Larkspur Dreams

Four


A cough erupted from Everett’s mouth. Just as he was about to explain himself, the female reporter lifted her chin as if to bring the conversation back to business.

“We have everything we need,” the reporter said. “Thanks for your time, Ms. Wendell. You were marvelous.” She lifted the lapel mike off Lark’s overalls and shook her hand. “By the way, if I leave without an autograph for my daughter, I’ll be in trouble tonight.”

Lark gave each crew member a hand-signed piece of art and a hug good-bye. She stayed in the room with him, while the crew filed down the staircase. To avoid the Igor topic, he found himself simply glancing around, taking in the various aspects of the room. Light purple walls with a sign over the door that read, “IMAGINE.” Flower petals strewn on the floor. Electric guitar on a stand in the corner. Books and art magazines stacked here and there and a bowl full of jellybeans on the floor near a beanbag chair. “Aren’t you going downstairs to lock your door?”

“No. We have very little crime here. In fact, sometimes I forget to lock up.”

This woman is so naive. “You’re being a bit. . .reckless,” Everett said. “Don’t you think?”

Lark walked over to the birdcage. “You don’t like Igor, do you?”

Everett switched gears. “Why did you really buy me a talking parrot? You could have just brought me brownies. I like brownies.” Well, until I tasted Skelly’s.

“Why not buy a talking parrot?” Lark looked at Igor and smiled. “I saw him online, and he seemed like a gift you might enjoy. I really—”

“But how would you know that?” Everett rubbed his aching head. “You don’t even know me. And I know it must have been very expensive.”

“Don’t you like pets?”

Everett shifted his weight. Keeping up with his neighbor’s conversation was as exasperating as using a cup to empty a sinking boat. “Let’s just say, pets don’t agree with me.”

Lark laughed. A bubbling kind of giggle that wasn’t an altogether unpleasant sound.

“They don’t agree with you?” Lark asked. “It’s not like you’re going to eat Igor for dinner.”

“Igor for dinner.” The bird shrieked and ruffled his feathers.

“I appreciate the thought, but I have no time for pets. I work long hours. He would be neglected, so I’d like you to have. . .Igor.” Everett saw a little light go out of Lark’s eyes. Something made him want to bring that light back, but he wasn’t sure why. He might have to think on that one later. “I mean, it would be like turning my house into a resort for flying animals.” Guess I shouldn’t have said that last part. Why is she staring at my clothes? He looked down at his jeans, which were full of holes. And his feet were bare. Not good. He wondered how that happened. He never did that sort of thing. Well, at least the cold front hadn’t made it through yet.

Lark opened the cage door. “Hi there, Igor. You’re a sweetie.”

“You’re a sweetie,” the bird said back to her.

Lark chuckled as she stroked his neck. The bird dipped his head next to her hand and closed its eyes.

While Lark appeared distracted, Everett took note that her office had no blinds or curtains at the huge window. Most people put up drapes and heavy shutters, but as an artist she must like to use the natural light.

He stepped over to her art table and looked at one of her watercolor paintings. The sheet of rough, white paper seemed to come to life with rabbits, foxes, and turtles all hiding among the ferns and tree trunks. The fanciful pictures were no less than what? Enchanting? He’d better not get caught using that word in public.

But the illustrations reminded him of an earlier time in his life when he used to read to children at one of the local hospitals in Fayetteville. Amazing. He used to actually volunteer his time, and he’d loved it. But that seemed like a lifetime ago, before life had taught him the lessons of unspeakable misfortune. “You didn’t mention you were an artist.”

“Well, you were busy herding your movers,” Lark said. “And it seemed like they needed a little coaching as I recall.”

She had more paint on her lavender overalls than on her paper. He saw her eyes searching his again. But what could she be looking for? “This current work here—is it to illustrate a new book?”

“No, I did it just for fun.” Lark smiled down at the painting. “The idea came from a dream I had. So I thought I’d try to capture it.”

“So you have pleasant dreams?” Everett asked.

“Almost always. Do you?”

He almost said no but then admonished himself for nearly sharing intimate details about his life. “It’s rather hard to explain.” Maybe he just needed to get back to work.

“I’m sorry about the gift,” Lark said. “Sometimes I’ve been known to be a little too—spur-of-the-moment. It’s one of my great weaknesses. But I assure you, God and I are working on it.”

“Apology accepted.” He offered her a wide smile since he was glad to be rid of Igor, but he wondered just how “spur-of-the-moment” she was and how many “weaknesses” she and God were working on. Suddenly he heard a series of clatters and bangs. “What’s that racket?”

“Oh, it’s Skelly. Our neighbor. He sometimes throws pots and pans at his brick wall.”

“How peculiar. Why does he do that?” Everett wanted to see what was happening, but he knew Skelly’s backyard wasn’t visible from her window.

Lark stroked her hands along her arms. “Skelly lost his wife to cancer a few months ago. You know, when her hair fell out from the treatments, she wore a baseball cap. And wherever they went, Skelly always wore a baseball cap, too. Just so she wouldn’t feel different or alone. Rose is in heaven now.” Lark smiled at him with a faraway gaze. “I loved the way they loved each other.” She shrugged. “So now he bakes everyone brownies just like his wife did, he prays a lot, and sometimes, when he misses her terribly, he finds it helpful to throw a few pots and pans against his brick wall. Why not, if it helps?”

“I’m sorry for Skelly. That must be hard.” Everett paused, not really knowing how to respond to the man’s sorrow, so he decided to change the subject. “But I still think you should lock your doors. I saw a hooligan-type last evening.”

“Really?” Lark tied her long hair back with a clip and took a step closer to him.

“Yes. That riffraff on the bike. You know, the one who offered the bee a ride with no helmets.” He raised an eyebrow and then rebuked himself for judging someone he barely knew.

Lark looked surprised. “That riffraff, who was kind enough to drive me to the church fall festival yesterday, happens to be Jeremy, our youth pastor.”

Everett swallowed hard, but he felt like another retaliating remark building up. “Well, I hope he doesn’t have a wife.”

“Jeremy is single, and we go out from time to time. And, I might add, he’s got a very successful teen ministry. Now don’t you feel a little. . .silly?”

“I’ve never been silly in my life,” Everett said.

“I’ll bet you haven’t, Mr. Holden.” Her lips curled up at the edges.

“I’ll bet you haven’t,” the bird squawked back at them.

“Oh, shut up,” Everett said. Oh man. Now I’m talking to animals. Time to go. Everett looked away from Lark’s bemused expression to stare out her workroom window. He noticed her office window was directly facing his own large office window. And the windows were only a few feet apart. A groan welled up inside him. “If you’ll excuse me, I still have twenty-one boxes to unpack.” He turned and moved toward the stairs.

Moments later, Everett offered his good-bye at the door. He knew the words came off rather strangled, but he felt more determined than ever to keep Lark at a safe distance. And he wasn’t about to make this community his new family as Lark suggested. He repeated his mantra. “Passive resistance and neutrality.”

❧

What was it about this guy? Exasperating. Lonely. But so cute. Or maybe one of the things that captured her interest was his expression of subtle yearning.

She plunked down on her love seat, pulled a sprig of baby’s breath from the vase, and stroked the tiny blossoms across her cheek. Lark suddenly thought of Jeremy. So dedicated and funny and genuine. In fact, he had so many good and godly qualities about him, she’d be crazy not to think of him in more serious terms. But she’d known since girlhood Mr. Lifetime would be poles apart from her. Like south meeting north and then trying to find a common parallel. She knew in her heart the Christian man she’d marry someday would not only garner her admiration and affection. . .but also leave her breathless.

She rested her feet on the coffee table. Yes, an acorn has fallen, Lark thought. And Everett’s neatly stacked pile is about to be scattered.