Love Starts with Elle(47)

By now, late evening approached and Elle wondered when Heath would call. She fished her phone from her bag. Shoot, dead battery.

Plugging it in, she powered it up to find five messages from Heath. The last one thirty minutes ago. She dialed his phone.

“Heath, it’s Elle.”

“Where have you been?” Sharp, curt, a tad testy.

“My battery died and I just noticed. I’m sorry.” She gazed around for her flip-flops. What was with this studio eating her shoes?

“Did you think to check? They were ready to release TL two hours ago. Can you please come and get us? If it’s not too much of a bother.”

Heath certainly wore lack of sleep like an ugly sweater. In a calm, low tone, she answered, “I’ll be right there.”



Rain drummed against the windows as Heath stretched out on the floor in front of the fire. He locked his hand behind his head, settling back against the pile of pillows, smiling when her footsteps resounded down the hall.

“Is she sleeping?” he asked.

“Like a baby.” Ava smiled and lowered herself to the floor, pillowing her head on his chest. Absently Heath wrapped his arm around her.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Yes. And perfect. You do nice work, Mr. McCord.”

“So do you, Mrs. McCord.”

She raised up, propping on her elbow. “You’re glad, aren’t you? We made the decision so fast.”

He brushed her hair away from her oval face. “If I were any happier, my heart would burst.”

Ava nestled against his chest again. “Sometimes I hold her and cry. I can’t believe she’s ours.”

“Want to try for another one?” He pressed her close.

Ava laughed gently, swatting his belly. “She’s only two months old. I’m not ready for another one.”

“Then you don’t get my drift.”

She responded to him with a lingering kiss.“I believe I do.”

Heath rolled her onto her back, eyes to eyes, nose to nose, lips to lips. The fire wood crackled and popped. Ava’s expression grew serious.

“If something happens to me, Heath, will you fall in love again?”

“What? Why are you talking about dying? Besides, there’s only you for me, Ava.”

“Because having Tracey-Love makes me think of things I never considered before.” She brushed her hands down the side of his face, caressing his lips with her thumb.

He sat back on his knees. This talk was nonsense.“If something happened to me, would you marry again?”

“If I fell in love, yes. She’d need a father.”

“I’m her father.”

“I know, but baby, if one of us dies,Tracey-Love would need another man or woman in her life.”

Heath got up and walked over to the fire and stirred the coal. “Can we stop all this talk about dying? No one is dying.”

“We need to be ready for whatever life hands us. Of course, we aren’t dying before our time, but, Heath, we have to prepare for every scenario. If not for ourselves, for our daughter. I want you to promise me.” She met him by the fireplace and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his back. “Promise me you’ll fall in love again. Marry a woman who loves you and Tracey-Love.”

He hated this discussion. “No, I’m not promising anything related to your death, or mine.”

“Heath, you must. Promise me. Promise me. Promise me.”





Heath woke, gasping. Sweat gathered on his forehead, and in the dark room he couldn’t get his bearings. What time was it? By the manmade light slipping through the drawn window slats, he guessed it to be the middle of the night.

The intensity of the dream clung to him as he clicked on the bedside lamp. So very real. When did he and Ava ever have such a conversation?

Invincible Ava never considered death, even when she danced with danger. Heath was the cautious one, making out the will, setting up disaster funds, trust funds, buying insurance.

Tracey-Love stirred on her side of the bed. Heath leaned over to check on her, sweeping her hair from her face. Home two days from the hospital, she was doing well, but he still worried, still carried the effects of his sleepless ER night.

The cottage was hot, and as Heath made his way to the thermostat, the old floor creaked under his feet.

It’d been a little while since he’d dreamt of Ava, and he didn’t like it now anymore than he did then. In the weeks after her funeral, Heath dreamed of her screams and cries for help, exhausting himself in fruitless rescue efforts. He’d wake up drenched, legs kicking, the bed linens toppled onto the floor.

In the living room, Heath bumped the thermostat down a degree, and in a few seconds, fresh air circulated.

He walked to the kitchen and flipped on the light. Two a.m. Opening the fridge for a bottle of water, he caught the white and blue of Ava’s letter waiting for him on the windowsill.

“We were lucky, Ava. The doc said it was a mild case of viral meningitis.” He twisted open the water, taking a long swig. “She’ll be weak for a few weeks, but should be running and playing like any healthy girl by the end of June.”

Another deep swig.

“I was scared, babe. I can’t lose her. And for the first time, I let myself be really mad at you.”