Find Wonder In All Things (13 page)

“Good for her. How’s your dad?”

“Beats me,” James shrugged.

“I’m sorry, James. Is he ever going to get over you leaving school?”

“Who knows, but I’m not sure what he expected me to do when he yanked his financial support out from under me. Where does he get off telling me that this move to Nashville was a ‘foolish notion?’ I say he lost his right to an opinion about my decisions when he stopped paying my bills, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so, but . . . I can sort of understand why he’s disappointed. He probably expected you would, you know . . . figure something out — do whatever you could to stay in school.”

“Yeah, well he figured wrong, didn’t he?”

“Are you sorry you left? Was it worth leaving school and everything behind?”

“Oh definitely worth it. I mean, I won’t lie to you and say the last two months have been easy, because they haven’t been. But I don’t have to tell you pretty lies, sweetheart, to get you to join me. You know the way the world works.”

There was a silence of several seconds. “Laurel?”

“I’m here.”

“I thought we got disconnected or something.”

“Tell me more about the apartment.”

He knew she’d be excited about that. “It’s not spacious but roomier than a dorm, I’ll bet!”

“Everything’s roomier than a dorm,” she quipped.

“The rent is reasonable too, so we’ll have a little bit of a financial cushion while you sort out work and school for yourself. Middle Tennessee State is here close, and then there are some community colleges as well. Vandy’s probably not an option because of the expense, but I know we can carve out a workable solution for you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“You’ll love Nashville, darling. There’s so much life and energy here. All the mainstream crossover into country music has breathed new life into the whole place. It’s really a city for young people now, not just for the Grand Old Opry crowd of a few years back.”

“It sounds like you’re happy there.”

“Oh, I am, but I’ll be happier when you’re here too. I hope it won’t be much longer before I can hold you every night, and wake up beside you every morning.”

“That was one of the best parts of last winter, wasn’t it?”

“Have I told you how much I loved living on the mountain with you during Christmas break?”

He heard her smile from almost two hundred miles away. “A few times.”

“I know I have, but I’ll say it again anyway. I’ll never forget it. It was . . . one of the best times of my life. An island of sanity away from all the craziness, and you were the center of it all — my sanctuary amidst the chaos.”

“My boyfriend, the poet.” Her voice grew serious. “I’ll always be here for you, James.”

“I love you so much, and I can’t wait to have you with me every day. I wish I could come get you now.”

“I can’t leave in the middle of the semester; you know that.”

“You could do it.” After a pause, he added in a hopeful voice. “I’ll help you find work, apply to schools, whatever it takes to get you here.”

“I . . . I can’t. How would I explain to a new school that I was a drop out? And throwing away all the money Benton’s given me for this semester? It seems wrong. Don’t ask me to do that, James. I just can’t.”

Disappointed but not surprised, he sighed. “Yeah, I know. I guess I’ll have to wait, maybe even until the end of the summer if you need to work and save up some money.”

“It will help in the long run.”

A pall of silence settled over him, and he fought to find a more cheerful subject. “I hear from Stu that Ginny is burning up the pre-dentistry program.”

“She really likes it.”

“Stu says he’s thinking about transferring to Lexington for dental school too after he graduates.”

“They seem to have it all worked out. But then, Ginny always knows what she wants.”

“So, how are your classes going?”

“Pretty good.”

“It’s a shame you don’t get to do any real art yet. It’s still all that general studies crap, isn’t it?”

She laughed. “Well, that general studies crap is part of the liberal arts education.”

“I hated that about college. Why don’t they just let you study what you want to do with your life?

“I don’t know, but maybe all this will come in handy someday.”

“Doubtful. Well, I suppose I’d better go. It’s almost time to meet those guys at the club. I’ll call you next week, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You sound sad, Mountain Laurel.”

“It’s hard to be so far away from you.”

“I know, sweetheart. All the more reason you should come to me sooner, rather than later. Don’t worry. It will be a grand adventure, not a tightrope walk without a net. I’ll be your fail-safe, and you’ll be my muse. Sweet nothings, etc, etc.” He tried to joke, but the loneliness he felt was real. He could hardly wait to see her — be with her — all the time.

She sniffed. “I’ll write you this week. No, wait, I don’t have your new address.”

“I’ll write you, and then you’ll have it.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

Her voice was soft and so, so far away. “I love you too.”

End of Part One

Intermezzo 1

Seven years later

The music pounded in James’s head as he took a sip of his very expensive champagne. It was bubbly and dry, and it tickled his nose. The best champagne money could buy — like his suit and tie, like the coveted party tickets he bought for the most exclusive New Year’s soiree in San Francisco.

A sudden bump on his shoulder nearly made him spill his drink all over his shoes. He turned and grinned at his friend’s tipsy, happy expression.

“Eric! Having fun?”

“A blast. Best New Year’s Eve bash in the city, bar none.”

“Who’s watching little Trevor tonight?”

“Millie’s mother. God, I love that woman! It was part of our Christmas present this year — a New Year’s Eve out on the town,
sans enfant
.”

“I’m surprised you got Millie to go out so soon after . . . what is it — a month since she had him?”

“Six weeks. Look at her.” Eric sighed, lowering his glass to gaze, love struck, at his wife. She was laughing and swing dancing with their good friend John, while John’s girlfriend Fiona cheered them from the sidelines. Every time John made a misstep — which was frequently — Fiona and Millie laughed, and Eric gave a soft, little chuckle.

“You’d never know she just had a baby six weeks ago.” James offered generously, giving his friend another opportunity to brag on his wife.

“She’s amazing, that’s for sure.” Eric’s chest swelled with pride. “So, buddy, what are you doing standing here all by your lonesome? I know you can swing dance — better than John anyway.”

“Just hanging back and watching the crowd.”

“Watching or scoping?”

“Maybe a little of both.” James smirked.

“I thought you were going to bring Monica tonight.”

“We broke up.”

“Oh, geez, James, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” James didn’t sound particularly sorry.

“Well, there are plenty of women here tonight. Take your pick — brunette, blonde, redhead. You could probably have all three at once if you put your mind to it, you handsome sonofabitch. You know, I hate you for that.”

James grinned as he popped an hors d’oeuvre in his mouth.

“That is, I hated it before I caught Millie. Hey, come into the bar with me for a sec. I need a manly beer to counteract all this girly champagne.

The men took two empty barstools and ordered a couple of Sam Adams and a club soda for Millie.

“So — spill. What happened with you and Monica?”

James shrugged. “Nothing to spill, really. She wanted to take the relationship to the next level. I didn’t. So she walked.”

Eric held his friend with a steady gaze. “James Marshall, the perpetual bachelor.”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“It’s too bad about Monica. Millie and I really liked her.”

“She’s a great gal.”

“Beautiful, smart . . . ”

“Best attorney in town.”

“Who was the one before her, was it Tracy?”

James shook his head. “Stacy.”

“That’s right. The cellist with the San Francisco symphony.”

“Yep.”

“And before that was Christine.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Napa Valley vintner.”

“Divorced twice, and I can see why.” James shuddered. “Ba-a-a-ad temper.” He paused. “Your point is . . . ?”

“You, my man,” Eric pointed his beer bottle at James, “are too picky.”

James shrugged. “Can we talk about something besides my love life?”

“You should start thinking about settling down.”

“Spoken like a happily married man with a kid. Alas,
mon frère
, there just aren’t that many Millies out there in the world.”

Eric grinned. “She’s one of kind. But there are plenty of good women, James. Look at John and Fiona.”

“Not that many Fionas out there either.”

“I can’t believe John. After waiting all this time, he popped the question on Christmas Eve.”

“Said he had to make something of himself first so he would deserve her.”

“As if she cared anything about his money or the rest of it.”

“Well, it mattered to him I guess.”

“They’ll have the rest of their lives to enjoy it.”

“Yeah.”

Eric took a pull off his beer. “You ever think about tying the knot? Getting married?”

“Who me? Perpetual bachelor, remember? I’m a child of divorce, and I have commitment phobia — or so I’ve been told by many well-meaning women.”

“No one even came close?”

James knew Eric was pumping him for information. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so either. It all started a few months earlier when Eric spied the charcoal drawing in his office and asked about it. He told him it was drawn by a childhood friend. Then, when he was moving from his apartment to the townhouse, Millie teased him about the girly flower painting in his room. She had stared at him, puzzled, when he told her it was just some wildflower that reminded him of home, so he moved it with him wherever he went. Then there was the time they asked him about that little melody he was always playing on his guitar. He managed to avoid answering that one and tried not to play it in front of them anymore. Unfortunately, he fiddled around with the melody so often that sometimes he didn’t even realize he was strumming it.

Apparently, Eric had been taking nosy lessons from his wife. On another night, James might even have resented it, but he had enough champagne in him to loosen his tongue and stave off any ill feelings toward his inquisitive friend. Besides, he’d been thinking along those lines himself since his breakup with Monica, and the answer to Eric’s question just sort of tumbled out of his alcohol-numbed brain.

“There was one girl, back East, years ago. Man, I was sprung on her. Guess I was young and stupid. If I’d had my way, I’d have married her in a heartbeat. Probably been divorced by now too.”

“What was her name?”

James smirked. “Get a load of this one — Mountain Laurel.”

“You’re joking.”

James shook his head, laughing. “No, that was really her name — Mountain Laurel Elliot. Her father was an aging hippie from the Sixties.”

“Where’d you meet her?”

“Southern Kentucky. I worked down there one summer bussing tables at her father’s restaurant when I was in college.”

“First love, eh?”

“She wasn’t my first
that
way.” He paused. “But she was my first
here
.” He touched his beer bottle to his chest and looked away.

“Ah. What happened?”

James smirked. “I wanted to take the relationship to the next level; she didn’t. So I walked.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Water under the bridge, my bro.”

“What does she do now?”

“I haven’t got a clue. She was studying art. I’ll bet she’s got a husband and 2.3 kids and a minivan somewhere in suburbia.” James downed the rest of his beer. “Come on, enough sentimental bullshit, let’s go take your wife her club soda and join the party.”

He walked unsteadily into the dance hall to an old pop tune about 1999. He laughed as a pretty party-guest grabbed both his hands and did a little shimmy against him. Then he tossed his friend a wink and led the woman to the dance floor.

* * *

James groaned and rolled over to swipe at his alarm clock, but even after repeated hits, the noise went on. He realized it was the phone ringing and swiped at it, knocking it off the stand before he was able to grab it and push the talk button.