Jar of Dreams

by Liz Flaherty

  “It was vandalism,” Boone argued, “and he’s going to pay the damages. Every damn dime of them, and if he has any thought we won’t stand over him and make him do it, he’s sadly mistaken.”

  “You can release him to us,” Crockett suggested. “We’ll take him home and talk to his mom.”

  Tom scowled. “You guys aren’t even residents.”

  “Lucy and I are,” Kelly said, “and if his mother was able to be here, you’d release him to her, wouldn’t you? Or to Aunt Gert if she was home. You’re scared of Aunt Gert. She made you and Micah and Eli come and clean the windows when you used paraffin on them that year.” Kelly sounded smug, and Lucy shot her an admiring look.

  “All right.” Tom lifted his hands in surrender. His face was still grave, but his eyes were smiling. “We’ll talk about this Monday morning in my office. Nine o’clock sharp. Your mother will need to be there, Jack. Can I count on you showing up or do I need to send a deputy to the high school in a cruiser?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean no, sir. I’ll be there.” His eyes were red from weeping, their expression weary, but hope glimmered in their depths, too. He didn’t smile—it wasn’t time for that yet—but the hopelessness was gone from his voice. He sounded almost like the kid Lucy had poured ice over. The kid they all loved.

  “There’s another part to this, too.” Boone was somber. “If it hadn’t been for the smoke, we don’t know if anyone would have found Gert in time—she had the heart attack before the fire. There’s nothing that makes what the kid did all right, but that goes a long way.”

  When it was sorted out, Crockett and Boone took Jack home again, staying to inform and reassure his mother. When they asked if Jack could come back to Twilight Park Avenue with them to work a few more hours that day, beginning his time of restitution, she agreed.

  Lucy called and suggested they stop at McDonald’s to pick up a late lunch for everyone. They bought Jack two Quarter Pounders with cheese and a large order of fries.

  “I can’t eat,” he protested. “I’ll get sick.”

  But he was sixteen. He ate. Including the cherry turnovers Kelly and Lucy didn’t have room for and the fish sandwich that had been placed in the sack by accident. And he didn’t get sick.

  Boone, Lucy, Crockett and Kelly visited Gert in the hospital, telling her and Sims the necessary details. While they were there, Jack came in. He was carrying a bouquet of mums. “Mr. Morgan sent them. There’s something I have to tell you, ma’am.”

  “All right, Jack. Have a seat.” Gert regarded her niece, nephews and Lucy over the top of her glasses. “They were just leaving. They’re going to Down at Jenny’s to get me a large glass of sweet tea, because this hospital can’t seem to make it so a body can drink it.”

  When Lucy and Kelly returned to the room with tea for Gert and coffee for Sims, Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed playing cards with the older couple. His eyes were red again. So were theirs. And whatever their conversation may have been, they weren’t sharing a word of it.

  Lucy and Kelly went back to meet Boone and Crockett at Down at Jenny’s. A sense of relief gave them an appetite. The men and Kelly told stories on themselves that had them all helpless with laughter. Lucy recounted tales of growing up in the kitchen of a restaurant, adding Johnny Dolan’s brogue to her voice.

  Afterward, Kelly returned to her condo and Crockett went to talk to Father Fitzpatrick, the rector at St. Charles. Boone and Lucy walked back to the tearoom, quiet after the emotional night and day.

  Inside, at the foot of the front staircase, Boone drew her into his arms, holding her close. “Hey,” he said, after a kiss that stole both her breath and the strength from her knees, “I’d like to make love with you. What do you think?” He kissed her again, his hands warm where they touched, eliciting heat even where they did not.

  She wanted it more than anything. Wanted the excitement and the joy of being with him. Wanted the exquisite release of… Well, of release. Wanted that few minutes that she was always sure he loved her as much as she loved him. Oh, yes, she wanted it.

  And she didn’t think she could bear it. Not now. Not when every single feeling she possessed was as raw as if she’d just run her box-grater over each of them. “No,” she said. And for the second time that day, “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  She ran upstairs, not wanting to see his face if he was angry, because she didn’t think she could stand it if he was. A minute later, when she was dropping a soft cotton nightgown over her head, he tapped softly at her door. “Sleep tight,” he said through the panel.

  “You too,” she called.

  She took pain-relievers to ease the steady throb of her ankle, then slipped between the sheets of her bed. She lay on her side and took a deep breath to relax. And another. And one more.

  Only then did she allow herself to think about Kinsey and weep hot, forlorn tears into the pillow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “It wasn’t that bad, ma’am.” On Wednesday afternoon, the owner of the cleaning service held open the new door to the sunroom for Gert to step inside. “I had a full crew in here and Sam from the paint store brought in another crew and we got it cleaned up, painted, and fresh-aired in no time flat. You’ll want to change your curtains and throw rugs, but other than that and replacing your food, you’re good to go.” She beamed at Lucy. “You should be able to reopen by Friday, I reckon, and we’ll be here for lunch.”

  “It’ll be on the house,” Lucy promised. She opened the doors into the kitchen, allowing Gert to precede her, turning to wave at the cleaning crew as they got into their van. “Sit down,” she ordered. “You can make a list of what we’ll need.”

  Gert took her usual seat at the island, reaching for a pen and her notebook. “Are you going to spend the next six months telling me to sit down?”

  “Probably.”

  “You’re staying, aren’t you? There’s no longer a reason to leave, not that there was ever a rational one, anyway.”

  Lucy peered around at the big kitchen, amazed. If she hadn’t known the room had been full of smoke, water, and broken glass only a few days ago, she’d never have believed it. But the notes that always covered the refrigerator were gone, the pantry was empty. Even her pickle jar had been removed from the counter. She hoped it was around somewhere, but it was hard to think about dreaming right now anyway.

  “We need all the staples.” Gert was scribbling busily. “You can go to the wholesaler for those.” She looked up. “Lucy? You didn’t answer me. You are staying, right?”

  Lucy went to stand at the window, gazing out at the driveway. Jack was there, having come straight from school. He was wheeling the power washer out of the garage. He met her gaze through the wavy old glass and smiled tentatively.

  In this family that had become hers, he was the wayward little brother as surely as Gert was the mom and Sims the dad. Crockett was the handsome older brother, Kelly the grouchy sister. Boone was…he was…

  He was back in Chicago is what he was, drawing cartoons and finding himself a new life without the wife he’d loved. It remained to be seen if there would be room in that life for Lucy.

  And what if there wasn’t? What if they ended up as “just friends,” that classification Crockett and Kelly were trying to attain? Could Lucy stand it? For a minute, the thought made breathing difficult, made her eyes sting.

  But the alternative—moving on down the road until she found another place that might be like home, saying goodbye to Gert and Sims and the kid in the back yard and even to Kelly—that would be worse.

  She smiled back at Jack and raised a hand in greeting. “Yeah,” she said, going to sit at the island with Gert. “I’m staying.”

  *

  Boone peered into the kitchen area of the old Knights of Pythias building, then checked the restrooms again. The plumbing was good, Sims’d said, but the fixtures needed replacing. Did they ever—all that was missing were chain-operated toilet tanks on the walls. The wiring, on the other hand,
needed a complete redo. He was pretty sure knob and tube wasn’t even legal, plus God knew that if anyone could electrocute himself with it, Boone was that person.

  The meeting room was perfect for a studio, and there were smaller rooms along the west side of the building that would work for private offices. There was a storage area upstairs as well as a spacious three-bedroom apartment complete with two fairly modern bathrooms. The “bones” of the building were sturdy, with recently replaced windows and roof.

  “What do you think?” Crockett asked, coming to stand beside him at one of the big palladium windows that displayed the Twilight River. “Think you could work here?”

  “Yeah. I found out this summer that I can work most anywhere. If I’m here, I can keep the strips going and have artistic control of both of them. If I hire another artist plus an assistant, I can even keep reasonable hours, like a real person.” He laughed. “‘Eight Hours Work’ can be a reality.”

  “That apartment’s pretty nice. You going to live there?”

  Boone hesitated. “No. I want a house. But I was thinking maybe Jack’s family could live there. He and his mom could be caretakers for the building in lieu of rent, so she could cut back on her hours at the casino. I know it won’t be the same for them as having their house, but they wouldn’t have to worry about foreclosure, either. Kelly’s almost positive once they’re in a stable home again, the little boys will be able to come back to their mom.”

  “Sometimes, Boone, I think you are a really good guy.” Crockett’s hand rested on his shoulder for a moment.

  “But then you rethink it, right?” Boone laughed, both embarrassed and pleased.

  “You’ll miss Chicago.”

  “It’ll still be there, just a short flight away.”

  Crockett held his gaze. “Your life there?”

  “The old one doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t care about the new one.” Boone could see the houses on the River Walk from this vantage point. Micah and Landy’s big Victorian had a few shingles missing from the tower. A couple of Frisbees in neon colors lay on the roof of Eli’s house a few doors down. “Actually, the new life doesn’t exist anymore, either. As soon as I got back to the apartment after leaving here, I called the doctor who lived there through the summer. He’s got himself a new wife who really loves the place. She was walking through with us and she pointed at the corner of the dining room and said, ‘Oh, my piano would fit right there.’ I swear, I felt Maggie pushing me from behind, telling me she wanted her to have the place. So I sold it to them.”

  Crockett grinned. “That’s great news. Have you told Lucy?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “No one does but you and Sims. How about you? You left two weeks ago just like I did and here we are, back like proverbial bad pennies.”

  “Only you and Sims know.”

  Boone narrowed his eyes. Nervous energy had been an integral part of his friend all through their growing-up years. As an adult, Crockett became more laid back and infinitely quieter. Boone always attributed the change to his faith—no, to his calling to the priesthood. He wasn’t so sure anymore. And the nervous energy was back. “You’re coming back to Taft, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” Crockett shrugged. “I want to be here when Gert has her bypass surgery next week and my mind and heart weren’t where they needed to be anyway, so I requested a leave.”

  Boone waited, then said, “So where are they?”

  “Where are what?”

  “Your mind and your heart.”

  “I don’t know that, either,” Crockett admitted. “My faith’s not a problem, though I seem to be losing my ability to ‘let go and let God,’ which is not only a catch phrase but a necessary part of being a priest. All I can say for sure is that the only time I feel at home or feel any kind of peace is when I am home. Here, with my family.”

  “I’d like it…we’d all like it if you came back.” Oh, hell, yes. Boone grinned slyly. “Thinking of giving up celibacy? That’s one vow I know you really did take.”

  “And one I’d be happy to forsake,” Crockett said ruefully. “But it’s all a ways down the road. I haven’t left the priesthood or Virginia yet.”

  Boone nodded. “But you will.” He extended his hand. “Think Taft can stand up to having both of us back?”

  “They’ll have to change the sign.”

  “Ready to go home?” It was funny how quickly calling the Twilight Park Avenue house “home” had become comfortable again, even more so now that Crockett might be returning too. “We’ll get there in time for leftovers from lunch. I haven’t eaten since breakfast in Chicago and a little bitty package of some really hard things on the plane.”

  “Me, either. I wonder what kind of soup Lucy made today.”

  “Vegetable. I talked to her this morning. Aunt Gert made chicken and noodles and mashed potatoes, too.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  Gert and Lucy were in the kitchen when they got there. Lucy was loading the dishwasher and Gert was counting receipts. After a flurry of hugs and an in-depth kiss between Lucy and Boone behind the pantry door, the men sat down with the hoped-for leftovers. They’d just progressed to pumpkin pie—shared straight from the pan without benefit of plates—when a knock came at the back door.

  Lucy went to open it, and when they heard her cry out, Boone led the rush through the sunroom.

  Stan Morgan stood just inside the doorway. Lucy was beside him with a small black and white cat in her arms. “Look.” Tears flowed unrestrainedly down her face. “See who’s home.”

  “She showed up over the weekend.” Mr. Morgan reached out to scratch Kinsey’s head. “Made herself right to home on the back porch. I fed her and all, but, you know, she just seemed so sad lying there. Then Jack, that boy that works for you, came by this afternoon on his way home from school. He stopped to help me rake some leaves, and the cat came off the porch and climbed him like he was her favorite tree. He told me, then, where she belonged, and I brought her back right away.”

  “Well.” Gert blew her nose and petted the cat with a trembling hand. “Appears like everyone’s coming home today. Come in, Stan, before these boys eat everything in sight, and have a cup of coffee.”

  “Don’t mind if I do. My own doesn’t taste all that good.”

  Kelly and Sims came while he was there, then Jack appeared in the back yard, raking and bagging more leaves. Tom, still in uniform, was the next visitor. He stood talking with Jack for a long time, then they both came inside.

  Tom nodded to everyone’s questioning gaze. “It’s going to be all right. Kelly’s his advocate, but I reckon you’ll all work together at keeping him in line and well-fed.” He glared at Jack. “You need help with anything, you know where my office is, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jack spoke with his mouth full, spraying cookie crumbs. “Sorry. Thank you, sir.”

  “And stop calling me sir.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, yes, sheriff.”

  Tom sighed, taking the cup of coffee Lucy offered. “It’s Tom. Just call me Tom, all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  *

  It had probably been, Lucy decided, rolling out piecrust at midnight, the happiest afternoon she’d ever known. Everyone she loved had been crowded into the kitchen, plus a few who’d gained, like the title of a favorite old movie, places in her heart.

  She wondered once again what had happened to the jar containing her tips and dreams. There hadn’t been that much money in it—she’d taken to putting it in the bank every month or so—but she’d been gathering the dreams, detailed on slips of paper, receipts, napkins and business cards, since she was sixteen. Some had been achieved, some abandoned when they were outgrown, and some…some still resided in her mental hope chest.

  Make that emotional hope chest, she amended, dusting her hands on her apron and bending to pick up the cat who came to wind herself around Lucy’s ankles. “I m
issed you so much,” she murmured, and Kinsey bumped her chin with her head.

  “How about me?” Boone’s voice came from the bottom of the back stairs. Kinsey jumped out of her arms and ran to give Boone’s bony feet a caress before leaping into the rocking chair by the window and settling into the seat.

  Lucy loved how Boone looked, with his hair appearing decidedly slept-in and his dark brown eyes both drowsy and somehow brightly aware. He wore a pair of plaid flannel pajama pants and a gray T-shirt that had seen better days. He was smiling at her, his teeth white and straight inside the crooked quirk of his lips.

  She loved him. For better or worse and forever. She knew that with all certainty, and if he didn’t love her back, that was something she’d just have to learn to live with. Friends. They could be friends.

  He was holding her jar.

  “Oh,” she said, smiling back at him. “I was just wondering where that was.”

  “Kelly took it home. She washed the jar and the money and cleaned up the dreams as much as she could. With true lawyer-like obsessiveness, she even alphabetized them and put them in neat little paper-clipped stacks. I’m pretty sure there’s a new database on her computer entitled ‘Lucy’s Pickle Jar’ too.”

  Lucy spotted the new sign on the side of the jar and laughed. It was a sketch of Gladys Doyle rolling piecrust, and the words Lucy’s Dreams were printed in a large speech bubble above Gladys’s curly head. “Thank you.” She took the jar and set it in its old place on the counter.

  “What about me?” Boone repeated his question from behind her. “Did you miss me, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “If I came back here. To live. To work.” He spoke in fits and starts. “Would I get in the way of whatever’s in there?” He pointed at the jar.

  Lucy didn’t think she could breathe. “No.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own, so she said it again. “No.”

  “I’m buying that building from Sims. You know, the old lodge building down by the river.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, so she just kept staring blindly at the pickle jar. “Will you live upstairs there? It’s nice and big, isn’t it?”