Love Starts with Elle (17 page)

“Huh?”

“Yeah, huh? What meeting?” Elle asked. They’d planned to watch movies at Jess’s house.

Julianne kept shoving and sliding until Elle was on her feet and Jess nearly fell off the end of the booth. “We forgot about the downtown commission thingy.”

“You are such a bad liar, Jules,” Elle whispered in her ear.

“Ladies,” Heath started, “was it something I said?”

“No, no, of course not. Really, we need to go.” Julianne linked her arm through Jess’s. “Elle, thanks for watching Rio.”

THIRTEEN

Waterfront Park, nestled next to the Beaufort River, was sleepy with the aftereffects of the setting sun. Elle strolled along the Beaufort River with Heath, her left hand holding on to Rio, her right, Tracey-Love.

She apologized for the tenth time. “I’m sorry about Julianne and Jess. They’re horrible liars.”

“It seems they thought we should be alone.”

Elle caught the tip of his grin. “More like my baby sister wanting to retreat and hide from her own secrets.”

“She has secrets?”

Elle nodded toward Rio. “Several.”

“I suppose we all have secrets.” Heath’s loafer heels scraped the cement in a soft, even gait.

“We have things we don’t want shouted out in the town square, but lately Julianne is very secretive. Hidden.”

Heath rested against a cement pylon, hands in his pockets, ankles crossed, his manner matching the drift of a passing sailboat. “When I was twelve, some friends convinced me to steal the bike from a kid down the street. A big dorky guy with Coke-bottle glasses who had never done anything to us but give us someone to pick on.” He shook his head at the memory. “When he discovered the missing bike, he cried. And I don’t mean boo-hoo, but a gut-level wail as if . . . I heard him all the way in our basement while I was watching TV. I ran out to see what had happened, for the first time feeling someone else’s pain. I thought he’d gotten hit by a car or something.”

“Oh, Heath . . . why are kids so mean?” Elle motioned for him to move on toward the bench swings where the girls could sit.

“I hid in the front bushes spying. Freddy’s mom came out to see what was going on. He managed to tell her between sobs that his bike had been stolen. And you know what she did?”

Elle winced. “Do I want to know? If you tell me she boxed his ears . . .”

“She grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him inside. ‘Do you think I have time to worry about your bike? As if we don’t have enough going on without you belly-aching. You probably lost it and made up this story.’”

“Heath, you’re kidding.” Elle’s heart pinged with compassion.

“I sat in the bushes, cold tears and snot running down my face, trying to figure out how to give back Freddy’s bike without my friends finding out—because, you know, those guys were going to be my friends forever and what they thought of me mattered.”

Elle related. “When you’re twelve, you believe your friends are forever and ever. And there’s no opinion but theirs. We can’t imagine being old and decrepit at thirty, having new-old friends.”

“In my mind, I’m still twelve. Well, maybe eighteen. Not this decrepit thirty-eight-year-old widow.” At the cedar wood bench swings, Heath hoisted up Tracey-Love, then Rio.

“In my mind I am a thirty-year-old spinster.”

Heath gave her an exaggerated up and down. “Spinster? Hardly.”

His gaze ignited a heat flash. Elle shoved the swing forward. “Okay, maybe not yet, but thirty turns to thirty-three, which turns to forty really quickly.”

A sixty-something woman jogged by, her arms pumping, her legs moving. “Evening, Elle, sorry to her about your wedding. I was looking forward to attending.”

Elle waved off her sentiment. “Thanks, Mrs. Winters, but I’m moving on.”

The older woman jogged in place, glimpsing at Heath. “I see.

Good for you.”

“Oh no.” Elle patted Heath’s arm. “This is my neighbor, Heath.”

“Nice to meet you.” Mrs. Winters bobbed her head, arms still pumping, legs marching.

“I meant I’m moving on with my life, opening a new gallery. I’ll e-mail you the details.”

“Oh, just the gallery. Too bad. But I’ll look forward to it.” She jogged off.

Heath laughed. “She’s a trip.”

“Yes, ever since I’ve known her, which is my whole life.” Elle gave the swing a big push. Rio hollered higher. Tracey-Love gripped the bench arm with white knuckles. “Okay, how’d you manage to give Freddy his bike back?”

“How do you know I did?”

Elle caught his shifting gaze. “Just do.”

“Freddy’s bike was in my basement so I came up with a plan,”

Heath began. “Rat myself out to my dad and tell the guys he discovered it in the basement, recognized it as Freddy’s, and took it over to him.”

Elle approved. “Clever and quite honest, McCord. How’d it go?”

“Dad grounded me, which eased my guilt and kept me away from the guys for two weeks. Then walked with me over to Freddy’s to return the bike and apologize, not just to him, but in front of the whole family.”

“Your dad was a character-matters man, I take it.”

“Still is. Not only did I learn a lesson about stealing and hurting others, but I saw firsthand how it robs people of their dignity. Even kids like Freddy. When he got the bike back, it was like his soul returned. He was somebody again, free to explore the world on two wheels. I think he rode that bike until our sophomore year. Later he told me how he’d saved his own money for years to buy that bike. And, when I apologized in front of his family, it humbled me. Cool Heath screwed up, and dorky Freddy was vindicated, even to his family. They looked at him differently. Am I explaining this right?”

“Yeah.” Elle gave the swing another push. “It’s how I felt when Jeremiah dumped me. The handsome preacher leaving the unemployed, unfocused artist.”

“More like the beautiful, compassionate artist got rid of a selfish man.”

Elle liked his point of view. “I’ll keep telling myself your version. So, what happened to Freddy?”

“We became good friends in high school. He trimmed down but bulked up, played football, got contacts and braces, turned out to be this stellar student athlete with an Adonis-like face and build. Our senior year, he escorted the homecoming queen to the dance. Married her six years later. Several times he told me how much returning his bike was a pivotal moment in his life.”

Elle lingered in the mood of the story for a moment. “Never know, do you?”

Tracey-Love reached up for Heath. She’d had enough of Rio’s wild swing ride. “Never know what?” he asked.

Elle helped Rio off the swing. “When a miracle might show up on your doorstep. When some desperate situation becomes the most amazing opportunity.”

“No, you never do.” His response felt personal. Intimate.

She swallowed the goofy rise of emotion in her chest and reached for Rio’s hand. “So, who wants ice cream?”

At 1:00 a.m., Elle lay on the futon staring into the darkness, her evening with Heath and the resonance of Freddy’s story replaying in her mind.

If there could be a silver lining to her breakup with Jeremiah, maybe it was Heath. One moment he had her laughing so hard her sides almost split, the next had her eyes watering over the wounds of a boy she’d never met.

Heath had a way of making Elle feel like she could do whatever she wanted. It unnerved her that she wanted to know him more. After a foiled Operation Wedding Day scheme followed by the huge debacle of Dr. Franklin, she needed a break from romance.

Heath had driven Elle and Rio home after eating cones from Southern Sweets. When Julianne came by later, Elle gave her the dickens for rushing out of the Frogmore Café with Jess to attend a faux meeting. “What were you thinking?”

“Hey, just giving you a fresh chance at love.”

“Fresh chance? Forget it, the kitchen is closed.”

Julianne tried to argue with her, but Elle shoved her out the door so she could shower and slipped into her pajamas. Curling up on the futon, she formulated a new romantic motto based on the carefree song “Que Sera, Sera.” “
Whatever will be, will be.” Sing it, Doris Day.

Next she worked on a gallery business plan so when Leslie called with a lease agreement, she’d be ready to go. Elle decided to run it by Candace for review.

At eleven, she clicked off the light and dozed for few minutes, but between the gallery possibility and the evening with Heath, she couldn’t sleep.

One fifteen a.m. Elle kicked off the covers, realizing the quiet, hot studio was missing the hum of the window AC unit. Probably frozen again. Clicking on the light, she shoved open the windows and clicked on the fans.

Wandering around the studio, Elle thought if she lived in the cottage, she’d grab the remote and click on the TV. Back on the futon, she lay on top of the quilt and tried to sleep again to the hum of the fan. Her thoughts quieted and wandered like a slow ride on the river . . .

The banging studio door jolted her awake and sent her heart careening. She tried to stumble out of bed, but her foot was caught in the sheets.

“Elle, it’s me, Heath.” Panic.

“Just a minute.”
Thump, thud. Let go of my foot
. . . She felt disoriented and weak.

“Elle . . .” His voice commanded her to open the door.

“Coming, coming.” Free from the linens, she stumbled across the dark studio, reaching for the lamp by the work table. At the door, she dropped the security chain.

“What’s wrong?” Her heart banged in her chest as Heath entered. She tugged at her baggy pajamas bottoms hanging low on her hips.

“It’s my girl.” Heath wrung his hands. “She’s sick.” His sandy-blond hair went every which way. “Throwing up, diarrhea—”

“Does she have a fever?”

Heath’s skin appeared ghostly in the yellow light. “Yes. I think so. Yes.”

“How long has she been sick?” Elle went back for her jeans and T-shirt.

“After we got home. Almost four hours now.” Heath rocked back and forth with his fists tucked under his armpits. So unsure, this man.

“Let’s get her to the hospital, Heath. Go get her ready. I’ll be down in two seconds.” But he remained dazed and frozen. Elle turned him toward the door and gently shoved him forward. “Heath, go.”

The entire studio rattled as he bolted down the stairs.

“Jesus, he looks pretty upset . . . ,” Elle prayed as she slipped on her jeans and searched for her shoes. Dang studio ate her flip-flops. Living in the cramped quarters had its drawbacks. Mainly, lack of closet space. Her clothes were everywhere, piled on the dresser, hanging off her easels, from the bathroom door, over back of the futon.

Ah, there they were. How had her shoes gotten wedged behind the blank canvases Julianne brought over from the gallery? No time to ponder. Elle grabbed her purse and headed down to the yard, where she found Heath waiting by his van.

“You drive. I’m going to ride in the back holding her.” Heath tossed her his keys. “Elle, please hurry.”

Heath exited the exam room, his joints aching, tension gripping his jaw and temples. He found Elle alone in the ER waiting room sitting under an ominous dark window. She had a solid too-much-caffeine jiggle going on with her right leg.

When she saw him, she jerked to her feet. “What’d they say? Is she all right?”

“She’s sleeping.” He sat on the blue vinyl chair next to her, but only for a second. It hurt to stay still. “They hooked her up to an IV, drew blood.” He walked to the edge of the room. “She screamed bloody murder.”

“Do they know what’s wrong? Virus? The flu?” The heat of her hand resting on his back comforted him.

“The doctor is
guessing
meningitis. Guessing. ‘Hello, Mr. McCord, your daughter is dying and I’m
guessing
it’s meningitis.’ How do you even get meningitis?”

“Heath, she’s not dying. Didn’t you say she was sleeping? And after they run the test, the doctor will
know
what’s going on. A kid can get meningitis any number of ways.”

He stood with his feet apart, hands hooked over his crossed arms. “I’m horrible, Elle. A horrible father.”

“Because your daughter is sick? Every one of my nieces and nephews spent a night or two in the hospital. Rio must have gone three times to the ER as a baby.”