by Anita Higman
“I guess I’d better get going, too.” Lark made a few steps toward the front door.
“I wish you’d stay for a bit.” Everett wondered what was going through her mind.
Lark turned back to him and smiled. “I like your boss.”
Everett could feel his head pound just thinking about Zeta. “I’d better not say anything.”
Lark looked concerned. “Is Zeta really that hard to work for?”
Everett wasn’t sure how much to tell her. “Let’s put it this way. Before she became my boss, I had more hair.”
Lark chuckled.
She actually laughed again. A bubbly kind of noise. Not frenzied, but a pleasant sound of contentment. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d made anyone laugh so much. “Would you like to sit down?”
“I don’t want to keep you from your work.”
“Well, I put in some long hours last night, so I’m pretty much caught up for a little while.”
“Okay, then. Maybe I’ll stay for just for a minute.” Lark eased onto the end of his brown leather couch. She picked up a small brass abacus and studied it.
Everett sat on the opposite side of the couch. They sat in silence for a moment, until he thought of how he wanted to apologize about the gavel. “I wanted to—”
“I’m truly sorry about the mothballs.” Lark rubbed her earlobe. “I thought they would be an encouragement. You know, to get out of the house once in a while for some fresh air. I was concerned about you. But it truly was none of my business.”
“Apology accepted.” Everett rested his arm on the back of the couch and then realized he’d made himself too relaxed for what he needed to say. So he leaned forward. But now he couldn’t see her. Oh brother. He gave up and just looked at her. “The gavel represented a way to welcome you to speak. In other words, ‘you hold the reins of speech now.’ I wasn’t thinking of the other side of the meaning. A comedy of errors here, I guess, but I do apologize.”
Lark sighed. “Errors like straws upon the surface flow: He who would search for pearls must dive below.”
“Dryden?” Everett asked. Or was it Shakespeare?
“Wow. I’m impressed,” Lark said. “I thought for sure you’d say Shakespeare. College literature class I presume?”
“Yeah. Forced at gunpoint by a sweet professor lady who loved English authors. Well, I say sweet. I think she really had a broom in the back.”
Lark chuckled.
Oh, how he could drink up her laugher. Drink? Should he have offered her something to drink? He suddenly felt as clumsy as Frankenstein trying to learn social skills.
Lark scooted to the edge of the couch and rose. “Thank you for taking the time to let us dive below the straw for pearls.”
“You’re welcome.” Everett got up from the couch. Guess it’s too late to offer beverages.
Lark set the brass abacus back on the end table. “I admire people who are good with numbers. You were probably born counting your toes.”
Everett chuckled, and he noticed how good it felt. “I saw one of your covers when you handed the books to Zeta. It was extraordinary. Were those pictures done in oils, too?”
“No. I do all my illustrations in watercolor. My oils are something I do more for me. By the way, I like your living room,” Lark said.
“Thanks.” She changed the subject, and he wondered why.
“With all the stone and wood, it makes me think of a vacation home.”
“That’s why I picked it.” Had he been caught staring? Lark looked so beautiful today. Luminous dark hair and eyes that could wake a guy up in the morning better than any shot of espresso. Better than anything, in fact. He’d better not drift any further down that road. Dangerous territory. What had she said? Or had he been talking?
“So are you taking me to the company party to please Zeta?” Lark looked vulnerable as well as cute.
“No,” Everett said. “I’m taking you to please myself.” Was that egotistical?
“Sounds like an honest answer.” Lark smiled as she walked to the door. “But I think Zeta railroaded you, so if you want to back out, here’s your last chance.”
“I don’t want to back out,” Everett said. “Relaxation tends to be at the bottom of my to-do list, but I really do want some fresh air. . .with you. Maybe you can teach me how to breathe again.” Did those words actually come out of his mouth? Maybe there really was a romantic heart beating inside him.
Lark looked over at the corner of the living room where his mother’s piano sat with the lid down. Then she smiled at him. “I guess I should go.”
Everett opened the door for her, but he didn’t want Lark to leave. He wanted to keep listening to whatever she had to say about anything. Her voice had a gentle ebb and flow to it like an ocean’s tide. But duty called, especially since Zeta had brought the new files to add to his project.
“I’ll pick you up at six thirty. Is that okay?” Everett asked.
“Yes.” Lark stepped over the threshold, but when she turned back around, they were suddenly standing close.
“I look forward to this evening,” Everett whispered.
Lark blushed when she looked at him.
The rosy color looked so good on her cheeks, he wanted to kiss the very spot he’d made warm by his words. In fact, what fragrance did she wear? Some expensive perfume, no doubt. “Okay.” If he were being drugged by the scent, he knew he wouldn’t put up a fight.
“Okay,” Lark said.
Everett walked her home, which took all of two minutes, and then he settled into his office assimilating Zeta’s file into his project like a good little accountant. Suddenly, he wondered if he could get by with a suit for the party or if he was expected to wear a tux. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d worn his tux. The goofy thing probably didn’t even fit anymore. Did his sedan have enough gas? And what about flowers? Was he supposed to buy a corsage for Lark, or did that practice go out with the high school prom?
Everett looked over at Lark’s office window. He couldn’t see her because the sun’s brightness had darkened the view inside. He tugged on the ribbon on the mothballs instead, hoping Lark was having just as much trouble concentrating as he was. In fact, what could she be up to right this minute?
Nine
Lark went back to her sketchbook and then switched on her French language CD. “Bon soir!” she repeated after the teacher. She chuckled. Who am I kidding? She couldn’t smother the anticipation she felt about the coming evening. Work suddenly felt like going through the motions, but she still tried to concentrate on her charcoal drawing. Half an hour later on the last bit of shading, the doorbell rang.
Everett? Hope he didn’t change his mind. Lark flung the door open to find Jeremy standing before her looking ruggedly attractive in his ponytail and scruffy jeans. But then he always looked that way—like he’d just gotten back from bungee jumping in the Grand Canyon. “Welcome! Soyez le bienvenu!”
“Thank you. Guess you’re working on those French language tapes again.” Jeremy rubbed his chin, which seemed to have a perpetual five o’clock shadow.
Lark leaned against the doorframe. “Would you like to come in?”
“Thanks, but I’d better get going.”
But you just arrived. Lark blinked hard. “You look sort of expectant.”
“Boy, I hope not.” Jeremy gave her a smirk.
“I mean, did I forget something?” A sparrow flew overheard looking jittery in the cold. Lark could certainly relate.
“The teen craft fair. Remember? You’re the one in charge of signing people up for the pies. Since I have my bike, we can load your Hummer.”
Lark’s hand flew to her mouth. “Pies? Teen craft fair. I wish I could plead amnesia.”
Jeremy frowned. “You’re sweet, but you’re not going to be able to charm your way out of this one.”
“Oh, dear. I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Lark asked. I can’t believe I forgot.
“We’ve got a snag if yo
u don’t have thirty pies.”
Lark smiled, wishing she could disappear. “I don’t have any. . . I mean I didn’t—”
“You didn’t sign anybody up?” Jeremy’s mouth popped open like he’d jumped off a cliff without the cord.
“No. But I can buy a lot of pies at the store. I have money. How many do we need?”
Jeremy scratched his head. “Well, I have to say, one of the reasons people come is because they’re looking forward to a thing called homemade.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can make thirty homemade pies by this evening.”
“Not unless you’re my grandmother.” Jeremy wore his trademark half smile. “Okay, how about this. . .I buy the pies. Some good ones, and you’ll owe me a dinner this week.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Lark said. “Drive-through burgers, right?”
“Wrong. No junk food. I don’t care where we go, but it’s got to be expensive.” Jeremy stuffed his hands in his pockets and cocked his head.
Lark noticed he had his usual stance when he was full of beans. “I’m being robbed here. Police!” She chuckled. “I’m truly sorry. I’m a mess about remembering things sometimes.”
“Yes, you are.” Jeremy shook his head. “I guess we’ll need to get you some string to tie around one of your little fingers.”
“Well, they’ll probably want a rope for my neck when the parents find out those are fake homemade pies.”
“No ropes, but there’s still some tar and feathers in the church storeroom for me.”
“Oh, yeah? And what did you do?” Lark asked.
Jeremy shrugged. “I volunteered the teens to be servers at the Valentine’s banquet. Without their permission.”
“Ooww. You are in so much trouble,” Lark said. “And who decided to have the teen craft fair so close to the fall festival?”
“Yeah, I know. Bad move. Bet I don’t do that again next year.” Jeremy shifted his weight back and forth. “And so what magnificent mischief have you been up to, little lady?”
“Oh, not a lot. Just trying to coax a hermit crab out of his shell.”
“And have you succeeded?”
“Maybe,” Lark said.
Jeremy put a hand up. “Well, I’ve learned never to ask details. So I’ll pick you up tomorrow night for dinner. Six. Okay?”
“On the back of your bike?” She noticed his usual scent. Eau de motor oil.
Jeremy winked. “No, we can take your Hummer. Okay?”
Lark grinned and watched as Jeremy hopped on his motorbike, revved the engine, and rumbled off with no helmet. His habit of never wearing a helmet did seem kind of reckless, but it was hard to admonish Jeremy for irresponsibility when she had just forgotten all about the teen craft fair.
Pies. Hmm. She shut the door, vaguely recalling signing up. I wonder what happened. She glanced at the calendar on the side of her fridge. Yikes. She saw the bold words in the Tuesday slot. “Pies, craft fair, don’t forget,” was the note she’d scrawled to herself. Maybe I need to get my life in order.
Lark could hear the words How are you? coming from the kitchen CD player and then Comment ca va? What a good question. How am I anyway? She felt befuddled about her apparent unreliability and even more confused about her relationship with Jeremy.
The phone rang, and Lark startled. She glanced at the Caller ID as she picked up the phone. Calli was calling from her home in Springdale.
After a few pleasantries, Lark told her all about the day’s events. “But I think it all ended well. Don’t you?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“I mean he invited me to the party this evening even though I sent over those mothballs. I still can’t believe I did that.” Lark groaned.
“I can’t either. It’s a good thing he didn’t think you were crackers. What made you think of mothballs?”
“It was a spur of the moment kind of thing. You know—”
Calli made a comical huffing sound. “Before you had time to pray kind of thing?”
“Hey, are you spreading a little chastisement?” Lark sighed. “Oh well, I deserve it.”
“No way, ladybug.” Calli did a smacking thing with her lips. “Well, maybe a little.”
Lark grinned. “Hey, what’s with this ladybug stuff, anyway? Surely I’m not that flighty.”
“I wondered when you’d finally ask me,” Calli said. “This is a good story, so you’d better sit for this one.”
Lark perched herself on a kitchen stool and waited for her friend to continue.
Calli took in a long breath. “Well, one time I was exiting off 540, and I saw this ladybug on my windshield. While I turned all my corners, it held on. No matter what happened, the sweet little thing stayed there fluttering its wings and clinging to dear life. When I got home, I held out my hand, and that ladybug climbed on my fingers and flew away as if it knew all along everything would be okay. With what you went through in your life, I guess it’s kind of the way I see you.”
“Thanks, Calli. It is a good story. Consider yourself hugged.” A few tears pooled in Lark’s eyes. “By the way, I sure wish you’d move to Eureka Springs.”
Calli sniffled. “Find me a good man to marry there, and I guess I’d be forced to move.” She blew her nose.
Lark wondered if her friend could be serious.
“Girl, now you know I’m kidding,” Calli said.
“I wasn’t sure.” Lark stifled a laugh.
“You don’t have to start setting me up with blind dates like some orthopedic queen.”
Lark gasped. “I would never do that.”
Calli laughed. “Well, I heard this pregnant pause, so I just thought maybe you were getting one of your little ideas.”
“No, it’s just indigestion from all the bean burritos we ate last night,” Lark said.
After another round of laughs and some sweet good-byes, Lark busied herself by collecting acorns from the backyard. She found several dozen of the little nuts, which had been peeking their heads out of the snow. Lark gathered them up and stuffed them in the pocket of her lavender painting smock.
When she brought her treasures inside, she turned on the kettle for tea and gingerly placed her acorns in an earthenware bowl on the kitchen table. Some of the acorns were missing their little hats, but she thought those looked interesting, too, so she put them all together. After turning off the overhead light, she switched on a freestanding spotlight, which gave the acorns an oblique light of dramatic shadows. Ahh. Perfect for sketching now.
But her mind drifted again to the evening ahead. After all, Everett was escorting her to one of the most romantic places in town. She dropped three black currant teabags into her Victorian pot as she thought of the dress she’d wear—a floor-length emerald gown with color-coordinating evening bag and shoes. She laughed at her sudden attention to detail as if she were getting ready for her very first date.
Of course, crowds of people would be at the party. Perhaps even women who’d had a crush on Everett. A speck of jealousy? This is so not me. Yeah, and I haven’t been myself lately either. I guess attraction does that to people. Takes a perfectly sane sanguine temperament and turns her into a paranoid melancholy. Snap out of it, Lark. She poured hot water into her little pot, letting the heat relax her face. Maybe what she really needed was a few relaxing hours at a local spa. A seaweed mask, some eucalyptus steam, and a massage. Oh, yeah.
The teacher on the French language tape said the next two words on her list, roman and ami, which meant romance and friend. Lark hurled an acorn at the CD player. Those two words were beginning to gnaw at her spirit whether in French or in English. They unfortunately represented the difference between Jeremy and Everett. And it broke her heart. After meeting Everett, she knew Jeremy would be just a good friend now. And no more.
Lark would always think of Jeremy as a great guy. They’d prayed together. Laughed a lot. And there’d even been a spark or two. But now she’d experienced the difference between intense fondness and wh
at? Better not go there quite yet. Lark covered the pot with her mother’s old, knitted cozy to keep in the heat. While the tea steeped, she started her sketch of the acorns.
But with Everett, the attraction and the interest were growing by the hour, and she couldn’t even transpose all her feelings into plain words. If all those mysteries could be examined, would one even want to know? Would people truly desire to dissect such a splendid gift from God? It would be like explaining the dynamics of a rainbow. Understanding every detail of its prismatic effects would not make a rainbow any more beautiful.
Lark poured her tea as she looked at her sketch. Not bad so far. Perhaps better than the last one. Maybe she could do a series of nature greeting cards using charcoal. Interesting thought. She did have a publisher some months ago who’d asked her to send some samples, but she’d never had the time.
She fiddled with the shading, smudging it, to give the picture more dimension. The steam curled up from her teacup. Black currant. Fragrant and fruity. She took a slow sip.
One renegade acorn suddenly fell away from the rest, so she placed it back with the cluster and then reflected on the day Everett had come to live on her street. She’d wondered how God would allow Everett Holden to change her life or how she would change his. It was happening, but not quite how she’d expected. She had a feeling now they’d be a bit more than friends.
Oh, phooey on the sketch. Her mind had gone to mush. She might as well shower and get ready for the evening. If she dressed early it would be as if she could make the evening come sooner. She chuckled at the silly thought.
Lark stood in her bedroom and studied her gown hanging by the closet. The breathtaking dress had a dark green, velvet bodice. Sheer silk of a paler hue flowed from the waist like a stream. She’d found the little gem on a clearance rack in Springdale, but it fit her figure as if it had been made for her. How do you say dreamy in French?
After Lark showered, she lifted and pinned her dark locks up in an elegant swirl. When she was in high school, her mother had taught her how to fix her hair for special dates. On those evenings, her mother brushed her long hair and hummed softly. It had felt so good and so comforting. What she wouldn’t give for one of those moments to come again. No, Lark, you’re not going to let yourself cry. She sniffled a bit. In the next breath, she hummed one of the songs her mother loved: “Go Tell It on the Mountain.”
