Moselle's Insurance

by LoRee Peery

  She cocked her head toward the open window, appearing to listen for something he had missed.

  “How was yours?”

  She dropped her sandwich without taking a bite. “My what?”

  “Your morning.” He grinned and chewed.

  “Oh. A little different than usual.”

  “Is this height making you uncomfortable?” He waved his hand. “You’ll feel a lot safer when the railing is up.”

  “Oh, I know that.” She turned and her eyes roved over the expanse. “It is a little disconcerting, knowing that if I took two giant steps I’d fall over the edge.”

  He scanned the open side. “Trust me. We’re safe. The deck framework ties into the existing plate.” At her puzzled look he added, “The big two-by-twelve between floors.”

  “I guess if you say so, I’ll trust you.”

  He wanted her to trust him with her life. “Different for sure, sitting here this way. I admit I’ve never eaten on an unfinished balcony that included a table.”

  “It’s a deck, remember.” Moselle laughed with him and played with the moisture condensed on the side of her glass.

  He chuckled. “I’ve sat on the edge dangling my legs.”

  Eric took a third of his sandwich in one bite. “This sure beats downing something from a paper bag.”

  She brought her focus back on him. “How does it feel when you’re working up so high?”

  He gulped half his tea before giving an answer. “I’m careful. It helps to always know where the scaffold is before I take a step.”

  “Speaking of steps, are they next?”

  “I considered staining the planks first, but it’s not supposed to rain for the rest of the week. So, yeah, we’ll soon do the stairs.”

  “Thank you for suggesting these wide ones, I really like them.”

  What? Oh, she was talking about the decking planks. She really was nervous.

  “You’re welcome. And yes, the stairs are next. They also need concrete footings, so I’ll borrow Rainn’s equipment, again.”

  He set his dessert cup on his plate and noticed that Moselle had only taken a small bite of her sandwich.

  “Not hungry?” he asked, pointing his fork at her plate.

  “Too excited.” She turned her head, as though listening at the wall again. “About the new loft, I guess.”

  “We’ll get you moved in here as soon as we can.”

  She jumped a little and slid back her chair. “I think I need to go inside.”

  Eric enjoyed the view, watching Moselle clamber through the open window. He’d never known her to be afraid of heights. When they’d climbed trees together as kids, she’d taken as many chances as he had.

  He finished his food and swung around to look through the window. “There will be a slider here, soon.”

  She didn’t answer so he went inside to join her.

  Eric paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim inner light. “You’ll have to decide if you want two doors or one sliding glass door and what kind of window.”

  Her arms weren’t empty. “What do you have there?”

  “This is Dear. And whatever you think is best, one door or two. As much glass as possible would be good.”

  Dear chose that moment to practice her yips, barking up at Eric.

  “A watch pup. Hello, little girl named Dear.”

  “That she is. A good watch dog, I mean.” Obviously flustered, Moselle added, “And so far she is a dear.”

  Eric reached out and fondled a front leg.

  “Molly, the little girl I got her from, said that she’s named after a wild deer.” Moselle patted the restless puppy and kept her attention on Eric.

  “By the size of these paws she’ll probably be as big as a small doe.”

  “You got that right. She’s St. Bernard and German shepherd.”

  “That’s a lot of dog, Moze.” Dear licked his thumb. “You won’t keep her inside, will you? I can’t imagine her wading through all the merchandise downstairs.”

  She burst out laughing and held out the pup. “Dear’s not mine, silly. She’s for you.”

  It didn’t happen often. Eric found himself at a loss for words. Then he felt a wide grin stretch across his face. “She’s a little like Buddy, don’t you think?”

  Moselle frowned. “Wrong color and wrong breed. But if you say so, Eric.”

  “Every time I remember Buddy, I think of you, Moze.”

  The air grew thick between them, where they stood in an old empty room accented by long shadows and a few slanted dust motes. All Eric heard was the puppy’s staccato panting. His own heart was pounding fast, like it was rising up to choke him.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Eric ran his hand over the puppy. “Besides, you’re wonderful and thank you and I should be giving you something.”

  Moselle forced air through her nose in an unladylike snort. “You are giving me something. Free labor for the balcony. Deck, I mean, and stairs. You’ll install the doors soon. And I’ll have a new work space and new home for the rest of the summer.”

  “But, you make me feel guilty somehow with your gifts. Feeding me. Bringing me cappuccino. And now this puppy.”

  “I thought we’d gone way past that.”

  “But I owe you. I need to be doing things for you to make up for dumping you one night and standing you up the next.” Eric placed the pup back in its basket.

  He took Moselle’s hands in his. “I feel the guilt of omission. I allowed the guys to talk without defending you when they filled in the blanks.”

  Eric smoothed his thumbs over the veins in the backs of her hands. “I helped murder your good reputation. And if you think women talk down at the Purple Palace Spa, you should come to one of the fire department meetings.”

  “But I don’t want to even think about town talk anymore. I’m tired of carrying all that around.”

  “Let me help carry your burden. Believe me, with you and me spending time together, and you and Beth going to Bible study together, people are talking.”

  “You don’t have to be my champion, Eric. Let the gossips talk.” She bent over and rested the crown of her head against his chest.

  He didn’t know where the change in her thinking had come from, but he liked it.

  He planted a kiss on her red hair and inhaled. The smell of peaches made every protective instinct pour from his soul.

  “I started that weight you carry.” He lifted her chin and pecked her on the nose. “Let me see what I can do to put a stop to it, lighten your load a bit.”

  And convince you to stay by my side for the duration.

  Moselle’s Insurance

  14

  “Big talk from a mere man, don’t you think?” Eric waited while Marty finished counting holes in the cribbage board before he continued shaking his head. “The way I walked out on both of them, I feel I need to make it up, somehow. Beth said she wants to talk. But I don’t see any point in seeking her out.”

  “I think you’re making a mountain out of a mole hill.” Marty scraped his chair back and stood. “You need to get over thinking you caused these women their problems. Lighten up and forgive yourself. I’m going to see how Camille is doing.”

  He had to get over his guilt and accept God’s forgiveness once for all. Eric had never considered that before. Yet, it made sense. He didn’t have to do anything for God to forgive him, only ask and believe. So why did he think he had to keep doing things to feel better about himself in the eyes of others?

  “Eric, get in here!”

  Pegs and cards scattered when Eric jumped up from the table in his rush to the bedroom.

  Camille stood beside the bed mumbling, “Ohmyohmyohmyohmy.” Her voice rose higher in pitch on every vowel.

  Her shorts and the carpet were wet with a spreading stain.

  Marty ripped off the bedding and yelled, “Large trash bags under the sink.”

  When Eric returned to the bedroom, Camille was leaning against the iron bedpost, pant
ing. Her clean nightgown was buttoned only at the top.

  “Did you call in?” Eric asked while he used his knife to rip a trash liner down the side seam.

  “No time,” Marty huffed, helping Camille onto the bed. “She wants to push.”

  “Well,” Eric put in with more calm than he felt, smoothing the plastic, “you never did tell me if this is a boy Marolf or a girl Marolf.”

  Camille uttered a soft moan.

  Marty grabbed her hand. “We wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Looks like you’re getting a surprise all right.” Eric looked from Marty to Camille and back again. “What do you want me to do?”

  “No time for modesty,” Camille yelped. After she rode the next contraction, she ordered, “Marty, get behind me, please. Eric, you’re the doctor.”

  “Ohhhhhhhhh, boy.”

  Lord, I’ve only read about this and seen it in film. Show me what to do.

  He heard another wet gush and made sure the plastic was protecting the mattress. When he knelt at the foot of the bed there was no more time for thought.

  Camille was fully dilated, crowned even, since he saw the baby’s head. “Lots of dark hair. I guess when you get the urge you can bear down.”

  Did he say that right?

  “Well baby, here we go,” Marty said with a nervous tremor.

  “What do you mean, we?” Camille’s last two words came out as a scream.

  Was this really happening?

  Camille panted, blew, sputtered, and pushed.

  “I’ve got a sweet head in my hands,” Eric somberly announced.

  Camille pushed again.

  “And a good set of shoulders as well,” Eric added while grabbing for a soft towel.

  He had time to wipe off its nose and mouth before Camille let out a long “Eeeeeeee.”

  And then, Eric was holding a baby’s bottom in his right palm. Next, he wrapped the rest of the towel around the newborn and placed the little guy on Camille’s tummy. “I present to you, Baby Boy Marolf.”

  Eric felt like a goof over the huge grin that spread across his face. Giddy. Could a guy feel giddy? He’d been around the Carson women too long.

  He knew that he had a few minutes before the placenta emerged, so during the oohs and aahs coming from the new parents, he dialed 911 with shaking fingers.

  The dispatcher talked him through where to tie the umbilical cord. He rolled a pad of towels, making sure there wasn’t too much blood, and sat back on his haunches.

  “Congratulations, by the way. Sounds like you’ve done a superb job.” The dispatcher’s calm voice assured Eric that the rescue squad was on its way.

  Now that it was over, he felt like passing out.

  Instead of going with that weak-kneed feeling, Eric saw a picture in his whooshy head of Moselle. Moselle in Camille’s place, with their own baby lying on her stomach.

  Could such a scene be in their future?

  For now, he had to see her.

  ****

  Moselle rejoiced with Eric, who was still high on the rush over the birthing experience. She wanted him to know her pride.

  “It was so amazing.” Eric ran his hands from her elbows up to her shoulders.

  What would it be like to hold your own baby, your flesh and blood combined with a man’s?

  Not just any man’s baby, but this man’s.

  “A miracle.” Eric’s eyes shone with brilliant light. “And when those eyes looked right at me, there’s no doubt at all that a baby is a gift from God.”

  He pulled her into a hug that immediately wasn’t enough. She wanted to touch her lips to his and share his thrill over the breath of life he had helped enter this world.

  It seemed that lately she was overcome by having daydreams about night things. But actually being held in Eric’s arms made the dream become so real that imagined night goings-on had her all heated up.

  She raised her arms to encircle his neck.

  At the contact, something solid from deep inside liquefied.

  She melted into the embrace.

  Time stood still.

  The faint evening breeze felt like a thousand fingers on her skin. She was aware of so much—especially the star-studded night. Once the kiss began, she could still see those stars behind her closed eyelids.

  Yet as Eric deepened the kiss, and she responded, her surroundings were all background to the realness, the rightness, of being held in Eric’s arms.

  The soothing noises of the night faded into a shadowed corner of her mind. She was aware of only one thing. Eric. Her Eric.

  She had read, but never experienced, the sensation of a kiss that reached all the way to her toes. Her knees went squooshy. In the deep recesses of her mind, she knew that Eric’s firefighter’s strength was all that held her in an upright position.

  He removed his hands from her waist and cupped her shoulders. Then he grazed the length of her arms, trailing his fingers all the way to her fingertips. A zing of sensation followed.

  “Electricity.” His voice sounded shaky.

  She wasn’t the only one going over the edge.

  Or maybe it was the blood rushing through her head that made her feel she was falling.

  Eric straightened his arms while her arms felt like wet noodles. She lowered them to create a space.

  He moaned, low in his throat.

  She felt him swallow.

  “This is getting harder all the time, Moze. You’re almost too much temptation for a guy.”

  Moselle leaned her head against his chest, reluctant to let him go completely.

  When she had herself in control, she backed up a step.

  She felt the shield go back over her emotions. “Sometimes I wish I had Beth’s experience with men so I knew what to expect and didn’t crave time with you the way I do.”

  Eric gave her upper arms a shake. “Don’t ever say a thing like that. You have more to give me than you’ll ever know.”

  “I’m ready to find out.” She didn’t want to plead, but this pull between them was growing to almost unbearable dimensions. “I’m ready to give Kate Rawlins and her cronies something to talk about.”

  Eric made a noise that sounded more like a groan than a chuckle. “Come on, now. You know if nothing happens around Platteville there’s no fuel for her to spread a fire.”

  Moselle sank onto her mother’s porch glider and slumped in the corner. She patted the seat next to her, knowing that Eric saw the movement.

  “I’ll stay right here, thanks.”

  “I thought you liked being near me.”

  “I’m beginning to think a little distance between us is a good thing right now.”

  She straightened when she realized that Eric was getting ready to leave.

  “Tell your mom about Marty and Camille’s baby, will you?” He stepped off the porch to become one with the night.

  What was wrong with her? The flush of heat that had enveloped her now left a chill on her skin. Women were such complex creatures. Her mother complained of periodic rushes of heat, blaming it on hormones. Could she blame all these crazy emotions on hormones as well?

  God had created them this way. She must learn to go with the flow and control herself around Eric.

  Her determination didn’t make those feelings go away.

  ****

  Moselle’s life in Kansas City had been absent from her recent thoughts. She greeted Sam Jeffrey after identifying caller ID, “Hey, Sam, how are things in the antique business?”

  “It’s been crazy busy with tourists and I need you to lighten my load. Have you got a new loan in the works?”

  “To be honest, I haven’t. I think I need to be there in the city to check out a local bank.”

  “Just a heads up, my sis said my nephew is interested in buying in. If you decide to go into your mom’s new crafty shop, it might work out for you to stay in Nebraska. You wouldn’t be leaving an antique like me in the lurch. Decision’s yours, but you do have a choice.”

&nb
sp; “Thanks for giving me something to think about,” she said before their goodbyes.

  She put Sam Jeffrey and their conversation out of her mind while she continued to work on the shadow boxes, which refused to be named. She toyed with intangibles: Live, Enjoy, Hope, Love, Joy. The project may become known simply as Frivolities Memory Boxes. She planned to place a trademark shadow box in each of the downtown businesses to help advertise.

  She paused, basking in the bright light that flowed from the high windows of the loft.

  A longing, something unidentifiable yet alive, was ever present. There had to be more to life. She was convinced of it. But was that longing for fulfillment as a woman, or fulfillment as Eric’s woman?

  And what did God have to do with it? He had to have a purpose for her life. And Eric’s.

  With a quick glance at her watch, she decided she could use a coffee break. Eric could probably use one as well.

  She set down the glue gun and unplugged it before running downstairs, where she filled the over-sized in-store mugs with his French vanilla cappuccino and her own caramel-favored latte.

  “Time to hang a hat by the back door,” she said, when brilliant sunlight made her blink against the glare. She handed Eric a mug.

  He nodded a pencil in agreement, and then tucked it in a pocket of his tool belt before reaching out for the offered drink.

  “I’ve marked all the tread notches,” he said, before pointing to the penciled triangular shaped lines he’d measured with the square.

  Moselle considered the matching wooden posts set on the cement footings. “I’m so excited. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  She wanted to take airy flight right up to the deck above their heads the way Mary Poppins had with her umbrella. She turned back to Eric and shaded her eyes with her free hand. “What are you doing, now?”

  Eric indicated the long board lying on the ground. “Don’t ask me why, but this is called a carriage.”

  “The long side piece of the stairs, you mean?”

  “Yep. Suppose you could call it a riser, but you get the idea.” He took a chug of his drink. “Then I’ll cut the steps and use deck screws to fit them into the notches.”