Love Starts with Elle(28)
“Put more shoulder into it,” he offered.
“Of all the possible renters in the world, I get Roger Clemens?”
Elle picked up a round platter and flipped it like a Frisbee, smashing it into pieces. “Satisfied?”
“Better, Garvey. Much better.” He angled over to see her face.
“What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?” She Frisbeed another plate.
Heath smiled when it hit. She was getting a rhythm. “Breaking dishes? But why?”
Stopping to catch her breath, Elle stared up at him, then pitched a petite vase.
Heath stood aside, gaining understanding. He’d been in the same place, grief iced with anger. He’d wanted to smash a few things, but in the end couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d given up too much to waste the things he and Ava had shared together. In many ways, things were all he had left to help him remember.
Elle side-armed a teacup. Good smash, nice tinkling resonance. “Remind me not to let Tracey-Love run around here barefoot.”
“I’ll shop vac later.”
“Is this making you feel better?” he asked. The exercise didn’t appear to be relieving her of anything, only fueling her anger.
“No, actually, it isn’t.”
“Are you destroying wedding gifts?”
“Sort of.” She kicked the box. “Things I’ve collected over the years. Stupid things . . .” Her voice faded into a watery quiver.
“I’m sorry, Elle.” Heath slipped his hands into his jeans pocket and just waited for her to go on. Throw another stupid thing or walk away.
“Why do girls want to be married so badly? Stupid, isn’t it?” She wiped a light sheen of sweat from her forehead.
“No. And don’t fool yourself; men want to be married just as much, if not more. Love and commitment are wonderful things.”
Elle eyed him through blowing strands of her hair. “Is there a pile of broken china in your past? Lying on some New York lawn?”
Beautiful and perceptive. He was noticing her more every time they talked. “I can relate to your pain and frustration, Elle.”
“You know what bites me most? I’m literally left with nothing while Jeremiah sits in his fancy Dallas pastor’s office.” She shoved the box again with her foot. “No husband, no gallery, no cottage, no life.”
“Say the word and we’ll move, Elle.”
“I can’t do that to you and Tracey-Love. Besides, you’re paying my mortgage. Thank you very much.”
“So maybe this whole breakup scene is a great opportunity instead of a horrible problem.”
“Oh, crud, you’re one of those glass-half-full guys.” Elle fluttered her fingers at him. “Well, move on, there’s nothing to see here. All the glasses are emp-tee.”
He regarded her for a second, then, “Ever watch your soul mate sleeping in a casket? Ever watch the person who caused your heart to skip a beat be lowered into the ground with the preacher declaring, ‘Ashes to ashes’?”
Elle’s green gaze faded from impatience to concern and lingered on his face. “No, I haven’t.”
“Ever wake up feeling helpless and frightened, reaching for someone who’s not there but should be. Ever wake up racked with guilt because you wonder if you’d just said no, or been more assertive, the one you love would be alive?”
Understanding blossomed across her face. “Heath, I’m so sorry. Here I am whining and complaining over a short-lived engagement. How long has she been gone?”
“Almost eight months.”
“So you came here for more than writing a book.”
“Yes. Needed a change, a break, a way to jump-start our lives and heal.”
Elle slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him softly. “May you find it at Coffin Creek.”
Caught off guard, Heath’s arms hung at his side for a long second. It’d been so long since he hugged another woman. But when he felt she was about to step away, he slipped his arms around her shoulders.
“Same to you, Elle. Same to you.”
NINE
May
The first Sunday in May Elle woke up with a craving to sing and decided she’d avoided church long enough. After showering and dressing in jeans and a wrinkled blouse, she stood in the middle of the studio.
One step forward, she’d be tracking for the door. One step back, she’d be on the futon sleeping the day away.
Nine forty-five. Decision time. Go or stay? She tried to press the wrinkles from her shirt with her moist palm. If she left now, she’d only be a few minutes late. But where was her handbag? Couldn’t drive without her keys.
Bible? She had one of those, somewhere. Searching the boxes from the cottage bedroom, she found the Good Book under a pile of stuff from her bedroom.
Car keys in hand, she hesitated. How could she face all those people? Her church family? A congregation of folks who had expected to attend her wedding next Saturday? Folks who had adored and loved Jeremiah Franklin.
Elle jiggled the keys. Maybe she wasn’t ready for church just yet. As the “loser” in this wedding-day disaster, she could only imagine all the speculations.
What did Elle do to make him dump her?