Larkspur Dreams

Six


“What are you doing here? This is so great.” Lark loved the idea of sharing a snowy morning with her best friend, Calli Dashwood.

“Well, you said you wanted me to surprise you sometime,” Calli said.

Lark released her from their hug. “I’m so happy you’re here. But what about the roads? Weren’t they kind of slippery?”

“I drove carefully.” Calli wagged a finger. “But did you know your door was not only left unlocked, it wasn’t quite shut?”

“Oh, dear.” Lark realized it must have been left that way all night.

“I saw your car in the drive so I knew you were home,” Calli said. “I rang the bell, but when you didn’t come, I noticed the door.”

“I guess I forgot. And I can’t believe I didn’t hear the bell. I’m so sorry.” Lark folded her hands together in front of her. “Maybe I can make it up to you with breakfast burritos and lots of homemade salsa.”

“Now you’re talking.” Calli took off her coat and pulled out a bag of candy from her pocket. “I brought you a present. Little Chocola’ Rocks from Sweet Nothings.”

“Is that the candy shop you’re always talking about in Hot Springs?” Lark asked.

“Yeah. And the owner, Nori, is quite the entrepreneur. The next time we go to Hot Springs I think you’d both get a kick out of meeting each other.”

“I’d love to.” Lark accepted the beautifully decorated bag of sweets and put it on an easy-to-reach shelf, thinking they’d be great for munching while painting or reading or just about anything. “Thanks.”

Lark noticed Calli’s new casual look in jeans and tennis shoes. Her friend had her hair down in dainty curls, with a few tiny braids on the sides. She had always admired Calli’s tall stature, her rich, cocoa brown complexion, and almond-shaped, brown eyes. She wondered if her friend wouldn’t mind posing for her someday. She’d make a great model. Lark tuned back into the conversation as Calli chatted about all the ways not to make snow ice cream. They clomped down the stairs together, chuckling.

After breakfast and a few hours of much needed girl talk, they settled back into the loft. Calli sat in the purple beanbag chair to peruse Lark’s newest picture book, In a Giddy Pickle. “This is so incredible. You know, Nissa is a great writer, but your illustrations make the book. And this cover. . .so whimsical and beautiful. Kids are going to love it. Congratulations.”

Lark smiled. “Thanks.”

“I guess you’ll have some book signings again.” Calli tried to get up from the chair and fell back down. They both laughed.

Lark reached out her hand to help her friend up. “My publisher has set up quite a few over the next several months. It should be fun meeting the kids and their parents. I hope you’ll come to one of them.”

“I always do,” Calli said. “So has this new publisher hired you for another project? They should.”

“Not yet. But it’s okay.” Lark fiddled with one of her camel-hair brushes, making pats on her palm, pretending it was a butterfly. “I’m enjoying the break.” Lark took a few mini packets of jellybeans out of her big bowl and tossed them to Calli.

“Ohh, yeah. Armed and dangerous.” Calli popped a jellybean in her mouth. Then she strolled around Lark’s studio and studied her paintings on the wall. “Your oils have gotten even better than the last time I was here. So much more depth and emotion. You are remarkable.”

“Thank you.” Lark fidgeted with her art supplies, moving her gesso and mineral spirits around from one spot to another. Watching her friend, Lark wondered why she felt so uncomfortable when people observed her artwork.

Calli milled around the other side of her studio and stopped to gaze at a still life of pears and yellow roses and then one of a Victorian village. “Now why is it you haven’t shown these to anyone? There are so many terrific galleries here.”

Lark shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“But that’s what you told me last year. What’s going on?”

“Guess I’m still not ready.” Lark felt uncomfortable talking about her work beyond illustrating.

“Oh, boy. I know that’s not this ladybug talking,” Calli said, doing a little lasso gesture with her finger. “You are indomitable, girl. Why? Because God is with you, and He’s given you an amazing gift here that He expects you to share. And I don’t just mean your illustrations.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now do I hear an Amen, sister?”

“Amen.” Lark took her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “Okay. I’ll call one of the local galleries. . .sometime.”

Calli tapped her finger on her cheek.

Lark laughed. “Okay. I will call. . .soon. I promise.”

Calli took off her freshwater pearl bracelet and rolled it onto Lark’s wrist.

“What are you doing? I can’t accept this. It’s your favorite. Isn’t this the one you bought in one of the shops downtown?” Lark touched the bracelet, wondering if she should give it back. But she didn’t want to hurt her friend.

“Yes, but I want you to have it,” Calli said. “It looks good with your nightshirt.”

They both chuckled.

“And I want it to be a symbol of the pledge you just made to me. A reminder. Okay?” Calli lowered her gaze as if to add an extra helping of serious.

Lark nodded. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah. That’s what my customers keep telling me.”

“You are the best Realtor in Springdale.”

“Well, I guess I really like helping people find their dreams.”

Lark held up the new bracelet on her wrist. “I can tell.”

Calli glanced over at Everett’s office window. “So I guess this is the new neighbor you were talking about. What was his name again? Everest Molden?”

Lark laughed. “You’re close. Everett Holden.”

“Wow, look at that,” Calli said. “When he has his lights on, you can see everything he’s doing. I mean, your windows are so big and close, it’s like you’re both in a fish bowl. His profile is certainly impressive. Uh-oh. He’s glancing over at us.”

They both waved at Everett.

Calli whispered, “But when he smiles, it looks more like he’s lifting heavy furniture.”

❧

Everett’s office chair squawked in rebellion as he tilted it back. He stared at his knee. Looked like he’d picked up another tic. His foot bounced, making his leg continually jiggle. “Where did that come from?

“Maybe I’m being punished for something. And do other guys talk to themselves so much?” Of course, most men probably let off steam with their friends. But people just made life so tedious; he wondered if friendship was ever worth the bother. Everett pushed on his leg, forcing it to stop bouncing.

But on the other hand, the holidays were coming, and friends did come in handy to make things more festive. Christmas. Sure, he’d attend a client party or two and show up at a church activity, but for the last several years, the big day had been spent alone. He’d eaten foods he’d had catered and opened presents he’d given to himself. None of his life seemed dismal until now. Until he’d had a window view of the most maddening and fascinating woman he’d ever met. Larkspur. A woman who seemed to glow from the inside out. Kind of like a light bulb, only a lot brighter.

But what kind of strange air was he breathing in this neighborhood? I don’t even know the woman. Then he remembered her holiday invitation. Hmm. A thought: Eating over at her house would certainly save money.

He stared back at his screen and the glaring numbers. He was always the bottom line guy. Charts and spreadsheets and graphs had always been a part of his life, but now he wondered if they had consumed him. Some people had even come to fear him at meetings because of his stern reports. Everett whispered, “I’ve become the bad-news guy.”

He looked up and noticed his sister’s music box on the shelf. He lifted the memento down and rubbed his finger along its rough, carved surface. It was one of the last belongings of hers he’d kept. He tried to rotate the little crank, knowing it wouldn’t turn. Greta had broken it from twisting it over and over until she’d wound it too tightly. The box seemed to reflect her life all too well.

He then saw the licorice chewing gum Lark had given him the day he’d moved in. The packet sat on his desk, daring him to try another piece. Finally, he rolled his eyes in exasperation and opened a stick. He studied the powdery grayness of it, thinking how ungumlike it looked and then stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed for a moment. Sweet. Unique. The flavor reminded him a little of molasses. Guess you’d either really love the stuff or really hate it. No middle ground. After another chew or two, Everett tossed the rest of the packet of gum in the wicker trash bin. He missed. Who cared? Time for action.

He snatched up his keys to his brand new sedan with all the bells and whistles and headed out. Everett wasn’t even sure where to go. Maybe he’d get a real cup of coffee downtown. And then later, he’d try to find the heaviest wooden blinds money could buy.