Larkspur Dreams - By Anita Higman Page 0,34
Rose fit so perfectly tucked inside the chorus, Lark smiled. God’s mercies had a way of making little miracles like that happen. Just when life’s mosaic appeared to be no more than misfit pieces, then the Almighty offered a hint of heaven. A glimpse of the magnum opus. A foretaste of knowledge that all worked together for good and each life had a reason for being.
This moment matters to God. She must have said the words out loud, because Skelly nodded. It all mattered. Skelly’s tears. Everett’s courage and loss. Her own uncertainties about the future. Something warm returned to her heart, bringing back the glow. Her mother’s words had rung true. “A little Earl Grey and somebody else’s needs.” Lark set her guitar back on its stand and prayed she, too, could know a lifetime of love like Skelly and Rose. Instantly Everett’s face came to mind. She patted Skelly’s hand. “Are you all right?”
“No. . .but I feel better.” Skelly said. “Thank you for the song. It was perfect for this day. If Rose heard it, I know she thought the same. Are you really going to name it after her?”
“Yes.” And then Lark got another idea, but she wasn’t sure if it felt inspired or was budding up from enthusiasm.
“I have a question for you. It’s big one.” Lark sat back down. “And you can say no if you want to.”
Skelly nodded. “Fair enough. What is it?”
“Could I pay you to be my chef tonight? I have promised Jeremy a nice meal. I owe it to him because. . .well it’s kind of a long story. In fact, my life seems to be full of long stories lately. But I wondered if you would enjoy doing that? You can fix anything you like.”
Skelly clapped his hands together. “I’ll even serve it to you both. It’ll be fun, and it’ll get me out of the house for a change.”
“But since this is a special day for you, maybe we should be serving you,” Lark said.
“But I enjoy the cooking more than the eating. And I don’t want you to pay me, just the money to buy the food. Is it a deal?”
“Okay, it’s a deal.”
Skelly started to say something then shushed himself.
“What were you going to say?” Lark asked.
“Oh, nothing. None of my beeswax.” Skelly shuffled his feet. “Well, you know, I like Jeremy. He’s a good youth minister, but he’s not your type.”
“And so who exactly is my type?” Lark tapped her finger on her arm in pretend irritation.
Skelly grinned. “Well, our new neighbor might be your type if he’s a nice Christian boy. Which I think he is.”
“And why do you say he’s my type?” She couldn’t imagine Skelly paying so much attention to her romantic interests.
“Everett is kind of a simple guy. Intelligent, but simple. He’s like the beginnings of a compost heap. You know, leaves and dirt. And you’re like all the other goodies that get thrown in it to make it good.”
“You mean like egg shells and animal dung?” Lark asked, trying not to chuckle at his offbeat example.
“Okay, so the analogy breaks down a little.” Skelly’s face brightened. “You are so funny. And see? That’s part of the goody getting thrown in. Don’t you see it?”
“I get what you’re saying. But what is Jeremy then? Is he the dung or the dirt?” Lark asked, laughing.
Skelly chuckled so hard it made his body jiggle.
Lark felt for the handkerchief in the pocket of her robe. The one Everett had given her to dry her eyes when she’d ruined her gown. She pulled it out just enough to see the initials, E. M. H. She suddenly wondered what the M. stood for. Milhouse. No way. Milroy. Is that a name? Milton. Too old. Millard. Sounded like a duck. Montague. Too Shakespearean. Montgomery. Maybe. Lark came to herself and realized Skelly must have caught her drifting by the smile on his face. Thankfully he was too polite to mention her lapse or the handkerchief she clutched tenderly but possessively. “So you’re sure I won’t marry Jeremy?” Lark asked to get the conversation going again.
“You won’t, my dear friend, because that is all Jeremy will ever be. A dear friend. Like me. But he will discover friendship is a good thing, too.” Then he put his hand in the air. “Well, I am so outta here as you young people like to say.” He headed to the front door. “Seriously, I’ll be here with groceries at four