Rekindled Dreams (17 page)

Click, click, tap, tap, turn. “He’ll need a whole new appearance, more professional.” She turned on Vena and glared. “Don’t you know a political candidate should never be seen in anything less casual than slacks and sport coat?”

Vena gulped. “I-I’m s-sorry, I-I—”
What am I apologizing for?
“What Finn wears is not my business. And I doubt he expected to give an interview when he drove me to the rally.”

“That doesn’t really matter.” With a single wave of her hand,
Thia dismissed her. “What matters is what I do from now on. He’ll need a new haircut. The shot I saw on television made him seem dated. Yech.” Her shoulders shook.

Vena silently disagreed. He’d looked great, especially when he’d moved through the crowd and guided her to the safety of the truck. Give her a rough-around-the-edges hero any day as long as he was there when she needed him.

Thia stamped a high-heeled foot. “Vena, where is your mind? Your expression keeps going blank, and you get a stupid smile. I’m certain you’re not listening.”

How she hated being chastised by
Thia. Vena sighed. “Of course I’m listening.”

“What did I just say?” Her green eyes flashed, and she crossed her arms.

“You don’t approve of Finn’s clothes or the length of his hair.”

Thia
clapped her hands together. “I knew you weren’t listening. That was several statements back.”

“Sorry,
Thia, what were you saying?”

“I said…” She narrowed her gaze.

Vena focused on her sister with wide-open eyes and what she hoped was an attentive expression.

“With all the planning we’ll need to do, I have to stay here.”

“Here?” Her throat dried in an instant. Vena squeaked and spread her hands. “Where here?”

“The Shamrocks, of course. Where
is
your mind tonight?”

“You can’t stay here.” Her stomach cramped. How could Vena hope to deepen her relationship with Finn if
Thia, a living reminder of his younger days and their high school romance, was under the same roof?

A perfectly shaped eyebrow rose. “Why not?”

“Finn’s renovating and all the rooms are a mess.”

“I—and probably all of Montana—know you’re staying here.”

Vena faked a casual laugh. “Oh, that’s because I badger—I mean, I’m not as fussy—I mean…” She was grasping now but she had to get her way. Just this once. “The Shamrocks isn’t up to your usual high standards. There’s no room service, no spas, no phones in the rooms.” She peeked at Thia’s expression to see if she was relenting.
Nothing.

So she hit her with what she hoped would be the final deciding factor. “Only one bathroom is working and you’d have to share it. With two other people.”
She tried to make the situation sound impossible.

Deep in thought,
Thia tapped a pointed shoe in time with an acrylic fingernail on her perfectly capped front teeth.

Vena’s hopes rose. She tried to remember where the phone book was to look up whichever hotel
Thia chose. Hell, she’d even chauffeur Thia the ten or twenty miles there and Sherpa her bags.

“I’ll set aside my standards and sacrifice for the good of
Finnian’s campaign. I can do that.” Thia’s face was all smiles. “Which room is mine?”

One last effort. She forced a syrupy tone. “I’m concerned about your comfort. At this stage, being here is almost like roughing it. You’ll be more comfortable somewhere else.”

“The Shamrocks will suffice. We have to gather our resources and strike back immediately. I don’t want to lose precious time driving back and forth from another city.”

At
Thia’s tone, hope drained from Vena’s spirit, and her shoulders slumped. “Come upstairs and pick a room. I’ll warn you, though, each one is in the midst of renovation—painting, papering, or sanding. Furniture has to be moved.”

Thia
strode to the foot of the stairs.

Vena tagged behind, dreading every step she took.

On the fourth step up, Thia turned, narrowed her gaze at the luggage still on the entry floor, and then stared at Vena. “You don’t expect me to choose a room
and
carry my luggage, do you?”

Well, her sister’s self-centered attitude hadn’t changed over the years. “No, silly me. I’ll meet you up there.”

Vena walked to the matching leather suitcase, carry-on, and overnight bag and lifted them, mumbling to herself, “Once a selfish person, always a selfish person.” She cursed the manners drilled into her by Nana Gwen, and she cursed her ingrained habit of letting Thia have her way to avoid conflict.

Most of all, she cursed herself for opening her big mouth. If she’d never mentioned her troubles over writing the costume vignettes to Moira, she wouldn’t have gotten herself into this mess. Discouragement weighing her steps, she shuffled up the stairs and across the landing, ignoring the content of
Thia’s monologue.

Thia
exited the last room on the end. “You are such a silly girl, Vena. This room is in great condition and will do just fine.”

Her jaw clenched and her chest tightened. “That’s mine.”

“Oh.” Thia glanced over her shoulder and back at Vena. She walked two steps to the doorway and gestured with a hand. “You won’t take long to gather your things and switch rooms.”

Vena dumped the bags at her sister’s feet, leaned close, and spoke with precision. “This room is mine. My things are already there. See?” She extended a finger at each item as she named it. “My tablet, my research materials, my pink fuzzy slippers at the side of the bed. You get it?” Her insides quivered, and she thumped a hand flat on her chest. “My room. And you can’t have it. Go choose another one.”

From downstairs came the sound of a door slamming and footsteps approaching the base of the stairs. “Hey, Vena, whose car’s out front?” Finn’s voice got louder as he climbed the stairs. “Were you just yelling at someone?”

Thia
smirked at Vena, fluffed her hair, and straightened her jacket, smoothing it over her trim waist and hips. She pasted a beguiling smile on her face, stepped around the luggage, and sashayed across the landing with arms outstretched. “Finnian, darling. I’ve come to your rescue.”

Vena watched Finn’s expression change from confused, to questioning, to appreciative as
Thia approached.

He glanced at Vena for a second and then, almost hypnotically, switched his gaze back to
Thia’s seductive pose.

“Don’t you have a hug for an old friend?” Without waiting for his answer,
Thia stepped close and embraced Finn, pressing her curves against him. She kissed him right on the lips and then made a show of wiping off the lipstick with her thumb.

If she hadn’t seen her sister’s routine before, Vena might have been angry. This was just
Thia up to her tricks. She’d used this overfriendly act to win votes for her then-husband, Thad Madison, during his campaign for Colorado state senator.

What Vena couldn’t believe was the dopey glaze in Finn’s eyes. Her chest tightened. Couldn’t the man see through her sister’s phony act?

“What was the noise about?” Finn pulled Thia’s arms from around his neck and stepped away, into neutral territory.

“She wants—” Vena started.

“She won’t—” Thia began.

Aiming for the high ground, Vena waved a hand for
Thia to continue.

Thia
batted her eyelashes and pouted. “I saw your interview on television and knew I was the one to salvage your career. So I threw a few things in a suitcase and jumped into my car. First, Vena tried to kick me out into the dark night—” She broke eye contact with Finn and looked at the floor.

Vena rolled her eyes at Finn.
Thia was a better actress than she remembered.

“And now she won’t let me have the only decent room in the place. How can I be expected to uncover furniture, sweep floors, and put sheets on a bed at this late hour?”

Vena peeked over the railing at the grandfather clock—eleven o’clock. With her sister’s jet-set lifestyle, Vena knew Thia started her round of parties around this hour.

Finn placed a hand on her shoulder and patted it gently. “No problem,
Thia. Take my room.”

Thia
flashed a self-satisfied smile over her shoulder.

Unbelievable.
Hot tears of frustration welled, and Vena bit her lip.

Finnian
Quaid was nothing but a traitor.

THE NEXT MORNING, VENA
filled her coffee cup for the third time and craned her neck toward the dining room door. All she heard was the murmur of their voices—Thia’s fast-paced chatter mixed with Finn’s deep, throaty rumble. Based on how long they’d been sequestered this morning, Vena figured they were getting along just like old times.

On the other hand, she was a wreck. Memories of Finn and
Thia together—holding hands as they walked, sitting close on the porch glider—flashed in Vena’s mind, and the ache in her stomach worsened.

Since slamming the door to her room the previous night, she’d done nothing but stew about the impact of
Thia’s arrival. After working together on the house, she thought Finn might recapture his dream and pursue a career doing house restorations. Now, she worried about Finn’s future.

Thia
was so persuasive. The combination of her marketing degree, years of experience in public relations, and a lifetime of getting her way was potent. Being an expert manipulator, she could probably convince him he yearned for the glittery hustle of political life. When she wanted to, she could sell sheet music to a songbird. Last night, Thia had been adamant about helping Finn’s political career.

And maybe that wasn’t all.

This musing was getting her nowhere, except tied in knots. She sipped her coffee and gazed out the kitchen window to the back yard. A hummingbird darted to the feeder hanging from a maple limb and sipped. After her restless night, Vena wished for a fraction of the bird’s energy.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a straw hat bobbing near the fence line in the next-door yard. Auntie. Just the person she needed to see. No one better to pick up her spirits than
Tootie with her rosy view of the world. She pushed open the half-windowed door and stepped onto the back porch.

At mid-morning, the air still held a touch of its overnight chill. Vena took a deep breath, enjoying the outdoorsy scent. “Hello, Auntie. Isn’t this a great morning?” She forced false cheer into her voice.

The hat popped up, and Tootie’s bright eyes peeped over the top of the fence. “Vena dear, I didn’t see you there.”

“I was having coffee in the kitchen and just stepped outside.”

Tootie’s face disappeared for a second and then reappeared, wobbling a bit. “Dang. I’m just too short to see you. Come to the fence, sweetie.”

Vena walked down two concrete steps, across the clipped grass, and stooped to drag a wooden crate behind her. Upending the box, she hopped up and leaned her forearms on the top of the wooden fence. “There. Is that better?”

“Morn—” Tootie broke off, squinting her eyes and peering upward. “What happened to you? Are you coming down with something?”

“I’m feeling fine. What do you mean?” She heard a nearby rustle, glanced right, and saw Ruth Maguire clipping dead leaves off a bush, intent on her task.

“Elfie dear, you’ve got those dark smudges under your eyes. The ones you got when you refused to take your nap or when the ragweed was in bloom.” Tootie put down her hoe and approached the fence, peeling the gloves from her hands as she walked. “Too early for ragweed. What happened last night?”

“Nothing.” Vena picked at the paint on the weathered fence boards. She didn’t want to talk about how upset she was over
Thia’s arrival.

“Something wrong,
Tootie?” Ruth’s strident voice carried across the yard.

Tootie
spoke over her shoulder. “Something’s robbed Elfie of a decent night’s sleep. Come see for yourself.” She turned to Vena. “I spotted those marks with my own eyes.” She drew in a quick breath. “Oh. Can it be?” Her eyes rounded, and a wrinkled hand rose to cover her mouth. “Oh, my.”

Vena started at the surprised expression on
Tootie’s face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“It happened, didn’t it? Ruth, guess what—Gwen’s got her wish.” She lowered a hand to rest on her ample bosom and began patting. Her mouth broke into a broad grin. “Oh, sweetie, we’ve been hoping this would happen.”

“Nana?” Vena almost wished she’d stayed in the kitchen. “Hoping what would happen?” She glanced toward Ruth, hoping to end this confusion. Instead, she found herself the victim of one of Ms. Maguire’s cutting stares.

“The evidence is as plain as day.” Ruth spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “Can’t say as I’m surprised. The demonstration yesterday and all that ruckus.”

“The right circumstances. Finn coming to the rescue. Couldn’t have planned it better.” Tootie’s tone was wistful and her eyes dreamy. “Like Gwen always said, you can’t fight fate.”

Why wasn’t either woman talking in complete sentences? Vena rubbed her temples. What did they think had happened between her and Finn?

Ruth snipped her clippers several times in the air, punctuating her words. “Definitely not like in my time. Youngsters these days—so impatient.”

“Impatient?” Vena braced her hands on the top of the fence. “Do you mean me?” They couldn’t mean what she imagined. She sucked in her breath and stared at each gray-haired woman in turn.

“Of course we do, Elfie.” Tootie’s eyes twinkled, and she beamed upward, hands clasped under her chin. “And I couldn’t be happier for you.”

Ruth squared her shoulders. “You mean, happy for them both.”

Then the full impact of their words hit. How could these ladies, who worried about her reputation a few days ago, be happy thinking she and Finn had spent the night in bed?

A giggle escaped
Tootie’s lips. “Of course, I mean for both of them. I had a feeling it would happen this time. Where is that handsome fella?”

“Finn? He’s, um, I can’t believe you ladies figured—I mean...” She had to tell them they were wrong. But her brain couldn’t find the right words. Had lack of sleep and too much caffeine pickled her mind?

Sliding the clippers into her apron pocket, Ruth stepped closer. “Not much goes on in this town that your Auntie and I don’t hear about.” She lifted her chin. “Matter of fact, we usually hear it first.”

“That’s nice, I guess, but I think you’ve
misunder—”

“
Yoo hoo, Finnian,” Tootie chirped and waved a hand over her head. “She’s over here.”

Vena swung toward the house and spotted Finn standing on the back porch, a hand raised to shade his eyes. Her heart jumped as it always did when she saw his charming smile.

He waved a hand. “Morning, ladies. Hate to interrupt, but could I steal Vena?”

“Just a couple minutes, Finn.” How to clear up this misunderstanding? “Now, ladies, there’s been a—hey.” Strong hands clasped her waist firmly just a moment before she was lifted down from the crate.

His piercing blue-eyed gaze locked with hers. “Now, Vena. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Don’t you just love a masterful man?”
Tootie’s heartfelt sigh came from just the other side of the fence. “I remember when my Herbert... Oh, you don’t want to hear my old stories.” Her straw hat bobbed as she bounced on tiptoe to see over the fence. “Go on, Elfie. Finnian’s your number one priority now. Ruth and I will spre—uff.”

Ruth’s head disappeared below the fence line and she whispered, “Pipe down,
Tootie.” Her face popped up, a wide smile on her thin lips. “We’ll just finish our humdrum gardening. You run along and talk to your man.”

Ignoring Finn’s questioning look, Vena grabbed his arm, turned toward the house, and stepped through the uneven soil.
She would have to keep him away from the ladies until she could explain everything. “Bye, Ruth, Tootie.”

“Off with you both.
Toodle-oo.”

As if from the length of a tunnel, Vena heard Ruth’s parting comment. “
Finnian Quaid, you make sure she gets more sleep tonight.”

****

Why did talking with Ruth Maguire make Finn think his hearing was going bad? Judging by the flush on Vena’s cheeks, he’d interrupted a heated discussion. What were they discussing that had to do with Vena’s sleep?

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Want to tell me what that’s about?” He grasped at anything to distract him from the subject he knew he had to broach.
Thia had spelled out the pros and cons of Vena’s continued presence at The Shamrocks—the cons had won out.

“No.” Her voice was quiet. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t want to go inside right now.” He glanced at the house and then at her. “Let’s sit in the gazebo.” He grasped her hand and led the way to the farthest corner of the yard, to a small, vine-covered white enclosure.

Vena sat on a bench and peered around. “I’ve always loved this place. I loved those summer evenings after dinner when your family gathered here to talk. Certainly more than my family ever did. Funny, I remember this place being bigger, with a roof that almost touched the sky.”

As she spoke, he remembered a younger Elfie’s face—at the dinner table, on the living room floor playing Monopoly, listening to his granda’s stories of the old country. She’d always looked … hungry. “When we’re young, we don’t appreciate our families—we’re just living our lives. I remember you acting like you were getting something new here.”

“I did.” She gazed downward and kicked at a leaf. “At my house after dinner, Poppy and Oswald went into the study and discussed the latest professional journal or made plans for their next dig.
Thia and I were left on our own, and she always had lots of friends. That’s why I loved having dinner at the Quaid house. Your folks were interested in everything you and your brothers and sisters were doing, and there was always someone to talk to. I got a taste of being in a real family.” The last statement came out no louder than a whisper.

“I always thought your use of your parents’ first names was strange.”

“No sociologically stifling roles for them. The habit probably lessened their guilt about leaving us behind.”

Finn moved closer, fighting the urge to scoop her into his arms. This insight into the lonely girl she’d been softened his heart. “I’m sure your folks were interested. They just showed it differently.”

She stood and smoothed a hand over the vines. “I’m a big girl now, used to being on my own. I’ve come to realize they’re not really to blame. It was nobody’s fault. They didn’t understand a little girl who liked to make up stories and play dress-up. That’s why I spent so much time upstairs on Grandpop and Nana’s floor. Did you know she sewed costumes and helped me act out the stories I wrote?” She turned and moved to the arched opening.

“Miss Gwen helped you like I did? Hey, I’m in good company.” He heard her sniff once and walked behind her. With hands on her shoulders, he gently pulled her back so she leaned against his chest. “Losing her was hard, wasn’t it?”

Vena nodded. “Devastating. After eight years, I still have things I want to share with her. Like this project. She’d get a big kick out of this presentation. That’s another reason I wanted to return. My family’s home is gone, sold after Grandpop’s death. I remember times we came to tea at The Shamrocks and visited your mom. I can almost feel Nana’s spirit here.” She turned to gaze upward.

He watched her face light up as she spoke, noticing the yellow flecks in her hazel eyes.

“I’ve been at the same places in town she took me as a child, and I somehow feel her encouragement. That doesn’t sound crazy, does it?”

He brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. “No, it doesn’t sound crazy.” How could he have mistaken her passion for her writing as signs of a nervous breakdown? The woman before him believed she received help by staying at The Shamrocks. Who was he to argue? Suddenly, he didn’t want to deny her a single thing.

“Did I tell you I met a lady at the museum who lent me her grandmother’s trousseau? Insisted, in fact, just because she knew and liked Nana. People all over town have said similar things.” She shrugged. “I guess my parents did one thing right. They gave me the security of doting grandparents and a stable address while they jaunted all over the world. Close, but not the same as having my own parents care.” She sighed and turned, crossing her arms at her waist. “I used to be envious of Moira—she had all those siblings, loving parents, and laughter. There was always so much laughter at your house.”

His throat tightened. He wanted to enfold her in his arms and give her comfort. Instead, he slid his hands down and cupped her elbows. “Yep, there was that. Or at least, a lot of noise. Eight people, plus an extra relative or two, doing little more than just breathing at the same time makes noise. Did you ever think about the lack of privacy? Nothing happened without everyone finding out.” That statement’s similarity to what he had to discuss hit him between the eyes, and his resolve slipped a notch.

“Somehow, you can’t convince me that’s a bad thing.”

The wistful tone in her voice hung in the air, and he steeled himself not to react. “Maybe, not bad, but it got old.” With deep regret, he released his hold on her soft arms and stepped backward. “Uh, Vena, we need to talk. Maybe you should sit again.” This idyllic reverie had to end.

She stiffened and her gaze clouded. “I agree. We need to talk.”

As soon as she sat, Finn paced the cramped area. “Yesterday’s demonstration had an effect on my thinking. I—”