Find Wonder In All Things (4 page)

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re still under our roof, you know, even if you are almost off to college.”

“Yes, Dad.” She took a sip of her coke and turned to see James carrying his bus tub to the last messy table. She met him there.

“Want some help with these?”

He shrugged.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, as she stacked plates and cups.

“Nothing. Just tired, I guess.”

“Oh.” She picked up a fork. “Stu and I are going up to The Loft for a bit.”

“Yeah, I heard. What’s The Loft?”

“Just a local place to hang out — pool tables, a jukebox. There’s live music sometimes too. Wanna come?”

He was slightly annoyed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m working here.”

“I meant when you’re done. You should be finished by about 10:30 or so. Come on; say you’ll come. We can catch up and rehash the splendid days of our youth.” She looked at him hopefully, nodding as she took another sip from her straw.

He caved in an instant. “Well, okay. Where is it?”

She led him by the arm to the window. “Just up the ramp and then take that first left. It’s a gravel road, not too far though — maybe a quarter mile. The locals take turns playing music sometimes. A few of them are pretty good.” Her smile was inviting, and he was just about to return it when the screen door to the deck slammed shut, making them both jump.

“Hey, ready to go?” Stuart walked up and set his glass in James’s bus tub.

“Sure,” Laurel replied. “I think I talked James into stopping by after work.”

“Great.” He turned and headed for the door. “See you there.”

They departed, and James was left feeling a little envious. He would like to escort pretty girls around the marina and up to the local music joint too, but he had to work for a living. Then he felt guilty. The Pendletons had given him a place to stay for the summer, rent free, and Stuart had given up his only down time at home to drive him there. It wasn’t Stu’s fault that James had to work summers. It was just the way it was.

For the next hour and a half, he heard the music from the top of the hill as he wiped counters and mopped floors. The tunes were right up his alley, too — a mixture of rock and country that floated on the night breeze over the water and into the screened windows of the restaurant kitchen.

A little after ten o’clock, Mr. Elliot came into the pantry where James was wiping down shelves, and handed him a wad of bills.

“Tips,” he explained. “Don’t spend it all in one place or on one girl.” He winked. “You need a ride up to town tomorrow to open a bank account?”

“Umm, no thank you, sir. Stu said he’d take me in the morning.”

“Ah.” Mr. Elliot nodded. “Well, I think we’re pretty much done here. Why don’t you head on out and join your friends?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“And keep an eye on my daughter,” he called after James good-naturedly.

James held up a hand in acknowledgement as he stepped out the front door of the restaurant and into the warm, summer night.

Chapter 2

The stars winked in the dark, Southern sky as James locked the boat and headed toward the marina’s highway entrance. He could see a faint glow of light from the town several miles away, but here the sky was clear and the night was quiet, except for the music. The wooden dock creaked beneath his feet, swaying gently from side to side as he walked along. The lake lapped at the buoys in a soft rhythm, a black, living thing underneath him — threatening and yet soothing in its vast darkness. Adjusting his stride, he traversed from the dock to the pavement, and then to the steep drive that led to the highway above. Following the road, he picked his way along the shoulder of the highway until he reached the gravel drive Laurel told him about. A battered mailbox proclaimed in shiny but peeling letters that he’d arrived at The Loft. Another steep climb and he was there. He crossed a porch lined with rocking chairs and approached the heavy, steel door with chipping paint and squeaky hinges. It gave way after a mighty shove, and he stepped directly into a game room with a few pool tables and pinball machines. Low green lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light about the place. He made his way across the room and over to the stairwell. The sounds of music and conversation floated down the steps, and because Stuart and Laurel were nowhere to be seen, he jogged up the stairs to the second floor.

He was greeted with a flurry of activity. A jukebox cranked out loud, Southern rock, and about a dozen couples were dancing, including Stu and Laurel. It was an interesting crowd: bikers with leather jackets and beards, local factory workers and their wives, boating tourists in polo shirts and khaki shorts, and a handful of high school and college kids. James hung back and watched the room in general — and Stuart and Laurel in particular.

A wave of unfamiliar emotion washed over him as he watched the two of them dancing. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his friend, but . . . Maybe it was because Mr. Elliot had told him to watch out for her. Or perhaps he was feeling protective because he’d known her when she was a chubby, little kid. He didn’t know the answer, but watching All-American, handsome Stuart laugh with her and twirl her under his arm annoyed him like a mosquito bite that wouldn’t stop itching. It irked him further that she was obviously enjoying herself.
What is Stu up to anyway? Doesn’t he know it’s bad form to hit on the ex-girlfriend’s little sister?
Not that James cared or anything, but something about a guy trying to manipulate an innocent kid didn’t sit well with him, even if that guy was his friend.

Laurel spied him in the corner, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. She immediately stopped dancing and waved, turning Stu around to see him. They both gestured for him to join them, pointing to a table at the side of the room. On her way to their seats, Laurel stopped at the bar.

Stuart sat down with an “oomph,” and gave James his winning Stu-smile.

“Hey, how’d your first day on the job go?”

“I think I did okay.”

“You’ll sleep in tomorrow, I bet.”

James nodded but said nothing. He was watching Laurel Elliot dance in place while she leaned over the bar. Stu followed his gaze and grinned.

“Whaddya think of Laurel, huh? Grown up nice, hasn’t she?” He waggled his eyebrows, which annoyed the crap out of James.

“She looks different.” He parroted her words from that afternoon back to his friend. “I haven’t seen her in five years, and people change in five years.”

“Yep, they sure do.” Stuart was looking smug as if he knew some kind of inside information, but for the life of him, James couldn’t figure it out.

“You know, you shouldn’t — ”

“Here she comes.” Stuart shushed him, and James bit back the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

“Here you go.” She handed James a Coke and held hers up. “To the working man.” The three of them clinked glasses.

“And the working woman,” James returned.

“All women are working women,” she replied dryly.

“Hear, hear,” Stu joined in.

“So,” James began, taking another sip. The cold, fizzy soda hit the spot. “How’s Virginia doing these days?” He cast a furtive look at Stuart to see how he’d react to the name.

Laurel and Stuart exchanged startled glances, and Laurel’s eyes lost a bit of their sparkle. “Umm . . . she’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” James eyed his friend.
He said this morning that he wanted to catch up with Virginia. Is he just making nice with whatever Elliot girl happens to be around? And what was that look between them for?

“Well, she’s taking a class in summer school at the university. It’ll be over in a couple of weeks, and then you’ll get to see her more.” Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought her voice had turned a bit icy.

She took a sip of Coke and turned toward the stage so he couldn’t see her expression.

“Oh, look, they’re starting the open mike. I wonder who’s going to sing tonight.”

Stuart looked back and forth between Laurel and James. “You know, James sings.”

Her head whipped around sharply. “You do?”

“And he plays the guitar.”

Whatever had been bothering her a second before evaporated into thin air. Her face showed a rapt interest that made him want to tout every accomplishment he’d ever had.

“I . . . ah . . . yeah. I play a little.”

“He’s being modest. He’s pretty good.”

“You said you wanted to learn,” she mused, smiling.

“What?” James wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

“You said you wanted to learn the guitar. Long time ago. That time we went exploring in the tunnel, remember?”

He reached back into his mind. He hadn’t thought about that little adventure in years. “Oh yeah, I guess I did.”

She beamed at him. “What kind of music do you play?”

James started to answer, but Stuart cut in. “Rock, country, blues.”

“Acoustic or electric?” She kept her eyes trained on James.

“Both,” Stuart chimed in. “Oh, sorry.” He took another drink when James shot him a dirty look. “Guess you can speak for yourself.”

Laurel gave him an encouraging smile. “I’d love to hear you play tonight. You should go up there.”

“Nah.”

Stuart leaned back and put his arm around the back of Laurel’s chair. “Come on James. You play as well as any of these guys here.”

“Don’t have my guitar.”

“Eddie will let you borrow his if I ask him,” Laurel ventured, bouncing off her chair and over to the man behind the counter. The guy leaned his shaggy head close to hear her better while Laurel talked animatedly and pointed to James. Eddie squinted in his direction and nodded, picking a pencil out of his ear and writing on a crumpled piece of paper beside him.

“All set,” she said, plopping back down on her chair. “You’re number eight on the list.”

“Laurel, really . . . ” James protested.

“No, I wanna hear you play. Stu says you’re good, so I’m sure you are. Be thinking about what song you want to do because the open mike moves pretty fast.” She looked around the room. “I hope you don’t mind using the acoustic though.”

James decided it would be churlish to keep arguing. Stu was right; he
was
pretty good. That last year had seen him practicing almost nonstop as a way to soothe his soul and forget his troubles at home. Music worked at least as well as the empty-headed co-eds he tried distracting himself with the year before, and it was certainly less messy — more lucrative, too, since he’d joined a band right before New Year’s. They had taken him on even though he wasn’t yet bar age, and playing a few gigs around Dayton had been a real eye-opener.

When it was James’s turn at the mike, Eddie stepped up and introduced him. “Miss Laurel Elliot says her daddy’s new summer worker plays and sings a little. Come on up here, son, and show us what you got.”

James made his way up to the stage to the sound of polite applause and a whoop or two from Stu and Laurel. His heart hammered in his chest. He had no idea what he’d play once he got up there, but he was no stranger to the stage, and the moment he took the guitar in his hands, he felt his pulse slow. He plucked a few strings, tweaking the tuners and strumming a couple of chords.

“What’s your name, son?” someone called out.

He cleared his throat and spoke into the mike. “James.” He looked at the crowd. More people were in their forties and fifties than in their twenties, so maybe a song from a few years back would be just the thing. His eyes landed on Stu and Laurel, sitting with their heads together. Laurel tilted her head back and let out a laugh, and Stuart flashed a grin that ticked James off for some reason.
As usual, he has his pick of any girl he wants, and he just wants whoever’s handy.

James began to strum a blues riff that led into an old song about little sisters not doing what big sisters done.
Just snarky enough to make them sit up and take notice of how they’re acting and remind Stuart he’s after Virginia, not the little sister.
Not that James hadn’t ever charmed a girl for whom he had only marginal interest, because he had — plenty of times — but with Laurel . . . well, it seemed wrong to treat the kid that way.

He dared a look at his audience. Laurel was staring back at him with her mouth slightly open. That guarded look was back in her eyes although the rest of the crowd murmured, signaling their approval of his choice. He let the blues flow through him, making his voice rough in all the right places. It was an easy tune that let him sing his heart without thinking too much. In short, it was his favorite kind of song.

The crowd clapped in appreciation when he was done. As he made his way back to the table, he noticed the subdued expressions on the faces of his friends and felt a little stab of satisfaction.

“Whaddya think?” James asked, his eyes fixed on Laurel’s big, blue ones.

“Umm . . . great. Stuart was right. You’re very talented.” She looked down at her watch. “Guess I should get going in a minute, though. It’s about 11:30, and Mama throws a fit if I’m late.” She hopped off her barstool and made a beeline for the ladies’ room.