Larkspur Dreams Page 3

  Lark heard nothing from her telephone partner, so she looked back at Everett, who now wore a fixed and intent gaze. It reminded her of the glassy expression held by the stuffed, wild boar hanging in Skelly’s den. She’d thought an impromptu celebration of the snow with some frothy cocoa would be fun. But Everett didn’t appear to be in the mood for a festive beverage.

  “Don’t you like snow?” She heard his raspy breathing and wondered if smoke would puff from his nostrils at any moment. Rarely did she make anyone angry. Usually people left her presence with a hug and a kind word. The moment felt unfamiliar, yet strangely exhilarating, as if she were plummeting on a roller coaster ride.

  “I like snow,” Everett said. “In fact, I like a lot of things. But right now, I’m trying to work.”

  “Well then, have a nice day.”

  “Thank you,” Everett said. “The same to you.”

  Was that a simper? He has a chink in his rock wall, Lark thought as she let a slow grin overtake her face. But then Everett dampened her optimism by parking himself down at his desk as immoveable and cold as a slab of granite. Oh well, hope still reigned. Even granite could be carved with the right tools.

  Lark gave up on Everett for the time being as the snow claimed her attention. She had to be a part of it. She headed back downstairs, slipped on some moccasins and put on a coat over her long nightshirt. Once she’d flipped on the outdoor lights, she hurried out into her backyard.

  The glorious white stuff fell more heavily now, floating all around her, engulfing her in a cocoon of softness. Suddenly she realized she’d never painted a winter scene. I should memorize this moment.

  The pristine flurries had already lighted on the pines and decorated their boughs. And what a unique quiet. As if the snowy splendor commanded all the rest of nature to an awed silence.

  The delicate feel of the flakes on her face reminded her of a feather tickling her cheek. Lark licked the melting snow from her lips. A gust caused the flakes to do a little tango. She raised her arms and danced with the flurries, dipping and swaying and singing. She knew God looked on, sharing her pleasure in His creation. An icy gust made her shiver, so she raced back inside, laughing the whole way up to her loft.

  ❧

  Everett slammed his coffee mug down so hard a three-tiered bead of brown liquid rose in the air and then plopped back in his cup. Cold, bitter brew again. He made a mental note to throw out his coffee beans and buy some caffeine pills. His concoction always tasted like crude oil anyway.

  He glanced over at Lark’s office window. Her light was off, so she still must be out of her office. At least she’d finally gotten the good sense to come in from the cold. He’d seen her from his window, and she’d been outside twirling with her arms stretched wide. She looked stark raving mad. Or maybe she’s simply childlike.

  It reminded him of something he and his sister, Greta, had taken pleasure in when they were growing up. Sneaking out one night to play in the first snow of the winter. The moon had come out full that night, illuminated the snow, and made it glisten like stars. They’d pelted each other with snowballs. His sister had quite a hefty pitch as he recalled. Several times they’d doubled over laughing. He hadn’t thought of that moment in years. But then he remembered they’d both caught colds, and his sister had been forced to the hospital when her fever and cough spiraled into pneumonia. He knew scientifically that their sickness had not actually come from being out in the weather, but in his mind he always associated the two.

  He drank a glass of water, trying to get the acid taste out of his mouth. His sister had always been fun loving, yet so irresponsible. She’d always managed to convince him to go along with her schemes. But some of her ideas for amusement were reckless. In the end, her foolish behavior had been the undoing of their family.

  Everett cleared his throat and wished he could clear his thoughts as easily. Yes, there had always been a price to pay for happiness. It had become his life’s lesson—joy might come, but there would be the inevitable price to pay at the end.

  He stared out at the falling snow and wanted to say, “Humbug.” Maybe I need some window blinds to help with the distractions. Mental note: Caffeine tablets. And wooden blinds. Everett willed himself not to look out his window, but even as he made his private demand, he rewarded himself with one more glimpse. Hopefully, Lark wouldn’t catch him gawking.

  Abruptly her office lights flickered on, and she appeared at the window, giving him a wave. She had indeed caught him staring. Heat spread across his face while she slipped on that perennial, pesky, sunny smile of hers. With her hair pulled back in a ribbon, he could see the soft angles of her lovely face. Not thinking clearly, he picked up his coffee mug and then dropped it on his bare toe. The brew sloshed all over his pant leg. Great. He grabbed some tissues and tried to wipe up the mess, but he did more smearing than cleaning.

  Mental note: Suit pants to the dry cleaners, caffeine tablets, and very heavy wooden blinds. Maybe he should hire someone to run his errands for him. That way he could get even more work done. Since he’d just gotten a raise from his biggest client, he felt an unwritten pressure to give more hours and produce more work. Kind of like a treadmill that management conveniently forgot to turn off.

  But the additional labor was no real problem for him. He had almost no family left. No real friends. No obligations. Just the job. A clean and productive life.

  Everett did a double click with his mouse and looked at his computer screen, which now displayed an electronic ledger. He stared at the curser. It seemed to almost mock him with its incessant winking.

  He looked down at his hands. His fingers were balled into fists so tightly he could feel his heartbeat in his hands. Probably from the wrath of paying an obscene amount of money for a home which turned out to have no privacy. He glanced back at Lark’s window. This time she’d disappeared again. When did she ever get any work done? And surely illustrating didn’t pay much.

  What was the name of one of her books? In a Giddy Pickle? Okay, so now that he thought about it, he might have seen the book back in Fayetteville. Perhaps at a bookstore and on a special display at the grocery store. Okay, maybe she was slightly notable. But if she were that big, wouldn’t she be working nonstop to keep up her position and lifestyle?

  Everett heard some faint squealing noises next door, so he made a casual glance over to his neighbor’s window. Lark and another woman were doing that girlfriend ritual thing of jumping up and down while hugging. He shook his head and groaned.

  Six

  “What are you doing here? This is so great.” Lark loved the idea of sharing a snowy morning with her best friend, Calli Dashwood.

  “Well, you said you wanted me to surprise you sometime,” Calli said.

  Lark released her from their hug. “I’m so happy you’re here. But what about the roads? Weren’t they kind of slippery?”

  “I drove carefully.” Calli wagged a finger. “But did you know your door was not only left unlocked, it wasn’t quite shut?”

  “Oh, dear.” Lark realized it must have been left that way all night.

  “I saw your car in the drive so I knew you were home,” Calli said. “I rang the bell, but when you didn’t come, I noticed the door.”

  “I guess I forgot. And I can’t believe I didn’t hear the bell. I’m so sorry.” Lark folded her hands together in front of her. “Maybe I can make it up to you with breakfast burritos and lots of homemade salsa.”

  “Now you’re talking.” Calli took off her coat and pulled out a bag of candy from her pocket. “I brought you a present. Little Chocola’ Rocks from Sweet Nothings.”

  “Is that the candy shop you’re always talking about in Hot Springs?” Lark asked.

  “Yeah. And the owner, Nori, is quite the entrepreneur. The next time we go to Hot Springs I think you’d both get a kick out of meeting each other.”

  “I’d love to.” Lark accepted the beautifully decorated bag of sweets and put it on an easy-to-reach shelf, thinkin
g they’d be great for munching while painting or reading or just about anything. “Thanks.”

  Lark noticed Calli’s new casual look in jeans and tennis shoes. Her friend had her hair down in dainty curls, with a few tiny braids on the sides. She had always admired Calli’s tall stature, her rich, cocoa brown complexion, and almond-shaped, brown eyes. She wondered if her friend wouldn’t mind posing for her someday. She’d make a great model. Lark tuned back into the conversation as Calli chatted about all the ways not to make snow ice cream. They clomped down the stairs together, chuckling.

  After breakfast and a few hours of much needed girl talk, they settled back into the loft. Calli sat in the purple beanbag chair to peruse Lark’s newest picture book, In a Giddy Pickle. “This is so incredible. You know, Nissa is a great writer, but your illustrations make the book. And this cover. . .so whimsical and beautiful. Kids are going to love it. Congratulations.”

  Lark smiled. “Thanks.”

  “I guess you’ll have some book signings again.” Calli tried to get up from the chair and fell back down. They both laughed.

  Lark reached out her hand to help her friend up. “My publisher has set up quite a few over the next several months. It should be fun meeting the kids and their parents. I hope you’ll come to one of them.”

  “I always do,” Calli said. “So has this new publisher hired you for another project? They should.”

  “Not yet. But it’s okay.” Lark fiddled with one of her camel-hair brushes, making pats on her palm, pretending it was a butterfly. “I’m enjoying the break.” Lark took a few mini packets of jellybeans out of her big bowl and tossed them to Calli.

  “Ohh, yeah. Armed and dangerous.” Calli popped a jellybean in her mouth. Then she strolled around Lark’s studio and studied her paintings on the wall. “Your oils have gotten even better than the last time I was here. So much more depth and emotion. You are remarkable.”

  “Thank you.” Lark fidgeted with her art supplies, moving her gesso and mineral spirits around from one spot to another. Watching her friend, Lark wondered why she felt so uncomfortable when people observed her artwork.

  Calli milled around the other side of her studio and stopped to gaze at a still life of pears and yellow roses and then one of a Victorian village. “Now why is it you haven’t shown these to anyone? There are so many terrific galleries here.”

  Lark shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “But that’s what you told me last year. What’s going on?”

  “Guess I’m still not ready.” Lark felt uncomfortable talking about her work beyond illustrating.

  “Oh, boy. I know that’s not this ladybug talking,” Calli said, doing a little lasso gesture with her finger. “You are indomitable, girl. Why? Because God is with you, and He’s given you an amazing gift here that He expects you to share. And I don’t just mean your illustrations.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now do I hear an Amen, sister?”

  “Amen.” Lark took her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “Okay. I’ll call one of the local galleries. . .sometime.”

  Calli tapped her finger on her cheek.

  Lark laughed. “Okay. I will call. . .soon. I promise.”

  Calli took off her freshwater pearl bracelet and rolled it onto Lark’s wrist.

  “What are you doing? I can’t accept this. It’s your favorite. Isn’t this the one you bought in one of the shops downtown?” Lark touched the bracelet, wondering if she should give it back. But she didn’t want to hurt her friend.

  “Yes, but I want you to have it,” Calli said. “It looks good with your nightshirt.”

  They both chuckled.

  “And I want it to be a symbol of the pledge you just made to me. A reminder. Okay?” Calli lowered her gaze as if to add an extra helping of serious.

  Lark nodded. “You’re the best.”

  “Yeah. That’s what my customers keep telling me.”

  “You are the best Realtor in Springdale.”

  “Well, I guess I really like helping people find their dreams.”

  Lark held up the new bracelet on her wrist. “I can tell.”

  Calli glanced over at Everett’s office window. “So I guess this is the new neighbor you were talking about. What was his name again? Everest Molden?”

  Lark laughed. “You’re close. Everett Holden.”

  “Wow, look at that,” Calli said. “When he has his lights on, you can see everything he’s doing. I mean, your windows are so big and close, it’s like you’re both in a fish bowl. His profile is certainly impressive. Uh-oh. He’s glancing over at us.”

  They both waved at Everett.

  Calli whispered, “But when he smiles, it looks more like he’s lifting heavy furniture.”

  ❧

  Everett’s office chair squawked in rebellion as he tilted it back. He stared at his knee. Looked like he’d picked up another tic. His foot bounced, making his leg continually jiggle. “Where did that come from?

  “Maybe I’m being punished for something. And do other guys talk to themselves so much?” Of course, most men probably let off steam with their friends. But people just made life so tedious; he wondered if friendship was ever worth the bother. Everett pushed on his leg, forcing it to stop bouncing.

  But on the other hand, the holidays were coming, and friends did come in handy to make things more festive. Christmas. Sure, he’d attend a client party or two and show up at a church activity, but for the last several years, the big day had been spent alone. He’d eaten foods he’d had catered and opened presents he’d given to himself. None of his life seemed dismal until now. Until he’d had a window view of the most maddening and fascinating woman he’d ever met. Larkspur. A woman who seemed to glow from the inside out. Kind of like a light bulb, only a lot brighter.

  But what kind of strange air was he breathing in this neighborhood? I don’t even know the woman. Then he remembered her holiday invitation. Hmm. A thought: Eating over at her house would certainly save money.

  He stared back at his screen and the glaring numbers. He was always the bottom line guy. Charts and spreadsheets and graphs had always been a part of his life, but now he wondered if they had consumed him. Some people had even come to fear him at meetings because of his stern reports. Everett whispered, “I’ve become the bad-news guy.”

  He looked up and noticed his sister’s music box on the shelf. He lifted the memento down and rubbed his finger along its rough, carved surface. It was one of the last belongings of hers he’d kept. He tried to rotate the little crank, knowing it wouldn’t turn. Greta had broken it from twisting it over and over until she’d wound it too tightly. The box seemed to reflect her life all too well.

  He then saw the licorice chewing gum Lark had given him the day he’d moved in. The packet sat on his desk, daring him to try another piece. Finally, he rolled his eyes in exasperation and opened a stick. He studied the powdery grayness of it, thinking how ungumlike it looked and then stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed for a moment. Sweet. Unique. The flavor reminded him a little of molasses. Guess you’d either really love the stuff or really hate it. No middle ground. After another chew or two, Everett tossed the rest of the packet of gum in the wicker trash bin. He missed. Who cared? Time for action.

  He snatched up his keys to his brand new sedan with all the bells and whistles and headed out. Everett wasn’t even sure where to go. Maybe he’d get a real cup of coffee downtown. And then later, he’d try to find the heaviest wooden blinds money could buy.

  Seven

  After a shower and a few more hours of catching-up with Calli, Lark’s stomach began to growl.

  “I heard that,” Calli said. “Now did you mention some homemade cinnamon scones, or was I dreaming?”

  Lark tugged on her friend’s arm. “Come on. You weren’t dreaming.”

  “I’m wearing elastic jeans so I can eat more than one.”

  They both laughed.

  Just before they headed down the stairs again, Calli glanced over at a canvas sittin
g on an easel. “Now what is this one going to be?”

  Lark paused before going downstairs. “I’m not totally sure. I’ve sketched in some of it. A garden with a woman sitting on a bench. But something is missing. The balance is off. It needs something. . .or someone.”

  Calli tapped her cheek. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” As she gazed out the window, her eyebrows creased, making angles on her perfect oval face. “Will you just look at that?”

  Lark followed Calli’s gaze into her neighbor’s office. Oh my. She flipped off her lights and watched the play-by-play as a crimson-faced Everett trudged up a stepladder to fasten some monstrous, wooden blinds to his bare office window. He struggled with the blinds as if he were wrestling with an alligator. Without warning, Everett fell off the ladder.

  Calli gasped.

  “Should we call an ambulance?” Lark asked.

  “Wait a sec,” Calli said. “Maybe he’s okay.”

  Everett stumbled to his feet again, amazingly unhurt.

  Lark and Calli sighed with relief and then sputtered some pent-up giggles.

  This time Everett made it up the ladder with the blinds, a rock hammer, and some nails the size of railroad spikes.

  Lark noticed he didn’t look all that chipper. She shoved her long hair behind her shoulders and cocked her head. “Go ahead, girlfriend. I know you’re itching to say something about my neighbor.”

  “Owwee,” Calli said. “I love all God’s creatures, but who in the world installs wooden blinds in a three-piece suit and a button-down shirt?”

  “Everett is kind of stiff,” Lark said.

  Calli folded her arms. “Honey, if he were any stiffer, I think we’d have to bury him.”

  Lark leaned against the window frame. “But I feel sorry for him.”

  “Uh-oh. I can see what’s coming. Sure, you’ve got to love them in the Lord, but repeat after me, ‘Everett Holden is a handsome man, but he is not a wounded animal.’ He’s not that skunk you nursed back to health when you were twelve.”