Find Wonder In All Things

by Karen M Cox

  The black rental car was nowhere to be seen when she arrived at James’s cabin. Her frantic knock echoed in the quiet morning air.

  After a minute or so, she heard footsteps, and for a moment she wondered what in the world she was thinking to be pounding on his door at that time of the morning. When it opened finally, she was both relieved and disappointed to see John Benwick on the other side of the threshold.

  “Oh, hey, Laurel. How are you this morning?” He took in her expression. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “But I need to see James. Is he here? Did he go to the hospital already?”

  “Yeah, he left a couple of hours ago. He was going to stop at the hospital for a few minutes, and then he said he was leaving from there. I’m sure he’s gone by now.”

  “Leaving?” she repeated. “Where’s he going? When’s he coming back?”

  “He didn’t say. He’s driving up to see his parents today and flying back to California tomorrow.”

  Laurel felt her blood run cold. “California? Tomorrow?” She cleared her throat in an attempt to control the wobble in her voice. “What about the cabin here?”

  “He said he would deal with it later. It’s paid up through Labor Day. He asked if I’d stay and house-sit for him.”

  “Oh,” she said in an absentminded way, “that’s nice, John.”

  “Yes, it’s so peaceful here. I don’t know how long I’ll stay, but I think the time away will be good for me — you know, communing with nature and all that. Maybe I’ll try a little writing.”

  “I see.” Laurel felt a surge of panic in her breast. She had to get away before John saw her true feelings, but she didn’t want to hurt his. They had so much in common — favorite books and movies, a love of art, a certain reserve that people often misunderstood, and . . . the pain of a lost love. “I need . . . I need to go. I’m expected up at the hospital. Virginia wanted me to help her sit with Heather today.”

  “Sure, I understand. Hey — are you sure you’re all right? You look upset.”

  “Just tired. It was quite an ordeal yesterday.”

  He nodded sagely. “It sure was. Tell Heather I said hello and I hope she’s feeling better. I’ll come and see her if she’s up to having visitors.”

  “I’ll ask her. Umm . . . I’m going to go now.”

  “Okay, talk to you soon.”

  “Bye.” She hurried down the steps and almost ran to her Jeep. She had lied to John; she wasn’t going to the hospital right then. She couldn’t listen to the inevitable talk about James and speculation about his sudden departure without losing her mind. Nor could she go back to her cabin yet. His presence lingered there so strongly that she could almost see him standing in the kitchen and smell the aftershave he typically wore. How could this have happened? How could she have lost him again? No, she reminded herself — this time she never had him. She had made her decision long ago, and despite last night, there was no going back to what they were to each other then. There would be no second chance for Laurel Elliot and James Marshall after all.

  She got behind the wheel of her Jeep and headed toward the only place that could bring her comfort. She went to the lake.

  End of Part 2

  Intermezzo 2

  Laurel peered over the top of Café Livre’s lunch menu, scanning for her companion, who had just appeared in the doorway. The hostess pointed in her direction, and he nodded his head in recognition as he wound his way around the tables.

  “Hi there. I’m not late, am I?” His quiet voice was barely audible over the restaurant crowd.

  “Not a bit,” she replied. “I was a few minutes early.”

  John Benwick unrolled his silverware and put his napkin in his lap. He leaned forward with a smile and asked, “How are things?”

  “About like they were the last time we met. Things don’t change that fast around here.” She tilted her head and regarded him more closely. “You look good, John. I missed talking to you last week. Are you doing well?”

  “Actually, yes.” He sat back and pushed his glasses up with his forefinger. “I have you to thank for it, too, because you were the one who told me about that grief counselor at the Hospice Center. I’m getting a lot out of those sessions. In combination with my writing and this amazing place, things are really starting to look up. I feel like maybe I turned a corner this week.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad for you.”

  “I’ve even been out visiting a bit — you know, trying to be social.”

  “Really? With who?”

  “Oh, just folks from around the neighborhood there — Susan and Gary —you remember James’s sister and brother-in-law — and the Pendletons mostly.”

  “I think they would be just the right kind of company. Stu is always so optimistic, and — ”

  “And Virginia is kind to everybody, no matter what. And it’s been really good to get to know the Murtowskis this summer after hearing James talk about them all this time.”

  “You can’t help but be cheerful around Susan and Gary. And Heather is so bubbly and fun. How is she? I haven’t talked to Ginny in a couple of weeks. She’s been so busy with everything.”

  “The ankle’s healing — slowly. Cast comes off in about three or four weeks, I think.” He laughed, and Laurel marveled at how it changed his appearance. The brooding John Benwick vanished right before her eyes. He went on, chuckling. “She’s getting impatient with all the restrictions that come with a cast and crutches. There are all those stairs at Virginia and Stuart’s house, and she can’t get around very easily. When James called the other night, she got a little snappish with him.”

  Laurel’s heart sank. “Oh? James has been calling pretty often then?”

  “Every few days to check on her. He even sent her flowers and a ‘Welcome Home’ balloon when she got out of the hospital.” John shook his head, grinning. “James always takes responsibility for everything. Heather told me every time he calls, he apologizes all over again for letting her get hurt — or at least he did until the other night when she told him . . . How did it go again? Oh yeah, she said ‘It was my own fault if it was anyone’s, and I wish you’d just shut up about it already.’ That Heather — she’s something else.”

  Laurel somehow summoned a weak smile and took a sip of water. “I was surprised she didn’t go back to Cincinnati after they released her from the hospital.”

  “I guess her parents decided not to cut short their trip to Greece since she’s in good hands with Stuart and Virginia. I gather it was some kind of business trip, and it would be difficult to get away before the end of August. That’s a lot of responsibility on Stu and Ginny though. The dental office renovations are taking more time than they realized.”

  “Those things usually do. But they have Carrie to help out.”

  “I suppose, although Carrie’s leaving in a couple weeks. School’s starting soon, and she’s doing student teaching this year.

  “But, boy, Heather can’t wait to get out of that cast. She’s anxious to start interviewing for jobs as soon as she can.”

  “That’s right. She graduated this past spring. I forgot.”

  The conversation paused while the waitress brought their plates.

  “How are your mom and dad?” John asked, picking up his fork.

  “They’re doing fine,” she lied. It had not been a good summer for the Elliots. Mrs. Elliot withdrew more and more, and she became even more a shell of the woman she once was, and Mr. Elliot barely managed to scrape by and hold on to his business. He was losing customers by the droves to the new marina on the other side of the lake. Somehow, he was able to make ends meet, mostly due to his illicit bootlegging operation, which was just as strong as ever.

  “You still helping out with the books?”

  “Oh, that’s a given.” She laughed. “I’ve been doing that for years now. Mostly I do the payroll. Dad prefers to order supplies and food from the distributors himself. That way h
e gets to talk to all his buddies.

  “In fact,” Laurel said, glad for some pleasant news to share, “he’s just recently reconnected with an old friend from his college days — a professor from Benton College.”

  “That’s your alma mater, isn’t it? Did you know him?”

  “Not really, but I saw him earlier this summer at Woodland. That’s how he caught up with Dad again.”

  “I guess it was the season to reconnect with old friends.”

  “I guess so.”

  “And make new ones.” John tipped his glass toward her.

  Laurel smiled. It was good to see John moving through this grief and begin the process of rebuilding. If only she could do the same.

  She’d had no direct word from James. She knew he was back in California because Susan told her when they ran into each other in the grocery the other day. John mentioned talking to him now and then, and of course, today she’d found out he was checking in with Heather on a regular basis.

  Laurel had seriously considered asking Susan or John for his address, but then she worried they might ask her why. The thought of broadcasting any of the feelings she held close to her heart for so long was mortifying. Even if she had the address, what would she say to him in a letter? She never got up the nerve to ask, so she never got the chance to tell James anything or ask him for any answers.

  But what was he doing? Did he have feelings for Heather? Her heart sank at the thought of it, but she couldn’t dismiss the possibility. But, if that was the case, what business out in California kept him away from her? Whatever it was, he’d better not stay away too long or he risked stretching Heather’s attention span to its limit. She might forget all about James Marshall in a week or two. She smirked and then berated herself for the sarcasm of her inner dialogue. Ugly cynicism would only make her feel worse.

  With considerable effort, she pushed the bitterness out of her thoughts. Regardless of what happened in her kitchen that night after the accident, she must be strong and find a way to carve out an ordinary life for herself. Again.

  * * *

  Laurel looked up from her payroll when she heard the restaurant door slam. Her father entered, an excited look on his face, followed by Cooper Edwards.

  “Hi, Dad. Hello, Cooper.” She’d finally reached the point where calling Dr. Edwards by his first name didn’t seem quite so strange.

  Her father closed the office door behind him. “Cooper has some good news.”

  “Oh?”

  “Tell her.” Mr. Elliot sat down in one chair and gestured Cooper into another.

  “Well,” Cooper began with a dramatic flair, “I have a friend from the Benton College Alumni Association who is an art dealer — owns a number of galleries around this region of the country — very successful. His name is Neil Crenshaw.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” Laurel replied.

  Cooper beamed. “I thought you might have. We ran into each other earlier this week, and he mentioned searching for an artist to display at his gallery in Asheville the first weekend in October. You know what happens in Asheville in October, don’t you?

  “There’s a large regional arts and crafts festival there,” Mr. Elliot interrupted.

  “Yes, Dad, I know.” Laurel smiled. The Craft Fair of the Southern Mountains was one of the best-known showcases for arts and crafts in the entire region.

  “He was going to try to find a painter — again — but I said he should do something unexpected and consider an exhibition of ceramic art instead. He was intrigued by the idea and asked if I knew of any talented potters. Well, the gist of it is, he wants to meet with you about the possibility of doing a show there.” Cooper watched for her reaction, a smug smile on his face.

  “I’ve never done anything that . . . involved before. I don’t know.”

  “Laurel, dear,” Cooper said in a patronizing voice, born of his belief in his superiority of experience and education. “Neil Crenshaw is a very influential man. Networking with him would be a tremendous boost to your career. Many artists he’s taken an interest in have gone on to be very successful.”

  “How do you mean?” she asked, interested in spite of herself.

  “Selling designs for mass production for example, invitations to prestigious national shows, opening their own galleries. I’ve taken it upon myself to do some research for you, and there’s quite a market for quaint Appalachian keepsakes. Apparently, they elicit some kind of mawkish nostalgia and induce a subsection of the intellectual elite to adopt a rather sappy respect toward the culture — sort of an American version of Rousseau’s ‘noble savage.’ Sentimental hogwash, if you ask me, but remunerative hogwash none the less.”

  “This could be a good opportunity for you, daughter,” Mr. Elliot cut in. “A chance to show your talent and reap the rewards of your hard work.”

  Laurel sighed and put down her pen. She picked it up again and twirled it in her fingers, considering before she responded. “I have no problem with being paid for my work. People have to eat off of something; why shouldn’t it be something beautiful? I have no issues with that at all, but I’m not sure the kind of commerce-driven life you’re talking about is right for me. I’ve never needed much money to live the way I want, and I’ve always gotten along fine. You have to understand that about me. I’m not really a businesswoman.”

  Cooper looked at her father with an indulgent smile, then leaned over and covered her hand with his. “I know you aren’t,” he said gently, “and that’s why I’m being so insistent about this. I promise I’ll help you safely navigate the shark-infested waters of capitalism.”

  Laurel felt a mild stab of annoyance that neither man seemed to be listening to her. “It isn’t enough for me just to throw pots for the sake of having something to sell. I create pottery because I’m an artist and it’s what I love to do. Of course, I need to make enough money to live on, but above that, any success I have is only a by-product of that creative drive, not a reason for it. To be honest, I’m content with whatever level of success I attain. My greatest happiness comes from meeting people who have real appreciation for my work because it appeals to them on some emotional level, not because they want to show the world how varied and eclectic their tastes are.”

  Cooper’s self-assured grin widened with amusement. “Ah, the naïveté of youth — it’s charming, isn’t it, Walter?”

  “I’ve always admired my daughter’s talent and her unique charm.”

  “Dad,” she admonished, blushing in spite of herself.

  Cooper looked at her with an unnerving intensity. “Yes,” he muttered so low she could hardly hear him, “very charming indeed.” Louder, he turned again to Walter and said, “I agree your daughter is extremely talented. I would hope she would want to share that talent with as many people as she could.” He turned back to Laurel with an earnest look. “Promise me you’ll at least consider meeting with Neil to discuss this. I would be happy to arrange an introduction and even accompany you if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

  Laurel paused a long minute. Really, what would it hurt? And it would please her father; it might even please her mother a little too. “Okay,” she acquiesced. “If he really wants to meet with me, I’ll go. And I’ll gather together a few pieces for him to see.”

  “Wonderful! I know you won’t be sorry.” He sat back in his chair, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Make sure you bring some of that bright blue and gray group you had at Woodland. Those colors are very much in vogue right now. We want to show him not just how lovely and talented you are, but also that you’re hip to the current trends.”

  Laurel mentally rolled her eyes at the outdated slang and changed the subject.

  Part 3

  Chapter 21

  Early Fall

  In the end, the meeting with Neil Crenshaw went better than Laurel could have hoped. He was very professional, and although he candidly admitted that her work wasn’t really his cup of tea, he was certain that other people
would admire it and offered her a showing during the Craft Fair of the Southern Mountains in October. She would have space in his gallery to display her work, complete with professional brochures and business cards to hand out. It was quite a step up from the usual Crosby-made materials printed at Kinko’s and a small booth at the Woodland Craft Fair. For his trouble, Mr. Crenshaw would receive a percentage of the gross sales.

  Another bonus for Laurel was that the preparations gave her something to focus on besides James. The last few months hadn’t been easy for her. To have had a glimpse of another chance with him, only for it to be yanked away, was painful. But, she reminded herself, she had endured the loss once before, and she was convinced she would endure it again simply because she had no other choice.

  Her family was thrilled about what both Cooper and her father billed as her big break, and they talked about making the trip to Asheville with her. At first, even her mother thought she might go, but at the last minute, she changed her mind. Of course, Laurel was disappointed; she had held out a secret hope that this might be the event that turned her mother around, but it was not unexpected, so she put that disappointment out of her mind. It was a coping skill she had practiced for many years.

  * * *

  On the first day of the fair, Laurel rose bright and early. She dressed carefully, choosing a flowing rayon skirt and a simple sleeveless blouse that left her arms free for pottery demonstrations. After twisting her long red hair into a large braid, she put on a pair of dangly silver and turquoise earrings and just a touch of makeup. She smiled at her reflection, realizing she looked every inch the part of the Bohemian artist.

  Soon after she arrived at the gallery, Cooper came by to check whether she needed anything and to critique what he had seen so far of the festival. She thanked him but said she had all she required, except maybe a cup of tea to ward off the morning chill. He smiled and gallantly offered to fetch ‘whatever the talented artiste requires.’ In truth, Laurel was interested in getting him out of her hair for a while. She appreciated his help, both in securing the interview with Crenshaw and his support at the fair itself, but his biting cynicism about the other artists, the fair, and the patrons threatened to interfere with her enjoyment of the event. It was a joyous occasion for her, and she wanted to feel . . . joyful.