Larkspur Dreams

Fourteen


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.


The name Rose fit so perfectly tucked inside the chorus, Lark smiled. God’s mercies had a way of making little miracles like that happen. Just when life’s mosaic appeared to be no more than misfit pieces, then the Almighty offered a hint of heaven. A glimpse of the magnum opus. A foretaste of knowledge that all worked together for good and each life had a reason for being.

This moment matters to God. She must have said the words out loud, because Skelly nodded. It all mattered. Skelly’s tears. Everett’s courage and loss. Her own uncertainties about the future. Something warm returned to her heart, bringing back the glow. Her mother’s words had rung true. “A little Earl Grey and somebody else’s needs.” Lark set her guitar back on its stand and prayed she, too, could know a lifetime of love like Skelly and Rose. Instantly Everett’s face came to mind. She patted Skelly’s hand. “Are you all right?”

“No. . .but I feel better.” Skelly said. “Thank you for the song. It was perfect for this day. If Rose heard it, I know she thought the same. Are you really going to name it after her?”

“Yes.” And then Lark got another idea, but she wasn’t sure if it felt inspired or was budding up from enthusiasm.

“I have a question for you. It’s big one.” Lark sat back down. “And you can say no if you want to.”

Skelly nodded. “Fair enough. What is it?”

“Could I pay you to be my chef tonight? I have promised Jeremy a nice meal. I owe it to him because. . .well it’s kind of a long story. In fact, my life seems to be full of long stories lately. But I wondered if you would enjoy doing that? You can fix anything you like.”

Skelly clapped his hands together. “I’ll even serve it to you both. It’ll be fun, and it’ll get me out of the house for a change.”

“But since this is a special day for you, maybe we should be serving you,” Lark said.

“But I enjoy the cooking more than the eating. And I don’t want you to pay me, just the money to buy the food. Is it a deal?”

“Okay, it’s a deal.”

Skelly started to say something then shushed himself.

“What were you going to say?” Lark asked.

“Oh, nothing. None of my beeswax.” Skelly shuffled his feet. “Well, you know, I like Jeremy. He’s a good youth minister, but he’s not your type.”

“And so who exactly is my type?” Lark tapped her finger on her arm in pretend irritation.

Skelly grinned. “Well, our new neighbor might be your type if he’s a nice Christian boy. Which I think he is.”

“And why do you say he’s my type?” She couldn’t imagine Skelly paying so much attention to her romantic interests.

“Everett is kind of a simple guy. Intelligent, but simple. He’s like the beginnings of a compost heap. You know, leaves and dirt. And you’re like all the other goodies that get thrown in it to make it good.”

“You mean like egg shells and animal dung?” Lark asked, trying not to chuckle at his offbeat example.

“Okay, so the analogy breaks down a little.” Skelly’s face brightened. “You are so funny. And see? That’s part of the goody getting thrown in. Don’t you see it?”

“I get what you’re saying. But what is Jeremy then? Is he the dung or the dirt?” Lark asked, laughing.

Skelly chuckled so hard it made his body jiggle.

Lark felt for the handkerchief in the pocket of her robe. The one Everett had given her to dry her eyes when she’d ruined her gown. She pulled it out just enough to see the initials, E. M. H. She suddenly wondered what the M. stood for. Milhouse. No way. Milroy. Is that a name? Milton. Too old. Millard. Sounded like a duck. Montague. Too Shakespearean. Montgomery. Maybe. Lark came to herself and realized Skelly must have caught her drifting by the smile on his face. Thankfully he was too polite to mention her lapse or the handkerchief she clutched tenderly but possessively. “So you’re sure I won’t marry Jeremy?” Lark asked to get the conversation going again.

“You won’t, my dear friend, because that is all Jeremy will ever be. A dear friend. Like me. But he will discover friendship is a good thing, too.” Then he put his hand in the air. “Well, I am so outta here as you young people like to say.” He headed to the front door. “Seriously, I’ll be here with groceries at four thirty. Sharp. Oh, and I kind of busted up my pots and pans, so do you mind if I borrow yours?”

“I don’t mind at all.” Lark handed Skelly two fifty-dollar bills. He waved them in the air and headed down her front walkway. He still looked tired, but at least he had a little more spring in his step.

As soon as Lark shut the door, she wondered what Everett was up to. Would he be busy making phone calls? She hated to bother him because it’d been her fault he needed to spend the next few weeks pounding the streets for clients. Knowing she’d had a hand in truly messing up his professional life made her nearly ill, but every time the reality tried to bring her down, she gave it back to the Lord to deal with.

Once she’d showered and dressed in her favorite pink velvet overalls, she settled back in her office. Lark sat down and pretended to work at her art table. She hated to just stand up and gawk and pound on the glass, so she turned her swivel chair ever so slowly as she glanced into Everett’s office window.

What? Lark rose so hastily, the chair zoomed out from under her, making her tumble to the floor. After scrambling to her feet, she blinked her eyelids to make the scene in Everett’s office disappear. But it refused to go away.