Jar of Dreams

by Liz Flaherty

  He turned on his side and stared toward the windows. The Chicago skyline was out there, beautiful and alive, and he still loved the excitement and convenience of the city. But he didn’t want to live here anymore. It was no longer home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I haven’t missed a soup supper in over twenty years. They count on me. I can’t believe you expect me to miss this one because I have a sniffle.” Gert punctuated her tirade with a series of sneezes.

  “You’ll be there in spirit.” Lucy handed her the dose cup of cold medicine. “I read the alcohol content in this. You’d be way over the legal limit anyway and Eli would be using you for an example from the pulpit. How embarrassing would that be?”

  Gert swallowed the orange liquid with a grimace. “Did you get all the pies taken over to the church without those boys getting into them?”

  “I took them this morning before they got here. Eli helped carry them into the church, so I’m sure they’ve been gotten into by now.”

  “Probably.” Gert sighed, but she smiled at the same time. The pastor was one of “her boys.” She handed the dose cup back to Lucy. “There’s that birthday party here at seven-thirty. I can be up in time to help with that.”

  “No, you can’t. Kelly and I will both leave the church at seven so we’ll be here for the party. Everything’s already set up or on low in slow cookers in the kitchen. All we have to do is get the food into the dining room then stand aside in case anyone needs anything.” Lucy handed the cup back. “Drink it all, like a good girl, and you can have a cookie.”

  “Make them leave by ten. They probably have a curfew anyway.” Gert drained the cup. “I’ll want a snickerdoodle. Actually, I’ll want two. I earned them swallowing that stuff.”

  “The birthday girl is sixty and this is a get-together with her friends from high school, so they can probably stay out late.”

  “They can, and they’ll think they want to, but the truth is they won’t be able to stay awake. Take it from someone who knows.” Gert gazed out the window of her room at where Crockett, Boone and Jack were raking leaves into huge piles and scooping them into orange plastic bags with jack-o-lantern faces on them. They were throwing nearly as many leaves at each other as they were getting into the bags. As Lucy and Gert watched, Crockett and Boone picked Jack up and tossed him into a freshly raked pile.

  “I hate to admit it,” Gert said, “but I wish they’d move back home. I miss seeing them.”

  Me too. One of them anyway. But Lucy didn’t say it aloud. It might not be much of a secret, this love that seemed to be taking her over, body and soul, but she thought she’d try and keep it to herself anyway.

  The four “young people,” as Gert referred to them, walked to the church together. Crockett and Kelly were sarcastic and silent in turn, and Boone and Lucy finally rolled their eyes at each other and separated them. “I’m telling Aunt Gert,” Boone complained, pushing Crockett and glowering over his shoulder at Kelly, “and she’ll ground your asses, is what she’ll do.”

  Eli St. John issued neon orange vests to the men when they got there. “We’re playing poker after the supper. We put it off till the weekend so you two would be here. Maria’s on call, so we’re playing at Tom’s house. She said we could as long as we cleaned up after ourselves and didn’t let Tom gamble with the kids’ college funds.”

  Boone frowned at him. “Does the congregation know you’re a card shark?”

  Micah joined them, reaching for his vest. “We know he thinks he is, but since he usually loses, we overlook it. Of course, there’s the drinking, too.”

  Crockett and Boone spoke in unison. “Drinking?”

  “Yeah, and he’s not choosy. If someone else pays for it, he’ll drink it.”

  Eli cleared his throat and took a moment to glower at everyone. “You are to tell people where to park. This does not mean we want them parking over at the Catholic or Baptist churches—they have their own dinners on different nights. This also doesn’t mean you’re to run into the middle of the street and tell people they have to come here. We want our customers to be willing and generous. You cannot accept tips. This means you’re not to go around hiking up your pants leg, Boone. That doesn’t work anyway.”

  “Told you it wouldn’t.” Crockett nodded sagely at Boone. “Especially with those legs.”

  Lucy snickered, then smiled brightly. “I’ve tried to tell you that about your legs, but you never listen to me.”

  Eli grinned. “If anyone asks you to park their car, because the parking lot gets a little wonky as it fills up, that’s fine,” he continued, “but don’t let Boone do it. The church doesn’t have enough insurance.”

  “I’ll see you whenever you get back to the house,” Lucy told Boone. “Kelly and I are going to work the party at seven, so don’t come in drunk and disorderly while there are people there, okay? At least unless you’re prepared to sing and dance.”

  Boone sniffed righteously. “I won’t, but I’m not being responsible for Crockett. He’s older than me so he should know how to behave, but you’ve seen for yourself how he is. We had to separate him and Kelly while we walked over here, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Come on.” Kelly pulled on Lucy’s arm. “I don’t want to have to dip vegetable soup. I get it all over me.”

  Lucy did too. The difference was, she didn’t care, so she wasn’t surprised to find herself at the stove, wearing an apron streaked with chili, vegetable, and oyster soup.

  “You’re awfully good at his.” Jessie St. John, Eli’s very pretty wife, took a bowl from her and handed her a glass of cider. “Are you having a good time?”

  “I am.” Lucy sipped. “This is from Miller’s Orchard, isn’t it? It is so good.”

  “The next church supper is in March, when we have the Welcome Spring ham dinner. Will you chair it?”

  “Sure.” Lucy nodded, smiling.

  But I’m leaving after the first of the year…

  Well. She set down her glass and ladled a bowl of soup for Landy Walker, then shared noisy giggles with Jenny from the café over the unfunny subject of serving food to the same people no matter where they went. Lucy wasn’t going to think about leaving. Not now. She was having too much fun.

  *

  “Being sixty doesn’t mean calming down a lot, does it?” Kelly swept up confetti and cake crumbs while Lucy stripped the tables. “That’s encouraging.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Lucy loaded the washing machine and came back with a bottle of white zinfandel. “I have no idea what one of them was doing in the laundry room—they must have gotten lost searching for the john—but this was sitting on the washer. It’s been opened and it’s still cold. What do you say?”

  “Do you know how to play poker?”

  “Badly.”

  Kelly grinned, leading the way into the kitchen and putting away the broom and dustpan. “All the better.”

  “The cards are in the junk drawer.” Gert, in a robe, white socks and Birkenstock sandals, came into the room with Kinsey draped over her arm. “I’m feeling much better. I can enjoy some wine and something to eat. Lucy, can you loan us some change?”

  Lucy dug handfuls of quarters out of the pickle jar, accepting bills in exchange. “We brought you home some stuff from the soup supper,” she said, “but we were hungry for something besides hors d’oeuvres and birthday cake crumbs after the partiers went home, so we ate most of it.”

  “It’s all right.” Gert came out of the pantry with a jar of the salsa Lucy had made and a bag of tortilla chips. “I’m feeling snacky anyway. How was the supper?”

  They gave her a blow-by-blow report on the soup supper, lying shamelessly about Crockett and Boone’s performances while they told attendees where to park. “I doubt they’re really playing poker.” Kelly dealt five card draw as she spoke. “They’re probably in jail. Tom can only cover for so much before he has to quit being the buddy and be the law.”

  Lucy groaned. “Oh, yuck. You deal like a lawyer.�
��

  “I am a lawyer.”

  “Not in your heart. In your heart, you’re…well…not. I’ll take three cards.”

  After winning the first hand, Kelly asked, “So what am I in my heart?”

  “I don’t know.” Lucy flinched at the hand she’d been dealt. She’d thought she and Kelly were getting along better, but there was no way a friend would do this to her. “Maybe a used car salesman? I’ll take three. Again.”

  “None for me.” Gert smiled smugly. “I don’t need them.”

  It was almost midnight when Lucy threw up her hands. “I’m done. I’ve lost my entire twenty dollars.”

  “And I don’t have to be a lawyer anymore because I won it.” Kelly put the deck back into its box. “I need to get home anyway.”

  “No, you don’t. You need to stay here. That glass of whatever it was you and Lucy concocted from fruit juice and beer after you drank a bottle and a half of wine sent you right over the edge.” Gert waved toward the back stairs. “Your room’s always ready.”

  Kelly nodded, her eyes dark with fatigue. “I’m not going to argue. I’m too tired. Although it does bear mentioning that Lucy and I didn’t drink that wine by ourselves, Aunt Gert. You swilled at least a water glass full of it.”

  “It was purely medicinal.”

  Lucy and Kelly both snorted. “For sure,” Lucy said. “That’ll hold up in court, all right.”

  They loaded their glasses and plates into the dishwasher and went to bed, Kinsey trotting along beside Lucy.

  “Got any PJs I can wear?” Kelly asked from behind them. “I think the only ones in my room are from junior high and have rock stars on them. Remember Mr. Big? I was in love with their lead singer.”

  “Sure.” Although Lucy didn’t remember the band Kelly mentioned. The radio in Dolan’s kitchen had always been tuned to a news channel and the music in the dining room was Irish—she hadn’t been to a concert until her one-time fiancé had taken her to see Bruce Springsteen. She’d been so enthralled by the Boss she hadn’t wanted to leave.

  Barely awake but with a Springsteen song playing in her head, Lucy gave Kelly a pair of pink plaid pajama pants and a matching tank top. “Sleep tight.”

  “Thanks. You, too.” Kelly hesitated. “I was wrong about you, Lucy.”

  Lucy shrugged. “You were protecting your family from an unknown quantity who came out of nowhere. It’s hard for me to fault that.”

  Kelly shook her head, a skeptical smile on her face. “Good God, woman, don’t you ever hold a grudge?”

  “Nope. Life’s too short and I’m way too sleepy. Not to mention all the times I watched that movie.”

  “Point taken, Pollyanna. Good night.”

  Lucy put on pajamas, tossing her clothes in the general vicinity of the hamper before crawling into bed. Kinsey crept up to lie in the curve behind her knees, and Lucy reached to scratch her head. “It was a nice day, Kinsey,” she murmured, and was asleep in minutes, the words and music of “Born to Run” a lullaby for her mind.

  *

  While it was true that her purr was lusty enough to nearly shake a bed, Kitty Kinsale scarcely ever meowed, and when she did it was very soft and polite. Gert said the little cat was asking, “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would you feed me now?” Boone called her rude names, but he spent as much time petting her and catering to her gently placed requests as everyone else did.

  This being the case, Lucy was surprised to be awakened by an insistent cat patting her face and meowing. The clock on the table by the bed said it was 1:07 a.m., and she groaned. Even though she didn’t usually sleep through the night, her uninterrupted slumber almost always lasted at least a couple of hours. “What’s wrong, Kinsey?” She scratched the cat’s head and tried to make her lie down, but Kinsey responded by biting her chin.

  “Ouch!” Lucy pushed her away and sat up. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Kinsey ran to the bedroom door and scratched at it, another first, and Lucy climbed out of bed. Her eyes felt as though they were full of crumbled saltines. She pushed her feet into flip-flops and stepped into the silent hallway. Even though there was a nightlight on the wall, the steep back stairs seemed unusually dark as she followed Kinsey toward the kitchen.

  Halfway down, she smelled it.

  No, no, no.

  She twisted around on the staircase and rushed back up, crossing the wide hall to Kelly’s room and bursting in. She ran to the bed, yelping in pain when she tripped over the shoes in her path. “Kelly!” she yelled. “Kelly, get out now!”

  Kelly moaned, yanking loose from Lucy’s grasp. “I just went to bed, for Chrissake. Where’s the frickin’ fire?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s there somewhere. I can smell it. Come on!”

  Still groggy, Kelly followed her from the room.

  “Go down. Get Gert out. I’m going to get Boone and Crockett.” When Kelly hesitated, Lucy yelled again, “Go now!”

  Kelly headed down and Lucy went up, shouting all the way. She expected the men to meet her halfway, but they didn’t, and she ran across the sitting area of the third floor to Boone’s door, pushing it open.

  The room was empty, the bed still made. Lucy slammed the door and opened Crockett’s. Empty too. They weren’t even home yet, and she’d wasted precious time searching for them. The thought made her angry, even though the part of her mind that wasn’t scared to death understood that they were adults who didn’t have to report their comings and goings to her.

  She dashed into her room for her cell phone, punching in the emergency number as she ran down the stairs.

  “They’re on their way. You’re the second caller,” the dispatcher said tersely. “Get out of the house now.”

  There was smoke in the kitchen and the sunroom, though Lucy didn’t see flames anywhere as she burst out of the house. Kelly was in the driveway, and Lucy cast a wild gaze around. “Where’s Gert?”

  “I couldn’t find her,” Kelly said. “She must have gone over to Sims’s. Her car’s gone.”

  “No, she didn’t. She’s still not feeling that well, plus she’d have said something if she left. You know she would have.”

  “Her car’s gone, Lucy.” Sharpness and weariness laced through Kelly’s voice. “It’s gone. She’s got to be all right. I checked her bedroom and bathroom and she wasn’t there. She’s probably—”

  “No.” Panic washed over Lucy in a wave accompanied by nausea that would have brought her to her knees if there’d been time. Oh, God, please, please, pleasepleaseplease. “Crockett and Boone have her car. She has to be inside. Wait here.”

  And she ran back into the house.

  *

  “I can’t believe we played cards this late.” Boone yawned. “If Gert catches us coming in, we’ll be grounded.”

  “Nah. You’re not driving, so she won’t care. She trusts me.” Crockett turned off the River Walk to head through the three blocks of Taft’s downtown. “Do you hear sirens?”

  “No.” Boone rolled down his window. “Yes.” He listened. “Lucy’s got me as paranoid about fire as she is. Sirens even make me jumpy in Chicago.”

  Crockett didn’t answer, but he pushed his foot down on the accelerator to go through a yellow light and didn’t slow down even when he made a hard left onto Twilight Park Avenue.

  Boone didn’t see flames, but smoke was rolling from behind Tea on Twilight. When Crockett turned into the driveway, the headlights lit immediately on Kelly. She wore pink pajamas and had the garden hose in her hand. She was spraying the house.

  Before the car came to a complete stop, Boone was out of it, sprinting across the drive to his sister. “Where’s Lucy?” he demanded. “And Gert?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he shouted, “Kelly! Where are they?”

  Her eyes were wide with horror when she turned to him, part of the water shooting uselessly at the grass, the rest tumbling to her bare feet. “I couldn’t find Aunt Gert, so Lucy went back in and she hasn’t come out. When I tried t
o go in again, I couldn’t get past the smoke. She hasn’t come out, Boone. She hasn’t come out.”

  “Oh, God.” He grabbed the hose from her, soaking his shirt with the water. At some level, he felt his sister clutch his sleeve, but he pulled away and went into the house, holding his wet shirttail over his mouth. “Lucy!” he yelled. “Gert!”

  Panic roared through his voice, the sound rushing in his ears. His heart felt as though it were trying to burst through his chest. Stay calm. Stay calm. Oh, dear Jesus— “Lucy, where are you? Gert!”

  He moved forward slowly. Even as adrenaline surged, so did terror. He prayed in a silent, trembling voice. I’ll go, God. I’ll go. I’m scared and I’m not worth a damn, but if they can be safe, I’ll go. You have Maggie. You have Mom and Dad and Lucy’s folks. Please don’t… “Lucy!” he shouted again. Or tried to. Smoke was splintering his voice.

  He moved again, bumping the corner of…something with his hip. Where was he? What had he run into? He tried to judge how far he’d come into the kitchen and which direction he was going. “Aunt Gert, where are you? Lucy?”

  At least if he lost her…them…he wouldn’t have to learn to live with that new emptiness, because he wasn’t leaving the house without them.

  Crockett, I hope you’re praying—you’re a priest so He has to listen to you, doesn’t He? Take care of Kelly, okay?

  Boone was losing focus. Not consciousness, because he was still thinking, still praying, still scared—oh, hell, was he scared—but he was lost in the maelstrom of smoke. Lost. He didn’t know where he was. His throat hurt. His chest hurt. It was…oh, holy shit, it was hot. And he couldn’t find them. Despair tore a jagged trail through him, the pain so acute he nearly doubled over with it. Instead, he went to his knees. “Lucy?” he rasped. And again. “Lucy?”