Love Starts with Elle(44)

“No, worry wart.” Elle stretched and yawned. The moment he walked into the room, her weariness took over. “What time is it?”

“Five thirty.” He came around the edge of the bed and drew her into his arms. His clean breath brushed her hair. “Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” It felt good to rest against him, but she smelled ripe and day-old. She needed a shower and sleep. “If you don’t need me . . .”

Health stepped back to the bag on the bed. “You’ll need a way home.” He tossed over the van keys.

Right. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back in the afternoon.” Elle rested her hand on the door. “I told you, she’s going to be fine.”

“So you said.” He smiled. “You are my voice of reason.”

She slung her bag to her shoulder. “Have you seen my life, Heath? I don’t think you want my voice whispering anything in your ear. I’ll let you call a mulligan on that one.”

“All right, how about when I’m a panicked, out-of-my-mind father with a sick girl, you are my voice of reason.”

“Deal.”

Walking down the corridor, Elle felt right about Heath being her friend, an intangible knowing that bypassed the mind and settled in her spirit. As she approached his van, she absently sniffed the sleeve of her shirt where his fragrance lingered.





FOURTEEN

After a shower, Elle burrowed under the futon blankets with a long sigh. It felt so good to stretch out and squish down into the mattress and pillows.

The AC had run all night without freezing up so the studio was cool and crisp. Perfect for sleeping. As she drifted off, she thought of Miss Anna praying alone in the chapel this morning . . .

The ring of her phone jerked her from a deep sleep. Curled comfortably in bed, she half decided not to answer it until she realized Heath might be calling.

But it was Mama.

“I heard about Heath’s girl. Is everything all right? What’s her name again? Something Love?”

“Tracey-Love.” Elle needed water. “How’d you hear?”

“Sissy Doolittle works at the hospital. She called.”

Eleven o’clock. The AC had finally broken down and the white lines of sun streaking through the gaps in the blinds heated the studio.

“Mama, can you organize some hospitality and prayer?” Elle popped open the minifridge with her foot. Empty. One of these days she’d have to grocery shop, seriously.

“Already called the hospitality coordinator at church and the ladies’ Bible study.”

“Thank you.” Elle turned on the water and ducked her mouth under the cold stream.

“How are you? Sissy said you looked like an antique prom queen left out in the rain.”

She wiped water from her chin. Antique prom queen? Lovely. “I’m fine, mostly tired.”

“Well then, get on back to sleep.”

Mama clicked off, and Elle fell face-first onto the futon. But her thoughts were starting to wake up. She’d wanted to call Daddy today to get a recommendation on a contractor for the gallery work.

Rolling onto her back, Elle peered through weary eye slits at her phone and autodialed her dad.

“Give ole Chaz Berkus a call,” he said. “Tell him I sent you and to remember sixty-eight.”

“Remember sixty-eight? What does that mean?”

“He’ll know. You just tell him.”

“Does this mean I get the work for free?”

Daddy laughed. “No, but pretty darn close.”



When Elle’s phone jarred her awake again, the windows were dark and the studio temperature had risen from cool to boiling. Dang AC.

She answered without looking at the number. “Heath?”

“No, Candace. Where are you?”

“Home, the studio.” Water, she needed more water. She sat up, feeling eerie and foggy from the day’s weird sleep.

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Candace said.

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“Not much. Just a little thing of Angela Dooley wanting to sue you.”

“What?” Water ran down Elle’s chin, dripping to her foot. “What are you talking about.”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Muttering to herself, Elle opened all the blinds, shoved open the windows, and clicked on the fan. By the pitch of the studio’s shadow in the grass, she figured it to be late afternoon.

Angela Dooley suing her? What was wrong with that woman?

By the time Candace arrived, Elle was somewhere between freaked out and ticked off. “Candy, what is her problem?”

“You.” Candace checked the table for paint stains before dropping her black leather bag down. “I could kill for a Diet Coke. You got one? Elle, it’s roasting in here.”

“The AC is on the fritz. And all I have is tap water.”

Candace made a face. “Then let’s do this quickly.” She pulled papers out of her case and sat on the stool, pausing to fan herself. “Mama called about Heath’s daughter. What a scare for him.”

“Yeah, he was pretty upset, but she’s doing well. Or at least she was when I left at five thirty.”

“I was thinking on my way over here you should call Julianne, let her know since Heath’s girl played with Rio.” Candace pointed to the spot by her stool. “Stand here.”