Love Starts with Elle(46)

Elle’s stared at her feet. After a night in the hospital and a day on her futon, she didn’t know what she believed or wanted. “Maybe you’re right.”

Candace zipped her attaché. “Elle, if anyone can make lemonade out of lemons, it’s you.”

“Do you think Wild Wally has room for me on his lawn crew?”

Candace walked to the door. “Be serious.”

“I am. If I can’t open a gallery, what am I going to do?” Elle brushed the rebel tears from her cheek. She was tired of crying about herself, her past.

“You’re not joining Wally’s crew, Elle. I’ll hire you at the firm first. Your job? Paint. And I don’t mean with Sherman Williams. Get your courage back. Forget what your hardnosed, bitter professor said. Elle, trust me, somewhere in this rubble is a lovely silver lining.”

“When you find it, give me a call.”

“Will do. Listen, I’ve got to go. You okay?”

“If not, I will be.”



It’d been years since she’d run, but this evening the stretch of her legs, the ache of her weak lungs straining for air, felt good.

Breath in. Breath out. Elle stretched further and faster, running in the sandy soil and grass along Hwy 21, the pine-perfumed wind in her face. Her ponytail swished from side to side with each stride.

When she returned to the studio, she showered, ate a bowl of dry cereal, and checked e-mail for the first time in days. Out-of-touch artists and clients still e-mailed about GG Gallery business.

The inbox also contained more “so sorry” messages. And a new one from Caroline.





To: Elle Garvey

From: CSweeney

Subject: You have to be sitting down for this one





Elle,

Unplanned and not what we intended, but so romantic and perfect, Mitch and I were married last Saturday on the beach.

Elle jerked back with a shock of tears. Her best friend? Married?





When he came to visit, it just felt right. He called Daddy and Posey to make sure they wouldn’t be hurt if we decided to get married without all the family and trimmings.

They blessed us over and over and promised a big reception when we came home.

Mitch’s daddy had always wanted to officiate our ceremony, if and when, but he said, “Son, if you know it’s right, marry her. We’ve been waiting a long time.”

Isn’t he the best?

Oh, Elle, it feels so good and right to be his wife. The timing was perfect. God knew. I can’t believe I wasted so many years and countless hours sitting in the old live oak tree talking to No One when I could’ve been talking to the True One.

My boss, good ole Carlos, gave us a nice wedding gift—money and two weeks off. Mitch has to go back to Nashville, but we can manage our marriage long distance for the next few months.

Hazel and a few friends from SRG International were witnesses. I’m sorry you were not one of them. We always promised we’d be each other’s maid-of-honor, didn’t we?

But if marriage is about the relationship, not the ceremony, then Mitch and I did exactly the right thing. We’ll celebrate together when I come home.

I love you, Elle, and hope this news isn’t sad for you in light of everything. But I wanted you to know. Praying for you.





Caroline Sweeney O’Neal

(O’Neal, did you see? My name is O’Neal!)





Elle read the e-mail twice more. Way to go, Caroline.





To: CSweeney

From: Elle Garvey

Subject: Congratulations!





Caroline,

Married? Ahhhhh . . . can you hear me screaming all the way from St. Helena? I’m so happy for you and Mitch. We’ve all waited a long time for this day. Remember when we were seventeen and Mitch started the pluff mud fight during the Water Festival? Then that night he kissed you in the back booth at the Frogmore Café. You’ve waited twelve years for that kiss to come to fruition. (smile)

I am doing well other than being sad I missed your wedding. I feel thickheaded and dazed sometimes, but with each hurdle, my inner strength grows. Recent news: can’t open a new gallery. Sale addendum to GG Gallery prohibits.

Your comment, “God knew,” challenged me. I’ve known Him my whole life, Caroline. Grew up in church. But I’m no more confident or aware of Him than when I was a girl. Only now, in the midst of pain and failure, do I find myself running to Him. I can speak to Him, but my ear is not tuned to hearing. That realization frightens me.

Is my life in shambles because He wanted me to stop and face Him, not dialog with my back to Him as I went about my day with half-hearted faith? Maybe. Either way, He gets to see my mug every weekday morning, seven a.m., Beaufort Community Church’s prayer chapel. We have a standing date.

Candace actually thinks I sabotaged my relationship with Jer because at some deep level I didn’t want to be married to him and living in Dallas. She claims I’d hate being a pastor’s wife. Sheez, does that make me sound shallow or what?





Can’t wait to see you. Send pics if you have any.

Love you most dearly, Elle





Without rereading, Elle sent her e-mail into cyber space, suspicious she’d written to herself as much as Caroline.