Larkspur Dreams (10 page)
Once inside, Everett noticed people were staring at them.
Has something else happened? Or could it be because Lark looks so—new word—
spectacular
in that blue dress?
“Are you hungry?”
“Very,” Lark said.
“All right. Let’s go for it.”
“While you’re waiting in line, do you mind if I check my lipstick? I think it’s been mussed a little.” She grinned.
“It looks perfect, but I’ll be right here in line.” The moment Lark left his presence, Sylvester Markus, the owner of Ozark Consulting, barreled over to him. Sylvester leaned in to talk quietly. “Well, I guess you heard about Zeta. A day spa.” There was an awkward moment, and then a blubbering bout of laughter. “You’ve been a first-rate contractor, my boy, and so I wanted to talk to you about becoming an employee here. You could take over Zeta’s position, and it would mean a hefty raise. So I’d like to see you in my office tomorrow morning,” he said. “What do you say?”
“All right.” Everett tried not to overreact, but he gave the man plenty of affirmative answers even though he had to dodge his spit as they continued to talk.
After Sylvester walked away, Everett’s mind reeled with the news. Hadn’t he secretly hoped to have a more permanent position there? He glanced around, eager to spot Lark, to tell her about the offer. Suddenly, Everett heard a slapping noise. One of those loud, cracking ones like in the movies when a woman slaps a man.
Surely not.
But rumors were that Sylvester’s hands could be a bit nomadic with the female personnel.
A few people gasped. The small crowd parted. Everett stared at the sight. Lark appeared flushed as a mortified Sylvester put his fingers up to the red handprint on his face.
Lark strode over to Everett, looking upset. He placed a reassuring arm around her as he frowned his disapproval at the very man who appeared to control a big part of his professional life. Sylvester. What a terrible turn of events.
He wanted to raise his voice at Sylvester, but unfortunately, people were waiting for that very reaction. The party atmosphere and music died out. He could hear their murmurings, and they wanted blood. Or at least a scene of some kind. But there wasn’t going to be an ugly spectacle. Just a promise.
Everett raised his head. “I will not be coming to your office tomorrow to talk about a job or a raise,” he said to Sylvester. “In fact, if this is the kind of sordid behavior promoted at Ozark Consulting, consider our contract terminated.”
Lark gasped. “No,” she whispered.
Everett offered her his arm. She hesitated and then finally circled her arm through his.
Why would Everett do this?
Granted, the man who pinched her was obviously a womanizer and deserved to be punished, but not like this. And did Everett say something about declining a job and a raise? How could this be happening?
Lark could barely contain herself. She wanted to put everything back the way it was. Right now.
She walked arm in arm with Everett through the crowd and watched it part like the Red Sea. Their stride toward the main doors didn’t let up, but she could hear voices in the crowd. “Way to go,” some guy hollered. And then a woman’s quiet voice not far from them said, “Thank you, Everett.” The only negative comment along the gauntlet was an almost whisper, “You’ll be sorry tomorrow.” Or maybe it was the voice screaming in her head. Her heart sank. She’d dreamed the evening would always be remembered. How brutally true that wish would turn out to be.
Once outside in the foyer, Lark pulled away from Everett. “I’ve kept quiet because I didn’t want to embarrass you, but you can’t do this. I won’t let you.”
Everett led her to a secluded alcove that was surrounded by tall palms. “It’s already done. There’s no turning back.” He folded his arms. “And I don’t regret it. Granted, I didn’t really plan on losing my biggest client tonight, but Sylvester has been harassing women for a while now. Someone had to speak up.”
“But you said something about a job there and a raise. Did Sylvester offer you Zeta’s job?”
“It doesn’t matter now. It’s the right thing to do.”
Lark noticed a flicker of something in his eyes. Could it be doubt? Regret? Who knew? She couldn’t fully discern his heart. But she did know it was the most heroic thing any man had ever done for her. “I shouldn’t have slapped him. Maybe I could have just growled at him or said something fierce.”
Everett laughed. “I don’t think you have a fierce bone in your body.”
“Well, I guess I have a fierce slap,” Lark said. “It’s just my mother always taught me to defend myself if a man ever tried to take advantage of me.”
“Remind me to be careful,” Everett said lightly.
“You’ve lost so much. Would you please be serious?”
Those are some pretty curious words coming out of my mouth.
People had been lecturing her on that same subject for years.
“Lark.” Everett sat down in one of the overstuffed couches and looked up at her. “I don’t want you to—”
“I am so sorry.” Lark felt a panic surge through her—an emotion she wasn’t used to.
“No.” He shook his head. “I should be apologizing to you for bringing you to a party where—”
“Honestly, I had no idea that man owned the whole company.” Lark glanced around to see if they could be heard. A group of people stopped near them and then walked on by.
Everett took hold of Lark’s hand. “You’re not hearing me. It doesn’t matter who Sylvester is in the company. He has no right to manhandle my lady friend or any woman. Am I right?”
Lark sat down next to him. “What will you do now?”
“Well.” Everett released her hand and locked his fingers together. “Look for some more clients through my network.” He looked back at her. “And. . .pray. It’s time I took my faith seriously again.” Everett let out a long breath of air. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m still hungry. Are you?”
Lark nodded, but what she really wanted was to help Everett. To hear him work out his frustration from the evening—to talk about his future plans if he chose to share them with her. And she needed to make sure all was well between them. It mattered to her. Now for some reason, it mattered more than ever.
Lark woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, a pain she rarely suffered. She rolled over in bed like a sack of potatoes. The sun streamed in through the shutters in bright sprays, but her disposition felt far from sunny. The big clock read nine. She’d never slept so late in her life. But today felt different. If the day had a taste, it would be soured milk.
Her foul mood certainly couldn’t be blamed on Everett, but on herself alone. The rest of the evening had gone very well. He’d taken her to a fine restaurant and treated her like a princess. They’d stayed out until midnight talking and laughing. She discovered him to be a Christian man of excellent character. And in her mind, a hero, too. The fear of him becoming a permanent recluse seemed almost absurd now. But a dark shadow still circled over them like a vulture waiting for disaster. Waiting for Everett to notice his date had ruined his life. And why? Because she sometimes tended to act impetuously and foolishly and. . .surely something else. Oh, yeah. Irresponsibly.
Lark turned over and groaned. What must she look like wallowing in childish self-pity? Her mother would say, “Have a cup of Earl Grey and then reach out to somebody who needs your help.”
Suddenly her last thought triggered another memory—a nugget of wisdom from her mother on the subject of love. When Lark was young and confused about beaus, her mother would say, “You know, honey, you’ll know when you’re falling in love. You’ll feel so many new emotions all at once, it’ll feel like love is putting you together and tearing you apart all at once. You’ll know. I promise.”
Oh, no. It couldn’t be. Could it?
And she hadn’t even known Everett for a full week. How could it happen so fast? What should she do now? “Mother.”
Igor hopped in his cage and squawked, “Moth–er.”
“Ohhh.” She rolled over and groaned again. What had Everett called her? His lady friend. It sounded so old-fashioned, she wasn’t sure what it meant. So was she his friend or his lady? Big distinction.
She opened one eye since the other one was plastered on the pillow. Even her ultra-soft, Egyptian cotton sheets couldn’t smooth out her mood. And then it hit her. She could paint, play her guitar, eat ice cream, talk to God, and call Calli—a few things that could get her out of her slump. But maybe God wouldn’t appreciate the order she’d put them in.
Maybe I’ll try the last three first.
Lark crawled out of bed as she sent up her usual praise, confession, and requisition to heaven. Then she wrapped herself up in her chenille robe and dragged herself into the kitchen for some serious comfort food—mocha ice cream with dark chocolate chunks and caramel swirls. It had been suitably named, Mocha Madness, and it would always be her favorite. She grabbed the portable phone, pressed Calli’s number in, and slumped down on the floor with a ladle and a fresh pint of Mocha Madness
.
“Calli Jefferson speaking.”
“Hi, Calli. Do you have a minute? It’s me.”
It’s so nice to be able to just say, “It’s me.” Now that’s a comfortable friendship.
“What’s up? You sound kind of. . .I don’t know. . .different. How did it go with your neighbor, the mothballs, and the party?”
“Long story. Got a few weeks?”
“Well, my commode just overflowed, my housekeeper just quit, and I’ve got two closings in half an hour, so can you lay it on me in five minutes?”
“I’ll take it.” Lark proceeded to quickly unload all her story to Calli. The party. The kiss. The now infamous slap. Everett’s heroism. The whole enchilada. When she finished her tale of woe she stuffed a shovel of ice cream into her mouth while Calli absorbed the shock.
“Oh my,” Calli finally said. “Oh my, my, my, my.”
“Got any other advice?” Lark asked, talking with her mouth full and tapping the ladle against the carton.
“I don’t know,” Calli said. “I’ll have to pray about this one.”
“What if Everett had to move away?” Lark suddenly realized how telling those words were.
“I think something else is going on here.”
Silence.
“So
that’s
it,” Calli said. “You’re falling in love with him. Well, all I can say is you must have really loosened up this guy or he’s got you under some sort of spell.”
“I think a little of both.” Lark took another bite. Buttery caramel and mocha flavors sort of caressed her mouth.
Oh yeah.
Lark belched and then hiccupped.
“What in the world? Larkspur Wendell, are you under the influence of Mocha Madness?” Calli said. “Put that ladle down. You know if you eat ice cream all day, the dairy is going to make your neck glands swell up like a chipmunk. I won’t let you do this to yourself.”
“Okay. I won’t eat another bite.” Lark set the carton down on the end table.
Calli sighed. “You know, Jeremy might take this pretty hard. I know you guys have just been going out as friends, but I think he might feel more than that.”
Yikes. Jeremy. I owe him supper.
“Oh, Calli. I have a date with Jeremy tonight. Sort of. Another long story. What am I going to do?”
“Lord,” Calli prayed, “I lift up my sister, Lark. Bathe her in wisdom and let peace and victory be hers in the name of Jesus. Amen.”
“Amen, sister.” Lark smiled.
“Call me later,” Calli said. “I love you, sister-gal.”
“Love you, too. And thanks.”
The moment Lark hung up, she heard a rapping on her front door like a woodpecker. She tightened her heavy robe and then took a look at herself in the entry mirror.
Wow. Major damage.
She gazed through the peephole. Her neighbor, Skelly, stood on her porch looking upset.
Picasso? It’s impossible. He couldn’t have gotten out again.
Lark opened the door. “Skelly? Is everything okay?”
“I don’t think so.” He was dressed in an old, wrinkled shirt, and he wasn’t wearing a coat or a smile.
“What is it?” Lark reached out to touch his sleeve.
“Well, today is my wedding anniversary. First one since Rose died. And I don’t know whether to grieve or celebrate. Do you have any Earl Grey?” Mist filled his eyes.
Lark hugged Skelly. “Come on in. I have a huge supply of Earl Grey. And my kitchen is always open.”
Skelly walked in, looking a little older than he had the week before. He didn’t stand as straight, and he appeared thinner. He looked like he needed a little more than tea. He needed some real food, but she knew he wouldn’t accept anything unless she ate, too. So while Skelly settled in with her newspaper at the kitchen counter, she snuck out her frying pan from below the stove and a carton of eggs from the fridge. “I haven’t eaten yet, so will you have some eggs with me?”
An anxious frown crossed Skelly’s face. “Well, as long as you’re having some.” Lark decided to whip up some of her best scrambled eggs. Once they were almost folded to perfection, she lowered the bread in the toaster.
Skelly insisted on helping, so she let him make the tea. He and Rose must have drunk a lot of the beverage because he seemed to know what he was doing. Lark set out some muffins from the local bakery and some pear slices, hoping Skelly would eat. When they’d sat down, Lark prayed out loud over their food and thanked God for the many good years of marriage Skelly had known with Rose. And she prayed the Lord would hold him close as he mourned his great loss. “Amen.”
What a baby prayer,
Lark thought. Why couldn’t she pray those steeple-raising prayers like Calli did? When her dear friend sent up words to heaven they seemed to move mountains and truly encourage the saints.
“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.
