Moselle's Insurance

by LoRee Peery

  Saturday morning she had asked her mother and aunt for their unfinished quilted and crocheted scraps. Then she’d squeezed like crazy with her acrylic paints and had used up three sticks of glue. In her artistic zone, she could forget Eric and concentrate on creativity. She hoped to take orders and create a collage of memories for future clients. In Platteville or Kansas City.

  The phone rang and she flinched, but continued to squint at the box frame, trying to decide if less was more. A glob of silvery green paint dropped where it didn’t belong.

  Lanae opened the storage room door, cordless phone in hand. “It’s for you, hon.”

  “My heart’s still pounding,” she said, slowly swiveling off the stool. “How long have we had a telephone?”

  “Not long. The phone guy probably went out the back door when you came in the front.”

  Moselle reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

  Lanae blew her a kiss and left.

  Silence greeted her.

  “Hello?” Eric?

  “I need you.”

  Instead of answering, I think I need you too, she settled for asking, “What did you say?”

  “I mean, I need to talk to you.”

  She raised a shaky hand to smooth nonexistent hair behind her ear.

  Eric cleared his throat. “It’s about the fire. Something happened. I’m wondering if I could bend your ear.”

  “Eric! Are you hurt?”

  She heard him heave a sigh. “Naw. Well, my ego, I guess.”

  His weak laugh didn’t sound good at all.

  “I’m working in the back room.” She shot a glance at her latest work in progress. “I suppose you could come on over.”

  “Be right there.” Eric’s low voice whispered.

  Minutes later he barreled through the alley door. “You know, it’ll be much—”

  The door slammed shut.

  “Wow,” he greeted her.

  His mouth never closed as his gaze took in every strand of hair that framed Moselle’s face before settling on her eyes.

  Had she done this to catch Eric’s attention?

  Moselle waved her paint tube in his direction. “You were saying?”

  His mouth formed another wow, this one silent.

  Without taking his gaze off her, Eric swooped up a stool, opened the door, and propped it open.

  “It’s too dark in here. When you get moved in upstairs, you’ll have natural light.”

  He stepped closer and her breath caught. She didn’t have enough air to breathe as he lifted a finger to run it over her cheek and down to the corner of her mouth.

  Caught up in his heated brown gaze, it took all of her willpower, but Moselle managed to back away from his touch.

  “Uh, we’re kind of busy with everything, Eric.” She tried to shake off his magnetic pull. “What is it you need?”

  She imagined he responded with, “You.”

  His pupils dilated and his gaze probed deeper while she watched.

  “The fire?” she prompted. “I heard the sirens.”

  “Can we sit?” He surveyed the room, yanked a second stool away from the workbench and swung them both through the open door.

  Moselle followed.

  “It was a garage,” he supplied while waiting for her to sit first. “We chopped the hole in the roof without incident. Then we went in through the side door.”

  He reached for her hand and swung their clasped hands between the tall stools.

  “Was anyone in the house?” she asked, fearful of his answer.

  He shook his head. “The fire started in the garage from a pile of rags that burst into flame. It burned a piece of furniture the owners were restoring on top of a plywood table on sawhorses. Flammable stuff.”

  She remained silent through his pause.

  “Marty and I worked side by side, dragging any combustible material from the garage, just in case there was still heat or fumes to ignite. When I reached for a sack of dog food, my foot hit something soft.”

  Eric’s free hand fisted on his knee.

  “I tossed the food bag to Marty. Pushed up my face shield and knelt down.” He turned toward her.

  Moselle’s heart twisted at his painful expression.

  “How could I have missed the signs? There’s a doggie door at the bottom of the back door. A sack of dog food on the shelf. A leash was even hanging by the kitchen door.”

  He swiped a hand through his hair and down over his bristly chin. His scruffy beard looked a little longer today, more alluring rather than unattractive.

  “The owner said later he had a weak heart. Becky and Lee said it was too late.”

  “Wait. Who had a weak heart?”

  Moisture gathered in his golden brown eyes. “The dog.”

  “Oh.” Moselle tried to sort things out. “Who are Becky and Lee?”

  “The EMTs.”

  She thought she understood. “Eric, I don’t know what to say, but I’m sorry. Be thankful it was a dog and not its owner.”

  “I’ve told myself that a hundred times. But—”

  He dug his fingers into the back of his neck muscles. Moselle could imagine how taut they were.

  “When it really sunk in that the old guy was gone, I kept remembering how you were with me when Buddy got run over by the car.” He turned her hand over and threaded their fingers together. “Remember?”

  She remembered how angry he had been. How he had kept picking up rocks and sailing them as far as he could, and then how he calmed down after they spent a long time together at the creek.

  The same way you were there whenever I needed you.

  “I want that again, Moselle.”

  Blood rushed to her ears and she felt light-headed at the emotion she read in his tawny eyes.

  He slid his foot from the rung and leaned in close.

  She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to look away. And she couldn’t move.

  “I want the friendship we had as kids.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed two knuckles, never breaking eye contact.

  Her lips parted and formed a silent “oh.”

  He leaned in, nearer still. “God gives us a second chance. Will you give me a second chance?”

  His words were a plea for her to be done with mistakes of the past. Eric’s gaze zeroed in on her mouth.

  Moselle felt frozen in time and place. At first, the touch of his lips against hers didn’t seem real; she had relied so much on the memory of a teenager.

  This Eric was all man. He’d done away with childish things.

  She inhaled his essence, his unique taste of mint. Her breath hitched and Eric increased the pressure, erasing all semblance of the youth he had been.

  For sure, he’d never had such a bristly jaw.

  To her utter horror and his obvious delight, she whimpered.

  ****

  Eric had lived in Platteville all of his life except when he was at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. Town elders would always think of him as a kid. Kissing Moselle was like an affirmation of manhood.

  He deepened the kiss. His head swam with the rightness of Moselle’s softness filling his arms.

  Moselle. His Moselle.

  Instead of following along, Moselle made a mewling sound and started to pull away. She brought her hand from the back of his neck to gently push on his shoulder.

  He came to his senses in a rush and released her. But he couldn’t move completely away, so he kept his eyes closed and rested his forehead against hers.

  “Ah, Moze. It seemed like the most natural thing.” He moved his head from one side to the other, against her satiny skin and feathery bangs.

  Then he stilled to savor the moment.

  When he was able, he pulled back to see her face.

  Moselle’s green eyes were wide, almost frightened.

  “I won’t apologize.” His voice came out gruff, but that was OK with him.

  She reached over and touched the collar of his polo shirt. “You don
’t have to, Eric.”

  Then she looked up and grinned. “It almost does come naturally, doesn’t it? Sharing our troubles? Touching one another?”

  He put his hand over hers and ran a thumb along her index finger. He tried to smooth away a little rough spot, probably callused from the glue gun.

  “You got that right.” He flattened her fingers and held her hand over his heart. “You’ve always had a place right here.”

  Moselle slid her hand away and stood. He saw her pulse beat wild and frantic in the special place he longed to kiss at the base of her neck.

  Eric reached out to steady her, coming to his feet. But she almost ran to the door.

  With her hand on the knob, Moselle squared her shoulders and turned. “Eric, I don’t know what to say right now. I’m confused, I guess.”

  “But—”

  She looked down and scuffed her sandaled toe in the gravel near the stoop. “Just go back to work, OK? This isn’t the time.”

  Eric felt his jaw crack, but he held back a response.

  When would be the time?

  He grabbed a stool in each hand and ground out, “Hold the door open, would you?”

  With restraint, he put the stools back under the edge of the workbench.

  “I’ll be patient, Moselle, because I didn’t give you patience twelve years ago. But we can’t hide from one another. And we are Christians. We need to make peace.”

  “Oh, so serious, tough guy.” Her lighthearted comment took him by surprise, after the way she’d pushed him away.

  Moselle had him tied in knots with her sudden mood change.

  She flipped the turquoise beads and silver feather that dangled from her ear. “Am I supposed to be afraid?”

  He felt a laugh rumble up. And sobered just as fast.

  Eric decided to challenge her. “I think you are afraid. But I’ll help you face it. And I’ll pray,” he added with gentleness.

  Moselle lifted both arms and waved her hands, palms out.

  “Enough. Work calls. Thanks to you, we have postponed the grand opening.” She looked down at her craft supplies. “And, by now I have glue hot enough to start a fire.”

  He grinned at the idea of tossing her over his shoulder to evacuate the building. “Then I’d come rescue you.”

  Feeling the need to touch her before he left, he forced himself to settle for a tweak on her freckled nose.

  He opened the door but didn’t walk through. Turning, he held it open with his shoulder. Eric watched sunlight wash over Moselle’s captivating face.

  “I’m the carpenter once the electrician finishes. I’m building a deck for your loft.”

  She brushed a hand at phantom hair and stepped closer to him. “Eric, you’re impossible! I haven’t even checked on the permits so I don’t know if a deck is in the cards.”

  He touched her elbow and guided her outside. Eric turned her so her shoulders were against his chest. He leaned in close.

  “Look up. Can’t you see it?” He pointed toward the window above them, hoping to stir her imagination.

  Then he lifted her arm and rested her fingers on top of his own hand. “See, there on the right—an iron table and chairs. Flowers planted in tubs, just waiting for you.”

  She swirled and shook her head at him. “What’s waiting for me is a dripping glue gun and a shadow box to fill.”

  He held on to her wrist.

  Moselle tapped his chest with her palms. “Go. Sell insurance.”

  “Right. You win.” He tapped her on the nose again. “Just remember, I know every freckle.”

  Eric studied her mouth. “And the one above your lip drives me crazy.”

  Her eyes widened. Then she blinked and swung through the door. “Do I have to lock you out?”

  He chuckled at her come-back. “OK, OK, I’m going.” He winked and started walking backwards.

  “Just remember.” He thumped his chest as the door closed. “I’m your man.”

  ****

  Moselle unplugged the glue gun to let it cool. If she tried to use it now, the glue would come out in thick globs instead of thin strands. And she would undoubtedly burn herself.

  She had seen more than Eric could imagine when he directed her mind’s eye to the elusive apartment. She had already pictured the two of them sharing a cool evening drink of tea or lemonade while marveling at the sunset from her loft.

  In the past, Eric had filled many roles in her life. As children, he was the brother she never had. When they became teenagers, she stood by and watched the girls flock to him.

  Then, for some reason she had never questioned, he chose her to be his steady girl. They had years of memories built up from their shared childhood.

  In the last hour, all the emotions she had struggled with at eighteen had resurfaced.

  All because of one ground-shaking kiss.

  Eric awakened her femininity. Then and now. He’d made her feel like a woman when she was a teen, leading her to believe that he was the fulfillment of her dream to become a wife and mother.

  The rat.

  Because of Eric, she mistrusted the rest of the human male race. If all a man wanted was a body, all men could sure count her out. Who needed them anyway? Now, here she was a woman. He had her emotions going every which way like she was a teen all over again. Deep down inside, she still longed for Eric and what might have been.

  But why did Eric have to brag back then about something that hadn’t happened? He’d nearly destroyed how she viewed herself. As an object for men to use. She couldn’t get away from him. Eric waited to play the role of carpenter. She was all churned up over the idea of tripping around him during her daily life.

  Well, it was way past time that she grew up. Confront the way he had devalued her as a person, rise above the loss of her reputation. Bury the past. Eric was right. They needed to talk. She hesitated, recalled what he’d said in parting.

  Could she believe that he was, indeed, “her man?”

  Even if she could believe it, there wasn’t time.

  She had already wasted too much time on daydreams. But one dream could easily become reality, becoming part owner of her own antique store.

  Her future waited in Kansas City.

  Doesn’t it, Lord? I’m so confused.

  Moselle’s Insurance

  6

  I have to talk to her, Lord. Only You can get her to listen to me. It’s too much to expect her to forgive me, but I need to give her the chance to get to know me as a Christian man.

  Eric dialed the number and listened for the ring, a nervous knot in his chest.

  “Hello.”

  The knot dropped to his stomach at the sound of her voice. The way it had always thrilled him.

  He licked his lips, remembering their kiss.

  He knew from Geneva that Moselle had allowed no man to get close enough for a repeat performance of betrayal.

  Who could blame her for a little resentfulness?

  Did she expect him to grovel at her feet, begging to be forgiven? He’d have to swallow a pill of humble pie.

  “Eric?”

  “Yep. Sorry. Guess I was wool-gathering. I’m ready to make sawdust. We need deck supplies.”

  “Wait. Aren’t you cleaning up after the electrician?”

  “Nope. I got someone else to do finish carpentry. Besides—”

  “It would give us a chance to have that talk,” she finished for him.

  At one time they had been so in tune that they’d spoken each other’s thoughts quite often.

  “Hey, girl. You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  Her answering laugh was as light as the earrings he imagined dangling near her jaw.

  “When would you like to go?”

  “Think tomorrow would work?” Eric caught himself. “Well, if you can get away.”

  “I’m sure I can. But with the official Grand Opening Memorial Day weekend, I’ll need to help Mom put things back in place in order to open the doors.”


  “See you in the morning unless you call, bright and early.”

  Eric finished as he had begun, with prayer.

  ****

  Moselle began the next morning with prayer, before her feet hit the floor.

  Lord, help me treat Eric as I want him to treat me, with dignity and respect. Enable me to stand in his shoes and not pass judgment.

  When she dressed later, she wondered how Eric would see her. She chose a cap-sleeved shirt in lime sherbet and dark green capri pants. He had told her once that he thought of Ireland when she wore green.

  Multicolored rhinestones crisscrossed her open-toed sandals. She added the extra glitz of a handmade beaded anklet.

  Her hair was another story, not going the way Karin had styled it with a flick of fingers and squirt of product. She gave up and let it go its own way.

  Moselle supposed Eric was drawn to the fragrance of too much sugar and fake vanilla, but when he came through her mom’s kitchen door, she and her elders zeroed in on the Styrofoam cup in his hand.

  All three women gasped.

  “Gas station cappuccino,” Geneva and Lanae said at the same time, staring with exaggerated horror.

  “Oh, boy. You’ve done it now,” Moselle joined in to razz him. “You need to meet the newest member of Frivolities.”

  The look on his face no doubt matched those of most men reacting to frivolous women.

  The women burst out laughing.

  “You should see Mom’s precious new toy,” Moselle continued to goad. “Copper and chrome. It has the three of us drooling.”

  She took pity on his puzzled expression and supplied the answer to the question she read in his eyes. “Espresso coffee machine.”

  His frown cleared and he held the to-go cup behind his back.

  “Joke’s on me.” He turned to Geneva. “So, it finally got here, huh?”

  She nodded, proud as a new parent. “Yes, and before your next breath, it’s on a separate power cord.”

  The foursome shared another laugh.

  Moselle grabbed a lightweight bright pink sweater. “I think we’re out of here.”

  She kissed her mother’s cheek and paused in front of Lanae. “Auntie, you’re looking a little peaked this morning.”