Love Starts with Elle(87)

“They are not going to disown you.”

“I can hear Daddy now: ‘You are dead to me.’”

“How many times have you actually seen Fiddler on the Roof ?”

“Hundreds. Rio loves Tevye.”

Elle took the opportunity to remind Jules that they lived in South Carolina and were in no way connected by faith or culture to nineteenth-century Russia and she should trust in the love of God if she couldn’t trust in the love of her parents.

Halfway through his plate of dumplings, Daddy tossed his napkin to the table. “All right, what’s going on? Elle, Julianne? I lived in a house full of women for forty years and it’s never been this quiet. Only thing talking is the plates. Elle, is it Jeremiah? Is he still calling you?”

“No, Daddy. He’s respecting my decision. We’re over for good.” Elle flipped her gaze to where Julianne shoveled a buttered wedge of corn bread into her mouth. The crumbling edges scattered in the corners of her mouth.

“You two haven’t been this quiet since the womb. Lady, what do you think?”

“Tru, I’m just as curious as you.” Mama reached back to the sideboard for the tea, refreshing everyone’s drink though they didn’t need it. When she set the pitcher down with a hard thunk, a burst of fear blipped in her blue eyes. “It’s not Rio, is it?”

“No, Mama, no. It’s not Rio,” Julianne said with a dry, corn bread accent.

Gulping tea, Julianne tried again. “Daddy, Mama . . .” She stopped cold, like hitting a tree going a hundred miles an hour.

Daddy prodded. “Julianne?”

“I declare, you’re scaring the good sense out of me.” Mama resituated her chair, thumping the legs against the dining room carpet.

Julianne glance at Elle, who gave her a nod of courage. “I didn’t bring Rio with me tonight because she’s with her daddy.”

Daddy stared. Mama’s mouth dropped open, then clapped shut.

Elle wanted to reach over and tip up Julianne’s chin, knock off her veil of shame, but the confession was part of removing it forever.

“Who might that be?” Daddy asked, calm, gentle, not at all like a grumpy old bear.

“Julianne, that’s wonderful.” Mama added her special lilt to wonderful—an exaggerated tone meaning “What’s going on?”

“I’ve always known who Rio’s daddy was. I didn’t tell because I didn’t want anyone to know.” Julianne stared at her hands in her lap.

“I see.” Mama sounded exactly like a mama discovering one of her babies could not run to her in a time of trouble.

“Why are you bringing this to us now?” Daddy’s voice balanced on the narrow line between compassion and command.

Julianne lifted her head, trying to smile. “Can you give me a minute?” She scooted away from the table and disappeared into the hall bathroom.

“What do you know about this, Elle?” Daddy asked, picking up his knife and fork, then putting them down again with a sigh.

“I just found out myself. Can you please be patient and understanding?”

“Is she afraid?” Daddy asked.

“A little. Mostly ashamed.”

Mama cupped her forehead with her hand. “Land sakes, my heart is playing ‘Seventy-six Trombones.’ I never imagined she’d confess something like this. It’s been over four years.” Mama’s face contorted as if she’d just figured something out. “Elle, is he a criminal, a murderer, married?”

“Mama, please, wait for Julianne.”

Her little sister returned with her phone in her hand. “I called him. He’s coming.”

“Mind telling us who he is?” Daddy asked.

Julianne stood, hands resting on the back of her chair. “It’s-it’s Danny Simmons. He’s Rio’s daddy.”

A silent and unseen whoosh dropped into the room. All right, Julianne.



The kitchen door slammed without a Knock, knock, anybody home? Heath glanced up. “Who’s there?”

Elle’s flip-flops slapped against the hardwood and she stood right over him, fists on her hips. “Where are they?”

Where are they? Heath took a moment to shift from nineteen forty-two to the present and think why Elle might be glaring at him with narrowed green eyes.

Ah, the paintings. “Where’s what?”

“No, you stole them. My paintings.” Her bracelets clattered as she flung her arm toward the studio.

No use trying to cover it up. “I called Darcy. She took them to her studio.”

“How did she get in? Did you let her in?”

Heath stood to get gain leverage in this argument. “You told me my key worked on the studio door, so—”

“Unbelievable.” She swatted the air with her fists. Heath ducked, just in case. “You had no right, Heath. Who do you think you are?”

“A friend.”

“No, a friend doesn’t go sneaking around behind people’s backs.”

“But we do force each other to confront our fears.”

She tapped her chest with her finger. “You take liberties with our friendship that aren’t there. It’s my work, my career, my decision. May I remind you that the last time you tried to push my work into a public forum, I was told to go sit at the kids’ table and leave the real art to the adults?”