Love Starts with Elle

by Rachel Hauck

  “The falls are nice in New York,” Elle said out of nowhere, reaching for the live oak’s swinging tendrils of Spanish moss. “Football season, crisp days, and cool nights.”

  “And I’ll be holed up in an office, leaving too late to see the day, riding a dark subway home.”

  “I could never do what you do.”

  “I could never do what you do.”

  “And what is that? I’m nothing special.”

  “You can’t still believe that. What is it with beautiful, talented women and insecurity?”

  “Comes with the territory?”

  Heath laughed. “Run it out of town on a rail then. Elle, you spend five mornings a week sitting before the King of Kings. Worship is not a one-way street. As much as you want to give to Him, He longs to give to you. Stop resisting.”

  Elle stood silently. Heath gave the tire a big shove. Had he overstepped his bounds?

  “You’re right, Heath. I forget and focus on my weakness too much.”

  “Don’t we all.” He wanted to segue into the interrupted kitchen conversation, but Rio erupted, screaming, followed by Tracey-Love, squealing. One of them wanted out of the swing and did something to the other, and in a split second the backyard was filled with screaming.

  “All right, you two, stop. Rio, TL didn’t pull your hair on purpose.” Heath slipped the girls from the swing. “Where’re your dolls?”

  “In my room.” TL crossed her arms with a pout at Rio.

  “Run get them so we can go. Who wants food?”

  Everyone.

  “What do you want to do for dinner?” He grabbed at the end of Elle’s flying hair.

  “I haven’t grilled out at all this summer.”

  He raised a brow. “Burgers on the barbie?”

  “Burgers on the barbie.”

  Every once in a while, Elle glanced up from her art book open on her lap to watch Heath sand the last pointy edge off the angel. About an hour of daylight remained and he boasted finishing the carving before he left next week.

  They’d had a fun day, the four of them—Heath, Elle, Tracey-Love, and Rio—seeing Heath’s new place, stopping by Publix for dinner fixings, refereeing spats between Tracey-Love and Rio.

  With the aroma of grilled burgers still hanging in the air, Julianne and Danny stopped by. They ate the final two burger patties, finished up the barbeque chips, then called for Rio. “Time to go home.”

  Tonight was the first phase of easing Rio toward the truth about Mr. Danny.

  As they pulled away, Heath tossed TL into the bath, then into bed while Elle cleaned the kitchen.

  Not ready to call it a night, Elle decided to flip through art books while Heath carved.

  “Watch for splinters, McCord,” Elle hollered before going back to her book. Danny planned to commission a piece for his Hilton Head office and Elle wanted to get ideas about creating a piece with strong shadow and light.

  “Ha, you just want to jab me with a needle again.” Heath stood back, surveying his work.

  Elle set her book aside and strolled across the lawn in her bare feet. “Are you taking the angel with you?”

  Heath wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Certainly don’t want to haul it to Manhattan. I can leave it here or take it to my new place.”

  Elle smoothed her palm over the high arch of the angel’s wing. “This may sound strange, but I believe there’s an angel standing guard over the prayer chapel. Can we take it over there?”

  “Absolutely.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  To: CSweeney

  From: Elle Garvey

  Subject: Love?

  Have crush on my tenant, Heath. But he leaves in a few days. Can hang on to my heart until then. He’s just so . . . real. I feel like he knows me better than I know myself. He’s widowed but dealing with it, honest with himself, with me. Sigh.

  How are you?

  Love, Elle

  August 1942

  Chet entered the log-shaped Quonset briefing hut with the rest of the squadron leaders. The round-walled room contained a desk, four short rows of chairs, and Colonel Chennault standing by a map of the Aleutian Islands.

  Taking a seat on the back row near the heater, Chet didn’t like the swirl in his stomach. Something was up.

  Lt. JasonWeb sat next to him, the collar of his mackinaw flipped up and tucked around his neck. Winter temperatures iced the early September days. “Now I know how a popsicle feels, thanks to Uncle Sam.”

  “Relax, Web, it’s still summer,” Chet said. “Wait until fall.”

  When the minute hand exactly hit the hour, Chennault launched into his briefing. “We’re advancing.”

  Chet sat forward. Yeah, something was up. Just when Umnak started to feel like home. They had movies in the evenings, electricity, and decent chow.

  Chennault slapped the map with his pointer. “Adak is two hundred and fifty miles from the enemy on Kiska. We’re moving in next door, boys.”

  When the colonel finished the briefing, he tossed a small black box at Chet. “Captain McCord, I think these major clusters will look good on you.”

  Chet caught his promotion in midair. “Thank you, sir.”

  He’d write to Kelly tonight and tell her of his reward and advancement, though he’d rather tell her he was coming home.

  Nine o’clock. Heath shoved his laptop side, his legs burning. His shoulders were tight from concentrating so hard on the scene. This was his last night to work on the story before the business of Calloway & Gardner consumed him.

  A little more than halfway through the book, he figured with some focused weekend evenings he could have it done in five or six months. If Rock didn’t work him to death.

  But he felt at odds with himself, as if he’d driven too far down the road after taking the wrong exit. It’d be hard to get back.

  Just the anticipation of leaving.

  Wandering down the hall, stepping over the boxes he’d packed— most of it Tracey-Love’s new toys—he flipped on the hall light to peek in on his daughter. Her long legs and arms were sprawled across the bed, with tangled strands of hair flowing over her pillow.

  Two days ago he’d dropped three hundred dollars updating her wardrobe when it seemed overnight her little jeans had turned into flood-waters and her shirts barely covered her belly.

  She’d turn five in November and be another year closer to the dreaded puberty.

  Gently he moved her legs under the blanket and tucked the edges around her shoulders. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he dropped his arms over his knees.

  “What do you think, Tracey-Love? Should Daddy just grab Miss Elle, kiss her until she can’t breathe, tell her there’s more where that came from and walk away, hoping she’ll chase me?” His confession sparked a laugh. “Daddy must think a lot of his kissing, huh?”

  Her quiet breathing serenaded him. Good thing she slept. He reckoned a four-year-old didn’t need to hear about her daddy’s love life.

  For a while, Heath prayed and listened, then wandered into the kitchen where he nuked a cup of day-old coffee and stepped around to the screened porch.

  The moonless night was warm and cottony. But before he could sit, his phone went off. This late. Had to be Nate.

  “How’s the World War II masterpiece?”

  Heath sipped his coffee. “Masterpiece? Kind of a big word for my small book.”

  “I sold it.”

  “Come again.” The iron chair creaked when Heath dropped down.

  “Bell Harbor Press loved it, Heath. Of course, the manuscript needs some work, but when I talked to their senior acquisitions editor, Wade Donovan, he said they’d been looking for a war book and yours is the one they want. He loves your writing and made a solid offer.”

  Heath might regret this confession, but, “Nate, the book isn’t finished. Who is Bell Harbor Press?”

  “Can you get it done in six months? I told them you could. They’re an elite Boston publisher with a few bestsellers on their roster
. Welcome to your lucky day, Heath.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes and you’ll buy me lunch when you get here. We can discuss the details.”

  “Okay, yes. Nate, thanks, man.”

  Heath checked to see if any lights glowed from the studio. When he saw the yellow square above the garage, he checked on TL, then darted out the door, across the yard, and up the studio steps, two at a time.

  In the pre-dawn light, Elle walked across the wet morning grass toward Heath, who waited by the van with Tracey-Love. The little girl was dressed in pink with her hair combed into a funky Pebbles Flintstone sprout.

  Heath wore a crisp, clean oxford shirt, giving the term road trip a new level of class. His eyes followed her.

  What do you see, Heath?

  Last night, Heath had been so excited about his book deal. But she’d slept restlessly, struggling to find ground for her emotions. In the darkness, she’d talked to Jesus, “He’s just a friend, right? A really good friend. I mean, how could he be more? I just broke it off with Jer; he just closed the final door on his life with Ava. I can’t go giving my heart to a man moving away. It’s crazy. Besides, I have no idea how he truly feels, and . . .”

  When she couldn’t take the head-heart debate any longer, she snatched her iPod Shuffle from the clutter on her dresser, plugged her ears with a Justin Rizzo play list, and drowned out the voice in her head with his.

  “All packed and ready?” she called, very cheery, not at all a reflection of her heart.

  “Looks like it.”

  Elle lowered down to Tracey-Love’s eye level. “I’m going to miss you.”

  The little girl’s lip quivered. Her blue eyes swam. “I don’t want to go to New York.” Tracey-Love flung herself against Elle. “Who’s going to fix my hair?”

  “Oh, baby . . .” Elle bit her lip to keep from laughing. During her brief St. Helena stay, Tracey-Love had blossomed from little girl to big girl. “TL, you’ll have your nanny, Junie, and teachers. And one day your daddy will figure out how to make a ponytail. Maybe. If not, you’ll be in junior high and fix your own hair.”

  Heath shot her a look. “Did you just insult me?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t want him, I want you.” Tracey-Love tightened her grip.

  Elle buried her face in TL’s sweet fragrance, her eyes filling.

  Heath knelt next to them. “Tracey-Love, we talked about this, remember? Mr. Rock needs Daddy for a little while.”

  But she simply cried, limp against Elle.

  “Shh, Tracey-Love, it’s going to be all right. We’ll talk on the phone and computer, see each other in Daddy’s camera.”

  “And we’ll come back as soon as we can.” Heath’s eyes met Elle’s.

  “Spring is a long time away.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Heath shook his head. “I thought about Christmas, but in the excitement of actually selling my first book, I didn’t consider the time commitment. I’m going to be writing nights, weekends, and holidays for a while.”

  “When you’re weary and frustrated, remember I’m praying for you.”

  “C-can y-you can come to New York and visit me?” Tracey-Love cheered up, wiping her wet checks with her hand.

  “Maybe, yeah. Sounds like fun.” If your daddy asks.

  Heath stared at her. “Maybe?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  He smiled. “I like the sound of maybe. Okay, TL, we have got to get this show on the road.”

  “Be good for Daddy. I’ll talk to you on the phone soon.” Elle gave Tracey-Love a kiss and squeeze before Heath buckled her into her seat and slid the door shut.

  Heath faced her, saying nothing for a few moments. “I don’t want to say good-bye.”

  “Then don’t.” She hunched up her shoulders, shivering though she wasn’t cold.

  “What are you saying?”

  Elle kicked the toe of her shoe against the grass. “I don’t know. I’m going to miss you. A lot.”

  “I’m in love with you, Elle.” The confession exploded, blowing open all the unspoken emotion.

  “I might—maybe—be in love with you. I couldn’t sleep thinking about it.”

  Then he was kissing her, warm and heart meltingly, drawing her to him. When he lifted his head, she pressed her face to the familiar spot of his chest. “Now what, counselor?”

  Heath covered her back with his arms and kissed her forehead. “I don’t know. This wasn’t my planned good-bye speech.”

  “Is this crazy?”

  “A little.” Heath kissed her again, holding her face in his hands. “Elle, love was the last thing on my mind when I came here. All I wanted was to get beyond grief. Maybe write a book. Get to know my daughter.”

  “I never, ever thought we’d be standing here like this. I’m supposed to be married, living in Dallas.”

  “No, Elle, you’re supposed to be with me.”

  Tracey-Love knocked on the window with a muffled, “Daddy, let’s goooo.”

  “Now she’s ready.” Heath opened the sliding door. “Just a second, Daddy’s talking to Miss Elle.”

  Heath led her around to the driver’s side, fell against the door, and pulled her to him. “The lawyer part of me says be practical, take time apart, be sure of your feelings. The man part of me says find Pastor O’Neal and gather the family.”

  Elle brushed her lips against his. “I think I knew the night Jeremiah came back.”

  “I knew the moment I walked into the cottage with a sick Tracey-Love. You faced me down with that bat and a steely green gaze.” He breathed in another kiss. “Elle, you are the whole package for me. Two days of knowing you and I was envious of Jeremiah. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but want to try?”

  Little doubts creep in at the oddest times.

  “Every part of me is screaming yes, except that small voice that tells me it won’t work.” Elle adjusted his collar and ran her hand down the even row of his shirt buttons.

  “Tell that little voice to shut up and listen to me.”

  “Shut up and listen to Heath.”

  Her Minnie Mouse impression made him laugh. He hugged her, kissing her cheek. “Let’s take it one phone call, one e-mail, one day at a time.”

  Elle looked up at him. “But I’m quite sure I’m in love with you, McCord.”

  “I’m positive I’m in love with you, Garvey.”

  To: Elle Garvey

  From: CSOneal

  Subject: Re: Love?

  Love? Really? With your tenant? Elle, girl, love finds us when we least expect it. Look at Mitch and me. Don’t worry about long distance. It can actually be a benefit if you’re both committed. I’m happy for you. Are you happy? What’s the status?

  Got to run. So many last-minute details to tie up before I leave. More later.

  Love, Caroline

  OCTOBER

  Sitting in an empty chair at Julianne’s salon on a lazy morning, Elle winced as her sister prepared to read Ruby’s ArtNews review of her work. Her bracelets gathered at her elbow as she held her hands lightly over her ears.

  Julianne spread the magazine on her lap, looked at Elle, then began to read.

  Wild Heart Gallery

  Beaufort, South Carolina

  Lowcountry artist Elle Garvey previewed six paintings during the Summer Art Walk at Darcy Campbell’s Wild Heart Gallery.

  Lush paintings from Girls in the Grass to The Memory Book, Garvey’s oils on canvas are sentimental and thought provoking. Her style, an attempt at Childe Hassam impressionism, does not come up to par, yet her images capture the viewer without letting go.

  Garvey’s work possesses a spiritual depth rarely seen in today’s artists. There’s a message of peace and hope. In a world searching for answers, longing for comfort, Garvey’s work comforts without words.

  She is a fresh voice on the art scene and I welcome her.

  —Ruby Barnett

  Julianne sighed. “‘And I welcome h
er,’” she repeated. “Elle, your first review is fantastic.”

  Elle reached for the magazine. Fresh voice. Spiritual depth. Only in God could one do the impossible. Caroline had proved it first.

  “You’re going to be famous,” Lacy said, cracking her gum, reaching for a broom to sweep over the floor.

  “Hardly.” But Elle sat for a minute in Lacy’s confidence, rereading the review, thinking she’d buy a dozen or so ArtNews copies in case this was her first and last great write-up.

  “Well, do you want me to do your hair or keep reading about yourself?” Julianne spun Elle’s chair toward the mirror.

  “Let me enjoy my success. It could be my last.”

  She read the review again, dissecting each sentence. What did Ruby really mean? Did it sound as good the third or fourth time through?

  When her cell went off in her handbag, Julianne tossed it to her. “Let me know when you’re ready for your hair, your highness.”

  The caller ID said Heath. “Hey.”

  “I just read ArtNews.”

  Elle smoothed her hand over her review. “What? Counselor, you don’t have time to fool with art magazines. Aren’t you working on a big case?”

  “The guy at the newsstand called me so I ran down to get one. Are you beaming?”

  “What, no, come on, I knew all this. Pbbfff. I don’t need Ruby Barnett to confirm my great talent. Heath, I tell you, my phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

  “My BS meter is pegging.”

  Elle laughed. “Okay, yes, I’m beaming.”

  “I’m proud of you.” His exhale tingled in her ear. “I hung Coffin Creek Under Fog. It’s getting rave reviews from the associates.”

  Julianne passed by making kissy noises. Sure, get a little freedom from shame, gain a little confidence, and turn annoying. Elle shushed her.

  “The cottage still smells like you, but you’re not there.”