Love Starts with Elle(14)

“You leave tomorrow and I think we’re close. Do you like this one?” Jeremiah held up a picture of the Victorian home they’d toured yesterday.

“It was nice, Jeremiah, except for being in a crowded neighborhood amid twin and triplet Victorian replicas. No yard.” She met his gaze. “Are you sure we can’t go back to the mid home Lyle showed us the day before yesterday? It’s not a fixer-upper, but warm and homey with a yard and a big maple in the front. And it’s near I-35. The drive to the art district would be about twenty minutes.”

Jeremiah gathered the printouts, then picked up his coffee cup, leaving the table. “About the gallery, Elle . . .” He filled his coffee cup.

His tone made her scalp tingle. “What about it?”

“Elle, seriously, when are you going to have time to run a gallery?” Jeremiah straddled the chair, sipping his coffee.

“What else am I going to do? If you’re worried about it burdening our new marriage, I’ll start slow and small. Open a few days a week, on special weekends.”

He stopped her with a low laugh. “Being senior pastor of a large, growing church comes with a lot of responsibilities, expectations, and duties, Elle. I need you with me. I’m already on several ecumenical boards, praying at city council meetings, leading a study on culture and race in the church, never mind the church’s calendar. Are you saying you don’t want to minister with me? There’s travel on my horizon. The television people want to develop segments with you, too, over the next year. You do want to minister with me, don’t you?”

The man had just described a world she’d never imagined. “Of course, Jeremiah, but I don’t want to abandon my work. Putting a ring on my finger doesn’t negate the gifts and calling God has given me. At least that’s not what I was raised to believe. I’m not Elle Garvey, art advocate and gallery owner, until some man gives me his name and then I’m a mini-him, his shadow.”

His countenance darkened.

“Mini-me? A shadow? Is that what you think this is all about?

Elle, I’m not asking you to be my shadow. I’m asking you to be my partner in ministry.”

Elle shoved away from the table, carrying her plate to the dishwasher. How did he turn her arguments around so she felt selfish and silly?

“I understand, Jeremiah, but right now all I hear is me, me, me. And I don’t mean Elle, Elle, Elle. This whole week has been about you. What you’re doing, where you’re going, what you want, who you know. Jeremiah, other than buying the house, you haven’t asked me once about how I feel about any of this ministry stuff. Not one ‘Pray about it with me’ or ‘What do you think of me doing television or writing a book?’”

“Babe, I-I would. It’s just that, well, you’re new, not in the loop, caught up with the details.”

“And whose fault is that? Look, I don’t want to sit in meetings or share every phone call, but I’d like an invitation to talk it over. All I get is the latest news flash.”

“Fine, and I’d like to be in on your decisions. I don’t feel good about your opening a gallery. At least not yet. Besides, there are hundreds of art galleries in the greater Dallas area. It’ll take a long time and a lot of work to get established.”

Elle crossed her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. “And there are not ten times the number of pastors and charismatic preachers hocking the gospel on TV?” Her words snapped like the sharp end of a wet towel.

“I can’t believe you.” Jeremiah met her in the kitchen, his six-foot-three frame towering over her. “The more ministers of the gospel, the more we win to Christ. Babe, let’s not blow this out of proportion. I’m just saying maybe the gallery is not a good idea. At least not right now.” Jeremiah stopped, glancing at his watch. “Come on, it’s time to meet Lyle.”

“Jeremiah, you sat in Candace’s office and promised.”

He stopped at the edge of his living room, easing his wallet into his pocket. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Then let’s talk after the wedding. Can you give me until then?” His smile radiated little warmth.

Elle appreciated his compromise but felt the echo of his first hollow promise. “All right, if that’s what you want.” She picked her purse off the table and followed him out the door.



“Elle, what do you think?” Jeremiah leaned against the kitchen island. “The location is good. Lyle says we can close next week.”

Elle’s bracelets made a tinkling sound as she brushed her hands though her hair, stretching the tenseness out of her back and neck. “I like the house if you do.”

He shook his head, exhaling a hot breath. “If we move in and six months later you hate it . . .” He walked to the breakfast nook, arms akimbo. “Are you doing this because of what I said about the gallery?”

Elle’s insides burned. “Is that what you think of me?”

He looked over at her. “No, but I had to ask.”

If they failed at finding a house this trip, they failed even greater at communicating, each blinded in some way by their own expectations.

“Jeremiah, I won’t hate it. Let’s buy it.”

“I’m not putting hundreds of thousands down on ‘I won’t hate it.’ I don’t understand why we can’t find a house we both love.”