by Anita Higman
“No. Jeremy left about half an hour ago, and my neighbor, Skelly, left about five minutes ago. Please come sit down.”
Everett managed to settle himself in the cushy, lavender sofa. Froufrou pillows surrounded him threatening to cut off his circulation, so he removed a few. Then he stretched out both his arms across the back of the sofa. He stared at Lark, waiting for her story.
Lark sat on the love seat across from him. “Jeremy and I have been dating on and off for some weeks now. Mostly just going out as friends.” She licked her lips. “Everyone in the church thought we would get married. They said we were a matching set. But I’m not totally sure what they meant.” She fluffed one of the pillows.
Everett thought Lark appeared uneasy. He noticed she would either lick her lips or massage her earlobe when she felt uncomfortable. But he really wasn’t in the mood to deviate from the subject. Cut to the chase, Lark. “And were the people in the church right?”
“No, they weren’t.” She fidgeted in her seat. “Since a certain man moved next door to me, I discovered I didn’t want a matching set. Maybe in dishes, but not in marriage.”
Everett rested his elbows on his knees. “And if I hadn’t moved here, would you have married him?” He wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear the answer.
“I think of him more as a friend. And besides, this evening, just as I was about to tell Jeremy how I felt, he said it first.”
“You mean he dumped you?” Everett leaned back.
Lark furrowed her brows. “Well, I don’t really think of it that way. I’ve gained a friend.”
Everett laughed then realized how rude it seemed. “I’m sorry, Lark. I’m laughing from relief. I just spent some unpleasant hours next door concerned you were enjoying yourself too much over here. Well, you know what I mean.”
Lark sighed. “I do. . .know what you mean.”
“I don’t know how to say the things I feel. I’m not even sure what I feel. It’s as though I’ve known you for a long time.”
“I feel the same, Mr. Holden,” Lark said. “Kind of makes me want to sit next to you with some cocoa and a cozy fire.”
Everett patted the cushion. “I think that can be arranged on this big, purple couch.”
Lark got a match and lit some cinnamon candles on the coffee table. “Actually, the couch is lavender with violet flowers.” She winked at him and headed into the kitchen.
He followed her and then watched as she brought out some cocoa packets from her pantry. “Need help?”
“Why don’t you pick out some mugs up there.” Lark pointed to one of the cabinet doors. “All I have is the instant kind of cocoa. Do you mind?”
“My untrained taste buds wouldn’t know the difference.” Everett picked out two mugs. One had a Michelangelo painting on it and the other had comic book characters. Funny combo.
She grinned at his selection of mugs as she poured in the whole milk.
“I like your casual clothes,” Lark said. “You look nice in green.”
“Thanks. And I’ve never seen you in a suit before. It’s a great look, but then I’m beginning to think everything is a great look on you.”
“Even a soiled evening gown?”
Everett nodded. “Even that.” He leaned against the counter. “So is lavender your favorite color?”
“Yes.” Lark popped the mugs into the microwave. “Lavender represents a coolness and a warmth at the same time. A calming pleasure to the eyes and a warming to the heart. At least it’s how I feel about the color.”
Everett had never thought much about colors. But when he wasn’t wearing a suit, he tended to buy green shirts. Now he suddenly wondered why. Maybe it was because his middle name was Moss. “I want to remember what you said. It’s important.”
“Why?” She poured the cocoa packets into the hot milk.
Everett’s hand covered hers as she stirred the cocoa. “Because you make me believe in life again,” he whispered in her ear.
Lark looked a bit loopy all of a sudden.
“And you’re the only person who’s ever been able to knock me off the pedestal I put myself on.”
She pulled back in surprise. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”
“Another danger of being a workaholic. In fact, my life had become a monotone, one-dimensional, black-and-white kind of existence. I don’t really want to live that way anymore.”
Lark reached up to touch his face. “I’m glad.”
He touched her hand. Lark is all of the wonderful opposites of my life. She’s the depth, the variety, and the color I didn’t even know I needed. But he did. Such romantic thoughts from a bean counter.
When the cocoa had been heaped with marshmallows, Everett turned on the gas fireplace while Lark flipped on a Bach CD. They sat on the couch together, sipping on their beverages.
Harp music swirled around them. His arm settled around her easily as she nuzzled her head in the curve of his arm. It was as if they’d cuddled that way for years. Scented with roses, she felt soft and warm. So this is what marriage will be like. Suddenly the computer-espresso life appeared unfulfilling and trivial in comparison.
Lark set her mug on the coffee table. “I love the feel of your crisp, starched shirt. I’d love to have one of those.”
Now who could have guessed those words would come out of her mouth next? Then Lark gave him a heavy-lidded look. It felt like the right time for a really great kiss, but he needed to know one more thing. “Lark?” He set his mug down.
“Hmm?”
“What is it you like so much about a starched guy like me?”
She grinned. “You do have a reticence about you—that’s true—but there’s also such a sweetness just under the surface,” Lark said. “Even in this short time together, I can tell. You are like my favorite dessert.”
“And what is your favorite dessert?” Everett asked.
“S’mores. You see, you have this crusty graham cracker on the outside, but inside I can tell there is all this sugary, creamy, marshmallow-and-chocolate middle oozing out all over the place.”
“Oh, really,” Everett said, enthralled by her amusing depiction.
Lark pulled out a lavender rose from a bouquet sitting on the coffee table. Her big, brown eyes looked up into his. “And I know right here,” she placed her hand on her heart, “something special is happening between us. And I want to keep my heart open. I don’t want to miss God’s blessing.”
Everett kissed the tip of her nose. No one had ever called him a blessing before. He didn’t feel worthy of such high praise, but he liked the way she said it.
She lifted the rose to his cheek.
He took a whiff. No scent.
“You were trying to find the fragrance. These roses don’t have any. But they bring pleasures in other ways.”
“Oh?” Everett asked.
She stroked the petals along his cheek. “They are a piece of His creation and bring us beauty and wonder.”
“Just like you.” Everett couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than the woman who sat next to him. His words must have been appreciated, because Lark smiled at him, looking sweeter than s’mores. Everett gently swept her long brown locks over her shoulders so he could see all of her lovely face. Then he lowered his head to kiss her. What a sensation! Floating again. He’d kissed women before, but mostly to thank them for a nice evening. His contact with Lark fell into a category all by itself. He felt ready to tell her more of the things in his heart when suddenly his cell phone came to life.
Lark looked down at the buzzing interruption but didn’t seem upset.
He glanced at the screen. The call appeared to be from Chet Riley, someone he knew at Ozark Consulting. “Maybe I’d better get this. I’m sorry.”
Lark nodded, so he stood to take the call.
“Everett here.” He mostly listened as Chet gave him the latest news. “Sounds great.” Astonished and relieved with the promise of employment, Everett thanked Chet and said good-bye.
“What
it is?” Lark asked. “You look dazed.”
“I guess I am.” He sat down. “Apparently, there’s been an unexpected event. Sylvester is finally selling the company to Chet Riley. He’s a good Christian man. I’ve known Chet a long time, and he wants me to replace Zeta as soon as the ink dries.”
Lark threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Thank God. I’ve been praying for you.”
“I prayed for a job, too, but I had no idea how it would work out.” Everett shook his head. “I’m not sure why Sylvester sold out just now. Maybe it was the threat of reprisal from all the women he’d harassed. But I’m really glad he’s gone. And everyone has you to thank for that.”
“No. You were their hero last night. And mine, too.” Lark snuggled her hand under his, and he squeezed it.
After a couple more tender kisses, they both promised each other to celebrate the next day. Since the weatherman guaranteed sun, Lark suggested an edgier form of entertainment—hiking at Beaver Lake. Everett surprised himself by agreeing. Since he’d never been a big outdoorsy guy, he just hoped he’d live to tell about it.
❧
The following day, after hours of jam-packed spontaneous adventure, Everett not only survived the hiking, he thought he could take on just about anything. Canoeing. Mountain biking. Motorized paragliding. Well, maybe not that last one. But the day has proven to be quite illuminating. And fun. Such a foreign word before Lark. Even though he’d nearly tumbled down the side of a ravine once or twice, he felt a satisfaction that exceeded any previously known pleasures. In other words, he experienced joy with Lark. So simple and real, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting more.
What a day! Everett tossed his keys on the counter and put away his coat as well as his brand new roller-blades in the hall closet. He smiled at the framed photo of Lark he’d asked her for. Wouldn’t do having her picture in the office. I wouldn’t get a thing done staring at it, and besides, I have the real thing just a glance away.
Everett set the picture on the coffee table and headed upstairs to his computer. It had been awhile since he connected with his other self. The feeling would be like going back to work after a long vacation, except usually he didn’t take long vacations. He usually just worked. A lot. But now he felt rested and optimistic. Something that gave him a genuine smile.
As he sprang to the top step, the doorbell rang. Couldn’t be Lark. She’s at a French cooking class. Maybe it’s Chet.
Everett trotted back down the stairs and opened the door. Someone with long hair, a beard, and shabby clothes stood on his porch. Someone who looked very familiar. His brain did a quick gathering of information. “Marty? Is that you?” Everett leaned closer to him. “What are you doing here?”
Marty held out his hands. “Coming to see my only brother.”
Everett could barely get his mouth to move. “Where have you been all this time?”
“Doing a road trip to Hawaii.” Marty slapped his leg. “That’s a little joke. Hey, aren’t you glad to see me?”
Everett jerked his brain back to the present. “Sure.”
Marty grabbed him with gusto. Everett lifted his hand for his usual pat but gave his brother a hug instead.
“Do I get an invite inside?”
“Sure.” Everett opened the door and let him in. He went through the motions of leading Marty to the living room as well as adding a few pleasantries, but he really felt numb. Along with that bothersome tingly sensation. Everett tapped his face. The past came crashing back in a wave of grief. All that he’d kept at bay for three years. His elderly parents. The responsibility. The foolish decision. The accident. The funeral. “Why did you really come?” Everett heard himself say out loud.
Marty seemed to study him. “Hey, man, I haven’t seen or talked to you since the funeral, so I thought it was time. You know.”
“Yeah. You’re right. It’s been a long time. It is good to see you,” Everett said. So much had passed between them, though, he just wasn’t sure when he’d be ready to reunite the last of his family. But at least now he knew what had become of his brother. “Do you want something to eat?”
“I’m always hungry,” Marty said. “Thanks.”
“Okay.” Everett noticed his brother still wore the same aftershave. The same one he always splashed on in his teen years. In fact, it had been their dad’s favorite. “I’ve got some frozen entrees.” Everett closed up his laptop on the coffee table and headed into the kitchen.
“Sounds good.” Marty picked up the photo of Lark off the coffee table. “Wooow! Who’s this?”
Everett didn’t even need to glance back to figure out whom his brother was talking about. Lark. He wished Marty hadn’t seen the photograph, but there was no time to hide it now. Maybe he could come up with a safe answer. “She’s a woman I’m spending some time with.” That sounded pretty lame when he knew he felt more than that.
“You’re serious about her, aren’t you? I know you wouldn’t say that unless you had some serious feelings for her.” Marty set the photo down.
How could Marty know me so well? They hadn’t spent much time together since he’d left for college. He looked back at Marty. “Her name is Larkspur. And yes, I care about her.” Changing the subject would be good about now. “So do you have a girlfriend?”
A ripple of pain crossed Marty’s face. “I did have a girl-friend, but she’s gone now. Left me for a rich guy.”
“I’m sorry. You’ve had a rough time these last few years since. . .well, you know.”
“You can say it,” Marty said without a hint of anger. “Since mom and dad and Greta died in the car accident. You’re right. I haven’t been doing so well. But I’m doing better now.”
“And why is that?” Everett asked.
“Because I’m here with you, Ev.”
Everett smiled, remembering a happier time when they were kids and Marty would always call him Ev. Seemed kind of strange to hear the nickname now. Haunting echoes of the past.
“Have you seen the house?” Marty asked.
For a moment, Everett wasn’t sure what his brother meant. Then he realized Marty was referring to their old home in Fayetteville. He shook his head. “No. I haven’t been back since—well, you know—since it sold.” Excellent time for another new topic. “So where are you living now?” Everett asked.
Marty laughed. “That’s the good part. I’m living with you now, Ev.”
Seventeen
Lark came in from her French cooking class with a monstrous appetite. All the foods she and her classmates had prepared were donated to a soup kitchen, so her stomach felt ready for some serious eating. She stood there with the fridge open. Mmm. “Let’s see.” Whipped yogurt. No. Like eating flavored air. Grapefruit. “Way too sour.” Ohh. Leftover quiche. She reached down to the bottom shelf to pull out the pie dish. “Oh, yeah. Just right.”
She wondered if Everett would be eating yet another one of his frozen entrees. He claimed they were gourmet, but how many of those things could a person eat? She imagined a block of frozen gravy slowly defrosting. Not a pretty sight. Maybe she could just slip over there and give him a slice of her quiche. He would love it. It was her best. Swiss cheese and crab. Before she could talk herself out of it, Lark covered the glass pie dish with plastic wrap. “Well, this is one night, Mr. Holden, you’re not going to eat from a cardboard box.”
Not bothering with a coat again, Lark ran up to Everett’s house and tapped on his door. She hopped around trying to stay warm. A hairy sort of man who looked like Everett answered the door. Who is this?
“Woow. The gorgeous phantom from the photo. I’m Marty. Everett’s younger brother. And you must be the woman he’s falling in love with. Looks like my brother has very good taste.”
Lark noticed Everett coming up right behind his brother. “That’ll do, Marty.” Everett playfully slapped him on the back.
Marty held out his hand to Lark, but she pulled him into a hug as she balanced the quiche with her other hand. “I’m so glad
to meet you. I had no idea Everett had a brother. This is so wonderful.”
“I can tell you’re good for my brother.” Marty opened the door wider. “And not just because you’re a good cook.” He winked. “Looks like you brought provisions. Real food.”
Lark held up her offering. “I had some leftover quiche.”
Marty took a whiff. “I don’t smell anything, but you’ve got my stamp of approval.”
“Thanks,” Lark said. “I thought I’d bring it over since Everett always eats out of a box.”
“Come on in,” Marty said. “We can all break bread together.”
Lark looked at Everett as she came inside. He smiled and escorted her into the kitchen, but Everett didn’t appear happy about the situation. How sad. She would love to have had a sister or brother, but she’d been an only child. Perhaps a rift had come between them.
She glanced at them both again, intrigued with the comparison. Even though they looked a lot alike, their speech was poles apart as well as their clothes. Marty wore a dirty T-shirt and jeans while his brother looked as neat as a package of unopened napkins. She wondered if Marty had fallen on hard times or if he just lived a very laid-back lifestyle.
Everett heated up the quiche and found a bag of herbal greens while she and Marty brought out the dishes and flatware.
“How long do you get to stay?” Lark asked.
Marty chuckled. “Funny you should ask. I’d just told Ev I’d come here to live with him, but it was just a little joke. I’m passing through on my way to stay with a buddy who lives up in Missouri. But I love it here. These hills are full of poetry. You just have to be listening. That’s all. Makes me want to pull out my guitar and cook up a song.” He pretended to strum the prongs on the fork he held. “Composing and playing is like being airborne without a plane.”
“I know just what you mean. I play the guitar, as well.” Lark was amazed Everett had never mentioned any of it.
“Really?” Marty folded the last napkin and set the fork on it. “After we’re finished eating maybe we could jam awhile.”
Did a tiny groan come out of Everett? Surely not. Marty didn’t seem to notice. She’d give Everett the benefit of the doubt. “Sounds good,” Lark said. “I’d like that. I don’t get to play with anyone very often.”