Larkspur Dreams

by Anita Higman

  “Is that what you do?” Marty asked. “Play professionally?”

  “No. I illustrate children’s books.” Lark cut the quiche into slices. She couldn’t help but notice that Marty had set the table as if he’d taken a home economics class.

  Marty slipped his thumbs through his belt loops. “Just like my sister, Greta. She was an artist, too, before she died. Boy, she’d love everything about this town. The galleries, the music, the hills and woods.

  “Sounds like you love it, too.” Lark offered Marty a thoughtful smile. “I don’t think I knew your sister was an artist.”

  “Yeah,” Marty said. “She sure had a lot of promise.”

  Lark noticed Everett’s expression seemed more like irritation than sorrow.

  “So what book do you have out now?” Marty asked.

  “My latest is In a Giddy Pickle.”

  “Sounds cool,” Marty said. “I’d love to see it sometime.”

  When they’d all sat down for the meal, Everett skipped the prayer, so Marty jumped in and said a quick one. Short, but with so much heart about his brother, the words brought mist to Lark’s eyes.

  Before Marty took a bite, he took the gum out of his mouth and set it on his plate. Everett looked at him but didn’t say anything.

  Marty shrugged. “Been trying to quit smoking.”

  “I’ve heard quitting is hard.” Lark smiled at Marty. “Does chewing gum help?”

  “Sometimes.” Once Marty took a slice of the quiche and then a bite, he moaned. “All right. Now, Lark, this is a supremo quiche.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It is very good,” Everett said.

  Lark touched Everett’s hand. “Thank you.” Funny about the two brothers. They were indeed different, yet there were similarities as well. Their hazel eyes and build appeared identical, but sometimes they also had the same pensive look. People might read the expression as arrogant, but to her it appeared more like they were lost in thought at times.

  “Are you coming back for Christmas?” Lark asked Marty.

  “No,” Marty said in a forlorn kind of way. “I don’t think so.” His eyes brightened as he made a drum roll on the table with his fingers. “Now I know who you are, Larkspur. In a Giddy Pickle. Yeah. I saw your book at the grocery store. They had this fancy stand for it. So how does it feel to be famous?”

  Lark chuckled. “I’ve never thought of it that way. I love to paint, and kids seem to like what I do.”

  “The meek shall inherit the earth.” Marty scrunched up his mouth. “Ev, if you don’t propose to this woman, I will.”

  Lark looked back and forth at them, grinning. Everett stared at her with such a sad longing in his eyes she wanted to get right up and kiss it away. What could have made him suddenly so quiet and unhappy? Then she got an idea. Just a little one. Perhaps from God. Or maybe the idea really came from Sunday school when she was a girl. “I think we should play a game,” she said.

  Everett groaned again. Noticeably. “Sorry.”

  “Okay. I know it sounds corny, but what would it hurt?” Lark asked.

  Marty turned to Everett. “You used to love games when we were kids. Greta and I used to call you the game meister. You were always the one we came to when we were bored spitless. Remember?”

  “Yeah. I do,” Everett said. “Okay. Let’s try your game. What do we have to do?”

  Lark took a sip of water. “Well, we each go in a circle a couple of times and just say something we like about the other person. I know—”

  “Since there are no winners or losers, technically, it’s not a game.” Everett raised an eyebrow.

  “We’ll all be winners with this one, and it might be entertaining,” Lark said.

  Marty gestured with his hands. “Sure, why not?”

  “All right,” Everett said. “I’m not going to be made the Scrooge here, so let’s go.”

  “Okay. I’ll start.” Lark folded her hands in her lap and straightened in her chair. “I like the way Everett is firmly committed to things. Never wavering. And witty, even if he doesn’t think so.”

  “Thank you,” Everett said to Lark.

  She looked back at him. “Your turn.”

  Everett held a forkful of salad in front of his mouth. “Okay. Marty’s pretty decent on the guitar. Could have done it professionally, in fact.”

  “Thanks, man.” Marty gave his brother a good-natured slug on the shoulder. “Never heard you say that before.” He rested back in his chair. “Okay. Let’s see. I like the way Lark sees things other people would totally miss.”

  Everett tilted his head at Marty. “You only met Lark thirty minutes ago. How could you possibly know something like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Marty said. “Just a feeling.”

  Lark noticed Everett had a look of total confusion. Like he was in a dark room feeling around for the light switch. “Do you want to go another round? Or am I making you guys feel like you’re in kindergarten?” Lark asked.

  “It’s kind of different,” Marty said. “But it’s not a bad kind of different. Okay, I’ll start.” He looked intently at his brother. “I like the way Ev sticks to things. He always reaches his goals. He’s somebody any employer would want. All the right stuff.”

  Everett looked pleased. “Sounds like I’m hired.”

  Marty and Lark laughed.

  Everett cleared his throat. “I like the way Lark smiles. She lights up the room. And she lights up people’s lives.” He opened his mouth to say more and then closed it.

  “Thank you,” Lark said. “Okay. My turn.” She took in a deep breath. “I like the way Marty loves his brother. I would give anything for a brother or a sister.”

  “Well, if Ev marries you, you’ll have me.” Marty chuckled.

  Everett stuffed a hunk of quiche in his mouth. He smiled at Marty, but it didn’t seem like an expression of benevolence.

  Oh, dear. “Could you really have played professionally, Marty?” Lark asked, hoping to soften the pressure on Everett.

  “Yep.” Marty rubbed his chin and stared across the room as if he were traveling back somewhere in time. “A group called the Living Legend. I tried out when they lost one of their guitar players. I made it in, but. . .I never got to play.”

  “I’ve heard of Living Legend,” Lark said. “They play some good Christian rock. Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

  Marty glanced at Everett, who had his lips in a hard line. “Bad stuff happened,” Marty finally said. He waited for a moment and then went on. “Our parents and our sister, Greta, died. Car crash on some icy roads going toward Springfield, Missouri.” He choked back some emotion. “I was the only survivor of the wreck.”

  “Everett mentioned the accident. I’m so sorry.” Lark knew Everett didn’t like to talk about the accident, so she let it go. She noticed the scar on Marty’s cheek. Must have been from the crash. “So what do you do now, Marty?” Lark asked, hoping to diffuse the building tension between the brothers.

  “I don’t do much.” Marty took a sip of his iced tea and then dropped in a few sugar cubes. “I kind of bum around mostly. Odd jobs. Friends help me out when I get in a bind.” He took another sip and then added some more cubes. “Guess I’m kind of a drifter.” He kept clinking his spoon around in his glass until Everett glared at him. He put his teaspoon down. “Seen a lot of this country but don’t really have much to show for it.”

  “You could get a job. You could stay in one place,” Everett said. “It’s a choice.”

  Marty wiped his mouth on his napkin. “My choices sort of crashed along with the car that day of the accident.” He wiped his mouth again.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s just a cop out.” Everett threw down his napkin on the table.

  Lark thought the two brothers might want her to leave. The moment felt more like a private family conversation. She sighed inside. The rift between them ran more deeply than she’d first imagined. “Should I go?”

  No one responded. She felt
invisible as they seemed transported back in time.

  “It’s not just about the accident, Ev. It’s about you,” Marty said.

  Everett folded his arms. “How could it be about me?”

  Marty paused as if weighing his words. “Because you never forgave me. You blame Greta and me for the accident,” he said gently. “You always have.”

  “When did I ever say that to you?” Everett asked, raising his voice a notch.

  “You didn’t have to.” Marty shook his head. “The blame was in your eyes. It was the day of the funeral. And it still is.”

  “Well, why did you take mom and dad out when you both knew the roads were icy? There was no emergency. You didn’t have to take them clear to Missouri that day. You and Greta were always so reckless. Always had to push everything to the limit. Spontaneity was always paramount to responsibility.” Everett rose.

  Marty lowered his head. “We didn’t know the roads were icy, Ev.”

  Everett straightened his shoulders. “But couldn’t you have turned around when you saw the roads were getting dangerous?”

  “The roads had been okay. But there was just that one bad patch.” Marty touched his fingers to his forehead. “One spot. There’s no way we could have known, Ev.”

  Everett dabbed at the perspiration on his face with his napkin. “But why did you always have to take mom and dad with you? Why?”

  “Greta and I brought them along because we loved hanging out with them. And they loved coming along.” Marty stood up and paced the floor. “Look, I’ve never mentioned this because I don’t like putting you down, but somebody had to spend time with them and take them places. You didn’t. You were always in a work mode.”

  “Working to pay off some of their hospital debts.” Everett sat back down. “Somebody had to have a job. You and Greta were too busy living the artist’s life to work a real job.”

  Everett glanced at her with regret in his eyes, but she still wanted to disappear. His last comment felt personal. Kind of stung her heart like a wasp with a double load of poison. Lark reminded herself that both brothers were wrestling with the past, finally bringing up long-suppressed emotions that needed to be addressed. She’d just gotten caught in a little crossfire, but she hoped it wouldn’t injure their growing relationship. She placed her hand on Everett’s shoulder, but he edged away. Oh, God, please show me what to do. Maybe it really was time to leave.

  Everett traced his finger across his brow, looking drained.

  “Please. I need to hear you say it,” Marty said. “We can smooth so much rough road between us if you can just forgive me.”

  Everett looked at Marty and sighed. “If I say it, I want to mean it. And I’m just not ready. I’m sorry.”

  Lark bit her lip. What an awkward silence. Heart wrenching, in fact. When her parents had died in the crash, all the blame had gone to the drunk driver. Perhaps that fact had made the grief easier. Then she realized both Everett and Marty hadn’t known such a strange comfort. They’d become paralyzed from a lack of closure. Each had reacted to the tragedy in a different, yet parallel way. Both had tried to escape into a hermit’s life—one at home within the refuge of his computer and the other as a loner who couldn’t attach himself to any one place.

  Marty grabbed his coat off the back of the chair. “Listen. I’ve got some stuff to do. I won’t be spending the night. I’ll drop by tomorrow morning to say good-bye. Then I’ll be off to Missouri.” He looked at Lark. “Sorry about all this. Pretty heavy stuff. But I was glad to meet you, Lark.” He reached over to shake her hand. “And I hope you won’t hold this against us. Everett is a good guy. We just have some issues to work out.”

  Lark shook his hand. “It’s okay. And I was glad to meet you, too, Marty. I hope someday we can play some music together.”

  “Me, too. Thanks.” He shot Everett and Lark the peace sign. “See ya.”

  Everett started to rise, but Marty held up his hand. “I’ll let myself out.”

  “Do you want to take the quiche with you?” Lark asked.

  “No.” Marty shook his head. “Thanks. Lost my appetite.”

  Lark felt a bout of righteous indignation coming on. Or maybe just pure fear that Everett was entering dangerous ground. That he was closing off all those he loved just as her professor had years before. She gave Everett a look of disapproval with an imploring kind of smile attached as if to say, “Stop your brother and forgive him.”

  Everett seemed to ignore her pleading gaze, took out his wallet, and handed his brother a one-hundred dollar bill.

  Marty just set the money back down on the table. “I didn’t come for that, Ev.”

  “I know.” Everett put the bill back in his wallet. “You don’t really have to go.”

  “I don’t think you understand.” With those last words, Marty ambled to the door and left into the cold night.

  If Lark thought the silence felt disheartening before, once Marty shut the door, a cheerless kind of gloom settled in around them in spite of the love she tried to offer him. There was that word again, but she couldn’t turn back. Even if Everett shunned her now, she knew where she stood. Love could be a one-sided choice if it had to be, because no one could stop a person from feeling it. But caring for Everett made it even harder to watch him self-destruct from a lack of forgiveness. He’d been so hurtful to his brother and so irrational, she wanted to shake him. What could she say?

  “I’m sorry you had to witness our dirty laundry,” Everett said. “You can understand now why I didn’t want to talk about it the other night.”

  Lark looked at him, wanting so badly to help him.

  “Look, I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t need to talk this through.” Everett shoved his food aside. “You’re bursting to say something. Please, go ahead.”

  “I’ve gone through this,” she said. “Not quite the same, as you know, but similar circumstances. I was forced to forgive someone.”

  Lark looked at Everett; his eyes were full of pain. She waited for him to speak, but he just gripped the table as if he couldn’t let go.

  “I didn’t have to blame myself or any of my relatives for my parents’ accident. That was the easy part.” Lark moved her plate away. She’d lost her appetite, as well. “But I allowed the offender to write me from prison. He asked for forgiveness. I didn’t want to do it. I fought it for about six months. And then I couldn’t stand it any longer. Every single day I chose not to forgive him, I hurt inside. It kept extending the grieving period as it ate away at my spirit. So I asked God to help me.”

  “And He did it?” Everett asked. “Just like that?”

  Lark shook her head. “No. I had to do it over and over until I really meant it, but God seemed to honor even my simple efforts to do the right thing.”

  “The right thing,” Everett repeated. “You don’t know the whole story. My brother and sister had a pattern of this behavior.” He folded his arms. “My sister Greta was an artist like you, but she had a penchant for all things outlandish. And sometimes her tastes leaned toward the reckless. She took my parents hiking down in west Texas, and my father nearly died of heat exhaustion. I warned her, but she refused to take advice from her older brother. She was determined to do things her way even if it could hurt someone.”

  Everett stared off toward the front door. “My brother and sister were always alike. So wild and passionate about everything. They couldn’t just smell the air before a rain. They had to go up in a plane during a thunderstorm and experience the source of the rain. So Greta could paint the rain with more realism and Marty could compose words about storms with more passion. How exasperatingly maniacal.” He let his balled-up hand fall on the table, making a loud thud. “It’s like I knew it would all end this way somehow, but no one would listen. No one. Now is that easy to forgive and flippantly dismiss?”

  Lark looked at him intently. “Just because a person forgives someone doesn’t mean it’s done easily or flippantly. It’s an act of courage.” She paused
and then felt an urge to continue. “And. . . the icy road Marty talked about. It sounds like he and Greta just didn’t know. I mean, was the accident really their fault?”

  Everett shook his head. “I’m sure you’re trying to help me, but I’m just going to have to work this one out alone.” He rose in his chair.

  Lark took the cue and started cleaning up.

  He took her hand. “No. I don’t want you to do that. I’ll get it.”

  Somehow his look pierced her heart. Everett was closing her out. She could sense it in every word and action. “Okay.” Lark looked up into his handsome but sad eyes. “Is everything okay. . .you know. . .between us?” Her hands shook as she reached over to finger his collar. “I mean, I know I’m kind of spontaneous. And, well, artsy. But I hope you’ll see it in your heart to—” She couldn’t go on with her appeal since she felt close to tears. Lark licked her lips and fought to keep her chin from trembling.

  Everett touched her hair. “I just need some time to work through this.”

  Is that true? Or are you trying to say good-bye? Lark put her hand over her mouth to steady her emotions. “Okay.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you pray for me? I’m sure I can use it.”

  “I will.” As he walked her to the door, Lark looked around. She hadn’t paid much attention before, but his house looked so empty. “You know, we haven’t known each other long,” Lark said. “But, well, I know this is putting my feelings sort of out there. But I think I’m—”

  Everett gently placed his finger over her lips. “Are you sure you want to say this?”

  Lark nodded. “I’m sure, even though I guess what I’m about to say will come off too impulsive, but it’s what I want to say, so I’m just going to say it.”

  “I wish you would.” Everett almost smiled.

  “I think I’m falling. . .you know. . .sort of in love with you,” she said. “Can’t help it. It just happened, so I wanted to mention it to you.” Lark could feel her words coming faster and faster like stones tumbling down a steep hill. Oh, what a silly goose I’ve become. “So, while you’re working things through over here, at least you’ll know how I feel over there.” Lark kissed her forefinger and then touched it to his cheek. She hurried back to her house, not wanting Everett to see the tears that were beginning to flow.