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.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Everett accepted the houseplant, which sat in a small, wicker basket. “Thanks for the plant.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I would have baked you a cake instead, but I’m a terrible cook,” Melba said with a pleasant chuckle. “Yes, indeed. One of my floppy cakes is no way to meet and greet a new neighbor, I always say.” She titled her head as she took in a deep breath. “But I also stopped by to tell you Sam Wentworth, next door to me, is in the hospital with a broken wrist. Sam should be fine in no time, but I just wanted you to know. We all keep up with each other around here.”
Everett thought maybe he should help in some way. “Should I go and see Sam. . .in the hospital?”
“Oh, no need to go right now. Lark is there. But it’s nice of you to ask. You know, you’re going to fit in really well here, Everett. Yes, indeed.”
Once Melba had gone, her words still clung to him. No need to go. Lark is there. If there were ever a problem or a need, Lark would always be there because she was the kindest, most generous human being he’d ever known. Not to mention a woman with the sweetest kisses.
Now that Lark had gone to the hospital for a visit, the neighborhood did seem quiet. Too quiet. He missed her electric guitar adding her own wild additions to his classical music—two very distinct genres of music, yet they meshed in some strange and wonderful way. Just like we do.
Everett fell on his bed, exhausted from an overload of feelings. He gazed at the moonlike ceiling. He’d thought of himself as such a rock, but Lark had managed to tenderly smash his indomitable mind-set with her dainty, velvet mallet. One week in the shadow of those intense eyes and he was toast. Worthless to do anything but love her.
The fact remained, Lark would always be an artist-type with a grin brimming with impetuosity—a real loose cannon with some zany added to the fuse. But Lark was also the dearest woman he’d ever met. The only question that could possibly remain is—should I marry her?
Everett drifted in and out of sleep all night. In the morning, he awakened sweaty and tangled in his bedding as if he were Scrooge waking up from a horrific night of time travel. As his dreams gained clarity in his mind, Everett realized he’d indeed been like Scrooge—stingy with his money and with his feelings.
In one of his nightmares, he’d seen his epitaph: Here lies Everett Moss Holden III, a miserly bean counter, survived by no one. He’d tried to run, but as in most night terrors, it became impossible to even move a muscle. He’d thought, No. I don’t want to grow old alone. I want to give more—love more. Well, at least all my nightmares finally have some good use. He knew now his life needed some modifications.
Everett rose from his bed and sat down at the kitchen table to write out his apology to Marty. When he’d finished pouring out his thoughts onto the paper, he tore up the letter and decided to talk to his brother straight from the heart. He gazed into the living room at the piano. Who knows? Maybe a dose of forgiveness and some music will ease my nightmares and headaches.
He took a stroll to the coffee table to pick up Lark’s photo. He smiled as his hand went to his heart. Everett vowed that after he made all things right with his brother, he would take care of some business next door, as well. Maybe he’d even utilize a little spontaneity again. “Okay, Larkspur Wendell, prepare to be dazzled.”
Nineteen
Lark woke up thinking about Everett, and she wondered how a creative God planned on working out all the messy details of their lives.
She smacked her lips. “Oww.” Her mouth felt like a litter of dust bunnies had played all night in there. And had she aged ten years overnight? How in the world had she made it past age thirty without needing coffee in the morning? Suddenly she wanted some. A large amount. Right now.
After two large