Needing a change of scenery, he wandered into the front room and looked around. As if drawn by a magnet, he walked to the door of Reverend Ed’s study. To his surprise, the knob wouldn’t turn, but on second thought, it made sense that Laurel might want to keep the room sealed off, like a holy temple.
Placing his hand against the door for a moment, he let the vibes of comfort roll. Reverend Ed’s study had been his refuge, where he could talk about everything that was bothering him—everything but Marguerite, of course. He’d like to visit the little room again, just once, to look around and remember the kind, wise man whose counseling had influenced his life so profoundly.
Laurel popped her head into the front room. “There you are. I’m going upstairs to get my laundry, and I wondered if you need anything washed.” She balanced a latticed plastic basket on her hip.
“No, I’m cool right now. Would it be okay with you if I looked into your father’s study, for old times’ sake?”
Her head jerked and she stared at him blankly, as if she hadn’t heard what he’d said, then curved her lips into a faint smile. “No prob. I’ll take care of that as soon as I put my clothes in the washer.”
Several minutes later, she returned with a large, old-fashioned key and joined him at the study door.
“I’m glad those two cheesy Greek guys are gone,” he commented. “I’d never seen sculptures like that in person before.” That naked, at least, but he wasn’t going to say that. His artistic tastes had become more sophisticated in the past sixteen years, but he had yet to furnish his house with life-sized nude statues.
Laurel looked away and shifted her shoulders carelessly. “I never thought much about them. They were original with the house. My great-grandfather bought them on a trip to England and had them shipped over.” She moved her foot in a vain attempt to smooth out the depression in the carpet where one of the youths’ pedestals had stood for more than a century. “I think they were leftovers from the Elgin Marbles craze in the early 1800s.”
Odd how Mama was so prudish about women wearing shorts, but didn’t seem to notice the naked statues in her own drawing room. Maybe because they were cold, dead stone, and she’d grown up with them.
Truth to tell, they’d always seemed just part of the scenery to her too, until she was ten and had walked in on her father running his hand lovingly down the smooth flank of one of the fig-leafed youths. “They’re so classic and graceful,” he’d explained to her. “I can’t resist touching them.” From then on, the statues embarrassed her.
Willing her hand not to tremble, she turned the key in the lock, then pushed open the door and stood aside for Jase to enter. This would be the first time she had been in Daddy’s office in almost two years. Two years, in which she’d tried to forget it was even there. It represented so much of him—the good and the bad. Her ears felt hot and her knees weakened. She leaned against the wall for support.
If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him still working at his desk with the door always open in case his daughter needed him—except, of course, when he was counseling.
Her eyelids prickled at the memory—for herself and for Daddy.
*
The air in the small room was musty and close, but as soon as Jase walked in, a feeling of peace came over him. His eyes swept across the collection of recognitions, awards, and plaques on the far wall, then focused on the adjacent wall, its tall bookcases crammed full to overflowing. Over the desk hung a large photo of the family wearing their best smiles—Reverend Ed, Mrs. Harlow, and Laurel.
Everything was the same as it had always been. In fact, he had the eerie feeling that any second now his mentor would come walking through the door. As if in a trance, he took the chair opposite the desk to wait for him.
There was a sound behind him, a stifled sob. He whirled the chair around and stood up.
Silent tears were running down Laurel’s cheeks.
She wiped her face with her hand. “I—I loved him so much.”
He went to her immediately. What a jerk he was, getting her to let him in the study just so he could indulge himself with a trip down memory lane. Putting an arm around her waist, he walked her out of the room and closed the door behind them, as if he could shut away the sorrow.
“It’s exactly how he left it,” she said in between sniffles. “His reading glasses are still there on the desk, ready for when he needs them. Mama and I didn’t have the heart to go through his drawers, so Mr. Bridges did it for us before we locked up the room.”
Jase looked back at the closed door in silent tribute. “He was my hero.”
*