Find Wonder in All Things

chapter 9


New Year’s Eve

“When will this be ready? I’m starving.” James was cutting carrots into pieces while Laurel peeled potatoes at the counter.

“Slice them smaller, and they’ll get done faster.” She reached around him and guided his hands to make a narrower cut. He leaned down and kissed her mouth.

“Oooh, I gotta stir the beef.” She scooted over to the stove and turned the stew meat over to brown the other side.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her reach for the little radio she kept in the kitchen. “Not in the mood for Hickville easy listening, Laurel.”

“Sometimes at night, I can get radio stations from Oak Ridge and Knoxville.” She twisted the knob back and forth and fiddled with the antenna. “There we go. REM — how’s that?”

“That’ll do.” His knife hit the cutting board. “I saw them at Riverfront last year.”

“Where?”

He grinned. “Riverfront Coliseum. In Cincinnati?”

“Oh. I haven’t been there, but I’ve heard people talk about it.”

“I can’t wait to take you to concerts — you’ll love them. Last New Year’s I went with the guys to this little hole in the wall to see . . . ” he trailed off, remembering the debauchery of that New Year’s Eve. “Well, it was a really great band. What kind of music do you want to hear live?”

“Any of it — all kinds. I’ve never seen anything but the locals around here, so it’s all new to me.” Her eyes were lit with a blue fire that James interpreted as a thirst for adventure that matched his own. Suddenly though, the fire went out with an abruptness that was startling.

She picked up a bowl of potato chunks and slid them into the stew pot, guiding them with her knife. “Last year, you saw a great band, and this year you’re snowbound in a mountain cabin making your own dinner. This must be pretty boring compared to the New Year’s Eve parties you’re used to.”

He mentally kicked himself for bringing it up. It made it sound like he was hiding something, but that wasn’t why he didn’t want to tell her about it. That New Year’s happened before he spent the best summer of his life in Kentucky — before he watched as his Mountain Laurel blossomed right in front of his eyes. He was another man last year, and everything was different now.

James walked over and put his arms around his girl, nuzzling into her neck. “If I wanted a crazy party this year, I would have found one. I’d rather be with you.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder and put her arm over his, holding him to her. After another squeeze, he released her and returned to his cutting board.

The song changed to a tune that had just come out and was sweeping through the dance clubs around Cincinnati. No doubt, the radio stations would overplay it, but it was a catchy song. James grinned over at Laurel in amused expectation. “Let’s see what you got, Elliot.”

She smiled mischievously, held a celery stalk up to her mouth like a microphone, and put one hand up in the air, reminiscent of a Supremes pose. Belting out the song’s signature line, she began a hip gyration that had him laughing — and damned if he wasn’t a little aroused again too. Even after she turned back to her vegetable peeling, her little wiggle kept going like a siren’s call. He moved in behind, put his hands on her hips, and joined her in a suggestive rhythm. She tossed him a coy glance from under her lashes, and he spun her around to face him, insinuating his leg in between hers. He instituted a bump and grind, both hands on her rear end. She laughed and broke away, singing, “Everybody chop now . . . ”

* * *

While the stew simmered, James brought out his guitar and settled on the couch, picking out several tunes in a row, one blending seamlessly into the next.

Laurel brought two beers from the kitchen and settled herself in the big soft armchair, one leg thrown over the leather-covered arm. She listened, quiet rapture on her face.

“You’ve been practicing,” she said, as she watched the elegant ease of his hands moving over the neck of the guitar and the graceful way he plucked the strings.

He noodled around, grinning, before he answered her. “Been writing too.”

“Play me something you’ve written.”

“Most of my stuff’s instrumental. No lyrics.”

“Okay, so lyrics will come later when you’ve got something to say. Let’s hear what you’ve got so far.” She nodded, encouraging him with her expression.

“Well these are what I’ve been working on lately . . . ” He leaned back against the couch, strumming a couple of his tunes.

“James, they’re wonderful! They remind of country music or Southern rock. You should head to Nashville. You could play at the Bluebird Café.”

He laughed softly. “You almost make me believe I could.” There was a quiet pause while he sat up, looking at her intently. “This one’s yours.”

She cocked her head to the side, a question in her smile.

“I wrote it for you.” His fingers moved over the frets and strings in an intricate, delicate melody. He couldn’t look at her because a sudden, surprising shyness overtook him.

She put down her beer and moved to sit on the floor at his feet. When he finished the tune, she seemed to realize that no words were needed, only an adoring smile and sweet kiss on the mouth — so that was what she gave him.

The evening stretched languidly into night. They ate dinner, washed up the dishes by hand, and sat together, telling stories about school and friends, and remembering funny anecdotes from summers gone by, completely forgetting about the time. After some undetermined length of time, he glanced at the clock and it was 12:34.

“Happy New Year, Mountain Laurel.” He leaned in to kiss her.

“Happy New Year. I had no idea it was already after midnight.”

“Me neither.” He gestured toward the window with his head. “Look, it’s snowing again.”

“So it is. Let’s go out.” She pulled him up to his feet, led him to the door and handed him his jacket. “Just for a few minutes.”

He followed her out into the front yard and watched her profile as she stared up into the sky. “Listen,” she whispered reverently.

He closed his eyes. There was no sound of life around them — no birds, no insects — only the tiny whisper of snowflakes falling on the blanket of snow, and gentle breezes rising and falling among the trees. When he felt her warmth on his front, he opened his eyes. She looked up at him, her eyes as bright as the stars, twinkling in the light that streamed from inside the house.

She brought her hand up and stroked his lightly stubbled jaw. “I love this place. I’ve always loved it, but when you’re here, it’s even more wonderful.”

He drew her into his arms. “I can’t think of anywhere in the world I’d rather be tonight.”

She grinned. “So you like playing house with me?”

“Most definitely.”

Her grin faded into a soft, awed look of adoration. “I love you.”

“And I love you too, always.” He kissed her for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours. His lips were getting chapped. “But now I’m freezing, so let’s go sit in front of the fire, and I’m going to show you a wonderful game that I’ve never played but heard great things about.”

“Oh? And what is this game?”

“It’s very high-brow,” he teased. “It’s called Strip Chess.”

She giggled. “I’m not very good at chess.”

“I was hoping as much.”

She sashayed across the porch to the door. “I’d better keep all my winter wear on then.”

“Oh no, that’s cheating,” he laughed, following her inside.

* * *

Hours later, James lay still in the darkness, listening to the soft sounds of Laurel breathing while she slept. She snuggled up against him, one arm and leg draped across his body. He trailed his fingers down her arm and stared up at the ceiling, just barely making out the contours of the room. It was so dark here at night. He’d forgotten, or maybe he’d never known true dark. At home and at school, there were always streetlights, headlights, porch lights. Even at the marina, bulbs strung from overhead wires were on all night, and the other boats glowed from within. This dark, true dark, was observed not only with the eyes, but with the ears as well. It was so different from what he was used to, where there was always a noise, an ambulance, the hum of a furnace. True dark wasn’t menacing the way he had imagined it might be. Instead, it was rather . . . peaceful, isolating — not scary exactly but awe-inspiring in the sense that it gave him an unmistakable reminder of his insignificance in the greater scheme of things. It led James’s thoughts to travel inward — or perhaps the quiet dark had just allowed them to float upward and outward so he could examine them. The absence of distractions turned his mind back to the decisions looming in the not-so-distant future.

Laurel stirred and lifted her head. “Are you still awake?”

“Just thinking,” he replied. “Go back to sleep.”

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s nothing, sweetheart.”

“Tell me,” she murmured, stifling a yawn.

He sighed and waited a long minute, to see if she would drift back off. When she didn’t, he spoke. “I’m just wondering what I’m going to do next month. I spent half the drive down here railing against my parents. The usual angry stuff: How could they be so selfish? Didn’t they at least owe me a college education? After all, they had promised me that from the time I could understand what college was. It’s what parents do — what all my friends’ parents do. And then I started to think, and being here with you has kept me thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well, you’re doing college on your own. Your parents give you very little financial help.”

“Well, they can’t help much. They’ve got Virginia in school too, and then the boys and Spring to take care of.”

“That’s it, in a nutshell. You make your own way. So you make your own decisions.”

“Well . . . ”

“No, I admire you for it. You study what you want to study, chart your own path. When I think about it, it’s the only way to be happy.”

“Okay.”

“So, like I said, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been wondering what the hell I’m doing at the University of Dayton anyway. Why do I care so much about going back there? I hate business classes. I don’t want to be an accountant or an insurance salesman or a banker. So, why am I busting my ass to do something I hate?”

“You can study other things there.”

“I know. I just think maybe I need to start over. I mean, why did I go there to begin with? To please Mom and Dad? Why should I worry about pleasing them when they’re too wound up in their own problems to give a damn about me anyway.”

“I’m sure they love you, James.” She hugged him tightly. “You’re very lovable.”

He smiled in the dark and could feel the air around him grow warm, but the warmth faded as his smile did.

“Maybe it’s not in the cards for me to go back at all.”

Laurel leaned up on one elbow. “Quit school? You want to quit school? In the middle of your junior year?”

“Maybe.”

“What will you do instead?”

He shrugged. “Anything I want. For the first time in my life, I feel free — like my life is in my own hands. Maybe I’ll backpack through Europe. Maybe I’ll go to Nashville and write songs. I don’t know. I can go anywhere — do anything. You know, the more I think about it, the more I think this may be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She bit her lip, deep in thought. “Perhaps.”

He stopped to gauge her reaction. Even in the darkness, he could feel the wary look, the stiff posture of her body. A sudden realization dawned on him.

“I won’t leave you behind, Laurel — not in a million years. I want you to come with me.”

“But I’m in the middle of my first year in college. I can’t just pick up and go.” Distress colored her voice.

“Well, you can finish your first year. I’ll go ahead to wherever, get settled — and then you could transfer. People do it all the time.”

“But Benton College has what I want to study.”

“Lots of places have art programs, sweetheart.”

“But I can’t do work-study lots of places.”

“We can work something out. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way for us to be together.”

She lay down on her back, beside him, facing the ceiling. His side felt cold without her against him, and he rolled closer to her, resting a hand on her tummy and sliding it to her hip. He tugged her toward him.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore right now. We have lots of time to work out details and talk about things. Right now I just want to be with you.”

“Okay.” She seemed relieved to be changing the subject and he couldn’t blame her. Why wallow in consternation when there was so much else to do?

“Come back Mountain Laurel.” He kissed her shoulder. She wiggled around, until she was nestled with her back against his chest and brought his arm around her. She cradled it in her own two arms and kissed his hand. “I’m here.”

Silence fell over the house, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Finally, he spoke again. “I’m going to Nashville, I think. If I want to try my hand at music, that’s the place — either that or California. But I think Nashville’s more our speed.”

“I suppose.”

“It will take me a few weeks to get everything together, but I’m going to use my savings to relocate.”

“What will you do once you get there?” Laurel’s voice was soft and unsure.

“At first?” He kissed the back of her head and grinned. “Wait tables, probably. Then, start trying to make some connections with musicians in the area.”

“It sounds like a lot of changes all at once. You don’t think it’s . . . I don’t know, a little reckless?”

He shrugged. “I think it’s a helluva chance to get my life back, live it on my own terms. You don’t agree?”

“I don’t know.”

“We could be together.”

“Could we?”

“I hope so.” He leaned up and rolled her toward him. “Is there something you’re not telling me, sweetheart?”

“No,” she sighed, turning back around and wiggling her rear end back into him. “I just don’t know what my parents would say if I came home and suddenly announced I’m up and moving to Nashville.”

“I know it’s an adjustment, and your dad was happy about you going to Benton, but transferring schools will be fine. I’ll go first; you can follow later. We can even go talk to your folks about it before I leave.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why? Your dad knows me. He always seemed pretty open-minded. I’m sure he’ll discuss it with us.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about — it’s Mama.”

James rolled his eyes. “What is her problem? How can she say anything to you, give you any kind of advice — when she never leaves the house?”

Laurel lifted her chin. “Mama and Daddy love me — and they’re going to be concerned about this. They only want what’s best for their children.”

He hugged her close. “Of course they love you.” He kissed her neck. “Why do you think your mother will be against the idea?”

Laurel shrugged. “She’s worried about your influence over me.”

“What?”

“It’s not your fault. It’s because of what happened the night you left.”

He sat straight up. “What happened?” Surely, she didn’t tell her that we . . .

“I was late coming in as you might remember. She was waiting up, and she was upset with me for missing my curfew.”

“What did she say?”

“She was worried, and I guess she overreacted. She said I was wasting my time with you because you were leaving the next day and I’d never see you again.”

He caressed her jaw and turned her face toward him. “I guess I proved her wrong then, didn’t I?”

She held up her arms and drew him close once again. “I guess you did.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can be charming when I want to. We’ll convince them that we’re good together.”

“Maybe we will but not until we’ve got some kind of realistic plan. So let’s not test the waters just yet, okay?”

He paused, holding her close, and a niggling sense of foreboding stole across his mind. He pushed it away and answered her in a soothing voice. “Whatever you say, Laurel. They’re your parents, and you know them better than I do. We’ll do this your way.”