by LoRee Peery
“Not much to do this afternoon, so between this and that I drew up some plans for the stairs and deck.”
“Don’t we have to make sure everything else meets code?” Geneva asked. “And we have to get all the merchandise for all those displays put back together.”
“The breaker panel looks adequate and I was with the electrician when they tested circuits. So, I think you’ll be in good shape.” He tugged on Moselle’s feather-light beaded earring. “Want to take a peek at those sketches?”
His tawny look was so intense that everything else faded into the background. Moselle saw only Eric, his masculinity filling the feminine space.
She blinked, lost in the profound depth of his knowing gaze. Only then did she notice that they were alone, side by side on the tall stools.
Moselle gulped. “Want something to drink?”
“Water.” His focus shifted from her eyes to her mouth. “Maybe tomorrow morning I’ll sample a coffee from the fancy machine.”
His voice was low and soft.
Moselle nodded and squirmed.
She wanted to sink into his warmth.
This was getting deep. He was too big, sitting next to her. If she moved just a little, they’d be touching.
The situation called for diversion tactics. “What do you want to show me, Eric?”
“I can tell you’re all business,” he teased.
She didn’t want to talk business, but sometimes, a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
Eric’s sketches for the stairs, landing, and deck were detailed and meticulous. The drawing thrilled Moselle. She pictured herself walking up the stairs, deadheading purple and yellow pansies in a pot on the landing and continuing on to the deck of her private entrance to the loft.
“I can tell my drafting talents have made you speechless, so I guess I’ll see you later.”
She waved a hand when he got up to leave, gazing off as she immersed herself in the imagined space above.
That evening when Moselle turned from locking the alley door, she stopped mid-stride. Fascinated by the sight of Eric running by, she could barely respond to his wave and sweaty grin. He jogged in place while mopping his brow with a forearm, as though daring her to speak. When she didn’t, he waved again and was off.
Shane, one of the western movies that Aunt Lanae loved, came to mind. Moselle wanted to call Eric’s name. Call him back so she could take another gander. Or run after him. If she could move.
This must be what thunderstruck means.
His strength could handle carrying a person from a burning second floor building.
He could carry me without breaking a sweat.
She shot a glance upward to the future loft and back to his retreating form. His masculine silhouette stole her breath right out of her chest.
She watched Eric until he was out of sight, running toward the sun as it sank lower in the western sky.
And wondered again what was at stake if she gave in to her heart’s desire.
Heartbreak at summer’s end?
Moselle’s Insurance
8
She is more beautiful each time I see her, Lord. Please let me know if Moselle is supposed to be more in my life than a means to leave my guilt behind.
Eric drew a deep breath, trying to slow his pounding heart. He had run full-out, showing off for Moselle as though they were kids again.
She made him feel like a kid.
Eric ran lightly over the crushed rock surface of the old railroad trail. He lengthened his stride, flexing and relaxing, grateful that his body was in good working order.
He stopped and leaned over, resting his hands above each knee, pulling in ragged breaths.
Moselle was the only woman who mattered. Lord, help me so I don’t blow my second chance with her.
He stood, stretched arms up, and then grasped his elbows. Tension ached across his shoulders. He lowered his arms then cocked his head from side to side.
The sudden screech of tires on pavement jerked Eric’s thoughts back to the present.
He recognized the sound of impact. The rending of metal and fiberglass against small trees and brush turned Eric’s firefighter instincts into full reaction as he sped off.
Eric came into a clearing on high ground. It was evident that a speeding vehicle had missed the curve south of town. He raced down the old railroad embankment, loose stones and gravel going every which way.
There it was, a rusty, red sedan resting on its top, tires still spinning.
He saw the slow drip of the ruptured gasoline tank at the same time he heard a whimpered, “Help me,” drift through the shattered windshield.
The driver’s side door was rumpled against a tree trunk. Eric bounded to the passenger side. The door was buckled. He didn’t attempt to pry it open. Instead, he kicked in that window. With a yank, he pulled glass fragments free from the frame.
A thin, blonde woman dangled upside down, twisted toward the seat, caught in the safety restraint.
“Help me, please,” she repeated, this time with genuine fear in her voice.
“Do you have a cell?” Eric spoke with slow, measured words.
“What?”
“I can call for help if you have a cell phone.”
“It was on the seat.”
With a swift glance, Eric found the black-and-silver rectangle resting on the closed edge of the mangled sun roof.
He dialed 911 and methodically gave details. “Let Chief know the driver appears unharmed. But there’s dripping gas.”
Eric confirmed the directions and dropped the phone.
The woman started thrashing around, kicking wildly and fighting against the belt.
“Hold still. I’ll try to get you loose.”
“But you said gas. Please hurry!”
“Don’t panic.” Eric’s tone held no argument. “Look at me.”
She turned, and their eyes met.
Unbelievable.
Beth.
He wanted to close his eyes and be back on his run.
But he knew better. Both their lives were at stake here.
“Hold still,” he repeated.
Eric moved closer and attempted to lend his body weight to support her while he struggled to get the seat belt to release. It was jammed. No amount of pressure would make the button comply.
He felt the fear course through his former wife’s body.
The smell of gasoline permeated the enclosed space.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Eric ignored her attempt to lighten the situation with frivolous words.
That particular adjective brought Moselle to mind. He wanted to be anywhere but confined in a tight space with Beth.
Determined to concentrate on his training, he kept his voice slow and steady. “I was running on the bike path when I heard the crash. I have no real gear with me. But I do have a utility knife on my key chain. I need to let you go.”
She whimpered.
“I can’t hold on to you and reach my pocket at the same time.”
She stiffened, but Eric allowed Beth’s weight to pull the belt taut again as he eased away from her enough to dig into his pocket. Then he turned further away.
“Got it,” he told her.
Sirens rent the air.
He reached around Beth and sawed through the safety belt, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her out the passenger window.
Beth started to squirm on her wobbly legs, trying to wiggle away from him.
Eric kept a firm grip on her shoulders.
“You aren’t quite steady on your feet. I’ll let you go when we’re safe.”
He felt better at the sight of the familiar blue and red flashing lights.
Beth grabbed him around the waist.
“Come on, now, I’ll help you up the bank. We need to get away from the gas spill.”
They scrambled out of the ditch to the shoulder of the road where the red and white rescue unit idled. Lee Kohl and Becky White waited at t
he rear entrance with a warm blanket for Beth.
Instead of turning into the blanket, Beth threw herself at Eric. Wrapping her arms around his neck she said, “Still my hometown hero.”
Eric ignored her flirtatious attempt, recognizing signs of shock. Even in shock, though, she reverted to her old tricks.
He pulled his ex-wife’s reluctant arms from around his neck and filled in details for the EMTs. Then he observed his fellow firefighters take control, wishing he was in uniform. They made short work of the gasoline spill.
Thank You, Lord, for green grass instead of the dried brown of late summer or fall, and thank You for keeping us safe.
When all was locked down at the scene, Eric stopped his buddy Rainn Harris with a slap on the shoulder. “Mind if I hitch a ride on the old water truck? My two wheels are a little shaky at the moment.”
“No problem, man. Hop on board Louise. But don’t let her hear you call her old.”
The firefighters joked about the names of their trucks and were soon parking Louise in the garage. Eric helped the crew clean and stow their gear, and sooner than he was ready, attempted to order his thoughts.
With Beth back in town, he and Moselle had to face another aspect of their tumultuous past. It wasn’t enough that a dog died and took him back to his childhood. At least that episode had brought him a little closer to Moselle. This snag of Beth’s return would not bring back pleasant memories.
It no doubt meant a delay in his commitment for a friendship with Moselle based on honesty and trust.
When his marriage to Beth had broken up, Moselle was not around to help him put things into perspective, the way she had listened to him tell his woes when they were children.
But he also had God in his life now and Eric knew where to turn without a hopeless feeling. God’s Word gave him the courage to go on when life seemed out of control.
Beth was just another seemingly big obstacle for Eric to face.
He considered Joshua 1:9. I believe, dear Lord my God, that You are with me wherever I go.
****
The next morning Eric knocked on the alley door to Frivolities and walked right in. At the sight of Moselle, he leaned against the door and propped it open with his heel. He placed his hands on his chest, dropped onto one knee and burst into song.
“You are the sunshine of my life.”
She reacted with laughter, the response he sought.
“You have been around my mother’s music way too much,” she managed around her giggles.
“What’s wrong with a little song?” He stood. “And what’s wrong with calling you sunshine? Especially since you are as pretty as sunshine?”
“Not a thing.” She set down a long strand of something soft in pink and green.
Her graceful hand movements now reminded him of the way Geneva’s slim fingers danced when she talked.
“You sure know how to handle that hot glue gun.” Would she handle his news with such care? He dreaded the idea of spoiling that delighted-to-see-you look on her face.
He had turned to the Lord earlier and sought the necessary strength for telling Moselle Beth was back in town.
“So what brings you by on this sunshiny day?” Moselle asked, swinging off her stool at the workbench.
He loved the way she looked, with her eyes shining brilliant green and her hair all mussed. He imagined running his hands through the rich red strands and holding her head in the palms of his hands.
“If the front of the store looks as good as it does back here, you ladies will open on time.”
“We burned midnight oil last night. Drywall dust is nasty, dirty stuff. Aunt Lanae went to sleep on the office couch.”
“I’ll see when your mom is ready, then, for me to go through and check to make sure you all are using good electrical sense.”
When she stepped close, Eric caught the whiff of freshness, every bit as fragrant as the honeysuckles in his neighbor’s hedge.
“Come see what I brought.” He invited her to step out ahead of him with the wave of an arm. His silver truck was loaded with varied lengths and sizes of lumber, sawhorses, and power tools.
Moselle squinted against the brightness. “But when—”
“I went shopping last night.” He stepped close and drew her hand into his. “There was a car accident, and I knew I couldn’t sleep. I went and got what I needed to start on the stairs.”
He hadn’t considered his daily run. He’d avoided more quiet time to think.
“Eric, I don’t know what to say.” Moselle leaned in close and kissed him on the cheek. “Please tell me what I owe you.”
“A promise we can enjoy it all when it’s finished.”
Would they have time to enjoy the loft when he finished?
She started to protest, but he lifted their clasped hands and kissed her thumb.
Looking into her eyes he added, “Don’t get your water hot, lady. You’ve made it clear the loft isn’t a long-term dwelling.”
Eric let loose her hand and unhinged the tailgate on the box of his truck. Then he boosted her up, pleased that he had the foresight to back into the shade to protect Moselle’s fair skin.
He kept his hands on her waist, and then said in a low voice, “I need to tell you something.”
****
Moselle shook her head from left to right, despising the way her eyes filled the second she heard Eric say that Beth was the driver of the crashed car. She had no control over the emotions that flooded her. Disbelief. Renewed anger. Empathy for Eric’s position. Puzzlement over the timing of events.
She’d heard the sirens the evening before and wondered where the fire or accident was. Eric’s possible involvement had been a fleeting thought. Since she’d seen him out jogging, she figured he wouldn’t heed the call.
But from now on, she would think of the danger he faced every time she heard a fire call.
She tried to remain objective while attempting to picture an older Beth behind the wheel. Moselle fought to focus. She waited for Eric to finish the story.
When he paused, she asked, “Shouldn’t the impact have released the air bag?”
“No idea. My guess is the car was too old for a bag. Maybe because the front of the car rammed into nothing,” Eric lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “Her speed on the curve, and the rock the tire hit, made the car flip.”
“Pretty weird, you being first on the scene like that.”
“Yeah.” Eric shook his head. “I talked to God about that on the way to the lumber yard.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I just don’t know, Eric. So much has hit me so fast. I had never considered facing Beth again.” Moselle hated the tremor that came out in her voice. “Why do you think she’s here?”
“I guess if we’re meant to know, we will.” He reached out and stroked Moselle’s face from eyebrow to chin. “I had to sleep on this, you know? I have no ready answers. But my assurance comes from God’s Word. I’ve been praying that you can have that same promise of the written policy we have with Him.”
She frowned and shot him a blank look.
Eric clarified, “My assurance comes from God’s Word. I think of His love letter as my insurance policy.”
“I like that, Eric. I’ll forever connect your vocation in life with God’s promises.”
She took a deep, fortifying breath before exhaling with gusto. “I need to do some soul searching to replace what I can’t forget with forgiveness.”
“While you work on that, I’ll unload my truck.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“Thanks, but you’re too pretty to work up a sweat.” Eric gave her a hand and she jumped off the tailgate.
Moselle mulled over all that Eric told her and searched out her mother in the front of Frivolities.
“How about lunch, Mom?”
Geneva shot a glance at the clock and nodded.
****
Seated in a comfortable booth at Today’s Caf�
�, Moselle was unable to keep her thoughts from Eric and Beth.
Beth is back in town. The statement seemed stuck in her throat. Moselle felt no need to broadcast that she was not pleased.
Would that woman from their past horn in on their relationship again?
Maybe I should concentrate on getting settled into life as part owner of Use it Again, Sam, do my own artistic thing, and not jump into anything personal with Eric. Lord, I need Your help.
“I thought I was ready to get on with my life. Now Beth is back in the picture,” she grumbled, before jamming a bite of Reuben sandwich between her lips. The toasted rye bread stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“Don’t look now, but you’ll never guess who just walked in,” Geneva said, while setting down her water glass.
“If it’s who I think it is, I’m never setting foot in this place again.”
“Right the first time.” Geneva sliced her dill pickle in two and spoke again after the knife was in position at the top edge of her plate, “Looks like you won’t have to see her. Beth’s in a booth facing the front door. You should be able to slip right out the alley exit.”
Moselle placed her flatware across her plate. She knew she’d choke on the next bite. “How does she look, Mom? Still knock ‘em dead blonde?”
Geneva laughed and Moselle tried to hold back a grin at what sounded like her own jealousy.
“She’s as thin as a rail and she looks fragile somehow.”
“Now, Mom. Please don’t look at her like she’s a little lost sheep.” Moselle grabbed her purse. “I’m your daughter. Feel sorry for me.”
“You’re worthy of much more than my sympathy.” Her mother lowered her voice and smiled. “You’re strong, Moselle. I am sure you’ll face every aspect of your past and then rise above it.”
Moselle rummaged for a tissue.
“You may be finished, but I’m going to eat every crumb of this turkey club.” Geneva used both hands and took a big bite.
Moselle settled in, dropping her muscles into the booth seat, trying to relax her shoulders. But she didn’t attempt to eat another morsel.
“Now, did my eyes deceive me,” her mother said, between bites. “Or is that lumber stacked across sawhorses behind the shop?”
