Love Starts with Elle

by Rachel Hauck

  “Daily, if you’re out and about.”

  “I was thinking of putting Tracey-Love in school half days, give her something to do while I work.”

  “Leave early if you’re concerned about time, but getting caught in bridge traffic is a legitimate excuse around here.”

  “Good to know.”

  Elle grinned, passing him the bread. On the way downtown, they’d been caught in bridge traffic, and for fifteen minutes New Yorker Heath drummed the wheel impatiently but listened as she talked about a painting she’d started.

  He asked about the inspiration behind her idea—drum, drum, drum—offered a suggestion—“What is taking so long?”—talked about colors and the message of her work—“We’re stopped for that one itty-bitty sail boat?”

  “Yep.”

  He’d glared at her. “New Yorkers would riot.”

  The server returned for their order. Elle ordered a brick-oven pizza and Heath the pork roast.

  “How’s the book?” Elle leaned to one side, chin in her hand.

  “Good, good.” Heath spread his napkin over his lap, reaching for a slice of warm bread. “It’s a World War II love story, which is giving my agent a heart attack, but it’s what came out when I started writing.”

  “We’re a slave to the muse, no? Why doesn’t he like the story?”

  “If one of your clients was a noted Manhattan criminal lawyer, would you want a love story set in wartime Beaufort and the Aleutian Islands?”

  Elle laughed. “No, I guess not. I’d want a legal thriller or political intrigue.”

  “Exactly.”

  She brushed her hand over the linen. “When do I get to read this masterpiece?”

  “When it’s published.”

  Ha.

  He didn’t even crack a smile.

  “Not even a peek?”

  Heath tried to hide his grin with a bite of bread. “Maybe, we’ll see.”

  “Okay, no more busting my chops about my confidence or sneaking peeks at my work.”

  “Yeah, let’s talk about your confidence.” His steady gaze made her butterflies beat their wings. “What happened to the girl who drew on bulletins and water-colored her parents wedding pictures?”

  “Gave in to doubt. Let my confidence leak like air from an old bike tire. It became too hard to paint and believe I was any good.”

  “Doubt usually has a source.”

  Their server refilled their iced teas. Elle waited until she left to go on.

  “I had a mentor at New York’s Student Art League the summer after I came home from Florence. I was discouraged and thought if I could find someone who saw beyond my weaknesses, maybe I’d develop my craft.”

  “Elle, it’s art. Very subjective.”

  “Sure but who wants their professors implying, ‘Should’ve majored in basket weaving’?” Elle placed a slice of bread on her plate and reached for the butter.

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “No, I’m not. I had an instructor in Florence as well as colleague who gave me the what-are-you-doing-here eye.” Her first bite of bread was buttery warm. It had been awhile since she’d had much more than dry cereal, stale crackers, and barbecue chips. “I felt like a brown pony running in a pack of psychedelic ones and finding a way to stand out was impossible. People would ask, ‘What’s that spec of dirt doing on this gorgeous, mosaic masterpiece?’”

  Heath laughed, covering his full mouth with his fist. “Elle, come on, you’re not a brown pony. Besides, do you really believe every successful artist or writer had someone telling them, ‘Go for it, Van Gogh. You da bomb’?” He arched his brows. “If there are vacancies in your Never Never Land, I want to move in.”

  She burst out laughing. “Okay, no, but somewhere, somehow, a voice has to tell the artist, ‘Keep going. You have what it takes.’”

  Their server stopped by. “Your order will be right out.”

  “What happened that summer? At the Student League?”

  Elle leaned forward with her hands in her lap. “I wanted to study impressionism.” She shook her head. “Way harder than it looks.”

  “Most simple things are.”

  “I met a visiting professor at the Student League, Dr. Petit, who gave private instruction. Paid a lot of money, painted a lot of hours, lived in a closet someone rented to me as an apartment . . . only to be told I’d better marry well or find a good-paying day job.”

  “Really, that harsh?” He wrinkled his face.

  “By the time I left New York in September, I never wanted to pick up a brush again.”

  “Elle, he’s one man.”

  “Sometimes one man is all it takes. I came home and started planning the gallery. Time was a commodity I didn’t want to waste. So many people dedicate their lives to the wrong thing. I didn’t want that to be me.”

  Heath reached for his tea. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

  The server brought out their dinner, offering ground pepper and cheese toppings. “Can I get y’all anything else?”

  Heath glanced at Elle. Good? “We’re fine, thanks.”

  The conversation stalled as they ate the first few hot bites of dinner. Elle had been craving brick-oven pizza for a while. She closed her eyes as she chewed. “This was worth you yelling at me for a dead phone battery.”

  Heath cut a bit of his meat. “Glad to oblige. Okay, so you were so shut down by this rude professor. What inspired you to paint again?”

  Elle wiped her mouth with the edge of her napkin. “A few days ago I was praying at the chapel and”—she tried to pass it off casually with a flip of her wrist—“God kind of asked me what I wanted. The desire to paint came back, so I thought I’d try. Not that I’m going to go showing my work or anything, but I’m taking it one day at a time.”

  “I believe God is wiser than Dr. Petit. How about you?”

  Elle grinned, shook her head, and bit into her pizza. “Smart aleck.”

  SEVENTEEN

  A scratchy electric guitar lick-zapped the humid evening air as Heath walked a path of tiki lights to this Bodean guy’s party.

  “He’s a friend of yours?” he asked Elle, spotting a circle of men, half of them wearing deputy uniforms, the other half in T-shirts and jeans. “Some party if the cops arrive before the fighting begins.”

  Elle laughed, bumping into him as she walked. She could do that all night and he’d not complain. “Bo’s a deputy sheriff and so are most of his friends.”

  “Ah-ha.” Way on the other side of the wide party lot, the band’s lead singer belted out Sarah Buxton’s “Stupid Boy.”

  Heath walked with his hand lightly touching her back, fascinated by the lively, good-time atmosphere. It reminded him of his Yale frat days before the kegs were tapped and the men drank freely. So far, he’d been there two minutes and no one had run by him beer drenched and naked.

  The path to the party split under two signs: This way to Mars. This way to Venus.

  “Mars and Venus?” He glanced at Elle.

  “It started as a joke one year when Bodean was on and off again with his wife, Marley. Now it’s party tradition.”

  “Is there a neutral planet where we can hang out together?” He scanned the landscape.

  “Sure. Switzerland.” Elle walked straight ahead, off the path, cutting across the grass and through the trees.

  “Switzerland. Man, all this time I was thinking it was a country.”

  On the edge of the planetary lights, Elle found a picnic table situated between two oak trees. Heath sat next to her, his feet flat on the bench, arms resting on his knees. Through another set of trees, between the tiki flames and the ground luminaries, he could see the bandstand, a plywood dance floor, and patches of white moonlight.

  “You know these people your whole life?” Heath asked.

  “Most of them. If I didn’t go to school with them, one of my sisters did. Or, shoot, see Edgar Forest over there?” Her bracelets tangoed when she raised her hand to point out Edgar. “Retire
d deputy. Went to school with Mama.”

  Heath liked the music of her bracelets. Ava had embraced the fashion of a New York journalist. Little makeup, except when on air, and a mostly black wardrobe. If she ever owned bracelets, Heath had never seen them.

  Elle fascinated him with her green eye shadow, Cleopatra eyeliner, and a wardrobe color that didn’t start with B and end with K. Ava wore pantsuits and pumps. Elle wore flowered skirts and shorts. Jeans and T-shirts. And Heath wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her wear the same pair of shoes.

  “Elle, the prettiest girl in the county. Finally, my party has class.” A skinny man with cropped blond hair and wide shoulders strolled between the trees.

  Elle slid off the table. “Bo, now I know you’ve said that to all the girls tonight.”

  He pressed his finger to his lips. “Shh, but with you it’s true.” The man held his beer away as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Sorry about the whole wedding thing, Elle. The boys decided the man must be crazy for letting you go.”

  Elle sat back next to Heath, dismissing Bo’s comment with a pfffbt. “Wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Just so you know, we broke our No Girls rule at the Wednesday-afternoon club and voted you an honorary member. Anytime you want to come over, hang out, shoot pool, throw back a few beers, you’re welcome.”

  “Bo,” Elle gasped, hand pressed to her chest, “I don’t know what to say. I’m honored.” She sniffled.

  Heath grinned at Elle’s expression. He liked seeing this part of her, confident and comfortable among her friends, out from the dark shadow of rejection.

  “Bodean, this is my friend and neighbor, Heath McCord.”

  He shook Heath’s hand. “Welcome, welcome. Stop on by Mars; we got a good beanbag game going.”

  “If I get bored here, I will.”

  The comment caused Bo to shift his gaze to Elle. “Well then, see you around.” The man wandered off toward Venus and Heath heard, “Susanna, the prettiest girl in the county. Now my party has class.”

  Heath nudged Elle. “He’s a piece of work.”

  “Sure is, but he’d give you the shirt off his back and the last dollar in his pocket.”

  “A lot of people in this town love you, Elle. And don’t tell me it’s because you grew up here.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  He touched her chin. “There’s something very beautiful and tender about you. I bet half the men at the party would take a punch in the gut if someone threatened you.”

  She moved away. “Don’t say things like that, Heath.”

  “It’s true.”

  She shook her head. “I thought tonight was about friends.”

  He lowered his hand and stared toward the dance floor. “Right, right, friends.” Without pausing to consider his emotions, Heath knew he wanted more. But she’d stationed the No Detour signs. Maybe she was right. He’d be going back to New York by the end of summer. Why start what he couldn’t finish?

  “Hey, you two, come on, hit the dance floor.” Bo popped Heath on the back as he bustled past. “You can moon over each other later.”

  The music was loud and the heels of the dancers smacked against the plywood. If he didn’t have two left feet and no rhythm, Heath might have led her to the dance floor, but he’d rather wait for a slow, swaying dance tune.

  “You want to dance?” Elle asked.

  “Only if you want.”

  “I’m good here.”

  “Me too.”

  She hollered over to Venus for her friend Jess to bring a couple of brownies and Diet Cokes. When Jess came over a minute later, Heath marveled. He couldn’t think of one friend in New York who would respond nicely to such a request. “Get your own bleeping brownie. Who do I look like to you?”

  “So, can I ask you a question?” Elle asked, breaking off the tip of her brownie.

  “Absolutely.” Heath took a big brownie bite. Man, when was the last time he’d eaten any homemade desert? He was going to have to learn how to make these.

  “How long were you married to Ava?”

  “Sixteen years. We met in a political science class our sophomore year at Yale. Got married two years later.” Heath stuffed the last half of the brownie in his mouth, wondering if a Martian could venture over to Venus for a second piece.

  “Was it love at first sight?”

  “For me, yes.” He waded up his napkin. “But Ava was this beautiful, smart, classy woman every sophomore man wanted. I was just another goofy guy with too much ego in a line of goofy guys with too much ego.”

  “Tough times in the Ivy League.” Elle broke her brownie in two and gave half to him.

  “If the entrance examines don’t kill you, the competition among geeks and supergeeks will.”

  “Come on, isn’t Yale the land of Chip and Babs, lots of money and perfect gene pools?”

  “Things have changed. As it turned out, though, I was the only geek who believed in Jesus, so guess who moved to the front of Ava’s class?”

  “Jeremiah claimed he was enamored the first time he saw me. But my heart didn’t get wrapped around the love axel until he kissed me. Then it was all over but the singing.”

  “Must have been some kiss.” Note to self. He wasn’t planning on kissing her, but if he did, accidentally or something, this tidbit was nice to know.

  “Was it the kiss or just this really gorgeous man giving me his attention, coming along when I really wanted to get married?”

  “Fine line sometimes between love and infatuation.”

  “How did she die, Heath? Can you tell me?”

  “Tragically.” He brushed his finger lightly down her nose to its soft tip. “I promise to tell you. I’m just having a good time tonight and—”

  “I understand.” Elle crumpled her napkin, holding out her hand for his trash. “Is her light too large to stand under?”

  He dipped his head to see her eyes. “No, it’s not.”

  “You don’t compare every woman you meet to her?”

  “I did at one time. I’ll always love Ava, Elle. But if God blesses me with another love, she won’t have to stand in Ava’s light or shadow.

  Why do you ask?”

  Elle shrugged. “Just wondered what life looked like from your chair.”

  “How about you? Do you compare men to Jeremiah?”

  “You mean, ‘Oh, here, take my heart and see if you can stomp on it harder than my ex? Oh no, sorry, didn’t hurt me enough. Bye-bye.’”

  Heath slipped his arm around her and pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head. “Come on, he had some great qualities or you wouldn’t have fallen for him.”

  “True. Some days I wonder if maybe . . . I don’t know, if things will settle out there in Dallas and things could work out.”

  “Perhaps.” The news disappointed him, but it wasn’t a total surprise coming from her heart. All the more reason for him to cool his own infatuation.

  “My sister Candace thinks I sabotaged the relationship, but I didn’t know . . .”

  The band slowed down the music and the plywood-floor dancers moved together. Heath slipped off the picnic table. “Enough talk. Would you like to dance?”

  “I’m beginning to see a pattern here.” She put her hand in his without hesitation.

  “Shh, don’t spoil the moment.”

  When they reached the floor, Heath spun her into his arms, holding her to his chest.

  “Elle, I have to go to New York in a few weeks to accept an award for Ava.” She listened, her hips swaying with his. “Can you watch Tracey-Love for me? I’ll pay you.”

  She lifted her face. “Pay me? Heath, you’re in the South, dear heart. We take care of our friends, no debt incurred.”

  “This is the first time I’ve left her overnight since Ava died.”

  “I’ll get Rio to sleep over and she won’t have time to miss you. Funny, isn’t it?” She rested her face against his chest. “Just because someone dies it doesn’t always mean their life is over.” />
  Heath pressed his hand against the silk of her hair. Forget the walls and borders, the No Detour signs. Maybe he’d start falling in love with her when he got back from New York, or after he read Ava’s letter, perhaps even tomorrow. Or maybe he’d start falling a little bit right now.

  Monday afternoon Julianne barged into the studio. “Come with me.”

  She ran back out the door calling, “Hurry.”

  “To where?” Elle hollered out the window, the two o’clock sun reflecting off Julianne’s windshield. “I have a brush full of paint.”

  “Well, clean it up, but hurry.”

  Ripping paper towels, Elle wiped her brushes, good enough for the moment since she’d be back to finish. Dang Julianne. Elle was just getting into this painting from a lowcountry photo.

  She scurried around for her shoes as Julianne hollered, “Come on.” Beep, beep.

  Finally, wearing two different flip-flops, Elle ran down the stairs and jumped into Julianne’s car. As she barreled down Lady’s Island Road with the top down on her ’85 Rabbit, Elle hung white-knuckled on to the passenger-door handle. Keith Urban sang from the stereo about needing a faster car.

  “Do you have a hair tie?” Elle popped open Julianne’s glove box. About a hundred McDonald’s ketchup packets fell to her feet. But no hair tie.

  So Elle held her hair with her hands, the ends tangling about her face, as Julianne jerked the Rabbit into the east-bound lane to pass the car ahead of her.

  “Jules—” Elle pressed her foot against the floorboard.

  The Rabbit’s engine wound down. “Sorry, I’m just excited.”

  At the Meridian Road intersection, Julianne mashed the break and swung into a short, gravel parking lot attached to what used to be a beauty salon—its heyday in the era of the frosted beehives.

  Lady’s Island Beauty.

  “Jules,” Elle said, climbing out of the car, raking the wind from her hair. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but this place is closed.”

  “Remember how we used to make up stories about this place when we passed it?” Julianne hurried to the porch, which was broken down on one side.