by LoRee Peery
He was the reason she’d left early for college. There hadn’t been room for him, Moselle, and Beth. Especially with a baby coming, all in the same town.
Every once in a while, it still rankled, the way Beth had claimed to be Moselle’s best friend and then feeding on his last fight with Moselle, made herself available to sooth his anger.
Then, there was the baby to consider.
Eric knew God had forgiven him for the way he dumped Moselle without considering her feelings. God had even forgiven his divorce from Beth. And he no longer believed Beth’s miscarriage had been punishment.
Those were circumstances God had allowed, plain and simple.
Moselle had been right to hold out.
Now Eric, too, wanted something precious, designed by God for the marriage bed, instead of the back seat of an old green Ford.
Eric went through his kitchen with the bright turquoise walls and into the attached double garage, flicking on the light as he shut the door. He surveyed his brushes and wood stains and the half-finished birdhouses on his barn-wood workbench before running a hand over the stainless steel saw. He couldn’t help but compare the rough masculine tools with those of the smooth feminine textures on Moselle’s work surface. Buzzing a saw at this time of night might be a little too loud for the neighbors.
With the knowledge that his own slumber was far away, he reached for his running shoes. A brisk run would settle his nerves and give him something else to think about.
Ten minutes later, following the route he had ridden his bike as a child, Eric rounded a corner five blocks from his home, onto Lilac Street. Two blocks further, he felt the sweat on his brow.
His gaze riveted on the golden glow from Geneva Carson’s dining room window. His footsteps slowed, and his heart pounded faster in his chest.
Did a man ever outgrow the anticipation of seeing a woman who was embedded in his heart?
Eric shook his head over his folly. Why would he possibly see Moselle on the porch at midnight?
But there she was.
He came to an abrupt halt at the sight of her sitting on the front porch glider. Out of the shadow from the porch corner, into the golden gleam of light from the window, she swayed.
How many times had they sat together on that same glider and shared their after-school snacks as children, and then their good-night kisses as teens?
He bent his forehead into the crook of his arm to wipe away the moisture. “Moze, what are you doing up in the middle of the night?”
The glider jerked to a crooked stop and he watched her big toe scrape across the porch boards.
“Eric! You took five years off my life!”
Searching, he longed to see her green eyes, but they were in shadow. “All right if I come up?”
“Since when did you need to ask?”
That was an invitation if he’d ever heard one. He was on the familiar porch in two strides.
Since she was sprawled across the glider with only one tantalizing bare foot touching the floor, he abandoned the notion of sitting next to her. Instead, he rested against the railing and leaned a shoulder on the nearest column.
“Sorry if I spooked you.” You were on my mind. “My mind was busy so I thought I’d get some air before I tried to sleep.”
She snuffled. It didn’t sound like a snort to him. He wanted to see her sway into the light so he could read her face.
“Not too fresh out here, though. It’s humid and feels like rain.”
“Feels like. Good thing it’s too early for all the bugs.”
He settled in more securely against the hard wooden supports of the railing. The glider squeaked when she pushed off with her foot and started to move.
How many times had they shared this space? How many times had his teen heart tripped in his chest?
“I forgot to ask when I saw you earlier, what was your meeting about?”
“Huh?” He’d been watching the light play across one side of her face, where she played peekaboo in and out of the shadows.
“Oh. Haz-Mat.”
“What?”
“Sorry.” He responded to her puzzled tone. “We had a refresher on hazardous materials.”
“That can be dangerous, I imagine.”
He couldn’t tell if she really wanted to know or commented to be polite. But it seemed just like old times, her interest in his life.
“Yeah, it can be, especially with meth these days. A few of us have encountered it. Not me, and I’m in no hurry to run into a meth lab. Or the people who use the stuff.”
Moselle seemed more at ease. Not as nervous or on guard. Had she prayed?
They’d loved each other as long as he could remember. And because he’d lacked self-control, he lost not only his best friend, but the best possible soul mate a guy could ask for.
He’d been struck with how alone, how aloof her poses were in the photographs at Frivolities. No wedding. No children.
He had to keep the past in the past and deal with the present, and be excited about God’s plan for the future.
“Have you thought any more about living above Frivolities?” He laughed and rubbed the hair on his bare knee. “That’s the first time I’ve said the goofy name out loud.”
She joined with her musical laugh. How much he had missed that sweet sound over the years.
“Just the name lifts my spirit.”
Oh, how he wanted to lift her spirit. It felt so good, talking to her again without animosity, as though the years between had been good ones.
“The loft space is stupendous. Thanks to you, I can see the whole thing. The fire escape can be replaced by a wide wooden staircase.”
She lifted her face to the stars.
“I’m willing to build that for you,” he offered.
Familiar guilt hit him full force. He tried to blink the past away again. Could Moselle forgive him? Maybe. If she knew the whole story.
Moselle cleared her throat and continued with animation. “The street windows create wonderful light so I could put the work area near the east wall.”
She lowered her leg from the glider and leaned forward, hands on both knees, her face now in the light from the window.
Eric gulped at her beauty, the gold in her green eyes that the light accented. His hands itched to touch her.
“And the best discovery of all are those huge antique doors with no panels. I can use a couple for my workbench.” She stood to join him at the railing, and pivoted to lean back, putting her back in shadow. “There’s a perfect space above the storage area for privacy. The bath could go above the restroom below.”
“I’m sure the idea came from the Lord.” Giving Him credit took some of the edge off Eric’s lingering guilt. He drew his fingers into a fist to keep from reaching for her softness.
“And the kitchen nook will face west, where more windows would be great.” She stood and took a step closer to him. “The lot is deep, back far enough from the alley. Do you think there’s enough room to maybe add a deck?”
He nodded, closing the space between them. “I’m glad you think it will work for you, Moze. Sounds like a grand project.”
Awareness of their proximity speeded his breathing. He inhaled deeply, to slow down the rise and fall of his chest.
In the dim light, her face sobered and her eyes narrowed. She showed him her back and went to the door.
Her metamorphosis turned the air frigid, as did her next words. “It really is late. You’d better go, Eric.”
“G’night then.” He found himself backing down the steps.
He chose not to run, but to walk home. He was all worn out from their conversation.
Or rather, from his mind dredging up what was and hadn’t been part of the past.
“Our old relationship is in our hearts somewhere, Lord. Work in us both. Please show me the way to get back in her good graces.”
Moselle’s Insurance
4
Moselle silently closed the door and leaned against i
t, feeling crazy. The way she’d talked to him, as though they had no unresolved history. She straightened her shoulders, turned, and locked the door.
She moved through the house as if on auto pilot, up the stairs, and into her room. She went through her nightly routine and plopped onto the bed. After a few seconds she tossed off the light blanket, leaving only the fresh-scented lemon-yellow sheet.
She shut her eyes and saw Eric. She took a deep breath and smelled his musky maleness. He had been one with the humid night, this man from the past who stepped onto her porch as though all was good between them.
And what had she done? Acted the same way she had as a teen, as though he had just returned from football practice and her homework and dishes were done to make time for him.
The past hadn’t seemed so far away tonight.
Maybe she’d been lonely. She missed the activities and her church friends in Kansas City. She thumped her hands against the mattress on either side of her hips. There were friendships and a church here in Platteville.
The picture of Eric, even in the dim night light, in shorts and a shirt that hugged his firefighter build, brought a sigh and increased heart rate. An immediate pang in the area of her heart closed off her dreamy thoughts.
She tossed to her side, reshuffled the pillow, and prayed. “Lord, please fill my thoughts with You so I can have a couple hours of sleep here.”
She pictured the still waters mentioned in the Psalms, and soon drifted off.
Moselle woke up in a grumpy mood. A dull headache pulsed behind her eyes. She imagined her eyelids were a swollen mess. The desire to rise was absent.
Eric was her second conscious thought. Her sleepless night and restless dreams had been filled with too many memories.
Tears threatened.
All I wanted at eighteen was a home with Eric.
All he wanted was my body.
You’ve changed him, haven’t You, Lord?
The hurt he caused was deeply rooted. It was Eric who had ingrained the viewpoint that her value to men was all on the outside—an attractive, tempting earth suit.
Refusing to rise, she rolled to her opposite side, raised her knees into a fetal position, and punched the pillow between her neck and shoulder.
Her mind might not want to acknowledge it, but her emotions still responded to Eric. She had come to life under his masterful attention as a teenager, and tingled with awareness during their brief conversation last night. Could she face this reawakened response?
It was easier to blame him for the enormity of her emotional reaction than to face the emotion itself. And her guilt over that reaction had resurfaced.
A woman was to respond to her husband, but long ago Eric never said he wanted to be her husband. He had never spoken the three little words that all women long to hear.
At least not to her.
Eric had only repeated that he loved her softness and her beautiful face.
She had chosen to show him that she was worth more than what he wanted. And what she wanted was his ring on her finger. Instead, he had chosen to put a ring on her best friend’s finger.
Moselle felt betrayed all over again.
“Enough!” she all but yelled. She jumped out of bed and had to hold her head for a moment against the surging dizziness caused by the sudden movement.
“Lord,” she whimpered. “I’m back in Platteville because I believe it’s Your plan for me. Please show me the way to get over the past. I can only have a new outlook with Your help.”
A few minutes later, Moselle entered her mother’s bright morning kitchen. The purples, yellows, and greens relaxed her stiff spirit only somewhat.
“Mmmm, that coffee is just what the doctor ordered.” She forced enthusiasm to answer her mother’s smile. Moselle assured herself she could overcome her glum mood. She glanced at the clock and then both women. “So, we all slept in?”
“You got it,” Geneva answered. “Sorry this isn’t a fancy flavored latte.”
“It is outstanding coffee because I made it.” Lanae gave her sister a pointed look before grinning up at Moselle. “Besides, you’ll soon have lattes to your heart’s content, right there in Frivolities.”
“Speaking of which—” Moselle took a quick inventory of the way her elders were dressed—her aunt in a faded rose chenille robe that looked to be sixty years old, and her mother in an overly bright quilted bed jacket on top of lavender pajamas. “It’s late. I figured the house would be empty and you two would be downtown, hard at it.”
She inhaled the rich aroma of dark roasted beans with a hint of hazelnut before she took her first sip. The brew was piping hot, just the way she preferred it. When she looked down at her mother and aunt, their glances quickly skittered away.
Something was up.
Moselle braced herself for the next Lucy and Ethel imitation, thinking this scene would fit an “I Love Lucy” TV episode.
“Was Eric here really late, honey?” Her mother asked.
Moselle decided the counter wasn’t enough to support her weary bones. She slid into a chair and took another appreciative gulp. The hot liquid felt like fire on her dry throat.
“You weren’t dreaming.”
She kept her gaze on her own navy mug, which of all things, read in bold white letters: PLATTEVILLE VOLUNTEER FIRE DEPARTMENT. Eric seemed to be everywhere. Couldn’t she escape his presence?
“Was something wrong?” The sisters asked in unison.
She stifled a yawn. “Nothing was wrong. It seems neither of us could sleep.”
She slid a half glance toward the pair to ascertain if they were buying the story. “I was sitting on the porch. He was running by.”
Before long her mother slid her chair from the table and rinsed her mug. She crossed her arms and turned a mock scowl, laced with humor, on the other two.
“OK, I’m the drill sergeant.” She began to tick items off her fingers. “Moselle, we still have massive inventory to shift so the electrician can do his thing. When we get to Frivolities, you go right, and I’ll go left, moving merchandise for access to the walls. We have enough to keep us all busy until nightfall.”
She unbuttoned her bed jacket, ready to move on. “Lanae, I want you to take a rest in my recliner, study the manual and DVD so you know how to run that coffee machine frontwards and backwards. I’ll do the same when you’re done.”
She whipped off the jacket and waved a hand in the air. “I’ll rephrase. And while we’re busy with our hands, all three of us need to be working our brains for an item that will be unique to Frivolities utilizing our combined expertise. Pieces of our individual talents combined into one signature item, unique to our shop, to put us on the map.”
Moselle and Lanae simultaneously stood and saluted.
That action set the threesome off into gales of laughter. Moselle couldn’t believe that spending time with them was turning her into a cartoon carbon copy of the older women.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” she mumbled while grabbing her second serving of life-energizing coffee. “See you at Frivolities, Mom.”
Then she added with enthusiasm, “Love that name. Frivolities.”
****
Under the influence of caffeine and the lighthearted camaraderie of her elders, Moselle slid, dragged, and hefted countless confections in a multitude of rainbow hues away from the walls. She had been treated to three different flavored lattes—oh boy, she could face anything now—by late afternoon.
Moselle was hip-pushing through the alley door, her arms laden with broken-down boxes and packing materials, when a familiar deep voice made her jump.
“I brought you dinner, but if you keep backing up you’ll run right into it.”
Moselle swiveled to let the door bang shut. Eric turned at the same time in an attempt to get a foot in before it closed. Two fragrant pizza boxes almost became part of the trash her arms encircled.
“We have to stop meeting this way. What will people say?” His eyebrows wiggled in come
dic villainy.
For her heart’s sake, she zeroed in on the line of his beard instead of his eyes. She tried to picture Eric as a villain, twirling the long waxed ends of a requisite mustache. She finally looked him over. Unfortunately, the rest of him looked as good as the pizza smelled.
Her overworked body froze, revolting at the prospect of walking away from a potential rest and a delicious meal.
“Since I seem to have rendered you speechless, hold that thought. I’ll set these down and give you a hand.” He shoved through the door.
In seconds he reappeared with empty arms and maneuvered the load from Moselle’s aching limbs. Her arms were tired, but not too fatigued to feel a jolt at the brush of his fingers against her bare elbows. She stretched to get out the kinks.
“You look all done in.” He returned to her side and held the door for her. “Show me what else needs to go out.”
In no time at all, Eric had emptied the debris of packing materials and boxes while Moselle held the door open for his exits.
In the midst of a humorous debate, Geneva and Lanae entered the back room. As one, their attention shifted.
“Eric, just in time,” one commented.
“Eric, you’re a doll,” said the other.
“I’ve been out and about town today and noticed that you ladies have been working without a break.”
Moselle imagined his surveillance, since his insurance office was across Main Street and down a few doors from Frivolities. The fire hall was across the alley and a couple blocks down. Oh, yeah. He could keep his eye on things all right.
She lifted the pizza boxes from her workbench and almost dropped the slippery Styrofoam rectangle full of salad that she hadn’t noticed earlier. In the office, she knelt and slid merchandise ads onto the floor in order to clear a spot on the coffee table in front of the sage sofa. While she retrieved plates and napkins from underneath the counter in the front room, the lighthearted trio found their seats in the office.
Lanae produced her favored tea and filled four glasses to the brim.
“Eric, thank you so much for seeing to our needs.” Geneva smiled at him. “Would you please say grace?”
