Love Starts with Elle (27 page)

“There’s no chase, Heath. I’m not running. He’s being nice and humble. Something’s happened and he wants to talk about it.”

“That’s humble? He couldn’t buy humble.” He’d gone too far. He could tell by Elle’s expression. “Elle, I’m sorry. This is none of my business. Go, have fun. I hope it turns out well for you.”

“I’m sorry about dinner, Heath. We’ll go later.” She paused in the doorway. “You know I have to do this, right? And it doesn’t make me a dumb dame.”

“Elle, you are a million things, and dumb dame is not one of them.”

“Don’t worry, I know all about the guys-with-big-egos playbook.”

“I won’t. You’re a grown woman and can take care of yourself.”

She jutted out her chin. “Exactly. See you in the funny papers.”

Yeah, right next to Charlie Brown.

Jeremiah stopped at the Shrimp Shack for a couple of shrimp burgers, then continued down Hwy 21 toward Huntington State Park.

Their conversation started out stiff and formal, but gradually the tension evaporated as Jeremiah asked what she was up to these days.
You know, everything that’s happened since I broke your heart.

Really, she’d worked the broken-heart angle long enough. Hated being trapped there. With her hands gripped in her lap, Elle gave him a breezy update.

“So, my days are about the two
Ps
—painting and prayer.”

“Painting and prayer. Interesting.”

“I meet with Miss Anna for prayer and that’s how I started painting.”

He glanced over at her as he steered down Hwy 21, a seriousness shrouding his almond-shaped eyes. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“So are you.” She gazed out her window at the palmettos and pines, squinting at the glassy marsh.

Okay, she’d lied to Heath. The only thing she knew about the plays in the guys-with-big-egos book was that sometimes they worked.

Jeremiah turned into Huntington State Park, paid the fee, and chose a picnic area on the ocean side. So far, he spoke little of himself.

A brisk salty breeze combed through Elle’s hair as she sat under the canopy of pines and faced the surf.

“Shrimp burger and fries.” Jeremiah handed Elle her food, sitting next to her. She waited for him to say grace, but he bit into his shrimp sandwich without so much as a pause or glint of reflection.

“I’ve missed the Shrimp Shack,” he mumbled, mouth full, wiping mayonnaise from the corner of his lips.

Elle took a small bite, chewing quickly and swallowing, smashing down the napkins when the wind whistled through the pines and whisked them across the table.

“Jeremiah, what is going on? You didn’t come all the way here to have a shrimp burger with me in the park.”

“No, I didn’t.” Jeremiah flicked crumbs from his finger. “I’m still in love with you, Elle. I’ve missed you and regretted how things ended between us.”

“Not an e-mail or a call in three months. How much was I really on your mind?”

He scooted closer to her, and the heat from his skin caused her to tingle. “Out of sight, but not out of my mind or heart. I was a fool to let you go, and I want you back.”

Elle shoved her food aside, hearing him but not comprehending. “Just like that? Here’s a shrimp burger and my heart? What changed, Jeremiah?”

“Me. I’ve changed.” His turned her face to his by the tip of her chin. “Do you still love me?”

“No.” Even she didn’t believe her answer. “I don’t know.” Sitting here, expressing his heart, wanting her, humble and handsome . . . she didn’t know what she wanted. She’d spent the last four months letting go of everything, starting over, a clean, blank canvas before God.

“Candace thinks I sabotaged my Dallas trip because I didn’t want to marry you.”

“That theory only matters if it’s what you think.”

“Jeremiah,” Elle started, “what changed you?”

He picked at the table’s peeling paint. “I quit.”

“W-what?” she whispered, grabbing his forearm. “You didn’t.”

“Taking on that church was the biggest mistake of my life. It cost me friends, time, desire—you. I let myself be blinded by delusions of television and big ministry. Move over, T. D. Jakes, Jeremiah Franklin has entered the building.”

“What happened?” Her fingers squeezed his skin.

“Clash of power. Little did I know this small band of leaders only wanted a puppet.” He peeked at her from under his brow. “And here I came, prideful, arrogant, thinking I was being promoted by God. After all, I deserved it. Look at all I can do for God’s kingdom. I walked right into their trap, close-eyed and stupid.”

The scenario sounded ludicrous. “Why would they want a puppet? Jeremiah, I wasn’t around long, but I saw the church, visited with the people. They loved Jesus, wanted to impact the community for good.”

“The congregation, yes. But the leaders are manipulators, a bunch of Jezebels. If the pastor opposes them, or executes his own plan without their expressed written consent, they go into action like a Microsoft virus, poisoning the other leaders and key members of the congregation.”

“And no one stops them?”

“Like who? If the pastor can’t . . . I had two-thirds of the church believing these leaders—four couples in all—rode a chariot into God’s throne room every night and returned with unspeakable oracles. The remaining third knew better but were either intimidated, naturally, or had been burned once and weren’t going to go there again.”

“Jeremiah, that’s horrible.”

“And I witnessed them in action.” Jeremiah got up from the table. “Can we walk?”

Elle kicked off her shoes and joined him where sand met pine needles. His feet slipped in the sand as they walked into the head wind.

Jesus, what do I say to him?

After a long silence, he said, “Now I understand why the church went through senior pastors like melting ice on a hot August afternoon.”

“What about your friends? The ones who recommended you?”

“They are a part of it.” Jeremiah stopped as if his next step required too much energy. His gaze was lost out over the sea. “Maurice figured I’d go for the television thing and let him run everything else. The sad thing is, Elle, they don’t understand what they are doing. They love Jesus, but are blinded by their own ambition.”

“It’s like a movie script; I can’t believe it.” Elle stood with him, arms crossed, sea salt coating her skin. “But I know you wouldn’t be here otherwise.” She looked up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Wrestling with God, bitter, but working through it. Why did it appear to be a great opportunity if it was all going to fall apart?” He touched her shoulder. “I’m glad you weren’t there.”

“I’ve asked myself a similar question all summer. If we weren’t right for each other, why didn’t God intervene sooner?”

But how else would I have rented the cottage and met Heath?

“And what did you conclude?” Hand in his pockets, he started walking again. Sadness shadowed his high cheekbones.

Elle stared at the back of his shirt, pressed against him by the wind, and filtered his question through her last thought . . .
“How else
would I have met Heath?”
Her breath caught for a moment.

Jeremiah stopped in the sand, twisting sideways to look at her. “Elle? Did I lose you? Must have been some conclusion.”

She flashed a smile, moving toward him. “Sorry, trapped by a random thought. No big conclusion, Jer. It’s just I discovered that sometimes falling apart is the will of God, the opportunity to draw near, to grow in love.”

He pinched his brow into a
V
. “Not sure I signed up for that version of Christianity.”

“Me neither, but what if God meant for your Dallas church plan to fall apart? For my wedding and gallery aspirations to come up short? What if failing is really succeeding?”

“Unto what gain?” His tone mocked a little.

“Godly gain. He who loses his life for Christ will gain it.”

Jeremiah regarded her, then shook his head. “I gave up football to answer the call. You sold your gallery, rented the cottage to follow Him with me.”

“Maybe that was only the first part of the journey.”

“I’m taking a job at FSU. Assistant athletic director. One of my old coaches is there. He opened the door.”

“You’re leaving the ministry?”

“Seems it left me.” Jeremiah bent down midstride, picking up a shell, and flung it at the water. “Three years of divinity training, shot.”

Elle hurried to walk in front of him, to see his face. “One bad experience and you quit? Jeremiah, where’s the heart of a star athlete, the one who breaks tackles striding for the goal?”

“Quoting my own sermon to me won’t change my mind.”

Elle observed as he flung another shell. But they were too light for the breeze and dropped to the beach without flying.

“You accepted already?”

“Ministry either breaks a man or makes him, and I’m getting out before I’m broken.”

“Maybe that’s the point, Jeremiah. Brokenness.”

Jeremiah lifted his hand toward her hair as it blew across her cheeks, but dropped it before touching her. “I can be broken in Tallahassee as much as any place.”

“You know what I loved about you when I met you?”

“My dashing good looks?” He smiled, half teasing, half hunting.

“I loved your confidence. You knew your calling. You were strong where I was weak.” The wind picked up, wrapping Elle’s skirt around her knees.

“Just because I’m changing my career doesn’t change who I am, Elle. I can be there for you, help you find what you’re looking for.”

“I’m praying my way there, Jer, and I like the journey, bumps and all.”

The dipping sun unrolled an orange and red banner across the blue expanse, and in this place of beauty, Elle grieved for Jeremiah. Not only did the Dallas experience wreck his ministry, but it seemed to have looted his personal relationship with the one called Christ.

Jeremiah swept her to him with a single-arm embrace. “Elle, I love you and I need you. The night we broke up, you asked me to quit the church instead of you, and I refused. I made the wrong choice. But not once did I doubt proposing. You were the one for me from the first moment I saw you. Elle, you’re the one for me now.” He bent toward her, hesitating, then carefully dusted her lips with his. “Marry me.”

TWENTY-ONE

She didn’t sit in her usual spot, second pew from the front, right side. Instead, Elle lay prostrate on the chapel floor before the altar, nose pressed into the worn carpet, dark spots forming where her tears landed.

Sleep had evaded her most of the night as she’d tossed and turned, tangled in the sheets. Finally, at five thirty, she’d showered and driven to the chapel.

Jeremiah’s surprise return was one thing. But his surprise proposal jerked her back into a world she’d packed up and labeled “Over. Move On.”

Did she want to marry him? While she’d spent the past three months healing, forgetting him, had she really? Just seeing him awakened dormant feelings, wants, and desires.

“Jesus, what do I do?”

Still face down on the worn carpet, Elle fumbled for the tissue box. It was there somewhere. Glancing up between tangled strands of hair, she found it just outside of reach. She crawled over, pulled one free, and blew her nose.

“What’s troubling you, Elle?”

She turned. Miss Anna watched her from the second-row pew, all peace and prettiness in a faded blue dress with white flowers. “Seems we’ve traded places. You at the altar, me in the pew.”

“Jeremiah showed up last night, Miss Anna.” Elle walked on her knees over to her mentor, box of tissues in hand.

“What did he want?”

Elle blew her nose again. “To marry me.”

“Goodness.” Miss Anna patted the bench and moved over. “What did you say?”

“What could I say? I told him I need to think and pray. And in his usual confident way, he said he’d wait for me, no matter how long.”

“My, my. That boy was always so determined.”

“He’s bitter, Miss Anna. His experience with the Dallas church was not good. He quit.”

“I see.”

But his overtures, the expression in his eyes, his tenderness of his touch lingered in her thoughts. “The things that drove us apart are no longer a factor. He is genuinely sorry about what happened, but I’m not sure I’m the one to walk him through his valley.”

Did her confession sound unloving? Didn’t love conquer all, keep no record of wrong? Never quit? Never fail?

“A bitter man only grows more bitter unless he surrenders everything—his pride, his reputation, his identity to God,” Miss Anna said without a
hmm
of wonder.

“But aren’t we supposed to love one another, help one another?”

“Jeremiah needs to figure this mess out the way you did, by speaking to Jesus.”

“Were you ever in love, Miss Anna?” Elle dabbed the tears from her cheeks with a balled-up tissue, thinking she’d spent two months praying with this woman and knew nothing of her.

“Once upon a time.”

“Miss Anna, you’re smiling. Look at you.” Elle bent forward to see her face, curious about the man who made her blush like a young woman all these years later.

She wondered if Jeremiah’s name did the same to her cheeks.

“My father insisted I go on with my education after high school, so I went up to the College of Charleston. Oh, Elle, I had a ball. It was after the war and campus was so gay and lively. My roommates were very special gals. We became such dear friends—to the day each one passed. We attended all the dances and parties. Some of the young men wanted to court me special, but I was having too much fun to go with just one boy.”