Find Wonder in All Things

chapter 8

The next thing James knew, he was awakened by sunlight streaming in the window. He lay curled up on the couch, a patchwork quilt over him and a pillow under his head. He glanced around the empty, cold room and sat up in slow motion, stretching his arms over his head. First, he needed the bathroom. Second, he needed to find his toothbrush because his teeth felt like sandpaper.

The back door slammed, and a blast of frigid air hit him. Laurel appeared in the doorway, arms filled with wood, charmingly dressed in jeans and a thick barn jacket. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her hair was mussed under a knit hat topped with an absurd pom-pom. She looked like a snow bunny.

“You’re awake,” she announced in a cheerful voice.

He rubbed his hand over his face. “Hello, Beautiful.”

She blushed even rosier. “I started a fire.”

“Beautiful and accomplished,” he said, watching her with a secret little smile.

She rolled her eyes. “James, I’ve been building fires since I was ten.”

“All the more impressive.”

She looked at him in sober contemplation. “I’m going to put this wood in the stove, make some tea and oatmeal for breakfast, and then I want you to stop trying to distract me with silly compliments — although they’re much appreciated — and tell me what’s going on with you, okay?”

He sighed. “Okay.” He got up and opened his duffle. “Shower?”

She pointed down the hall.

“Come with me?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, only half joking.

“You haven’t seen the shower yet. I doubt we could both fit.”

“Be back shortly.”

She walked over and put her arms around him, hugging him close. “I’m so glad to see you,” she whispered. He kissed her and disappeared into the hall.

She was right about the shower. It was barely big enough to turn around in. James washed in a hurry and jumped out, shivering in the cold as he donned his clothes. He ran his fingers through his hair and decided he’d shave later. When he entered the kitchen, Laurel was setting the table with two bowls and mismatched spoons. A carton of milk, some sugar and cinnamon, and a teapot made an unpretentious centerpiece.

Then she turned, spoon in hand, and gave him a smile as brilliant as sun on snow.

He sat down and picked up his cup while she spooned out the oatmeal.

“My parents are getting a divorce,” he began.

She set the spoon down in the pan, her face awash in concern and sympathy. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes. I knew things were bad, but it all came to a head yesterday when my mother told me that my father has been having an affair for the last ten months.” He dumped two large spoonfuls of sugar on his cereal.

“Oh . . . oh, James.” She reached over and grasped his hand. He dared a look up at her, but he saw no shock, no disdain, no censure there — only compassion.

“I guess she’s known a while now, but she wanted us to have one last Christmas as a family. Apparently, the other woman didn’t like that, so she called the house, complaining that Dad had promised to come over to see her yesterday, but he couldn’t because Mom insisted he stay around while I was home. She goes on to ask Mom what was the point of making him stay for the holiday since Mom already agreed to the divorce.

“So, there’s a huge blow-up. Mom is furious with Dad. She said she just asked for one little thing for my sake, and he ruined it like he ruins everything.

“Given the state of their marriage, a divorce is probably for the best. They’ve been estranged for three or four years. But he should have been man enough to ask for one in the first place instead of sneaking around like a coward.

“After the cat was out of the bag, Mom threw him out, and he went to what’s-her-name’s house after all. Then he calls me a few hours later and proceeds to tell me there’s no money for my tuition or room and board this semester. Nothing. He said he was going to break it to me gently, but when Mom threw him out, she took that option away from him. He accused her of overspending his income.”

“Wow,” Laurel mused, shaking her head.

“Dad says he can’t pay my college bill in addition to Mom’s alimony. He said plenty of other things too, but the gist of the conversation was, ‘You’re on your own for the bill.’”

“He actually said that?”

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t give him a chance to say it. I just hung up.”

“Maybe you should have let him explain,” she answered, her voice small and tentative.

James rolled his eyes. “Explain what? How he made a mess of my life? How he ruined our family? What’s the point of listening to that?”

“I know you’re angry, but he might have had a helpful suggestion or two about school.”

“You don’t know my dad. He doesn’t give helpful suggestions, just ultimatums. It’s his way or the highway.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I don’t know. Dad says I’m twenty years old, and it’s time to start standing on my own two feet. I have a little money, but not near enough. I’ve never been too good about saving, and it’s not like I had any warning or time to prepare. Maybe there’s enough for tuition, I don’t know, but I can’t apply for a student loan in time to pay my rent, so it looks like I’m sitting out at least a semester.”

James let go of her and picked up his spoon, weaving it between his fingers. He leaned his chair back on two legs. “After Dad and I hung up, Mom demanded to know what he said, and when I told her, she accused him of wasting their money on his whore — and yes, that was the word she used.

Laurel stirred her oatmeal in a slow, thoughtful circle. “Can you commute from home to the university?”

“Maybe. But I don’t want to be anywhere near my parents right now — either of them.”

Their eyes met, but she didn’t comment further except for a reassuring smile.

* * *

After breakfast, they ventured outside to dig out James’s car and drove down the mountain — slipping, sliding, and laughing the whole way. They arrived at the IGA about eleven o’clock. Because Christmas Day was on a Tuesday, the day after was just another workday for the stores in town. They picked up coffee for James and groceries for a week or so, gathering items for quick entrees or for meals that made good leftovers. James made a stop at the drugstore, too, under the guise of needing some shaving cream.

“They sell that at the grocery store,” she insisted. “Why didn’t you just pick some up while we were there?”

“Umm . . . I forgot. You can wait. I’ll just pop in here real quick.” And he was out before she could protest. He wasn’t sure what the week ahead would bring, but it would be a lot less awkward if he didn’t have to run down the mountain for contraception in the middle of a moment. He tossed the bag in the back seat, and gave her a lopsided grin as he put the car in gear and backed out of the parking lot.

By three o’clock, they were back in the cabin, James’s car safely ensconced under the carport roof. He rebuilt the fire while she stocked the pantry. When he finished, she was already curled up on the couch with a sketchpad, her feet folded underneath her, working intently. He picked up a book he found lying around and settled himself in the leather chair by the window.

After reading the same paragraph again and again, James gave up, shut the book and came around the back of the couch to look over her shoulder. She had sketched a decent rendering of him reading in the chair, a distant smile on his face. He kissed her cheek. “I think I like it when you draw me.”

“I have other sketches of you too.”

“Oh, really? I want to see them all.”

She patted the cushion at her side, and he vaulted over the back of the couch to land right next to her. Flipping through the sketchbook, she stopped at various portraits of him although he saw that there were plenty of other people in the book as well: her father behind the counter at the marina shop, the boys fishing, Virginia reading a book, and a haunting picture of her mother — despair pouring out of eyes encased in dark circles. There were also landscapes and a few close-ups of birds, flowers and the like. The ones of him were from the previous summer. In one, he was leaning back, one leg bent behind him, his foot braced against the wall, a plastic bus tub in his hands. In another, he was sitting on the dock. Still another depicted him perched on a ledge high above the surface of the water, leaning back on his elbows and looking up with a mischievous smile.

“I love this one — love them all. You’re very gifted, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” she said, beaming with pleasure at his praise.

He brought his arm around her in a tight embrace and leaned over to kiss her ear.

She shivered. “That tickles.”

“Mm-hmm — nice isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

He turned her face toward him and brushed her jaw with his forefinger before leaning in to kiss her again. He took the sketchbook out of her hand, set it on the coffee table, and they spent the next several minutes getting reacquainted as the cold, winter sun sank lower and lower in the sky.

The dusk settled around them and covered the room in various shades of gray that deepened as the minutes ticked by. The flames roaring in the stove stood out in sharp contrast to the gathering gloom. James lay on the couch, Laurel perched on top of him, her head on his chest as he absentmindedly rubbed her back. A fog of relaxation surrounded them, and although his body was urging him to get on with it, his mind was reluctant to let the moment go.

“James?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Penny for your thoughts.”

He smiled. “I was wondering why I haven’t chased you into the bedroom yet.”

“I was wondering the same thing,” she replied, a hint of laziness in her voice. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

That drew a chuckle from him. “This just feels so perfect. I’m trying to imprint this moment on my memory so I can return to it again and again whenever we’re apart and I miss you.”

“Oh,” she sighed, lifting her head to rest her chin on his chest. He played with a curl that framed her face.

“Yesterday, it seemed impossible that I would ever feel this way again.”

“What way?”

“I love being here with you, but it’s more than that. Since I’ve been here, there’s this comforting sense of belonging, like coming home after a long trip. Yesterday, it felt like that was lost to me forever — that maybe because of the divorce, I can’t ever go home again. But I think I underestimated you. I should have known, though. You always make everything right. How do you do that?”

“I don’t know, but I do know you do the same for me.”

He pulled her up to kiss her again and felt her move against him, and the lazy moment was gone, replaced with a need to see and feel all of her. He pushed her gently and sat up. He ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a sigh of longing and good-natured frustration while she stood in front of him. He leaned the crown of his head against her abdomen, circling her hips with his arms. Her hands combed through his hair.

“Wait here.” She held his now upturned face in her hands, smiling down at him. Peace suffused and settled between them.

Laurel disappeared into the bedroom and returned a minute later, with an armful of blankets and pillows.

“The bedroom is cold, so I thought this might be more comfortable.” She busied herself with arranging a make-do bed. “My granny would have called it making a pallet on the floor. I’m sure she never thought I’d use it for this though.” Once she was finished, she sat down and held out her arms to him.

He stripped off his sweater as he approached her, kicking off his shoes and leaving them beside the coffee table. “Don’t,” he said in a husky voice as she started to reach for the hem of her own sweater. “I want to unwrap you.”

He knelt at her feet and gently eased her back until she was lying down. Her stocking feet rubbed up and down his thigh, and he slowly pulled off her woolen socks one after the other, nibbling her ankles and massaging her arches. His hands slid up the outside of her jeans, undid the buttons and peeled them off her long legs. He stared at her until she crossed her hands in front of herself in a self-conscious display of modesty.

His eyes sought hers, but he said nothing out loud. Instead, he continued working upwards along her body, pushing up her sweater, then slipping it over her head and tossing it away. Drawing his finger down the center of her chest, he popped her bra clasp loose with one hand. The corners of his mouth lifted in a wicked grin, and his eyes darkened and danced with desire and amusement. “Best Christmas present I opened this year.”

He stood and unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them and his boxer briefs down and stepping out of them. After kissing up her legs and her body, he settled himself in the cradle of her hips and slid home. She rose up to meet him, again and again, and hooked her long legs around him to draw him close. He felt his restraint slipping away and tried to think about baseball, finals, anything to keep this from being over too soon. He regained some control, but at the same time, he could feel the tension building in her body, and he reached down between them to touch her. Her body tightened and then went slack with a moan and a sigh, and he let himself go. He couldn’t get far enough inside her, and she lifted his head from her shoulder and held his eyes with hers while he emptied into her.

He relaxed and then rolled to the side bringing her with him. Joy bubbled up from inside him, and he had the strange urge to laugh — to let a little of the unbearable happiness escape him. Her sweet voice called him out of his bliss, whispering words of love that he returned in kind before he lifted a blanket to cover them both. There they rested until complete darkness descended, their bodies intertwined in her mountain nest and warmed by the fire he built.