Larkspur Dreams

Eight


The computer screen glowed in front of Everett, keeping him connected to the pulse of life like an umbilical cord. The analogy felt strange and slightly worrisome to him, but some days it felt true.

Everett stared at the floor. The expensive blinds he’d purchased the day before had fallen in the weight of their own gloom and now sat in a strangled mess. He’d been glad when they’d come crashing to the floor and decided to leave them there to remind himself of what could come from decisions made in haste. He’d just have to learn to toss a wave to Lark in the morning and then focus on his work.

Everett glanced at the box of mothballs on his desk and broke out into another smile. He touched the soft ribbon tied on the box. After he’d heard the doorbell earlier, he’d brought the present inside and proceeded to waste an hour trying to figure out what the mothballs were for.

Then he got the meaning. The day of the Igor-gift episode, his jeans had been full of holes. And the mothballs were meant to be comedic in some way. Sounded ludicrous when he’d said it out loud, but he couldn’t think of any other answer.

Back to the screen. Amazingly, in spite of all the interruptions from Lark, Everett had still caught up on his work. Of course, he’d worked half the night to accomplish his goals, but he’d been pleased to get a complimentary e-mail from one of his clients, praising him on a job well done.

So, in a flash of something he didn’t fully comprehend, he allowed himself a moment of revelry to celebrate. He’d decided to place a gift on Lark’s doorstep—an old gag gift from a party. He thought she’d appreciate the meaning. By giving her a gavel, he cleverly welcomed Lark to speak. In other words, she held the reins of speech now.

Is that the doorbell? Lark. He headed downstairs with the box of mothballs. Once at the door, he was surprised to see his principal client, Zeta, standing there on his porch. Her extra tall height loomed over his medium frame. Everett smoothed his blue tie and found his vocal cords. “Zeta? Hi. This is a surprise. A good. . .one.” He wondered if he sounded wooden or anesthetized. He’d had little sleep and no client had ever come to his home before.

“Well, so here you are. Look at this place. I wouldn’t have picked this enormous dollhouse as being quite your style. But it’s impressive nevertheless.” The angles on her face suddenly appeared sharper, and her dark eyes took on their usual narrowing glare. “In fact, maybe we’re paying you too much.”

Everett tried to laugh, but it came off like a choking cough.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Zeta stuck a loose strand of black hair into her felt hat.

“Would you like to come in?” Everett knew he sounded more like Igor than a highly paid accountant.

“Maybe. . .just for a moment.” Zeta stepped inside, almost pushing him out of the way, and then looked around. “Hmm. Not too bad. But why do all members of the male species feel compelled to buy brown leather?”

What could he possibly say? Everett cleared his throat.

“I brought you the file we discussed.” Zeta threw her cape over her shoulder, revealing a blood-red suit. Kind of a post-Dracula look. “You were so close by, I thought I’d drop it by on my way to lunch.”

Zeta pulled another frown out of her hat, but he had no idea why. He wondered if he were simply out of practice at reading human emotions since he spent so much time alone. Locked away in his office, dealing mostly with e-mail, maybe he’d lost some people skills. Or perhaps Zeta just needed some lessons in manners. He cleared his throat.

“Do you need a lozenge or something?” Zeta set the file on his entry table.

“No. I’m fine.” Just as he was about to ask if she’d like to sit down, the doorbell rang again. He felt some head pain creeping in.

Zeta raised an already arched eyebrow as she stared at the box of mothballs in his hand.

Everett opened the door. Lark stood in front of him looking radiant in a light purple sweater and white jeans as she clung to a rolled up newspaper. “Hi.”

Lark smiled at Zeta and then held out the paper to Everett. “I believe someone left this paper on my doorstep. It must be yours.” Lark licked her lips. “Have a good day.”

Everett took the paper, but wondered why Lark wasn’t her bubbly self.

Zeta tapped her foot. “Are you going to introduce me to your neighbor, Everett?”

Why not? What can I possibly lose? After he’d made the formal introductions, Zeta let out a yelp.

“Are you the Larkspur Wendell?” Zeta clasped her hand to her throat like a starstruck teen.

Lark hid her hands behind her back and glanced down. “That’s me.”

Everett noticed Lark’s bashfulness. A new look for her. Kind of cute.

“I heard you lived here in Eureka Springs.” Zeta pointed her red-painted fingernail high in the air with a flourish. “Everett, why didn’t you tell me you had such an illustrious neighbor?” She leaned down to Lark. “My daughter has all of Nissa’s books, but just between you and me, your illustrations empower them. My daughter has drifted off many a night while looking at those fanciful pictures. Especially the Electric Seeds series. We have them all.”

“I’m so glad.” Lark backed slowly to the door. “If you’d like, I could personally sign some books for your daughter. I always keep a supply at home to give away.”

Everett met Lark’s gaze, but she didn’t smile at him. She stared at the box of mothballs with a forlorn kind of expression.

“Autographed books for my daughter! How wonderful!” Zeta clapped her fists together. “She’ll love it. Oh, and I will, too.”

“Well, I’ll go and get them now. I’ll be right back.” Lark turned to leave and then whirled back around. “What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Amelia Stone. Thank you so much.”

Lark hurried out the front door, while Zeta turned to Everett. “Well, aren’t we full of surprises?”

Everett frowned. Even though Zeta was his most important client, he didn’t like being talked to in the third person like a toddler. He set the box of mothballs on the entry table.

“So what’s with the mothballs?” Zeta spoke in her usual brusque tone.

Everett swallowed his exasperation. “It’s just a funny gift somebody gave me.”

Zeta stood silent for a second, looked confused, and then burst into laughter. He’d never heard her laugh before. Guess he’d better count that as a blessing.

“How very clever,” Zeta said. “I love it. Mothballs. Definition. A condition of being in storage. You know, you really are too much of a hermit here in your home office.”

The conversation felt way too personal and more than annoying. Everett glanced in the entry mirror and noticed his face had reddened to a rich, tomato hue. Zeta’s rudeness was more than he could stand sometimes, but he was determined to keep his cool. “Larkspur Wendell left the mothballs on my doorstep.”

Zeta eyeballed him like Igor’s assessing parrot gaze, and then she detonated with another round of laughter. Directed at him. Again. This brief meeting was racing downhill fast. And worst of all, he’d gotten the meaning of the mothball gift all wrong. Maybe it had been more of a putdown than a lighthearted gift between neighbors. His leg began to twitch all on its own again.

Lark tapped on his door and let herself in with a stack of books. She set them in Zeta’s waiting arms. “Oh, thank you, Larkspur. May I call you Lark?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve personally autographed each one and added a little special note in the top one,” Lark said.

Zeta’s fingers clutched the pile of books as if she were afraid someone would take them from her. “You are a peach for doing this for my daughter.”

Everett tuned out for a moment and then suddenly noticed the gavel in Lark’s back pocket. She pulled it out and set it on the entry table with all the other assorted items.

Guess Lark didn’t think the gift was witty after all. Then as she stared at him, her lovely, brown eyes softened. “Gavels are meant for silencing people. Aren’t they?” Her voice sounded more hurt than angry.

Everett turned to Lark. “That’s not what I—”

“Okay, I’m lost here,” Zeta said. “I tell you what. You can finish this peculiarly stimulating conversation tonight. Everett, why don’t you bring Lark with you to our company party? I read that Lark is single, and you have nothing important to do tonight.”

“Company party?” Everett asked.

“You know,” Zeta said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Ozark Consulting?”

He’d totally forgotten. But then maybe he’d meant to forget it.

“You mean you hadn’t planned on coming tonight at seven?” Zeta asked.

“I’ve been busy with the move, so I—”

Zeta touched her fingers under her chin in a dramatic gesture. “It’s a stylish affair at the Majestic Hotel,” she said to Lark. “I can already tell you’d love it. Then I’d get a chance to visit with you some more.”

Is she arranging my dating life? He chose not to lash out at Zeta, but he had to admit his job and its handsome salary were being worn down by her edges.

Lark’s expression continued to soften when she glanced at him. He thought the look might be one of pity. Please, any emotion but that one. I may look like a toad next to my boss, but I still have my pride.

Then Lark smiled at him, a warm and effervescent one. The kind he was growing very fond of. Something thawed between them like two blocks of ice left in the afternoon sun. Everett decided to set his aggravation with Zeta aside and just ask Lark to the party. “I have to admit it’s a good idea. Lark, would you accompany me to the party this evening?”

Lark hesitated and then stared at him as if trying to read his expression. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Zeta stomped her foot as if she were starting up some Irish dance. “Good. It’s settled. I’m off. See you lovebirds tonight.”

Everett rubbed the back of his neck.

“By the way, Lark, this is supposed to be our company Christmas party. Everett suggested we schedule it in early November on a Monday evening. Saves money,” Zeta said.

Everett groaned inside as he walked Zeta to the front door. With one last salute to her, he shut the door.

“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?