Love Starts with Elle(75)

Darcy Campbell had gone bonkers with Summer ArtWalk advertising. Magazine and newspaper ads, flyers listing Elle’s name right in there with Sir Lloyd Parcel like she was a somebody.

The whole art community had to be scratching their head.

Darcy called yesterday confirming that her friend and noted art critic Ruby Barnett would just happen to be in town for the festivities.

Yeah, so much for her promises to keep it low key.

Dropping her keys and purse on the work table, Elle surveyed the studio, not sure what to do next or where to begin. Her Wal-Mart laundry bags lined the short wall by the bathroom. Clean clothes were gradually moving to a new dirty pile. Why she didn’t break down and find the laundry baskets in the garage remained a mystery.

Snapping on the AC, Elle popped open the fridge for a bottle of water. The futon looked inviting. Maybe a morning nap was in order. Clearly this was going to be one of those what-to-do, end-up-doing-nothing days.

Elle peered out the window into the yard wishing she had a pool. A quick dip later in the afternoon would be nice. Or she could drive over to Mama and Daddy’s, or Sara Beth’s. When she did, she ended up hanging out too long, staying for supper, watching TV, shooting the day all to pieces.

She’d become a full-blooded bohemian. Clearly you have too much time if you’re standing here dissecting an afternoon of swimming.

Deciding to work instead of surrendering to laziness, she set out her palette and the Memory Book painting she’d started a few days ago. She’d read a verse in the Old Testament about God listening to conversations and writing things down. Terrifying? Yes, but fascinating. One morning in prayer, she had a flash image of words one might find in God’s memory books so she decided to put it to canvas.

“Isn’t God good?”

“Jesus loves you, friend.”

“Here, have this cup of cold water.”

“Please, take this twenty. It’s not much, but I hope it helps.”

“I forgive you.”

With her palette knife, she began mixing colors, but when a car door sounded, she peered out the window. Heath?

Danny Simmons.

He caught her gazing and motioned for permission to come up.

Opening the door, Elle waited.

“Morning, Elle.” Danny’s tan was accented by a stiff, white Ralph Lauren polo.

“How’re you, Danny?” Elle motioned to the stool by the work table. A fight-or-flight decision flickered behind his eyes. Could he finish what he was about to start? “It’s okay, I don’t bite.”

He perched on the stool. “You haven’t heard why I’m here yet.”

Crossing her arms, Elle leaned against the table. “Why are you here?”

“I want to marry your sister.”

She gauged his sincerity. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because I want you to talk to her, convince her it’s the right thing. She turns me down every time I ask her.”

“Forget it, Danny. I’m not going to talk her into marrying you. If she’s turning you down, she must have a reason. You might consider moving on.”

The light in the room shifted as the sun moved behind a cloud. The AC hummed like a good AC unit.

“I’ve watched you, Elle. Julianne respects and listens to you.”

Elle squinted at him. “She never listens to me.”

“There’s more to this story than Julianne and me.” Danny held up a single finger.

Elle eased her arms down to her side. The resonance in his voice captured her attention. “And what would that one be?”

“Rio’s mine, Elle.” No hesitation, no door for questions.

“Rio is yours? As in—”

“I’m her father.”

“You’re Rio’s daddy?” It seemed insane, ludicrous. Of all the possible Danny Simmons confessions Elle could’ve conjured up, being Rio’s daddy was not one of them.

“I want to get this out in the open, marry Julianne, and be a family. Rio calls me Mr. Danny. My own daughter . . . Mr. Danny.”

She stared. “I-I can’t believe it. You?”

“Yes, me.”

Elle walked around her easel, hand pressed to the back of her neck. She looked back at him. “This is unbelievable. Rio’s daddy? How?”

“We met, connected, one thing led to another . . . Do you need more, or do you get the picture?”

“I get it.”

“So, are you going to help me or not?” The desperation in his eyes leaked out in his voice.

“If she’s yours, where have you been the past four years?”

“On the outside looking in. Julianne stiff-armed me until this year. I finally wore her down.”

“Why don’t you man up and talk to Daddy?”

He arched his back a little with a sarcastic nose-laugh. “She’d kill me. You don’t think I’ve tried every possible angle. Sorry to tell you, but you’re my last resort.”

“Good to know.”

Danny slid off the stool and paced a little. “Elle, I’m forty-eight and divorced. My ex hates me and sees to it my kids do too, except when they need money. I have a chance to right some wrongs, do something good for two people I love more than my own breath.”

He regarded Elle for a moment. “Do whatever you think is best, but I’d be forever indebted if you could help me.”