Larkspur Dreams Page 9

  “Thank you,” Skelly said. “That was a mighty good prayer.”

  “You’re welcome.” Well, maybe God can use baby prayers, too.

  “This looks good.” Skelly took a sip of his tea. “Rose was a fine cook, too, and I liked helping her. In fact, we took some cooking classes together. But preparing food for myself just isn’t any fun. In fact, not much of anything is fun without Rose.”

  Skelly paused with a wistful expression and then took a bite of the scrambled eggs. “I know your secret, Missy. You folded real whipping cream into the eggs. Rich and creamy. They’re good.” He ate some more of his eggs and toast. But when he reached for a pear his arms dropped to his side. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

  Lark touched Skelly’s arm but said nothing. He felt so thin she wondered if he’d been eating at all.

  “Things really aren’t going well,” he went on to say. “I’ve been having panic attacks in the night when I wake up without Rose by my side. I’ve never had anything like that in my whole life. I didn’t even know what had happened to me until the doctor told me what it was. People tell me it’s okay to grieve. But I don’t want to. I just want my Rose back.” Then Skelly was overwhelmed with heaving sobs. His hands covered his face as if he were embarrassed. One of his tears fell on her hand.

  Lark knelt down beside Skelly. She really didn’t know what to do, so she begged God to help her say the right words. Just as she’d finished her silent prayer, her mind went blank. Tears came instead as she just wept with Skelly. He patted her head, and they cried until the eggs had gone cold.

  After they’d both cleaned up their faces, Lark prayed silently for a way to help Skelly. Then gradually she got an idea. Just a little idea, but she felt it was an inspired thought this time.

  Lark picked up her acoustic guitar from a stand she kept in the laundry room and said, “You know, I’ve been working on a love song for about five years. It never had a title, but now I know why. The song should be called Rose.”

  Skelly put his fingers to his lips as if to stop a fresh flood of tears. “Will you play it for me?”

  Without another word, Lark set the guitar on her leg. She felt the cool smoothness of the wood against her hand and then reached up to gently pick out her song of love. She’d never known where the tune had come from or why the lyrics had meant so much to her, but now it seemed as if all of the words and all of the notes had come together all these five years for this one moment in time. It was for Skelly. To celebrate his love. And to heal his heart. She finished her gentle picking as she sang the chorus one last time:

  Sing now our love song,

  That’s echoed through the years,

  Words so sweet and clear.

  I loved you, Rose,

  And I love you still.

  The name Rose fit so perfectly tucked inside the chorus, Lark smiled. God’s mercies had a way of making little miracles like that happen. Just when life’s mosaic appeared to be no more than misfit pieces, then the Almighty offered a hint of heaven. A glimpse of the magnum opus. A foretaste of knowledge that all worked together for good and each life had a reason for being.

  This moment matters to God. She must have said the words out loud, because Skelly nodded. It all mattered. Skelly’s tears. Everett’s courage and loss. Her own uncertainties about the future. Something warm returned to her heart, bringing back the glow. Her mother’s words had rung true. “A little Earl Grey and somebody else’s needs.” Lark set her guitar back on its stand and prayed she, too, could know a lifetime of love like Skelly and Rose. Instantly Everett’s face came to mind. She patted Skelly’s hand. “Are you all right?”

  “No. . .but I feel better.” Skelly said. “Thank you for the song. It was perfect for this day. If Rose heard it, I know she thought the same. Are you really going to name it after her?”

  “Yes.” And then Lark got another idea, but she wasn’t sure if it felt inspired or was budding up from enthusiasm.

  “I have a question for you. It’s big one.” Lark sat back down. “And you can say no if you want to.”

  Skelly nodded. “Fair enough. What is it?”

  “Could I pay you to be my chef tonight? I have promised Jeremy a nice meal. I owe it to him because. . .well it’s kind of a long story. In fact, my life seems to be full of long stories lately. But I wondered if you would enjoy doing that? You can fix anything you like.”

  Skelly clapped his hands together. “I’ll even serve it to you both. It’ll be fun, and it’ll get me out of the house for a change.”

  “But since this is a special day for you, maybe we should be serving you,” Lark said.

  “But I enjoy the cooking more than the eating. And I don’t want you to pay me, just the money to buy the food. Is it a deal?”

  “Okay, it’s a deal.”

  Skelly started to say something then shushed himself.

  “What were you going to say?” Lark asked.

  “Oh, nothing. None of my beeswax.” Skelly shuffled his feet. “Well, you know, I like Jeremy. He’s a good youth minister, but he’s not your type.”

  “And so who exactly is my type?” Lark tapped her finger on her arm in pretend irritation.

  Skelly grinned. “Well, our new neighbor might be your type if he’s a nice Christian boy. Which I think he is.”

  “And why do you say he’s my type?” She couldn’t imagine Skelly paying so much attention to her romantic interests.

  “Everett is kind of a simple guy. Intelligent, but simple. He’s like the beginnings of a compost heap. You know, leaves and dirt. And you’re like all the other goodies that get thrown in it to make it good.”

  “You mean like egg shells and animal dung?” Lark asked, trying not to chuckle at his offbeat example.

  “Okay, so the analogy breaks down a little.” Skelly’s face brightened. “You are so funny. And see? That’s part of the goody getting thrown in. Don’t you see it?”

  “I get what you’re saying. But what is Jeremy then? Is he the dung or the dirt?” Lark asked, laughing.

  Skelly chuckled so hard it made his body jiggle.

  Lark felt for the handkerchief in the pocket of her robe. The one Everett had given her to dry her eyes when she’d ruined her gown. She pulled it out just enough to see the initials, E. M. H. She suddenly wondered what the M. stood for. Milhouse. No way. Milroy. Is that a name? Milton. Too old. Millard. Sounded like a duck. Montague. Too Shakespearean. Montgomery. Maybe. Lark came to herself and realized Skelly must have caught her drifting by the smile on his face. Thankfully he was too polite to mention her lapse or the handkerchief she clutched tenderly but possessively. “So you’re sure I won’t marry Jeremy?” Lark asked to get the conversation going again.

  “You won’t, my dear friend, because that is all Jeremy will ever be. A dear friend. Like me. But he will discover friendship is a good thing, too.” Then he put his hand in the air. “Well, I am so outta here as you young people like to say.” He headed to the front door. “Seriously, I’ll be here with groceries at four thirty. Sharp. Oh, and I kind of busted up my pots and pans, so do you mind if I borrow yours?”

  “I don’t mind at all.” Lark handed Skelly two fifty-dollar bills. He waved them in the air and headed down her front walkway. He still looked tired, but at least he had a little more spring in his step.

  As soon as Lark shut the door, she wondered what Everett was up to. Would he be busy making phone calls? She hated to bother him because it’d been her fault he needed to spend the next few weeks pounding the streets for clients. Knowing she’d had a hand in truly messing up his professional life made her nearly ill, but every time the reality tried to bring her down, she gave it back to the Lord to deal with.

  Once she’d showered and dressed in her favorite pink velvet overalls, she settled back in her office. Lark sat down and pretended to work at her art table. She hated to just stand up and gawk and pound on the glass, so she turned her swivel chair ever so slowly as she glanced into Everett’s office wi
ndow.

  What? Lark rose so hastily, the chair zoomed out from under her, making her tumble to the floor. After scrambling to her feet, she blinked her eyelids to make the scene in Everett’s office disappear. But it refused to go away.

  Fifteen

  A woman. An attractive blond stood next to Everett in his office. In fact, the woman had positioned herself so closely to him, even the thinnest résumé wouldn’t fit between them. Guess it wasn’t a job interview.

  Should she open the window and toss something to get their attention? Like a sofa? But did she have the right to stop Everett? Her last thought gave her pause. She and Everett weren’t engaged. They hadn’t made any verbal commitments. Yet there seemed to be such an amazing bond between them. Such a hope for greater things to come. Soon.

  Lark stared at them again. She couldn’t see perfectly, but since his lights were on and the day was cloudy, she could see well enough. Everett seemed to take the woman by the shoulders and gently move her away. He glanced out his window and looked in her direction. Lark stepped away from her window. Since her lights were off, perhaps he hadn’t seen her glaring at them.

  Suddenly Everett’s lights flickered off, and both of them disappeared into another part of the house. Lark felt like a sleazy private eye, and the emotion did not suit her. She also felt a bit hoodwinked. Who was this woman?

  Lark had never been one to carry on over a man. But Everett had changed her heart. He had changed everything. And apparently her heart had soared before she’d had time to engage her thinking parts.

  The phone rang. She and Everett had exchanged numbers, so she knew it could be him. What am I supposed to do now? In her mind, he would always have the heart of a hero, but weren’t champions sometimes terribly flawed? The phone kept ringing. Could it be Everett was capable of goodness as well as deception? Or had she overreacted? Just as she reached to pick up the phone, it stopped its beseeching noise. The Caller ID let her know Everett had indeed called.

  Lark went to sit in a place where life’s puzzles seemed to unravel. Her tire swing. Flying-freedom-on-a-rope her mom always called it. She pushed off and then pumped her legs to fly higher and higher. At least as high as one could go in a tire swing. But despite its limitations, laughter always came, no matter what mood she was in. How could one not feel lighter while swinging free? Surely there would be tire swings in heaven.

  As she peered up, she noticed the light playing hide and seek among the branches. She stopped her swinging and held her hand up to the glimmer, pretending the topaz-colored leaves were jewels on her fingers.

  Lark slowed her pace and breathed in deeply of the brisk, fresh air. The snow had nearly gone, but there were still patches of the icy remains hiding from the sun. Picasso was in a jolly mood. He munched on something in the grass and then paddled around in his small pond. A duck’s life looked so easy. Why couldn’t her life be so simple? A good place to sleep and eat and someone to love you. Oh, there was that word again. Love. It seemed to stir up either euphoria or anarchy.

  Lark turned her swing in circles until the rope made a cracking noise and would go no tighter. She lifted her feet and spun in faster and faster circles until she felt dizzy. She couldn’t help but look up at Everett’s office window when she made one of her last passes. She stopped herself when she saw something in his office window. It read: PLEASE CALL ME NOW!

  Okay. How funny. So why didn’t Everett just come to her front door? It’s not like he’d build up any kind of sweat hiking over those twenty feet. Of course, it would help if she were in the house to answer the front door. Phooey. This was crazy. She needed to do something. Or maybe take a nap or watch a few minutes of the home shopping channel. No, not that last one. It would make her feel too pathetic.

  Just as she rose from the swing, warm strong hands closed over hers. Most women would probably shriek about then or ready themselves for a karate chop. But even though she hadn’t known the feel of Everett’s hands long, she knew. It was him.

  Lark turned around and looked up into Everett’s eyes. Kind. Absorbing. Anxious. Yes, and he should be a little anxious, she thought, as she came to her senses. “How did you get back here?” She felt a little spirited all of sudden.

  Everett released her. “Well, I opened the latch on your gate and walked through.”

  Why did his matter-of-fact statement make her want to laugh? “You are on private property.” She stepped out of her swing.

  “Oh, is that right?” He grinned. “I suppose my lack of an invitation has something to do with the view from your office window a few minutes ago?”

  Lark folded her arms. Then she realized how ridiculous she looked as a spurned woman, tapping her foot and huffing.

  “Don’t you ever wear a coat?” Everett whipped off his tweed jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

  She waited for a plausible counter from him, although having him closer to her made her forget a bit of what she felt anxious to know. Closer was the trigger word. Like a mousetrap on her finger. Yes, indeed. He’d been much closer to someone else just minutes ago. And she had long, platinum blond hair. Oh, how cliché.

  “Apparently, the incident at the party last night caused quite a disturbance in the company. I haven’t been doing much today except answering the phone and talking to women who’ve been harassed by Sylvester in the past. They’ve even come by to get advice. To sue or not to sue. I told them they’d need to pray about it and then seek the counsel of an attorney.”

  “Is that what you were doing in your office a few minutes ago? Praying with that woman?” Lark asked with a slight edge to her voice.

  Everett’s eyes widened. “And did you not see the part where I physically moved her away from me?”

  “Yes. . .I. . .did.” Lark felt a tremor of guilt. Well, maybe the tremor was really a six-pointer on the Richter scale.

  “Madeline and I went out for coffee a few months ago. I wanted her opinion on something at work. I thought she and I might be friends since I didn’t have any. But it appears to have backfired on me. She wanted more. But I was always honest with her. And as far as today, she said she dropped by to discuss Sylvester’s harassment at work, but her real agenda surfaced pretty quickly. I’m sorry you saw it happen. But I have nothing to hide from you.”

  Oh, dear. Lark saw the sincerity in his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to embrace him and start the falling in love process all over again. But the speeding locomotive had already left the station and all of the emotional jostling would be part of the ride. There was no going back now. “Look, I hope you’ll understand me when I say. . .I think I’m feeling something here,” Lark said. “I’ve never acted this way before. I’ve got some new. . .sentiments I’m dealing with when I’m around you.” Yeah, sentiments was a good and safe word. “And I—”

  Everett took her in his arms and quieted her with a kiss.

  Yes, that’s a very good way to deal with my new sentiments. She sweetened the moment by returning his kiss with enthusiasm as her arms wrapped around him. When the fervor between them both heightened, Everett gently pulled away.

  “Woman, you’ve got quite a kiss there.” He let out some air and raked his hair back with his fingers.

  Everett’s hair suddenly stuck up a bit, looking kind of spiky. It looked so cute, in fact, she wanted to muss it up some more.

  “I think we’d better cool off for a second.” Indeed he appeared to have broken out in a perspiring glow.

  They both grinned at each other.

  The air seemed filled with sounds again. A car honked. A jet flew overhead. Funny, how during the act of kissing, one became insulated from the world. “Do you need your coat back?” Lark asked.

  Everett laughed. “Are you kidding?”

  Was he actually trying to catch his breath? Being thirty-five years old, surely he’d kissed a woman before. Or maybe Everett felt some new sentiments, too. “Why didn’t you have any friends?” Lark asked.

  “There are a couple of reasons.�
� Everett looked down at his loafers. “But when you’re a slave to your job, it’s one of the hazards.”

  Lark wondered what the other reason was for not having friends. He didn’t say.

  Everett lifted her chin to look at him. “Please go out with me tomorrow night.”

  “Will you feed me?”

  Everett grinned. “Yes.”

  “Then I accept.”

  He felt the velvet strap on her overalls. “Everything you wear is so soft. Do you plan that every morning to be so appealing, or does it just come naturally?”

  Lark gave him a one-shouldered shrug. She picked up an acorn and set it in his open palm. “Tell me, what do you see?”

  To her surprise Everett held the acorn up between two fingers and studied it. “Well, from an accountant’s perspective, I see potential. . .for growth.”

  “Potential is good,” Lark whispered.

  Everett put the acorn in his pocket and then lifted her hand to point to the tree above them. “And what do you see up there?”

  “This big, old oak?” Lark thought for a moment as she gazed up into the branches and falling leaves. “I see a filter of light. A marker of time. And for birds, it’s their birth, home, and first flight.”

  “Very perceptive. There’s a painting in there somewhere.” Everett released her hand. “But I suppose there is a scene to paint everywhere.”

  Lark suddenly wondered if he always planned to live in Eureka Springs. She knew her moving pains would be acute if she ever had to live anywhere else. “Don’t you just love it here?”

  Everett glanced over at his house across the fence. “Yes, I like my house.”

  “No. . .I mean Eureka Springs.”

  He smiled as if he knew what she was really asking. “You’re here. So I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”