Find Wonder in All Things - By Karen M. Cox Page 0,41

you know all this?”

“A miraculous entity called the Internet.”

“You little stalker . . . ”

“This is all according to a website from some forward-thinking craft fair in West Virginia back in the fall. They had a web page with artist bios listed on it.”

James plopped on a bench and hung his head down while he rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m not going back there. And I’ll thank you to butt out of my love life.”

Eric sat beside him. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. But I saw your face when you talked about her, man. Something’s still there, and I think you need to either face her or let her go. You’re at a standstill. You can’t make things work with any other woman — ”

James Marshall sprang off the bench, hands on his hips as he glared at his friend. “Okay, thanks for the advice, but if I need a life coach, I’ll hire one.”

“You need to come to grips with this,” Eric persisted. “You’ve conquered the world, genius, but now you’ve got some decisions to make — like what you’re going to do with the rest of your life and who you want to do it with.”

“I’ll tell you one thing I’m not going to do.” James turned and started running. “I’m not going to track down Laurel Elliot. Race you back,” he called over his shoulder.

Part 2

Chapter 11

Uppercross Hollow, Kentucky

Laurel Elliot shut down her potter’s wheel and wiped the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead. It wouldn’t be summer for another month, but it already felt like it. She loved her studio, but with three of the four walls made of floor-to-ceiling windows, it could get very hot in the afternoon. She walked into her kitchen, a room eliciting a feeling of homespun comfort with its lemon-yellow walls and French-blue accents. When she remodeled, she had splurged on a retro-looking fridge, with a guilty little modern secret hiding inside the freezer door: an automatic icemaker. That little device had saved her a ton of frustration because she was forever trying to get a stale ice cube or two out of a tray that she had forgotten to fill. She stepped to the sink, filled her glass with cool well water from the tap, and downed it in one breath. Throwing pots was thirsty work, especially without air conditioning.

Listening closely, she heard the rumble of a jeep just over the hill signaling the imminent arrival of the day’s mail. Laurel wiped her hands on her apron before removing it, and went out the front door and down the drive to the mailbox. She was expecting a letter from the craft fair people in Knoxville, and it was supposed to arrive today. I’m going to have to invest in a phone at some point. The world moved fast these days, and people complained all the time about not being able to get hold of her in a timely manner. Yet Laurel still resisted the idea. She told herself it was because she couldn’t afford to have the lines run from the road. Mostly though, she balked at the idea of being instantly accessible to people. Living alone on the hill had taught her to keep her own company, set her own schedule, and live by her own rules. A ringing phone would upset the predictable rhythm of her life, and she found it difficult to sacrifice her independence for other people’s convenience. Besides, if her parents could call her on a whim, she’d never get any work done.

Hilda, the mail carrier, was long gone by the time Laurel reached the end of her driveway. She opened the box and pulled out a small wad of envelopes: A bill for art supplies, an advertisement for the IGA, and a letter addressed to her with a large curly “P” on the return address label.

“Ginny.” She smiled to herself. Tearing open the letter, she began reading on her way back to the house.

Hey Sis,

I hope you are doing well. Dad writes that you are still up on your mountain, throwing pots and living off the grid. Mom is about the same I gather. Stuart and I are both doing well, and we have pretty incredible news on two fronts. One is that after a lot of soul searching, we’ve decided to move back to Kentucky! Old Dr. Dawes is retiring at the end of July and has agreed to sell us his practice, such