Love Starts with Elle(86)

“Is this really about Daddy and Mama? They love you, want the best for you and Rio.”

Julianne lowered her head. “I’m such a disappointment to them.”

“Where are you getting your information?”

“Come on, Elle. Mama didn’t want another child after you.” Julianne tore at the wadded tissue in her hand. “I’ve heard her say it. Daddy wanted a son—”

“Jules, that’s not fair. To you or them. Mama didn’t want another child after Sara Beth came screaming into the world. And Daddy’s never even so much as hinted at being disappointed in having girls.”

“I know, I know, but it got stuck in my mind somewhere along the line, maybe when Mama ranted about not having a life of her own, or when Daddy ranted about too much estrogen in his house and where could a guy find a full roll of toilet paper?” Jules did a great imitation of Daddy searching for toilet paper.

“He’s just a grumpy ole bear. You know he never meant it to sound like he’d rather have sons.”

“He loves sports and none of us could care less. You, maybe, the only one remotely interested in listening to him talk about golf handicaps.”

“Jules, Daddy loves you. I’ve always suspected you were his favorite since you look the most like Mama. And any one of us could’ve been a son. Don’t throw yourself on that sword.”

“I was the only one who didn’t go to college. The only girl who didn’t pledge Phi Mu.”

“Okay, now you’re playing the martyr.”

The sobs cycled around again, and Julianne fell against Elle’s shoulder, pressing a fresh tissue over her nose and mouth. Elle brushed her hair from her eyes and whispered under her breath, God, I cannot, butYou must deliver her. Please. Reveal Your love.

Beautiful, elegant, commanding Julianne could no longer protect her Achilles’ heel. Shame.

“I’ll go with you,” Elle finally said.

Julianne lifted her head and blew her nose again with a fresh tissue. “I know.” Her voice was soft with tears. “But it won’t change how I feel.”

“Can I pray for you this time?”

Julianne tears pooled in the shallow crevasses of her face, around her nose and lips. “Do you think God will ever forgive me? I’ve done such a horrid thing.” She cut a fast glance at Elle. “When we met, his wife was on the verge of coming back to him.”

“Sin is sin, Jules. When and how much doesn’t change God’s ability or level of forgiveness. Only thing we deal with is the consequences. Your sin is not unforgivable. All you have to do is ask.”

Julianne dropped to her knees with a thud, her weeping gentle at first, then nearly violent, her repentance vibrating through every word. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, please, please, I’m so sorry, so sorry. F-f-forgive me, please. I can’t, I can’t take this shame any longer.”

Tears rolled down Elle’s cheeks as she stood in witness of her sister’s redemption.



“Is this breaking and entering?”

“Maybe, but I do have a key.” Elle had told Heath the first day that it unlocked her studio as well as the cottage. He stepped aside for Darcy Campbell to enter, reaching around for the light switch on the inside wall.

After Elle refused to give her paintings to Darcy, Heath had looked her up and asked if she was willing to do a little stealth work. Darcy cackled. “You’ve come to the right woman.”

The plan? Wait for the right moment and steal the paintings. Okay, borrow them. This afternoon Heath stopped by the studio to say hi, see if he could figure out her coming and going.

Pay dirt. Dinner at her folks with Julianne. Tonight.

Darcy paused, taking in the studio, hands on her hips. “She lives here?”

“Temporarily.” Heath tucked his key in his pocket. “Her paintings are over there.”

For a long five minutes, Darcy studied each painting, shaking her head with an um-um-um. “You did right to call me, Heath.” She picked up the Feathers painting. “This is fabulous.”

“If you want them, let’s go.”

Darcy grabbed two of the six paintings she wanted and hurried to the door. “She’s going to be mad, isn’t she?”

“As a hornet.” Heath carried the two largest paintings down the stairs to Darcy’s waiting SUV. “But this is for her own good.”

“Let’s hope she sees it that way.”

Heath slipped the paintings into the back, careful not to bump them. “I’ll take the heat for this, Darcy. If she gets mad, blame me.”

“What? And let you get all the glory?” Darcy’s sandpaper laugh told him she liked a good fight.

“Have it your way.”

“I like to think positive. Let’s just call it delayed gratitude.”



In Mama’s burgundy and oak dining room, the only sound was the clink of flatware against Pfaltzgraff dinner plates and the slurp of tea followed by, “This is good chicken, Mama” and “Can you pass the corn bread, please?”

Elle tried to think of a funny, distracting story to replace the suspecting silence, but her mind could conjure nothing. Blank.

On the drive over, she’d talked strategy with Julianne, who seemed oblivious to anything but her demise as a Garvey Girl.