Find Wonder In All Things (25 page)

“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.

Laurel was setting up for a ten o’clock demonstration when she heard a vaguely familiar voice behind her.

“Laurel Elliot, is that really you?”

She whirled around and gasped. “Adrienne? Adrienne Smith?” She held her arms open wide and the two women hugged and squealed like high school girls.

“Yes, it’s me! How in the hell are you? It’s been what . . . four years?”

“Since graduation. What have you been up to? Are you one of the artists here?”

“Oh no, not here, no. I’m working.”

“Working?”

“I work for Neil Crenshaw. I’m making the rounds to double check that everything’s set up and ready to go. I saw your name on the roster, and I just had to come over and see if it was my Laurel Elliot in the big fancy gallery. Is this your work?” She stopped to examine one of the pieces.

“Yes, it’s mine.”

Adrienne nodded appreciatively. “Simple and beautiful, but then I’m not a bit surprised.”

“Thanks.” Laurel checked the time. “Hey, listen, I’ve got to do this demonstration, but I should be finished by 11:30, and the gallery will be closed until one. You wanna go grab some lunch somewhere?”

“I’d love to! Can we make it 11:45? That will give me time to finish up my morning and get back here.”

“I can meet you somewhere.”

They made arrangements, and Laurel hugged her old school friend one more time. “It’s incredible to see you. I can’t wait to have a nice leisurely lunch and catch up.”

Adrienne cocked her head at Laurel, a question in her eyes, but then she gave her an enthusiastic nod. “I’ll be there,” she promised.

* * *

“What do you mean you’re not coming to lunch? Cooper will be there.” Mr. Elliot was unusually stern when Laurel told him about her plans.

“Just that — I’m not coming to lunch. I promised Adrienne, and I haven’t seen her in ages. I’ve already seen Cooper this morning — twice.”

Her father tried a patient voice instead. “Laurel, I know you’d like to see your friend, but this lunch is quite an honor. Cooper had to pull some strings to get us in, and I think you ought to go. It will give you a chance to see what these people are about and how to fit in with them.”