by Rachel Hauck
Big mouth. Talk about your own life if you want to gossip. Maybe coming in during business hours to confront her wasn’t such a good idea.
“He is, Mrs. Pratt.” It’s all the woman needed to know.
Julianne finished up with her customer, a young man dressed as a civilian but with the strut of a marine. She thanked him for coming by, then reached for the broom. “What’s up, sister dear?”
“Can I talk to you? In private?” Elle motioned to the break/storage room.
“Sounds serious.” Julianne swept brown hair into a dust pan. “Let me check on Miss Dora’s set first.” She walked over to the dryers, lifted the hood, felt the curlers, then told the woman five more minutes.
In the back room, Elle sniffed around the last of the morning donuts, but decided against eating one.
Jules yanked open the fridge. “Now that I have my own business, I can’t imagine how you sold the gallery.”
“Love is blind.”
“Maybe, but it shouldn’t make you stupid.” Julianne pulled out a bottle of water, letting the door swing shut. “What’s wrong? Is it Jeremiah?” She grabbed a basket of towels off the dryer. “I’m going to say this straight up, Elle. I know SB, MJ, and Candace agree—the man doesn’t deserve you. Do you really want to be married to him after what he did?”
“People make mistakes, Jules.”
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”
“Is that why you won’t tell Mama and Daddy about Danny?”
Julianne didn’t flinch, but folded a towel, tucking her red lips into a tight line. “I don’t know why they have to know who I’m dating—”
“He told me.”
“Told you what?” Julianne snapped another towel from the basket. “Danny Simmons is used to getting what he wants and it burns my hide to have him sneaking around to the family, talking about my business.”
“He seems to think Rio is his business.” Elle picked up a towel to fold, keeping her voice low. I’m on your side.
Julianne thrust a folded towel onto the pile with such force the stack toppled to the floor. She swore as she stooped to pick them up. “Now I have to wash them all over again.”
“The floor looks clean to me. Isn’t there a five-second rule?”
“No, there’s not.” Julianne shoved Elle aside and tossed the fallen towels into the machine.
“Is he Rio’s daddy?”
“You with your questions.” She measured out detergent and poured it in, slamming down the lid.
“The irony is killing me, Jules. You won’t use a towel on a customer that hit a clean floor for two seconds, but you’re willing to let your family and friends believe Rio came from a one-night stand?”
“Towels and my personal affairs do not equate.” She trembled as she reached for the remainders in the basket.
“Jules.” Elle grabbed her hands. “Is it true?”
A light knock against the door and Lacy called, “Julianne, your four o’clock arrived.”
“Thanks, I’ll be right out.” Julianne eyed Elle, control replacing the tremors. “So what if he is?”
Why did she make everything so hard? “Then you can come clean, get married, move out of the dump you call home. Rio can have a daddy, Jules.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Elle smacked her hand down on the washing machine. Her bracelets clanked against the metal. “Why not? Why is everything so complicated? Do you know how relieved Daddy and Mama would be? Maybe a little weird about the age thing and the fact that Danny is Daddy’s friend and all, but, Jules, they’d be elated.”
Steely brown eyes held on to Julianne’s resolve. Elle knew her sister’s cloaked confession did not mean one brick in her wall had come down. “I’m not telling anyone anything. And you’re still under our pinky oath.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not good enough. Jules, you best give me a reason why you won’t come clean on this. You have a wonderful man who loves you and longs to do the right thing.”
“I have a customer.” Julianne stepped around Elle.
“Do not go out that door, Jules.”
With a desperate sigh, Julianne fell against the door, holding her head high, fixing her eyes on some point beyond Elle. “You want a reason? You think this is so cut and dried, black and white? Just confess, Jules, all your problems will be solved. No, they won’t. Nothing can remove the shame. I’m ashamed, Elle, and it physically hurts to think about it.” Her terse words flew like arrows.
“You’re not the first woman to have a baby out of wedlock.” Elle tread with a light step.
Julianne’s eyes glistened as she absently bit her bottom lip. “He’s been divorced three years. Rio is four.”
Elle crossed her arms in an academic way, as if she’d just grasped the law of entropy. “Okay, a small complication—”
“Small complication? You think I’m going to waltz into Truman and Lady Garvey’s house and confess their foolish and stupid daughter had an affair with a married man? I won’t do it. It was bad enough telling them I was pregnant. Every time I’m with them, I feel their disappointment.”
“Don’t see them through your guilt, Jules. They love you; they’re proud of you. They strutted around here like peacocks at your grand opening.”
“Okay, maybe the ordeal of their daughter having a baby out of wedlock has passed. Besides, it’s happened to half their friends. It’s not so shameful anymore, but, Elle, if I start letting on that Danny Simmons is Rio’s daddy . . .” She snatched a tissue from a nearby box and blotted under her eyes. “I won’t do it, not to them. Danny can live with it.”
“Do you love him? What if this isn’t about you or Danny or Mama and Daddy. Could it be about Rio and what’s best for her?”
“What’s best for her is what I say. Danny isn’t leaving me many options, Elle. If I’m with him, the truth has to come out. He won’t have it any other way. He’s tired of being in the background and frankly, I don’t blame him. But, Elle, this is one valley our love can’t cross.”
“Not even for Rio?”
Julianne lowered her eyes, shaking her head. “It sounds simple, but—” A single tear dangled from her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Imagining the look on their faces as they hear one of their adorable offspring willingly carried on with a married man, one of Daddy’s friends, no less, is the stuff of nightmares.”
Lacy knocked again. “Are you coming? He says he’s in a hurry.”
“Be right out, Lace.”
How had Jules borne this alone for so long? Elle would’ve cracked under the pressure. “At the risk of sounding like a hundred-year-old hymn, I think I know someone who can take away your burden of guilt and shame.”
“I’ve prayed, Elle, if that’s what you mean.” Julianne checked her makeup in the mirror before easing open the door. “Maybe some of us are just destined to be shackled by a heavy burden.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Since his conversation with Nate, Heath’s novel determination suffered. He’d not touched his laptop today since checking e-mail before driving TL to school.
Should he continue to pen a book no one would ever read? A real artist would say yes. Art for art’s sake. Elle seemed willing to create work no one would ever see. But her issues were different from his. She was insecure. He was efficient.
Maybe it was Heath’s practical side. Or his ego. But if he worked his backside off preparing a case, writing a book, or carving an angel out of a tree stump, somebody had better benefit from it.
So maybe it was back to Manhattan and his Central Park apartment with a cleaning service and take out. He’d finish Chet and Kelly’s story on the weekends, see if Nate could land it a home.
Lately, he missed waking up in the morning with a distinct sense of purpose, reviewing case details as he showered, reading briefs on his train ride downtown. And the other night he’d had a craving for the kabobs served by the Indian place on the corner of Lexington and 49th
.
Plopping down on the couch, he reached for the remote, surfed a few channels, then clicked the TV off. He was restless. Ready to move on with his life.
When he’d moved down to St. Helena, he’d wanted to forget himself, get lost in something that had no ties to Ava. But nearing the anniversary of her death, he was ready to be found.
Wandering out to the screen porch, he eased down into the iron rocker and listened to the melody of the creek.
Maybe writing a book didn’t matter as much as healing and closing those final doors of grief. Looking back, he’d done well. Only one door remained. The letter.
Heath thought for a moment, mentally testing his tender spots, then went to the kitchen. Ava’s envelope remained perched in the window, crisp and faded from months of southern sunshine.
Walking out the kitchen door and stepping off the porch, he took the slope of the yard toward the dock, crossing the pine needle garden where the angel-with-splinters waited. Taking a bench seat between two pylons, Heath considered his options while staring at the horizon where clusters of island trees appeared like rolling hills.
He could drop the letter in the water right now and forget she ever wrote it. Or he could read it and say good-bye forever to his first true love.
Or take the letter back inside and let it ride on the window’s ledge for a few more weeks.
Coward. Just read it.
“Heath? You here?”
Heath lifted his head, listening.
“Heath?” A knocked echoed across the yard.
“Out by the creek.”
A dark-suited man rounded the side of the cottage. Rock? What in the world? Heath slipped the letter into the pocket of his shorts, laughing as the man practically disrobed in the yard. Coat dangling off his fingers, tie undone, shirt opened with the tail out. “It was a nice sixty-two when I left the city. What is it, a hundred here?”
“Eighties. What are you doing here? Come inside, cool off.” Heath lead Rock to the kitchen and popped open a couple of cold Cokes.
“Bless you, my boy.” Rock gulped down half the can. When he came up for air, a burp slipped through his teeth. “Pardon me, but that hit the spot.”
Heath sat in the chair opposite his old boss and friend. It was good to see him. “So, you didn’t come all the way down here to share a Coke with me and shoot the bull, did you?”
“You e-mailed me about the book being rejected, so I thought, Strike while the iron is hot, Calloway. Booked the earliest flight down.”
“Taking advantage of a man when he’s weak?”
Rock toasted Heath with his Coke. “Whatever it takes. The fight’s getting pretty nasty up there. Old school versus the new, arguing over administering the PPP.”
“The old PPP.” Profits per partner. He’d earned more than his share over the years.
“I need you.” Rock’s message never changed. “They’re turning my law practice into a competitive, bottom-line machine. First thing in the morning breakout meeting? Money, profits, billable hours. When I started the firm, I wanted to practice law. And so did everyone working for me. Now it’s about making money through the law.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m coming back in September.”
“Make it a ‘for sure’ and I’ll be a happy man. Doc has Olivia Hancock slotted to take your partnership if you don’t return.” Rock downed the last of his Coke. “A man works his whole life for something he believes in, makes a bad choice, and a couple of snot-nosed Harvard guys change everything.”
“See, there’s where you went wrong, Rock. Harvard grads.”
Heath glanced at his watch. “I need to pick up Tracey-Love. Want to ride along and grab some dinner after?”
“Did you notice airlines don’t serve squat for food anymore?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Grabbing his keys, he ushered Rock out the back door and set Ava’s letter back on the windowsill.
Out back on the deck of Luther’s Rare and Well Done, five o’clock was still bright and warm.
From where Elle sat with Jeremiah, she could see the right half of Waterfront Park, the sparkling Beaufort river, and the sleeping boats docked at the marina.
“This job was tailor made for me, Elle.” Jeremiah poured a tiny bit of dressing over his salad. “The staff is great; we click and flow, share common ideas and goals.”
“I’m glad, Jer. I can hear it in your voice when you call. So, did you find a new apartment?”
“Yeah, I did, but”—he took a slow stab at his salad—“I’d rather wait for you this time. Our marriage license is still valid, and Pastor O’Neal could marry us tonight if we wanted.” He caught her eye, communicating passionate things unsaid.
If he’d made the suggestion last night when he pulled into the cottage driveway and met her at the studio, she would’ve said yes. The futon had provided an inviting, soft place to say “hey” and continue to get reacquainted.
For the few weeks he’d been back in her life, Jeremiah had eased off the idea of marriage until last night when he whispered, “I love you, Elle. I want you.”
Since stepping down from ministry, Jeremiah’s passions burned hotter, more fierce. Last night Elle was the one who challenged the journey of his kisses along her neck and down the edge of her top.
Right? Wrong? Everything in her wanted to respond.
“Elle, what do you think?” Jeremiah bit the salad off the tip of his fork.
“I don’t know, Jeremiah. It sounds exciting, but—” She stirred her salad. His confidence and excitement intoxicated her, but this new insistence on marriage made her bristle.
While she took months to pray and wade through her disappointments, Jeremiah had moved forward with rocket speed and intensity. Elle felt sluglike and dull compared to him.
He wiped the edge of his lips with his napkin. “Can’t talk you into a quick wedding yet?”
“If we do this, Jer, we’re doing it right. We disappointed a lot of people last time.” Mostly me.
“All the more reason not to make a big fuss this go around. Get married quietly, hold a reception later. Save us and your parents the expense—”
“Miss Elle.” A fuzzy little blonde head crashed against her lap.
“Tracey-Love, where’d you come from?” Elle wrapped the girl in her arms, kissing her forehead.
“M-my daddy.” Tracey-Love pointed back at Heath, a very serious tone in her voice, as if Miss Elle should know better.
“Yes, you did.” Elle glanced up at Heath, turning Tracey-Love around, pulling her crooked ponytail free. “What are y’all doing?”
“Elle, this is my boss, Rock Calloway.” Heath motioned to a slender, silver-haired man who carried an aura of sophistication. “He’s after a good burger.”
Elle looked up at him as she combed TL’s hair into place with her fingers. “You’ve come to the right place. How was school today, Tracey-Love?”
“We have ants.”
“Do you?” Elle swished the girl’s hair into a sleek ponytail.
“An ant farm, right?” Heath gazed down at her, a soft, pleasant look in his eye, fatherly pride around the edge of his face.
“Yep, farm, but they don’t grow veg-ables.” She bobbed her head, so serious.
“They don’t? Goodness, but we love our vegetables.”
“Except broccoli.” TL curled her nose.
“So, Mr. Calloway, how do you like the lowcountry?”
“Hot. But beautiful.”
“You’ll get used to it.” She glanced at Jeremiah and introduced him. The men gripped hands.
“Jeremiah used to play for the Dallas Cowboys, Rock,” Heath said.
“Did you now? My old favorite team. I follow the Giants these days.”
The comment sparked football talk until the waitress came out and asked if Heath’s party wanted to join the table.
Elle stiffened. Jeremiah and Heath at the same table. She’d never get her dinner down.
“No, thanks,” Heath said. �
��We’ll take the vacant spot in the corner.”
Jeremiah asked for the bill. When he’d signed the credit card receipt, he led her off the back steps toward Waterfront Park.
Elle glanced over at Heath. “See you.”
“Night, Elle.”
Rock gazed at the water. “The artist?”
“How’d you know?” Heath had settled it in his heart. Elle was with Jeremiah.
“The look on your face. She a threat to my plans for you coming back?”
Rock should turn off his people radar and enjoy the freaking view. “I thought you were hungry. Read your menu so we can order.”
Rock chuckled, opening his menu. “Either way, congratulations, you’ve entered the land of the living. And it’s a good thing I decided to come down, remind you there’re a lot of beautiful women in New York. Artists too.”
“They’re not the same.” Heath scanned the burger section, not really reading. “She’s probably going to marry him.”
“Probably? I know a lawyer who used to get acquittals on a probably. Reasonable doubt, my friend. Make your move. The Barbeque Burger looks good.”
Heath peered at Rock. “If I make my move, it may ruin your plans.”
“Bring her with you. A married Heath makes a happy lawyer.” Rock closed his menu. “But don’t come to Calloway & Gardner pining for her. I’ll have no sympathy.”
Heath heard Rock loud and clear. In fact, he expected nothing less from the man.
“Any word from Mitzy Canon?”
“Nothing more than a request for samples.” Heath picked up one of TL’s crayons and started coloring her picture.
“Hey, this is mine.” She shoved his hand away with an intense furrow between her eyebrows. “You color yours.”
Rock laughed. “She can handle you just fine.”
Heath put his hand on her hair. “Getting there.”
The waitress came around for their drink order, and Rock picked out a couple of appetizers. “Make your move or live with the consequences.”
Heath watched Tracey-Love color carefully between the lines.
“It’s nothing, Rock, a schoolboy crush.”
“Do you love her?”
Heath hid his eyes behind a swig of tea. “I told you, a school boy crush.”
