Larkspur Dreams (15 page)
Lark felt a bout of righteous indignation coming on. Or maybe just pure fear that Everett was entering dangerous ground. That he was closing off all those he loved just as her professor had years before. She gave Everett a look of disapproval with an imploring kind of smile attached as if to say, “Stop your brother and forgive him.”
Everett seemed to ignore her pleading gaze, took out his wallet, and handed his brother a one-hundred dollar bill.
Marty just set the money back down on the table. “I didn’t come for that, Ev.”
“I know.” Everett put the bill back in his wallet. “You don’t really have to go.”
“I don’t think you understand.” With those last words, Marty ambled to the door and left into the cold night.
If Lark thought the silence felt disheartening before, once Marty shut the door, a cheerless kind of gloom settled in around them in spite of the love she tried to offer him. There was
that
word again, but she couldn’t turn back. Even if Everett shunned her now, she knew where she stood. Love could be a one-sided choice if it had to be, because no one could stop a person from feeling it. But caring for Everett made it even harder to watch him self-destruct from a lack of forgiveness. He’d been so hurtful to his brother and so irrational, she wanted to shake him. What could she say?
“I’m sorry you had to witness our dirty laundry,” Everett said. “You can understand now why I didn’t want to talk about it the other night.”
Lark looked at him, wanting so badly to help him.
“Look, I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t need to talk this through.” Everett shoved his food aside. “You’re bursting to say something. Please, go ahead.”
“I’ve gone through this,” she said. “Not quite the same, as you know, but similar circumstances. I was forced to forgive someone.”
Lark looked at Everett; his eyes were full of pain. She waited for him to speak, but he just gripped the table as if he couldn’t let go.
“I didn’t have to blame myself or any of my relatives for my parents’ accident. That was the easy part.” Lark moved her plate away. She’d lost her appetite, as well. “But I allowed the offender to write me from prison. He asked for forgiveness. I didn’t want to do it. I fought it for about six months. And then I couldn’t stand it any longer. Every single day I chose not to forgive him, I hurt inside. It kept extending the grieving period as it ate away at my spirit. So I asked God to help me.”
“And He did it?” Everett asked. “Just like that?”
Lark shook her head. “No. I had to do it over and over until I really meant it, but God seemed to honor even my simple efforts to do the right thing.”
“The right thing,” Everett repeated. “You don’t know the whole story. My brother and sister had a pattern of this behavior.” He folded his arms. “My sister Greta was an artist like you, but she had a penchant for all things outlandish. And sometimes her tastes leaned toward the reckless. She took my parents hiking down in west Texas, and my father nearly died of heat exhaustion. I warned her, but she refused to take advice from her older brother. She was determined to do things her way even if it could hurt someone.”
Everett stared off toward the front door. “My brother and sister were always alike. So wild and passionate about everything. They couldn’t just
smell
the air before a rain. They had to go up in a plane during a thunderstorm and experience the source of the rain. So Greta could paint the rain with more realism and Marty could compose words about storms with more passion. How exasperatingly maniacal.” He let his balled-up hand fall on the table, making a loud thud. “It’s like I knew it would all end this way somehow, but no one would listen. No one. Now is that easy to forgive and flippantly dismiss?”
Lark looked at him intently. “Just because a person forgives someone doesn’t mean it’s done easily or flippantly. It’s an act of courage.” She paused and then felt an urge to continue. “And. . . the icy road Marty talked about. It sounds like he and Greta just didn’t know. I mean, was the accident really their fault?”
Everett shook his head. “I’m sure you’re trying to help me, but I’m just going to have to work this one out alone.” He rose in his chair.
Lark took the cue and started cleaning up.
He took her hand. “No. I don’t want you to do that. I’ll get it.”
Somehow his look pierced her heart. Everett was closing her out. She could sense it in every word and action. “Okay.” Lark looked up into his handsome but sad eyes. “Is everything okay. . .you know. . .between us?” Her hands shook as she reached over to finger his collar. “I mean, I know I’m kind of spontaneous. And, well, artsy. But I hope you’ll see it in your heart to—” She couldn’t go on with her appeal since she felt close to tears. Lark licked her lips and fought to keep her chin from trembling.
Everett touched her hair. “I just need some time to work through this.”
Is that true? Or are you trying to say good-bye?
Lark put her hand over her mouth to steady her emotions. “Okay.”
He kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you pray for me? I’m sure I can use it.”
“I will.” As he walked her to the door, Lark looked around. She hadn’t paid much attention before, but his house looked so empty. “You know, we haven’t known each other long,” Lark said. “But, well, I know this is putting my feelings sort of out there. But I think I’m—”
Everett gently placed his finger over her lips. “Are you sure you want to say this?”
Lark nodded. “I’m sure, even though I guess what I’m about to say will come off too impulsive, but it’s what I want to say, so I’m just going to say it.”
“I wish you would.” Everett almost smiled.
“I think I’m falling. . .you know. . .sort of in love with you,” she said. “Can’t help it. It just happened, so I wanted to mention it to you.” Lark could feel her words coming faster and faster like stones tumbling down a steep hill.
Oh, what a silly goose I’ve become.
“So, while you’re working things through over here, at least you’ll know how I feel over there.” Lark kissed her forefinger and then touched it to his cheek. She hurried back to her house, not wanting Everett to see the tears that were beginning to flow.
I’m a mess. I’m an absolute mess. Calli wouldn’t even recognize me.
Lark shut the door behind her and leaned against it for support. Even as a girl, she’d never been one for bouts of tears like some of her friends. With her sunny temperament, she’d always discovered lots of things to be fascinated with rather than moping for hours. But this wasn’t a breakup from a schoolgirl crush. This felt like some serious peril to her heart. Or had Everett meant what he said? That he just needed some time.
Maybe I shouldn’t have told Everett how I felt.
But couldn’t he see it in her eyes anyway? A dull ache trickled through her.
Not good. Okay, options. Paint, play guitar, Mocha Madness, pray, or call Calli. Or I could sip some Earl Grey tea and think of the needs of someone else.
Those were all good things, but first maybe she’d just treat herself to another round of tears.
Then she remembered what Calli had said—that God might have planted Everett next door for a reason. But what if the real purpose was to help Everett in some other way? What if the falling-in-love part wasn’t destiny?
Wait a minute. Do I believe in destiny?
She groaned, wondering how her mother would respond. Maybe she’d say, “You know, honey, maybe you can’t see the whole picture. Maybe God is working things out, and you just can’t see it.”
Okay, time for some prayer. Lark slipped on her gray sweats and knelt by her bed like she did when she was a girl. She surrounded herself with boxes of tissues like a fortress and began, “Please help me.”
“Please help me,” Igor repeated in his cage.
Lark slumped onto the bed. “Can’t pray in
my
bedroom.”
“My bedroom,” Igor squawked.
Yes, I guess it is your bedroom.
She smiled and shook her head at Igor. She decided to pray silently, and this time, mean it.
Please show me the way, and if Everett is meant only to be my good friend, then give me the courage to face it.
Then she thought of the severed relationship between the two brothers and prayed for a miracle of forgiveness and healing. Her own lack of responsibility and impulsiveness came to mind, so she asked for maturity in all areas of her life. She stayed on her knees until a peace washed over her like a warm bubble bath.
Maybe talking to God has more to do with sincerity and trust than the perfect words.
Lark picked up the bedroom phone. Now for a good talk with her best friend. Calli’s phone rang a couple of times, and then she answered. “Hey, girl. I was just thinking about you for some reason. Sent up a prayer, too. What’s going on?”
“My emotions have been jumbled like they’ve had a few rounds in a blender,” Lark said. “But I’m better now.”
“Somehow I know this has to do with that neighbor of yours. You’re either going to have to move or marry him.”
“You don’t know how true that is.” Lark related the latest as Calli made noises of astonishment. “But I’ve given it to God,” she finally added.
“It’s all you can do,” Calli said. “But I still think Everett needs to be slapped upside the head for good measure.”
They both laughed.
“Wait a minute,” Lark said. “I hear a funny noise in Everett’s backyard. Hold on.” Lark ran up to the loft with the portable phone to have a look. “You will never believe this. You know how Skelly throws pots and pans sometimes?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Everett thought it was so goofy. But I can see him doing it. He’s got his backyard lights on, and he’s out in the cold heaving pots against his brick wall.”
“Oowwee. He must be in a bad way about his brother,” Calli said. “And, you know, maybe he’s wrestling with his feelings for you, too. Anger and love mingle in the same stream sometimes. I’ll pray for him. But I’ve gotta go, ladybug. My doorbell is buzzing, and I have a date with one of the finest Christian gentlemen in Arkansas. We’re doing my favorite thing.”
“Let’s see. Japanese cuisine where this samurai guy whacks up your steak in midair?”
“You got it.”
Lark chuckled. “You go for it, girl, and then tell me all the finer points later. Bye.” She hung up.
Well, that wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be.
Usually Calli had more time to talk, but then she had a life, too. Calli certainly couldn’t be expected to be on call twenty-four/seven just to listen to all her latest romantic catastrophes.
She couldn’t help but wonder when one of them married someday if their friendship would change significantly. She would certainly miss their closeness. Their sisterhood. But even so, she hoped Calli had the most beautiful evening of her life.
Lark sighed and then stared down at the man who held her heart. Everett.
How did it happen?
Yes, somehow while she was busy helping Mr. New Guy out of his shell, he’d become Mr. Lifetime. She’d been minding her own business when love simply took her by surprise. Well, that wasn’t totally accurate. She had indeed meddled in his life, but the surprise part was true. He had left her breathless.
And isn’t that what I’ve longed for?
Lark just hoped Everett was down there having a few good thoughts about her. Unfortunately, he had another pan in his hand, ready for a launch.
What could he be thinking?
❧
Everett rose from his deck chair and threw a saucepan even harder than the first one.
What a little minx.
Ever since he’d moved next door to Larkspur, every component of his life had been negatively altered. None of the past miseries with Marty would have been dredged up had it not been for her childish game. He would have made the best of his time with his brother, and then Marty would have been on his way to Missouri in the morning.
Everett shivered even though he’d put on a heavy coat. He felt for his Palm Pilot, but it wasn’t in his pocket. He’d always kept his Palm with him wherever he went, but at the moment he couldn’t even remember where he’d left it.
My life is getting seriously out of control.
Why did Skelly throw pots anyway? Seemed more insane than helpful. And it would eventually loosen up the mortar on his brick wall. He noticed all the dead mums around him, grunted, and trudged back inside. He felt so many intense emotions it frightened him.
Everett’s head reeled with a headache. Where was his bottle of medicine?
Mental note: Buy five-year supply of painkillers. Or just move away from Larkspur. Same effect.
He couldn’t find the medicine in any of the usual spots, so as a substitute, he sat in front of his computer.
Long time, no see, old friend.
It’s great to be back in the pilot seat. He didn’t bother looking over at Lark’s office window. He refused to succumb to the temptation this time, and instead gazed into his real world.
Ah, yes.
The soft glow of the screen was like a reassuring friend. And he’d have a good, steady job soon. Maybe with some discipline he could make the rest of his life just as it had been.
Everett flipped on his stereo.
Liebestraum
by Franz Liszt was playing.
Hmm. Not very invigorating to get the juices flowing.
He changed CDs to Mozart’s
Allegro
.
Now, that’s a little more like it.
But every time Everett stared at the screen for more than a minute, those big, brown, impish eyes of Lark’s seemed to be staring back at him. Full of sweetness. Then he summoned up a more recent expression of hers. At dinner with Marty, her glow hadn’t been so loving. In fact, her look at him had been reproving, or at the least, pleading.
He leaned back in his chair, making it moan. Even his chair seemed against him. Could Lark have been right? Had he been too tenacious with his views, and had his lack of forgiveness eaten away at his spirit? Granted, Marty and Greta had always relished in proving they were covered with some kind of invincible powder, and he’d always been more than willing to take up the role of the nay-saying, older brother, but all of that aside, had the accident truly been their fault? One unforeseen patch of ice causing them to careen into a ravine.
Maybe the same thing would have happened if I had been driving
.
But then how could it have happened with me? As Marty said, I never took Mom and Dad anywhere.
Had it been true? Had he been so busy trying to impress his parents with hard work that he’d forgotten to just be their son?
He flipped off his music. Oddly, he only listened to the classical music to stimulate his mind for higher productivity, not because he had a passion for it. He felt like a fraud.
Back to his headache and what felt like the beating of a bass drum inside his skull. Everett yanked open one of the top drawers on his desk, thinking he might have stuck his medicine inside.
No medicine. Great.
Instead he saw some crumpled documents inside. He rummaged through the pile.
Hmm. Old insurance paperwork. Funeral expenses for Mom, Dad, and Greta. The brake job on my last car.
Brakes
. Why does that word always stick in my head?
In fact, for the last several years, every time he heard that word, it was as if he were searching in his mind for a lost piece of a puzzle.
Brakes?
My car.
My family’s funerals. Mom and Dad’s car.
My responsibility.
That’s right. Once his parents had gotten elderly, Greta and Marty had watched over their house, but it had been his job to take care of his parents’ car.
Had he forgotten about some car repairs?
Brakes!
That was it. He was supposed to have had their brakes worked on. Had he been too busy? Why had he blocked it from his memory. . .until now? Out of convenience? Hidden guilt?
Everett squeezed the temples of his forehead. He’d let his parents down, but more than that, perhaps the brakes were the real problem when the car went out of control. His body jolted back in the chair. A dead nerve seemed to twitch back to life.
What’s happening to me? Maybe now I’m feeling the stinging guilt Marty has suffered for years.
Everett took out a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his forehead. He put his hand to his stomach. All of a sudden he felt quite ill. He raced to the bathroom just in time to throw up in the toilet. Was it bad quiche? Maybe Lark was interfering with his stomach now. He already knew the answer as he leaned over for another heaving wave of nausea.
The food isn’t the problem. It’s your life.
He allowed dozens of thoughts to drift in and out of his consciousness. His life had become just like his parents’ car. Careering off into an abyss. He’d missed so much. A relationship with his brother. The volunteer work he’d given up. Friendships he’d walked away from. He flushed the commode and wiped off his face.
And why had he insisted on closing up his heart all these years—the coldness masquerading as a good work ethic. To punish his brother? To destroy himself?
Or had he conjured up some magical thinking? He wondered if subconsciously he’d kept emotionally vacant in case that could keep life from zapping him again. And did his noxious mixture of emotions include anger toward God? So many questions.
Once his stomach settled, he knew what he had to do. Since he was already on his knees, he decided to stay there.
God, where do I even begin with this prayer? How can You forgive me for what I’ve done to Marty? I guess people don’t have to be artsy to be irresponsible. Obsession with my career has accomplished that very well.
Everett continued his prayer, asking for forgiveness and guidance. Then he rose feeling different. He knew the cold, dispassionate cement he’d built around his heart was crumbling down.
Okay. I guess
I’ve got a job to do, and this time it won’t be at my computer.
The relationship with his brother had suffered too long with a festering wound. The time had come for healing.
Just as he headed to the bathroom for a shower, the doorbell rang.
Lark? Marty?
He hurried to the door. When he opened it, he found a woman standing on the porch looking anxious.
“May I help you?” Everett asked.
“I’m your neighbor, Melba Sanders. Next door to Lark.”
“I’m Everett Holden.” He noticed the older lady had a pleasant smile and held a plant of some kind.
Melba reached out her hand to him. “Pleased to meet you.”
Everett shook her hand. “Same here. Would you like to come in?”
“Oh no, thank you. I just brought over this little ivy plant here to welcome you. I wanted to bring it last week, but I had a run-in with my gout.”
