Find Wonder in All Things

chapter 5

The sun beat down on the young couple holding hands as they picked their way through the cornflowers and Queen Anne’s lace that adorned the sides of the path leading to the little clapboard house.

James looked up and squinted in the sun. A faded turquoise pickup, balanced on cement blocks, stuck out above the timothy and crabgrass to the right and behind the house. The truck appeared to be as old as his father.

Laurel followed his gaze and answered his unspoken question. “That was Grandpa’s. Daddy never would sell the old thing.”

“Does it run?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Why? You want it?”

He laughed. “No, I think I’ll choose something from this half of the century if you don’t mind.”

Laurel slowed her pace, looking up ahead at the simple house sitting all alone in the middle of a field. “I remember when Grandma and Grandpa were living; we’d come up here on Sundays for dinner. My grandma made the best green beans you’ve ever tasted: home-canned and flavored with ham hocks and onion.”

James shuddered. “I like mine fresh or frozen please.”

“Buckeye,” she teased.

“Hillbilly,” he teased back.

“Anyway,” she went on, “after Grandma passed away and Grandpa went to live at the rest home, the old place just kind of shriveled up. We could never get my mom out here to go through any of their things.”

“Why not?”

“Mama is . . . well, it’s hard for her to leave the house sometimes. She’s a real homebody.”

“A homebody?” His voice was incredulous. “Laurel, I never see her — not since I was a kid, and not at all this summer.” He paused and his tone softened. “Is she sick? You can tell me, you know. I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to. Is that why you had to cancel our dates a couple of times?”

Laurel’s voice was quiet and small. “She’s not sick physically, but I’m starting to think there’s something else wrong. She’s never liked to go out much. She was always fine just tending her garden and raising us and doing her sewing, but now it’s like she’s afraid to go anywhere.”

He pulled her close and put an arm around her shoulder, continuing their meandering pace toward the little house.

“I don’t understand her at all.”

“What does your father say?”

She snorted. “He’s blind to it — like he can’t bear to think about her having any problems. But this isolating herself . . . The more I think about it, the more I realize it can’t be right. Some days she doesn’t even leave her bed. She just sits there with the shades drawn all day. It can’t be good for the boys to see her like that, or for Spring.”

“Who takes care of them? You?”

“I do as much as I can. Daddy does sometimes, and Ginny. When she’s home, she helps a little, but she’s hardly ever home these days. They help me do what Mama can’t — or won’t. There are days when I get so angry at her. I wish she’d just snap out of it and get back to being the mom I remember.”

He squeezed her shoulders in a comforting embrace, unsure how to console her. They ascended the steps and walked across the porch to the front door, hanging loose on its hinges.

“Daddy’s started working on this place a little bit.” Laurel turned the glass doorknob and pushed the front door open. “He’s checked the wiring, the foundation, things like that. Ginny and I talked about staying here when we’re home from college. My parents’ place is kind of crowded for seven of us now that we’re older.” She led him by the hand through the house to the back porch. It had been built in as a sitting room, and a line of windows framed a view of the foothills behind. Over to the right, the plateau dropped off, revealing a glimpse of the lake in the distance.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she breathed. “I would love to have a studio here. It would be an incredible place to paint and sculpt, and . . . well, anything.”

Her enthusiasm was catching. “I could help you too,” he ventured. “We could come out and paint and fix it up on our days off.”

“You would do that?”

“In order to spend more time with you? Yeah, I’d do that.”

She ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek as he clasped her to him. “I think that sounds like a great idea!”

They stood there for a long moment with their arms around each other, and she leaned back to look at him. “Come on! Let’s go ask Dad what needs to be done next.”

“Now?”

“Yes, we’re both off day after tomorrow. We can get started on something if we know what to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed, then sobered. “It’s after six; your dad won’t be at the marina now. I think Phil’s covering the evening shift.”

“I know. He’ll be at home though.”

“I don’t want to barge in on your mom at dinnertime.” He hesitated.

Laurel pursed her lips and huffed. “I don’t care what she thinks. I’m tired of p-ssyfooting around her silly moods. You’re my guest, and it’s my home too. If she acts ugly, we’ll just leave.”

James was skeptical. “Okay, if you say so.”

She stopped and searched his expression. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, James. If you don’t want to go . . . ”

“No, it’s fine. I’d love to go.”

“I know she can be difficult, but you’re important to me.”

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her mouth. He knew the inner sanctum of the Elliot house was a place few dared to tread. She wouldn’t have invited just anyone. It was a sign of her willingness to trust him that she had offered. How could he refuse her?

“Let’s go then.”

* * *

The drive from the old house to the Elliot’s log cabin took about ten minutes, during which James fiddled with the radio, complaining about the lack of radio stations and, after giving up on that, started to tell Laurel all about Dayton and Cincinnati.

“There’s so much to do. You’d love it — museums and bands and concerts and Reds baseball. You’ll have to come up some weekend this fall, and I’ll show you around. Maybe Labor Day we can go to the WEBN fireworks.”

She smiled. “It sounds big.”

“And interesting, right?”

“Yeah, I guess it sounds interesting. But how am I supposed to get there without my own wheels?”

“I’ll come get you in a pickup truck to be named later.”

“And whisk me away to parts unknown? You’ll take the country mouse to the big city?” she teased.

He obeyed an impulse and trailed a finger down the slope of her neck and down her arm. “I’d love to take you there,” he said softly.

She shivered. “I’m driving here. You’ll make me wreck.”

“Are you distracted?” He tugged her hand off the steering wheel, and clasped it in his.

“Yeah, a little.”

“How about now?” He grinned, placed a hot, soft kiss in the palm of her hand and then blew on it.

“Stop it!” she squirmed, but she was laughing.

“Sorry, can’t keep my lips off you.” He nibbled on the inside of her wrist.

“Here,” she said, exasperated as she yanked her hand away. “Try to find another radio station.”

He sighed in exaggerated disappointment and turned back to the dial. “Still nothing.”

Laurel eased up the drive, crunching the gravel under her tires as the cabin came into view.

It looked like something out of some kind of Popular Organics or Hippie House Beautiful magazine. There was a front porch, but no real yard to speak of as it was surrounded by trees on all sides. A detached woodshed stood in the side yard, and there was a makeshift tree house in the back. Bikes and outdoor toys — bats, baseballs, and the occasional doll or action figure — littered the rest of the landscape. Mr. Elliot sat in a homemade rocking chair, a pipe in his teeth and a whittling knife and chunk of wood in his hands. He raised his head at the sound of the truck door slam.

Laurel bounded up the steps to the porch. “Hey, Daddy.”

“Hey, Punkin. What are you two up to?”

“We’ve been up at Grandpa’s. James says he’ll help work on the cabin.”

Mr. Elliot gazed beyond his daughter to the lanky boy she had in tow and spoke around his pipe. “He does, eh?”

“Yep. What should we do next? He and I are both off work day after tomorrow.”

“Don’t know yet, but I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” He squinted up at James. “Would you care to stay to dinner tonight, son, and discuss it?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose, sir.” Uneasy, James shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Mr. Elliot eyed him up and down. “It’s no trouble. Go tell your mother, Mountain Laurel.”

Laurel smiled up at James in an I-told-you-so way and walked into the house, leaving him outside with his boss.

“You’ve been spending a considerable amount of time with my daughter of late.”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Elliot turned back to his whittling.

“What are you making?” James asked politely.

“Walking stick. Made from hickory. You whittle?”

“No sir.”

“Like to hike?”

“Maybe, a little.”

“Fish?”

“Um . . . not recently, no.”

“No whittling, no hiking, no fishing. What’s your passion then?”

James was taken aback. “What?”

“What’s your passion? What do you love?”

Is this a trick question? “I’m not quite sure what you . . . ”

“To do? What do you want to do? What do you study?”

“I’m a business major . . . ”

“So you study the nickels and dimes. Yet it appears you have little interest in the natural world.” Mr. Elliot smiled wryly to himself and muttered, “An economist without knowledge of nature is like a physicist without knowledge of mathematics.”

“Pardon?”

“Just a little kernel of wisdom from Carl Linnaeus, the father of modern ecology.” He paused. “A business major . . . ” Mr. Elliot was unimpressed. “So you love money then?”

“Who doesn’t?” James joked, but then he realized Mr. Elliot wasn’t amused.

Laurel came out onto the porch, the screen door banging behind her. “Mama says dinner’s ready.”

Mr. Elliot rose from his chair, folded up his pocketknife and laid the half-finished walking stick against the arm of his rocker.

After a brief introduction to Mrs. Elliot, James took a seat next to Laurel at the round, oak table in the kitchen. Several mismatched chairs surrounded it, and the table was set with dishes of various designs and patterns. Huge bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, cornbread and a plate of fried chicken graced the middle.

The younger Elliots descended on the table like hummingbirds around a birdfeeder. The twins piled their plates high and shoveled the food into their mouths.

“Boys, slow down,” their mother admonished.

“We’re going fishing after dinner,” Dylan muffled through a mouthful of food.

“Gotta hurry,” Crosby added.

Mrs. Elliot sighed. She took a sip of water and watched the newcomer at her table with wary eyes. “So, James, how do you like working at the marina?”

Laurel’s elusive mother certainly piqued his curiosity, and he had to force himself not to stare at her. Beverly Elliot was tall like Laurel, but that was the only physical trait they shared. Her hair was a mousy brown, streaked with gray and pulled back into a severe ponytail that reached down her back. Her nondescript hazel eyes had a flat, empty look to them, and her mouth was drawn into a thin, humorless line. James wondered how this woman could have birthed the beautiful, colorful creature sitting beside him, covertly holding his hand under the table. He tried to formulate what he thought Mrs. Elliot would deem an appropriate answer to her question. “I’m grateful for the work, ma’am. It will help me a lot with school expenses.”

Mrs. Elliot simply looked at him.

“James is going to the University of Dayton, Mama,” Laurel explained patiently. She gifted him with an adoring smile. “He’s studying business.”

“How do you study business?” Mrs. Elliot looked genuinely confused. “Business is something you do” — She cast a fleeting look at her husband — “or not, as the case may be.”

Mr. Elliot seemed not to notice his wife’s subtle criticism. “Education is a fine thing for a young person to pursue, Beverly, as long as the knowledge gained is used to better the world.” He put a forkful of chicken in his mouth and chewed for several seconds while the others waited for him to finish his thought. Finally, he went on, “I think I saw a copperhead today — didn’t get close enough to tell for sure though.”

Dylan and Crosby clamored to hear all about his close encounter with the snake, and much to James’s relief, the conversation shifted away from him. Over the next several minutes, he discovered that in this family the threads of discussion changed with startling rapidity due to Mr. Elliot’s abrupt introduction of obscure topics. James sometimes had trouble keeping up although Mr. Elliot seemed content to pontificate without anyone responding. Laurel chimed in on occasion, and Spring sat looking at her empty plate, listening but saying nothing. She was a chubby little thing with mousy brown hair and hazel eyes like her mother. Mrs. Elliot eyed James blankly throughout the meal. It was almost bizarre — the way she was there but not really there. It was impossible for James to tell whether she liked him or not, or whether she even cared who her daughter had been dating all summer. He understood now why Laurel had taken so long to bring him home with her. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but her family was even stranger than his was.

After dinner, James took his plate to the sink because his mom always complimented his friends when they did that. Dylan and Crosby took off on their fishing expedition, and Laurel and her dad washed up the dishes, declining his offer to help. After trying several times to start a conversation with Laurel’s mom, he sat in silence on the couch. Mrs. Elliot was working on some knitting, but in a few minutes, with an agitated sigh, she got up and left the room. He didn’t see her again before they left the Elliot’s house.

* * *

The pickup truck rolled to a stop on the state park playground. Laurel parked away from the street lamp so as not to draw attention and turned off the engine. They both sat for a second, she looking down at her lap, he looking across the seat at her. But then, she raised her eyes to his, and suddenly they were in each other’s arms, kissing. He pulled her close. She shifted until she was on top of him, with a knee on either side of his hips, grinding against him as he slid his hands all over her. After a time that seemed both too short and almost too long, he made himself stop. She leaned her warm trembling body against his while he stroked her hair and down her back in a soothing motion. Each time they did this, he came closer to losing control of the situation, and it worried him. He had never felt quite this way about a girl before — protective one minute and predatory the next.

Laurel had an intellectual understanding of the birds and bees, of course, but that was different from exploring the nest and the hive up close and personal. She was both an eager student and a quick learner, and what troubled him was that he repeatedly found himself trying to make her lose control as well. Tonight, given the sounds she made and the current disarray of their clothing, he’d come very close to succeeding. He pulled the hem of her tank top down over the flat, soft surface of her stomach, dragging his knuckles seductively across her skin.

“Okay there, sweetheart?” He felt her nod.

He chuckled. “That’s good, because I’m not.”

Her head snapped up from his shoulder and she pushed herself off him. “Oh, I’m . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I — ”

“Shh.” He stroked her hair and let his fingers slide down her neck and across her collarbone. “It’s okay,” he murmured.

She looked down and mumbled, “You must think I’m such a naïve twit or a tease — ”

“No, I don’t.” His voice was hoarse, but gentle. “It’s fine, Laurel, honest.” He couldn’t seem to take his hands off her completely, but he confined himself to her shoulders and outside her clothes. “I’ll never ask you to do something you’re not ready for, I promise. Although,” he teased lightly, “I don’t think I can promise not to try and convince you.”

Searching his face with piercing eyes that shone in the moonlight, she reached up and ran her hand along his jaw. Wide-eyed and earnest, she whispered, “And I can’t promise not to let myself be convinced.”

He shivered and took her hand in his. “How about we walk a little?” He opened the passenger door and pulled her along with him. They walked to the playground and sat on the merry-go-round platform, facing each other.

He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Laurel?”

“Yes?” Her voice was still throaty from the rush of desire.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, but it never seemed like a good time to bring it up. Have you thought about the fall?”

“What about it?”

“What we’ll do about . . . us?”

“What do you want to do?” Her voice was soft, guarded.

“Well, Stuart and Virginia see other people when the summer is over.”

Her face was solemn, but she didn’t answer.

All at once, words tumbled out of his mouth. “But I don’t think I want that . . . for us. Can we try to keep this going once school starts again? I know it will be tough, being in different cities — ”

She interrupted him, her voice filled with excitement and relief. “Yes. I don’t know exactly how it will work, but yes . . . we can try.” She smiled her brilliant smile. “I want to try, because . . . I love you.”

He was mesmerized by her, so mesmerized that the big scary words she uttered didn’t even faze him. He wanted to bask in her smile and feel the red silk of her hair covering him while he held her. He wanted to crawl inside her skin. She made him think he could do anything — that anything was possible, even this:

“I love you, too.”