle, please, say yes.” Jeremiah opened the box, holding it up for Elle to see the diamond in the candlelight.
“Oh, Jeremiah.” His proposal sent sparks all over her, but she had to snap the box shut. “Wait, wait. Tonight Arlene tried to console ‘my breaking heart,’ but it was really about you’re asking me to marry you?”
Jeremiah laced his fingers through Elle’s, still kneeling beside her chair. “Goes to show you Arlene doesn’t know everything.”
“Then tell me, what does she know, Jer?”
“Elle.” Jeremiah took the platinum band from its velvet bed and slipped it onto Elle’s finger. “Do you love me?”
The candles, the lights, the aroma of pasta, garlic, and sauce mingling with the cool dew of the night eased her anxiety. “Yes, I believe I do.”
“Then marry me. This is right, I know it.”
“I’ll marry you, Jeremiah. Yes.”
His arms shot over his head in victory. “She said yes!” He pulled her from her chair and locked her against him, sealing the deal with a hot, searching kiss. Finally, when he’d stolen her last bit of air, he pulled away. “Hungry?”
“Yes.” Elle fell limply against him. When she opened her eyes, Jeremiah’s smile look a bit wicked.
“I meant for lasagna.”
She flirted, tipping her chin to her raised shoulder. “So did I.”
“Oh, I see how it’s going to be.” He grabbed her for another kiss, drawing her close, pressing his hands tightly against her spine.
Elle backed away when temptation bullied her senses. “Jer, let’s eat before we do things we’ll regret.”
He sighed, his breath hot against her skin. “Sorry, Elle, but when I’m with you . . .”
Her passions cooled while Jeremiah dished up Mrs. Marks’s excellent cooking and Elle drilled him about the details. What did Daddy say? And Pastor O’Neal? Do you want to move into the cottage after the wedding? Do you want a spring wedding? Jeremiah, I’ve only met your parents once. Are they excited?
He answered steadily, laughing as he recounted his meeting with Daddy. “He paused so long before giving his blessing he actually had me sweating.”
“He tries to be a grumpy ole bear, but he’s really a gentle Ben. Like he’d refuse the pastor anyway.”
“He seemed pleased.”
Elle thought tonight would always be a treasured memory, including Arlene’s heartbreak scare. “Wait until Arlene hears, Jeremiah. She had it wrong this time.”
Jeremiah reached for his tea. “Not entirely.”
Elle studied him mid-chew. “What do you mean?”
“What Arlene does know is I’ve been offered a large church in Dallas, Elle.”
“Dallas?” Absently, she wiped the corners of her mouth with a stiff linen napkin.
“Remember when I went home in October? We’d just started dating and I wasn’t sure where our relationship was headed. Some friends invited me to interview at their church—a big metropolitan congregation, multicultural, growing beyond their ability to handle it.”
“You never mentioned it.” Her heart beat to a different rhythm now. Leaving Beaufort?
“Didn’t think they’d come back with an offer. But they did. A few weeks ago. I would’ve told you, but I needed to work out a lot of details. Pray. Talk to Pastor O’Neal and the board.”
“I see. So you accepted?”
“I did. Gave notice to the board this morning. I leave the day after Christmas, but I hope we are going together, you and me.”
Sitting back in the Rubbermaid chair, Elle pondered Jeremiah’s news. Moving? Texas? She’d moved back to Beaufort after college and studying in Florence because she wanted to be home, near her four sisters and their families, near Daddy and Mama, reconnecting with lifelong friends. Building her life upon their foundation.
“I never imagined moving from Beaufort again.” Jeremiah’s ring slipped around on her cold, trembling finger so the diamond was upside down.
Jer reached over, tucking the blanket in around her. “Babe, I need you with me. Please don’t say this is a deal breaker.”
>
Deal breaker? Good grief. Were they ending before they’d even started? “No, Jeremiah, I feel a little overwhelmed, that’s all.” Her laugh jittered. “A girl gets a proposal and a chance to move across country . . . all in one night.”
“I’m sorry to spring it on you like this. I wasn’t sure of the best approach.” Jeremiah’s countenance remained firm, confident. “You’ll love this congregation. It’s about six hundred members and growing, knee deep in a building project, desperate to add another Sunday service.” He rubbed his palms together. “Rocking worship band, lots of ministries and activity going on.”
“So, you really told them yes?” She twisted the ring around her finger until the diamond captured the candlelight.
He took his knife and slowly buttered his bread. “I tried to figure out if I should propose to you first or answer them. After thinking it over and praying, I decided to answer yes to the job, get it out of the way, not encumber our new relationship with such a huge decision. Besides, what if you said no?”
“You do realize our new engagement is encumbered with this decision?”
He nodded, biting off the tip of his bread. “I suppose so. No way around it.”
The buttery aroma wafted past Elle. “Jeremiah, I love living here. I have a business. The art scene is robust and thriving.”
“I see.” Jeremiah dropped the remainder of his bread on top of the last bit of lasagna. “Then your answer is no?”
No, her answer was . . . uncertainty. Elle’s pulse picked up. “I just need a second to process all of this.” She untucked the blanket and walked to the edge of the porch. “Dallas, huh?”
All she knew of Dallas was an eighties nighttime soap opera her mama had watched after she and her sisters went to bed. If they came down for any unexpected reason, Daddy intercepted and dealt with them in the kitchen or living room, but always away from the TV and Dallas.
“It’s a great city, Elle. They also have a very thriving, robust art scene.” He came up from behind and embraced her. “I want you with me. I need you. You’re the love of my life.”
Well, if that confession didn’t just warm a girl’s cold feet. Elle turned in his arms. “And you’re the love of mine. But see it from my point of view. I’m engaged for thirty minutes before I discover my future has been determined for me. In my mind, I’ve planned my life here. My gallery is here.”
“I understand. But I have to go where the Lord is calling me, Elle. I hope you believe He’s calling you to be with me.”
She pressed her cheek to his chest, exhaling as he slipped his arms around her back. “Then you must go to Dallas, Jeremiah.”
“And you?”
Elle roped her arms around his neck, kissing the base of his neck. “Since October, you’ve been a face, a voice, a touch on all my days. How can I walk away now? I love you. I want to marry you. I’m terrified, Jeremiah, but if you’re going to be in Dallas, then so am I.”
NEW YORK CITY
The knock on the door didn’t inquire but demanded. “Tell me it’s not true.”
“Okay . . . it’s not true.” Heath dropped a copier-paper box on his desk and peeked from under his brow at Catherine Perry, who powered her way across his office in her blue, retro-eighties power suit.
“Heath, be serious.”
Ah, her retro-eighties power voice. He’d miss her brilliant mind on a day-to-day basis, but not her I-am-woman-hear-me-roar inflections.
“You talked to Rock, I take it?” Heath gathered the pictures from the credenza without reminiscing over the images behind the glass. He’d been packing up little by little since last summer.
“If you leave the firm, even for a few months, it will kill your career.” Catherine whacked the desk with her knuckles. “Rock’s fought for you against the other partners, especially last summer when your life got complicated and they wanted to throw you over. Is this how you thank him? By resigning?”
“I’m not resigning. I’m taking a leave of absence—there’s a difference.” He regarded her with a hard glance. “I can’t stay in Manhattan, Cate.”
“Then move to White Plains, Poughkeepsie, or Connecticut, for crying out loud. Leaving a successful boutique firm like Calloway &Gardner is career insanity, Heath.” She sounded like she did when key evidence wasn’t going her way.
“Right now, I care about my personal sanity. Did you know I was late for the Glendale arraignment because I thought I saw Ava walking down Lexington Avenue?” He stared into the box. “I chased a scared, skinny teen boy with great hair for ten blocks.”
Catherine covered her mouth. “Oh, Heath.”
“Laugh. It’s funny.” Heath shoved the box with a fast pop of his palm. “But also very sad.”
What he didn’t confess to his prying co-counsel was how Ava’s fragrance lingered in the apartment, no matter how many times it was cleaned. Or how he felt claustrophobic and chained up, how hope felt like a dirty little four-letter word.
He didn’t confess to Catherine how he longed to be in a place that held no memories of her. Perhaps then he could draw a breath without a million pin-sized flames burning his lungs.
“Healing takes time, Heath. It’s only been a few months.” Catherine straightened the papers lying on the corner of the desk. “Rock said you weren’t leaving right away?”
“Not until March.”
“What about Tracey-Love?”
“I thought I’d take her with me.” He put the lid on the box and walked it over to his closet, where dozen of other boxes waited. Some with case work, others with personal items and records. While Catherine watched, he emptied another drawer into another box and shoved on the lid, anchoring it with a crooked piece of tape. “This is for her as much as anyone.”
“Really? Moving her to Hooterville, South Carolina?”
“It’s Beaufort, and really, Cate, you should open your mind sometime and see what junk falls out.”
As she clucked and fussed, trying to come up with one of her cunning replies, Rock Calloway entered without knocking and plopped into one of the matching leather club chair’s opposite Heath’s desk. “Cate, give us a minute.”
Besides his father, Heath respected no man more than Rock Calloway. The sixty-four-year-old lawyer believed in the rule of law, in finding truth and dispensing justice. Behind his clear gray eyes, he still clung to the idea that right would always win.
“Just left Doc and Tom. They’re concerned about the Glendale case, consider you leaving as a slap in the client’s face and disloyalty to the firm.”
“They can choose to believe what they want, but the truth is I haven’t been an asset in months. Art Glendale would get life without parole if I tried his case.”
Rock’s rich white grin denied his years. “They’d hoped you’d kick in, fight this thing with Ava by throwing yourself into your work.”
This thing? “Sorry to let them down, but until any of the partners have walked in my shoes . . .”
Rock surrendered with a flash of his palms. “I’m on your side, Heath.”
“Tell them I’ll do all I can on the case before I leave in March.” Heath sat in his chair, facing Rock. His office matched his mood, barren and empty except for the basic necessities.
“I suppose you’re going to tinker with novel writing again.”
“Thought I might use the downtime to write, yes. Maybe come up with a novel that’ll sell this time.” Rock muffled his grin, but Heath caught the humor behind his eyes. “Go ahead, I know what you’re thinking.”
Rock chuckled. “Your first novel was . . . well, I’d read legal briefs more riveting.”
Heath grinned, remembering how he’d passed his first novel, Remove All Doubt, around the office, convinced he’d bested Hemmingway. Made him the brunt of office jokes for months. But since then, he’d studied, improved, finished two more novels, and convinced Nate Collins, his old Yale classmate turned high-powered agent, to represent him.
“This thing”—now Rock had Heath saying
it—“with Ava caused me to realize I can’t always count on tomorrow. The sun may rise, but not for me.”
Rock’s soft laugh was one of speculative realization. “You make a point.”
“I rented a cottage by a creek down near Beaufort, South Carolina. Little area called St. Helena.”
Rock tightened his lips and nodded. “Sounds quaint.”
“My grandfather owned a place on Edisto Island in the eighties and nineties. My brother Mark and I used to run the creeks and rivers, building forts, playing soldiers. Granddad’s place is gone, but going back felt like a good place to start over.”
“Heath, Doc and Tom won’t let me hold your partnership for more than six months. Had to fight them for it. Best and worse thing I ever did was pair up with those two after Bill Gardner died. He was a great partner. Either way, I’m not calling the shots alone anymore.”
“I understand, Rock, and appreciate you going to bat for me.”
“I can’t imagine the small-town South Carolina life will suit you for long. You’re a New Yorker, a Yankee, and a lawyer.” Rock arched his foot so the back of his chocolate-brown loafers dangled from his heel. “What about your daughter? Her education?”
“She’s only four, Rock.”
“Are you telling me her name wasn’t put on a dozen elite pre-K lists five minutes after she was born? She should be enrolled by now, ready to start in the fall.”
Heath ran his hand around his neck, stretching to relieve the steady tension. “Geneva and St. Luke’s. But life changed, didn’t it? Took three people and ripped their lives apart. Right now, I just want to piece our lives back together. This move will be good, just the two of us in that cottage. No nanny, no sixty-hour work weeks.”
Rock pinched his eyebrows together. “You’ve only been working sixty hours? Had I known you’ve been slacking . . .”
It felt good to laugh. “This from the man who leaves every afternoon at four with his tennis bag. Yeah, don’t look surprised. I see you.”
Rock owned up. Besides the law, tennis was his passion. “Tell me, though, does the pain get better?”
“The good days are rare, but the bad days are fewer, if that makes sense. I feel in limbo and . . . disoriented. I walk down to the law library and forget what I wanted in there. I pour a glass of milk and find it hours later, untouched. The other morning I woke up, panicked, convinced I’d overslept for a contract-law exam.” Heath motioned to his packed closet. “Ten years I’ve been at this firm and all I’ve accumulated can be stored in boxes.”
