Larkspur Dreams (7 page)
“I wondered when you’d finally ask me,” Calli said. “This is a good story, so you’d better sit for this one.”
Lark perched herself on a kitchen stool and waited for her friend to continue.
Calli took in a long breath. “Well, one time I was exiting off 540, and I saw this ladybug on my windshield. While I turned all my corners, it held on. No matter what happened, the sweet little thing stayed there fluttering its wings and clinging to dear life. When I got home, I held out my hand, and that ladybug climbed on my fingers and flew away as if it knew all along everything would be okay. With what you went through in your life, I guess it’s kind of the way I see you.”
“Thanks, Calli. It
is
a good story. Consider yourself hugged.” A few tears pooled in Lark’s eyes. “By the way, I sure wish you’d move to Eureka Springs.”
Calli sniffled. “Find me a good man to marry there, and I guess I’d be forced to move.” She blew her nose.
Lark wondered if her friend could be serious.
“Girl, now you know I’m kidding,” Calli said.
“I wasn’t sure.” Lark stifled a laugh.
“You don’t have to start setting me up with blind dates like some orthopedic queen.”
Lark gasped. “I would never do that.”
Calli laughed. “Well, I heard this pregnant pause, so I just thought maybe you were getting one of your little ideas.”
“No, it’s just indigestion from all the bean burritos we ate last night,” Lark said.
After another round of laughs and some sweet good-byes, Lark busied herself by collecting acorns from the backyard. She found several dozen of the little nuts, which had been peeking their heads out of the snow. Lark gathered them up and stuffed them in the pocket of her lavender painting smock.
When she brought her treasures inside, she turned on the kettle for tea and gingerly placed her acorns in an earthenware bowl on the kitchen table. Some of the acorns were missing their little hats, but she thought those looked interesting, too, so she put them all together. After turning off the overhead light, she switched on a freestanding spotlight, which gave the acorns an oblique light of dramatic shadows.
Ahh. Perfect for sketching now.
But her mind drifted again to the evening ahead. After all, Everett was escorting her to one of the most romantic places in town. She dropped three black currant teabags into her Victorian pot as she thought of the dress she’d wear—a floor-length emerald gown with color-coordinating evening bag and shoes. She laughed at her sudden attention to detail as if she were getting ready for her very first date.
Of course, crowds of people would be at the party. Perhaps even women who’d had a crush on Everett.
A speck of jealousy? This is so not me. Yeah, and I haven’t been myself lately either. I guess attraction does that to people. Takes a perfectly sane sanguine temperament and turns her into a paranoid melancholy. Snap out of it, Lark.
She poured hot water into her little pot, letting the heat relax her face. Maybe what she really needed was a few relaxing hours at a local spa.
A seaweed mask, some eucalyptus steam, and a massage. Oh, yeah.
The teacher on the French language tape said the next two words on her list,
roman
and
ami
, which meant romance and friend. Lark hurled an acorn at the CD player. Those two words were beginning to gnaw at her spirit whether in French or in English. They unfortunately represented the difference between Jeremy and Everett. And it broke her heart. After meeting Everett, she knew Jeremy would be just a good friend now. And no more.
Lark would always think of Jeremy as a great guy. They’d prayed together. Laughed a lot. And there’d even been a spark or two. But now she’d experienced the difference between intense fondness and what? Better not go there quite yet. Lark covered the pot with her mother’s old, knitted cozy to keep in the heat. While the tea steeped, she started her sketch of the acorns.
But with Everett, the attraction and the interest were growing by the hour, and she couldn’t even transpose all her feelings into plain words. If all those mysteries
could
be examined, would one even want to know? Would people truly desire to dissect such a splendid gift from God? It would be like explaining the dynamics of a rainbow. Understanding every detail of its prismatic effects would not make a rainbow any more beautiful.
Lark poured her tea as she looked at her sketch.
Not bad so far. Perhaps better than the last one.
Maybe she could do a series of nature greeting cards using charcoal. Interesting thought. She did have a publisher some months ago who’d asked her to send some samples, but she’d never had the time.
She fiddled with the shading, smudging it, to give the picture more dimension. The steam curled up from her teacup. Black currant. Fragrant and fruity. She took a slow sip.
One renegade acorn suddenly fell away from the rest, so she placed it back with the cluster and then reflected on the day Everett had come to live on her street. She’d wondered how God would allow Everett Holden to change her life or how she would change his. It was happening, but not quite how she’d expected. She had a feeling now they’d be a bit more than friends.
Oh, phooey on the sketch.
Her mind had gone to mush. She might as well shower and get ready for the evening. If she dressed early it would be as if she could make the evening come sooner. She chuckled at the silly thought.
Lark stood in her bedroom and studied her gown hanging by the closet. The breathtaking dress had a dark green, velvet bodice. Sheer silk of a paler hue flowed from the waist like a stream. She’d found the little gem on a clearance rack in Springdale, but it fit her figure as if it had been made for her.
How do you say dreamy in French?
After Lark showered, she lifted and pinned her dark locks up in an elegant swirl. When she was in high school, her mother had taught her how to fix her hair for special dates. On those evenings, her mother brushed her long hair and hummed softly. It had felt so good and so comforting. What she wouldn’t give for one of those moments to come again.
No, Lark, you’re not going to let yourself cry.
She sniffled a bit. In the next breath, she hummed one of the songs her mother loved: “Go Tell It on the Mountain.”
After a few more rounds of singing and lotions and primping and jewelry, she gazed into her full-length mirror at all her efforts.
Okay, not bad.
“Well, what do you think, Igor? Do I look pretty?”
“Pretty,” Igor’s one word was just enough.
“Thank you, Igor.”
“Thank you, Igor.”
Lark laughed and glanced at herself in the mirror again. Like Cinderella stepping into her coach, all was in readiness. She just hoped the evening would go better for her than it had for the fairytale heroine.
Well, now she could just sit down, twiddle her thumbs, and look over a coffee table book until Everett arrived. She eased down on the couch so as not to pull too hard on the bodice or crumple the silk. She flipped nonchalantly through a book on European castles.
Yes. Spectacular.
It even comes with a moat.
Calli would certainly enjoy selling it. She’d say, “Your own unique security system.” She thumped her finger on what was left of the castle’s turret and then looked at the time. A little after six o’clock.
Moving right along. The castles of England. Okay.
She looked more closely at the photo of a big, brooding castle on a hill. Lark slammed the book shut. She’d never been good at killing time. It was much too valuable to waste. She just wasn’t used to getting ready for a date so early or fussing over anything.
In fact, so much of her career had come so easily, she’d let herself slide into a blithe approach to life. She wondered if the ease also allowed her to slip into foolhardiness when she wasn’t paying attention.
But this evening’s preparations had been anything but careless. She’d taken great pains in getting ready for what she hoped would be a perfect date with Everett. Like in a fairy tale, a classic evening they would never forget.
The phone rang, making her jump. Again.
That’s it. I’m going to turn down the volume on that thing.
She decided not to rush to the phone but instead let the answering machine pick it up. But when she heard Skelly’s panic-stricken voice, she jumped up from the couch and sped to the phone. In doing so, her left heel caught on the hem of her gown. She knew she could either let it rip or fall hard on her hands and face. In a split second decision, she righted herself, letting the silk rip. What an unhappy sound. Lark cringed.
By the time she’d gotten to the phone, Skelly had hung up. But she’d heard enough of the dilemma. Her beloved pet, Picasso, was out on the loose again, like a fugitive duck, nourishing Skelly’s garden without his permission. Picasso was a true escape artist. She should have named him Houdini. Okay, so what could she do now?
Better assess the damage on my dress first.
Not bad. Fortunately, she had some tiny safety pins to fix it with. As she reached into the kitchen junk drawer she got an idea. Just a little idea. But it had potential.
I could just lift up my gown, go out on my driveway, and call to Picasso. I’ll bet I can get him to come back in with just a gentle reprimand.
Since she’d once shamed Picasso back into his pen with a shake of her finger and a scowl, she felt confident of her plan. She swung open the front door, and sure enough, there was Picasso happily scurrying away from Skelly as he tried to coax him in the other direction.
Okay, I can do this.
Lark raised her skirts and headed outside, scuttling like a crab in her high heels. No need for a coat. She’d only be out for a minute.
Even though it was already dark outside, the streetlights illuminated the whole area. Once she’d made it to the end of her driveway, she decided to try the soft approach first. “Picassooo. Sweeety. Come on in now. You’ve had your fun outing.”
Picasso got one glance at Lark and headed toward Timbuktu. He quacked and waddled down the street so swiftly, he’d be out of sight before long.
And just when I’m about to have the date of my life.
Oh well, it can’t get any worse.
“Oh, all dressed up,” Skelly hollered. “Hate to get your pretty duds all messed up. I can chase after him.”
Skelly’s face appeared flushed as if he’d been trying to corral Picasso for some time.
“No, please don’t. You know what the doctor said about your heart.”
But in spite of her cautions to him, Skelly marched down the middle of the street, his elbows swinging as he called out Picasso’s name.
Then she remembered a trick she’d used with her first pet duck. Yes. She needed the convincing boom of the megaphone she’d used in her college cheerleading days. It was at least worth a try. She clattered on her heels back up to the house, found the megaphone on the bottom shelf of the entry closet, and clopped back down the driveway. Lark flipped the switch on the horn, and it squeaked to life. Suddenly like magic, she remembered the roar of the crowd from high school—the students she’d revved up to a feverish pitch. The rush of winning. She wondered if she still had it in her. She lifted the megaphone to her mouth and announced, “Okay. Picasso. This is Lark speaking. Let’s bring yourself on home now. You can do this, Picasso. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go!”
As if on some unexplainable cue, Picasso stopped in mid-waddle in the center of the street. He turned around, lowered his head, and began his descent from rapture. Skelly turned around, shrugging his shoulders at her. Then he laughed until his whole body quaked.
Hey. Kind of fun, but I hope Everett isn’t watching.
Probably wouldn’t come off too romantic, all gussied up in velvet and rhinestones while hollering at a duck through a megaphone.
When Picasso toddled up to her, she reached down to stroke his neck. He felt as soft as her velvet. “Okay, little guy. Come on. I don’t know how you got out of your cage again, but you have got to stop this. Your home is so nice and woodsy.” Lark continued to murmur soft assurances as she lured him into the backyard. “It’s full of your favorite treats. Isn’t that right?” She reached inside the backdoor and flipped on all the backyard lights.
Picasso looked back at her with a darling expression.
Ducks are so cute.
She was such a sucker. But Picasso knew the fun ride was over. “Yes, sweetie. Time to go home.” She closed the gate and secured it with extra heavy wire. There. Mission accomplished.
But somewhere in leading Picasso to the backyard, she’d forgotten to keep the flowing silk of her skirt draped over her arm. She hesitated, but knew she’d have to make an assessment. Slowly she moved her gaze downward. Some of the trim of her gown was splattered with muddy snow and white gooey duck drippings. “Picasso! You scalawag! You have ruined my first, and now probably my last, date with Everett.”
As if knowing his guilt, Picasso began quacking anxiously around in his home.
“It’s okay,” Lark said. “Well, no, it isn’t.” She lowered her head, wondering how things could have gone so wrong so quickly.
The wind had picked up, and as always she had no coat on. She shivered as she trudged back toward the house. She could always put on another gown and shoes. But it wouldn’t match her jewelry and eye shadow.
Get a grip, Lark. You’ve never cared about that sort of thing in your life. Guess I need to call Calli and have her slap me around to knock some sense into me. It’s what friends are for after all.
Okay. Focus. Another gown?
What time is it?
With lightning speed, she hurried into the kitchen and looked at the clock. Six twenty-nine. She had sixty seconds.
Oh dear.
The doorbell rang. She popped in the powder room to look in the mirror.
Yikes.
She winced. Her hair looked like she’d been riding on the back of Jeremy’s motorbike. For hours. She slogged to the door, opened it, and waited to hear how many creative excuses Everett could come up with as to why their date should be postponed. . .forever.
