Moselle's Insurance

by LoRee Peery

  From his seat in the large masculine chair, he peered at Moselle before looking down.

  What was he hoping to find?

  “Our dear heavenly Father, we often don’t have the words to thank You for all that You do. We thank You for going before us, for being with us even when life doesn’t make sense and we are disappointed and hurt. Thank You for never leaving us behind once we are in Your loving arms. Thank You for never making mistakes when You bring us into one another’s lives.”

  He sighed as though a burden had been lifted. Moselle opened one eye to sneak a peek, but she only encountered the top of his bowed head. So this is how he prays, giving us each a few seconds of silence. She stifled a grin. Just the way he pauses after he hears my voice when I say hello.

  He finished with, “We thank You for the food set before us and for the many blessings we fail to acknowledge with our voices. Please help the ladies prepare for electrical work.”

  His eyes locked with hers when he looked up and said, “Amen.”

  Moselle broke eye contact and reached for her tea, which matched the natural highlights in his brown hair.

  Conversation circled around Moselle, mostly about what everyone had done that day. She nodded once in awhile, letting the older women speak. She chewed slowly, only getting down one piece of a four-cheese pizza. Had he done that deliberately—chosen her favorite kind? The first bite of salad had stuck in her dry throat so she didn’t try a second bite.

  Eric’s prayer had somehow humbled her.

  But she was not yet ready to let bygones be bygones.

  She groped for something light to say. No words came.

  Lanae filled the silence, “I tried out a new recipe for sugarless cheesecake, white chocolate.”

  Her aunt’s voice seemed to come from a long way off.

  “I thought you were supposed to be resting,” Geneva said.

  “I did, in between trips to the kitchen.” Lanae turned back to Eric. “So, would you like to come by later and try some cheesecake?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m leading a men’s Bible study and wanted to get started on next week’s lesson.” He turned to Moselle. “You’ve been too quiet. Would you walk me out?”

  “All of a sudden I have a headache.” Moselle’s emotions were all jumbled. “I wouldn’t be good company.”

  His smile faded. “All right then. Looks like you’ll soon be ready for the electrician come Monday. I’ll see you ladies in church?”

  “You bet,” Geneva answered. “Since all three of us have worked so hard, we don’t need to keep Moselle to ourselves on Sundays.”

  “Thanks again for the pizza, Eric,” Lanae added.

  “My pleasure.” And he was gone.

  “You were rude.” The sisters ganged up on her at the exact same time.

  She scrunched up her eyes at the blasting comment. She looked from her mother’s hazel eyes to those of her aunt’s. “I do have a headache. I’m not used to having no time to myself.”

  ****

  Sunday morning Moselle sat in a comfortable pew at Faith Bible Church, waiting for the service to begin. She stifled a yawn and longed for caramel-flavored latte. On the way home Friday night, she had brainstormed and come up with the women’s signature creation, an item to be associated with Frivolities. She had gathered scrap and decorative supplies from her mother and aunt, and spent all day Saturday doing her favorite thing—making a unique item with her own hands.

  She felt a prickle between her shoulder blades during the opening hymn. While resuming her padded seat, she glanced over her shoulder and discovered the reason one pew behind.

  She automatically frowned.

  Eric winked and mouthed her name.

  Moselle turned to face forward with forced nonchalance. She tried to ignore him, but it proved impossible.

  His smooth, deep bass voice thrummed behind her through every song, like a resounding foundation. She heard his Bible pages shuffle during the message. She knew when he leaned forward to pray at the end of the service.

  All his actions seemed sincere, but were they? Was she taking far too long to forgive?

  At the end of the service Eric touched her elbow as she settled her purse strap on her shoulder.

  “Moselle, I’d like to introduce you to this brute of a guy.” His voice held a hint of humor which put her curiosity into motion.

  She turned slightly and lifted her gaze to the person in line behind her. She had to lift her chin even higher to meet the twinkling blue eyes.

  “Ah. So you’re the one who got away.”

  She tucked that comment aside to ponder at a later time. Then she found her hand lost in the giant’s paw. Maybe she’d remember what else he said later.

  “I’m Marty Marolf and this is my wife, Camille.”

  Camille stood no higher than the top of Marty’s rounded stomach. Filipina, Moselle guessed. The women exchanged direct looks. Moselle couldn’t help but notice that the smaller woman was far along in pregnancy.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said at the touch of Camille’s petite hand, meaning it from her heart. Moselle really liked the intelligence of the other woman’s dark eyes and the brilliance of her full smile.

  Together, they walked down the aisle behind Geneva and Lanae, with Eric and Marty bringing up the rear. Moselle was content to listen to the men’s banter.

  While still on the church steps, Marty and Camille stopped to greet other friends.

  Geneva circled around Moselle to Eric’s side. “Since you fed us last night, Eric, please come home and lunch with us. We still have Lanae’s cheesecake.”

  “Lunch sounds good, thanks. I have my doubts about sugarless any-kind-of dessert, though.”

  “You’ll never know the difference, I assure you,” Lanae claimed.

  Moselle’s heart was lighter on the way home, but she regretted the women hadn’t walked the short distance to church as Eric had. Walking would have been much easier than the intimacy of sharing the backseat with him. She kept her hands folded in her lap but she was ever aware of his open palm relaxed on the seat between them, as though he invited her to fit her hand inside his. Shades of long ago.

  When the eternity of their short ride ended, the heavenly smell of roast beef greeted the group. Geneva put everyone to work setting the table. She gave Eric the job of spooning the thick stew out of the slow cooker.

  Eric folded his jacket across a living room chair. Moselle fought the urge to stare at the play of muscles across his back and shoulders as he moved. She appreciated the fact that he would wear a shirt the color of heather. The muted hue made him appear more masculine.

  They laughed over tales of the women’s combined antics in preparation for the electrical work. The possible delayed opening of Frivolities held an underlying tension, though.

  Following the meal, Eric leaned back after his second serving of cheesecake. “You’ll be a grand success, Lanae. I guess women would like you to advertise that it’s sugar free, but never tell someone like Marty.”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  The women finished eating in silence. Moselle knew without being told that the older women liked having a man at the table.

  “Geneva, I feel blessed.” Eric rubbed his stomach. “Is there anything I can help you with before I leave?”

  “Oh, Eric, you’re a doll for asking.” She jumped up from the table. “My washing machine. I washed a rug and it went off balance.”

  “I’ll help. I think there’s dirty laundry to move.” Moselle surprised herself with the offer.

  And then regretted it. This small room was as bad as being with Eric in the car. She was way too aware of him.

  “Should I move anything else?” she growled. For something to do with her hands, she picked up a towel for the washer then tossed it back down instead of stuffing it inside.

  “I can handle it.” Eric slid to the corner where the dryer sat, and shot her a puzzled look.

  She knew
before she met his gaze what had stopped him from muscling the clothes dryer out of the corner.

  Since they became friends in kindergarten, her mother had penciled their names, ages, and growth lines on the woodwork of the back door. Moselle knew the marks by heart. She had been taller than Eric in kindergarten, third, and sixth grades.

  “Your mom never painted over this?” His voice held a touch of awe.

  “I don’t know why the record is still there. I eventually stopped commenting on it when I came home.”

  Eric ran a long finger upward across the row of penciled lines. When he reached the last printing of her name, he ran his finger over the letters. Back and forth. Moselle’s breath caught as though he were caressing her skin.

  “I’d really like it if we could still be friends, Moze.”

  Her legs carried her to his side of their own volition. She stood in the doorway with her back to him. She looked out through the screen, not daring to speak. Whatever she saw in the back yard didn’t register.

  His arm brushed her shoulder when he turned. Then Eric placed both hands on her shoulders.

  Through the thin fabric of her nylon blouse, his fingertips felt as though they were heated brands. Her muscles turned to mush.

  “Slip your shoes off.” Eric’s low voice and her obedient action were dreamlike. Yet, she could never match the thrill running through her in any dream.

  “You haven’t grown an inch.” He lightly touched the top of her head, then simultaneously tapped her crown and squeezed her shoulder. “But I have.”

  Eric gently moved her out of the way. “Check it out.”

  Without thinking, Moselle grabbed his arm for balance while she inserted her feet back into her shoes. Even with heels, she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the woodwork behind his head.

  Moselle swallowed.

  Eric surrounded her.

  Heat rose in her cheeks. Somehow, she managed to croak, “Two inches sound about right?”

  He didn’t answer. She sensed his gaze searching her face. His breath moved the wispy hairs at her temple.

  Would they be in their own laundry room if the past had been rewritten? She’d never let herself pursue that dream of marriage to Eric after their break-up.

  “You’re lovely today, Moselle, as always. The colors you wear make you look Irish somehow.” He flicked the circles at her left ear and let his hand rest on her shoulder. “But this wolf suspended in silver is definitely not Irish.”

  They grinned at one another.

  “Having a hard time staying mad at me, Moze?”

  “To be angry, a person has to care.”

  “Oh, I think you care, sweets. You just don’t want to admit it to yourself.”

  He moved a thumb. The rough touch felt feather-light over the pulse pounding at her throat. The sensation traveled all the way down to her knees. He lifted a finger and traced her bottom lip. She moaned a silent melt at the airy feeling in her head.

  His voice came as a raspy whisper, “It’s easier not to care, isn’t it?”

  Moselle’s Insurance

  5

  Eric’s senses had been filled with her. They were a breath away from a kiss, so close he could almost taste her. It had seemed as though they shared the same blood as it pulsed through his veins in sync with the rapid tremor at her throat. As he remembered it, he believed she swayed toward him. And her expressive green eyes had started to cloud.

  Just standing close to her at the back door of her childhood home made him feel so alive. Would their lips have met if Geneva hadn’t called Moselle’s name at that instant?

  Eric sidestepped to avoid the raised sidewalk where a root protruded. The air was warm, a bit humid and almost flowery as he pulled oxygen in as far as he could, expanding his lungs. Fresh and new, as clean as the scent of Moselle.

  Back on course, his very skin prickled at the memory of her nearness, and he picked up his stride.

  Would she have accepted his kiss? Or would her bitter memories have interrupted the urge? No chance to find out. This time.

  Eric’s thick-soled running shoes pounded the cement, keeping time with the many thoughts that swirled in his head.

  “The one who got away.” Marty had sure hit a nerve with that one.

  I can’t let her get away again.

  But how could he win her trust?

  Yes, he had let her go too easily. And in his youthful craziness he had turned to Beth on the rebound.

  Thoughts of Moselle circled round and round, keeping rhythm with his feet.

  At that moment the familiar vibration of his pager went off against his hip. He jogged in place as he looked up to get his bearings. The fire hall was closer than his home. Forget going for his pickup. Eric’s feet flew and his muscles burned as he raced to answer the call of duty.

  ****

  She couldn’t get thoughts of Eric off her mind.

  “We were so close,” Moselle said, fanning the star-studded midnight-blue plastic cape that lay across her lap. “I thought I could taste him.”

  “Wow,” Karin commented while she did magic with her cutting scissors.

  Moselle glanced around the Purple Palace Beauty Spa. The closest occupied stations were out of earshot so she continued in a low voice.

  “He always did have an unforgettable taste. Like he’d just bit into a mint, but I never saw him with one in his mouth.”

  Karin folded her scissors into her palm and measured the hair at each cheekbone. “Kisses are good. I get plenty at home. Marriage is terrific. Close your eyes and hold really still.”

  Moselle obeyed and fought the urge to twitch against the hair that tickled the bridge of her nose.

  “I’m right by your eye.”

  Moselle held her breath.

  Close to her ear came Karin’s quiet voice. “Eric is going to love this change in your hair.”

  Moselle gasped and spit out the sliver of hair that landed on her tongue. “You think that’s why I’m doing this?”

  Is it?

  OK if it is.

  “I just think that a crafty artist should look like she’s in tune with the times,” she added in her own defense. Moselle shoved aside the cape to pick off the hair that stuck to her tongue while Karin grabbed the hair dryer. Moselle held her breath when the hot air blew the snips of hair off her face.

  “Eric is respected in town,” Karin reminded her. “He’s civic minded. No one blames him for giving Beth the boot.”

  “You sound just like Mom and Aunt Lanae. According to them, Eric deserves a chance to return to my good graces.”

  Moselle inhaled the pleasant grapefruit fragrance of the product that Karin poured into her hands. Against her will, she began to relax as Karin threaded her fingers through the shortened layers.

  The feel-good sensation lasted no longer than a blink. The receptionist, whose name she couldn’t remember, was giving Moselle the evil eye, and then she quickly looked away while exchanging a receipt for money at the register.

  They’re talking about me.

  The thought was confirmed when the client from the bank looked at Moselle and away again.

  She took a deep breath and lowered her shoulders.

  Karin shut off the hairdryer and swung Moselle around to face the mirror.

  “Gulp.” The mirror didn’t hide the surprised look of awe on her reflection. Thoughts of the past disappeared.

  She lifted a hand to the wispy strands at her nape. “What did you do to me?”

  “Look at your eyes, girl.” Karin grinned and placed her hands on the back of the chair. “The bangs and bare ears open up your eyes like soft green lights.”

  “Wait until Mom sees this.” She giggled and reached for her feathery turquoise and coral earrings. “I don’t think I’ve ever had bangs.”

  Karin unsnapped the plastic cape and unwound the protective wrap from Moselle’s neck. Catching her friend’s eye in the mirror, she tweaked a dangling earring piece. “Really shows it all, huh?”
<
br />   With her confidence boosted, Moselle grabbed her decorated purse, hugged Karin, and slipped her a tip.

  When she paid at the counter, she refused to be cowed by the receptionist. Moselle whipped out a brochure announcing the grand opening of Frivolities, forcing the chatty woman to take the paper from her.

  Moselle breezed through the front door of Frivolities with a flourish. She stood for a moment, pretending to see the wild kaleidoscopic merchandise put back to order. Items were piled in disjointed messes, now covered with plastic to prevent drywall dust from doing damage to brand-new goods.

  She pictured the corner that would welcome customers to purchase something bright for their patio or garden. She wasn’t crazy about her own face filling the frames she had made just for her mother in recent years. Those frames weren’t for sale. Her business cards announced she would customize other frames upon request.

  She trilled her fingers through the forks and spoons of a flatware wind chime before tucking it back under a plastic tarp. The silver tinkle lightened her heart even more.

  Her mother’s face appeared from the edge of the gazebo-shaped divider that now surrounded the food preparation area in the center of the main room. Geneva thumped her finger tips across her collar and ran them back again. “Oh, my. Just look at you.”

  “It’s OK, then?” Moselle felt her self-conscious grin widen. With a lift of her shoulder, she fanned the hair at her nape.

  She felt for the nonexistent hair in front of her ear and flipped a hand into the air. Nothing there to tuck.

  Lanae came around the counter to hug her niece. “It’s snazzy all right.”

  “Eric will love it.” The sisters’ accolade came as one.

  But I didn’t do this for Eric. She wanted to scream.

  “I don’t know if I can get used to it.” Moselle bit her bottom lip and felt her cheeks warm. “It’s so uneven and shaggy and out there.”

  “It’s terrific,” her mother encouraged.

  “I need to let the creative juices flow.” Moselle ran her fingers through her lightened crown. She passed the women on her way to the workbench in back. “See you in a bit.”

  In minutes her purse was stashed on a shelf and her glue gun was heating up. Moselle studied the shadow box creation on the workbench. Her great idea was coming together nicely, and she liked this one the best so far. She’d edged the frame with a combination of wood-burned and ink-sketched design.