The Second Sister (33 page)

Chapter 43

“Y
ou did what? No way! You didn't. You're just messing with me, aren't you? Trying to get back at me,” Peter said, looking up from the pile of papers that sat on his big oak desk.

I couldn't blame him for doubting my truthfulness. No one who really knew me would ever have believed I could turn down a job in the White House so that I could stay in Nilson's Bay, Wisconsin. Even me. But as soon as I finished the conversation with Tom, explaining my reasons and—after a degree of argument and pleading that I couldn't help but find flattering—received my former boss's blessing and said good-bye, I knew I had made the right choice.

“It's not a joke,” I said, keeping my face absolutely stern so he'd know I meant business. “I am not going back to Washington. I'm going to stay here.”

“And do what?”

“No idea,” I said, letting out a nervous little laugh. “But I think I should wait until the end of the year before making any decisions.”

Peter's eyebrows lifted. “What? Lucy Toomey without a step-by-step strategic plan? Just flying by the seat of her pants? That's something I never thought I'd see.”

“Me either. It's kind of scary,” I said. “A bit exciting. But mostly scary. I haven't been without a job since I was fifteen years old.”

“So you're serious? You're really going to live in Nilson's Bay full-time?” I nodded, and the skeptical expression on his face faded, but slowly, as if the meaning of my words was taking time to sink in. “Well, that's great. I'm glad.”

“Are you?” I asked, unable to keep the hopeful edge from my voice. “Because I wouldn't blame you if you weren't. I was pretty awful when you came over to tell me about Jennifer. I'm really sorry. It was just such a shock and . . .”

Peter shook his head and raised his hand to stop my words. “It's okay, Lucy. I understand. I'm just glad everything worked out so well with Jennifer. It sounds like you made a real connection with her. Besides, if we're going to apologize, I'm the one who should go first.”

“You mean for not telling me about Jennifer before? You were just trying to do what you thought was right,” I said. “Just like you were trying to do the right thing by not taking a position on the new market before you heard all sides of the argument. Don't apologize for having high ethical standards, Peter. I admire that about you. The world needs more people like you, especially in public office, and I was wrong to give you such a hard time. Sometimes, I just see what I think needs to be done and I just . . .” I shrugged and looked away, embarrassed as I remembered how harsh I'd been with him.

“I get so involved in what I'm doing that I can't see that there might be another side to the issue or a better approach. I just can't let go. I'm like . . .”

“A dog with a bone?” Peter grinned and I chuckled.

“Yeah. I guess it's one of those things that just comes with being a Toomey.”

“That's all right,” Peter said, getting up from his desk and walking to a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. “And as long as we're handing out compliments, your passion is one of the things I admire about you. But I still owe you an apology.”

He walked across the room and opened the drawer of the cabinet, standing with his back to me as he spoke, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to face me.

“Peter, you don't have to—”

“Just let me do this, okay? Last time I tried to apologize to you, it didn't work out very well, but I need to say this. I was really short with you that day at the festival, downright rude. And it didn't have a thing to do with my professional ethics. There was nothing high-minded or noble about it.” He paused for a moment, riffling through the files until he found the one he wanted, then pulled it from the cabinet and turned toward me.

“Even though you told me that you were only interested in being friends, I didn't really believe you. I thought maybe you were being coy, or that you just needed time. I thought I could change your mind.” He shrugged. “It was stupid. You told me exactly how you felt, but . . . when you started keeping your distance, I was hurt. And mad. And I wanted to make you feel as bad as I did. Like I said, stupid. Anyway . . . I'm sorry. I hope you'll forgive me.”

“Only if you forgive me,” I said. “I guess we've both had our moments.”

Peter's expression softened. He walked around the front of his desk. “Then we'll call it even, eh?”

He stuck out his hand and I shook it, sealing the bargain. It was all very cordial and civilized, friendly, and yet the feeling of his skin against mine, the simple touch of his hand, felt like an electric current running from my palm to my arm and all through my body, and the feelings and thoughts I had for him at that moment went far beyond friendship. But, after the way I'd treated him . . .

“I'm glad you're staying, Lucy. I really am.”

“Me too,” I said, taking in a deep breath and then letting it out, forcing myself to let go of his hand. “But I'm not quite sure how this is all going to work out. I mean, the cottage is paid for and I've got a little in savings, but at some point, I'm going to have to get a real job. And I doubt there's a whole lot of call for retired political operatives here on the peninsula.”

“No, but there's lots of other places that need them.” He slid his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight back, leaning against the lip of his desk. “If Joe Feeney was willing to hire you for one consulting job, I bet he'd be willing to hire you for others. I'm sure other people would too. And I wouldn't completely dismiss the idea of finding work around here. You made kind of a splash spearheading the movement to halt the demolition of the Save-A-Bunch.”

“That wasn't me. That was a community effort, grassroots stuff.”

“Maybe. But you were the one who spread the seed and wielded the watering can, and everybody knows it. And I think you're about to become even more popular around here,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “because I got a very interesting phone call this morning. Seems the attorneys for the company that purchased the Save-A-Bunch property have decided to retract their request for a building permit. They've decided that, instead of knocking down the building, they'd like to keep the existing structure but remodel it with input from the community. How do you like that?” he asked, grinning because he already knew the answer.

“Really? That's great! Will Rinda be able to keep her job?”

“Maybe,” he said, “but I doubt it. They still need to make a profit, and putting in those computerized checkout lines will help them do that. But, hey, it's a start. At least they're willing to negotiate.”

“Well, we'll just have to convince them to hold on to the existing staff,” I said, lifting my hand to my mouth and biting the edge of my thumbnail, considering the various plans of attack. “Maybe if we started a letter-writing campaign . . .”

Peter laughed and pushed himself up off the desk. “There she is, the pushy, passionate Lucy I've come to know and love, the woman who really believes it's possible to change the world and just won't give up until she does. But I thought you weren't going to make any moves until after the first of the year.”

He circled to the back of his desk, sat down, and started shuffling through a pile of papers.

“Okay, good point. I should probably hold off for a little bit. Nothing is going to happen before Christmas anyway. But,” I said slowly, drawing out the word, “I did have one thought. And it involves you.”

“Uh-huh. Well,” he said, glancing up briefly and then going back to his paperwork, “if it involves trying to talk me into running for anything, the answer is no. I told you before, I'm happy right where I am.”

“And I'm happy you're happy,” I said, lifting my hands as a testament to the purity of my motives. “I wouldn't dream of trying to change that. What I had in mind is something that doesn't require quite as big a commitment, at least not to begin with.”

He pushed aside the papers, giving me a curious little frown and his complete attention. “Such as?”

“Asking your mom if Cousin Barney and I can join your family for Christmas dinner?”

“That shouldn't be a problem. In fact, she already asked me to ask you.”

“Okay, good. So that's all settled.”

“All settled,” he echoed, smiling again. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Well, since you mention it, I was wondering if—assuming Christmas goes okay—you might want to spend New Year's Eve with me. And maybe Valentine's Day?”

A small smile spread across his lips. “Well, let me see . . .” He stroked his beard in pretended concentration. “Hmm. Yes. I think I can pencil you in.”

“Good. And if that goes well, maybe St. Patrick's Day? And Easter? May Day? Memorial Day? The Fourth of July?”

He stopped, put down his pen, and looked at me for a long moment.

“Not a problem. Every major holiday, every minor one, and all the days in between; they're yours for the asking, Lucy.”

I pressed my lips together, took a breath. “Well, then . . . I'm asking.”

“Consider it done. Anything else?”

“One more thing,” I said softly. “You remember how you kissed me that time?”

He got up from his desk and came toward me, his suddenly serious eyes fixed upon mine, making my heart pound.

“When? The time when I walked you out to your car? The time I lured you out to the ice shanty? The time I carried you in my arms?”

“Yes. That,” I stammered. “All of it. Both. I mean . . .” Once again, I was reacquainted with the meaning of the word “swoon.” I had to close my eyes. When I opened them again, his arms were around me. “Just kiss me,” I whispered. “Kiss me and don't stop unless I ask you to.”

He lowered his lips to mine.

“I can do that.”

Chapter 44

E
ventually, I did ask Peter to stop.

It wasn't easy, believe me, but there was one more thing I had yet to do. “Besides,” I said, “I'd like to take our time and do this right.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Peter said, with that cocky, self-assured grin that reminded me of all the things I loved about him, and he reached for me again.

I laughed and slipped from his grasp, reluctantly.

“You know what I mean. I don't want to rush things. For once in my life, I want to be wooed, romanced. I want to cherish every moment with you.”

“Lucy Toomey, it is my intention to woo you, romance you, and cherish you for the rest of my life. However, if we have to play by the rules in the meantime, so be it. But don't expect me to make it easy for you.”

He reached for me again. This time I let myself be caught.

 

The FOA was scheduled to quilt at Rinda's house that night. When I pulled up, I saw Celia's and Daphne's cars parked in Rinda's driveway just as I had expected.

What I didn't expect was that the front door would open even before I had a chance to ring the bell and that I would see Rinda, Daphne, and Celia standing on the other side of it, dressed in coats, hats, boots, and scarves.

“Oh,” I said, feeling awkward. “I should have called first. I didn't realize you'd be going out.”

“Since the person we were going out to see was you, it turns out you saved us the trip.” Rinda looked me up and down and scowled. “I know that leather thing looks good on you, but don't you have a real coat? That thing isn't even lined, is it? Get in here before you catch your death of cold.”

I came inside, but it felt a little awkward to be standing there in a circle in Rinda's foyer, all of us still wearing our coats. “Aren't you quilting tonight? Why were you coming to see me?”

“We were coming to apologize to you. I mean,
I
was,” Celia said sheepishly, looking down at her feet and then up again, words of apology tumbling from her lips like water from a broken dam. “I was so awful to you! Not only that, I was one hundred percent wrong. I did a little more investigating and found out that what you said was absolutely true—you didn't have any idea of what the developer was really planning for the property. You never signed off on any of it. I'm sorry, Lucy! I was so horrible to you—”

Celia started to blink her eyes, but I cut her off before she could work herself up to tears.

“It's okay. Mr. Glazier talked a good line, and, in all fairness, I think he really was trying to do the best he could to preserve the cottage and still turn a profit. And why shouldn't he? That's his business. He was totally up front about the need to put more than one home on the property in order to get back his investment. But it never crossed my mind that he was talking about more than two houses. So you're not the only one at fault here, Celia. I should have asked him for more specifics.”

Celia shook her head vehemently. “Don't let me off the hook like that, Lucy. I owe you an apology. When you told me you didn't know what he was planning to do with the property, I should have believed you. Or at least given you the benefit of the doubt. Because that's what friends do for each other.”

As Celia said the last, she glanced at Rinda and Daphne in turn, locking her eyes with them in a way that gave me to understand that she'd picked up this bit of wisdom from the two of them.

It made me smile to think of Daphne, and especially Rinda, who had taken her sweet time warming up to me, defending me on the basis of friendship. But there was no doubt in my mind now. We truly were friends.

What miracles these last six weeks had wrought.

I'd returned home steeped in grief, reluctant to stay. But if I was being honest with myself, reluctant doesn't begin to describe my feelings about the way that Alice had engineered my exile to Nilson's Bay. Adamant opposition came closer to my true response, and even that was a polite way of putting it. But now I realized that Alice had known exactly what she was doing. She'd brought me home, forced me to stay put, slow down, and confront my past. As well as my present.

It's not that I regretted the time I spent working for Tom Ryland. I still believed that the work we did together was important, and I knew that, as president, he was going to do good things for the country. I'd always be proud of that. But somewhere along the way, I'd forgotten the old adage that we should work to live, not live to work.

Alice helped me remember that. Once again, my sister saved my life, gave it back to me.

That's a debt I couldn't ever repay, but I knew Alice wasn't looking for that. She wanted me to live, just live, happily and with an open heart, to put aside the past and embrace the future. And that's what I'm going to do.

“Friends assume the best about each other,” Celia said, looking me right in the eye. “And I didn't do that. Please forgive me.”

“Forgiven and forgotten,” I said, and then gave her a big hug. Looking over her shoulder, I could see Daphne smiling. Rinda gave me an approving nod.

“Well, I'm glad we got that cleared up,” Rinda said.

“Thanks,” Celia said when I let go of her. “I know it's just a house and that my memories of Alice will outlast it, but the thought of it being turned into a condo clubhouse and that you were okay with that . . . It was kind of like losing her all over again. And, in a way, it felt like I was losing you too. I completely overreacted. I'm sorry.”

“Celia, you're forgiven. Really. You don't need to apologize again. And I've got good news—there will be no condos built on the property and the cottage will
not
be turned into a clubhouse. I called Mr. Glazier earlier today and told him that the deal is off. I'm not selling the cottage to him.”

Celia looked at Daphne and Daphne looked at Rinda, who looked at me.

“Well, then . . . who are you going to sell it to?”

I grinned, anticipating their reactions when I shared my news. “Nobody. I'm keeping the cottage. I've decided to stay in Nilson's Bay permanently.”

“What? You're kidding!”

“You mean you're not going to move to Washington?”

“That's great! When did all this happen?”

I laughed. Their response was just what I'd thought it would be—shock and disbelief followed by delight.

“Just today,” I said. “Matter of fact, a
lot
has happened today. Actually, in the last couple of days. All of it good! I drove here because I couldn't wait to share the news. But,” I said, looking from one smiling face to the next, “do you think I could possibly do that sitting down?”

Two minutes later, we were all seated in Rinda's living room. Rinda, who seemed a little embarrassed by her earlier lack of hospitality, was fussing and taking coats and making noises about bringing out food, but I told her to forget about that.

“Food can wait,” I said. “I don't have a lot of time, and there's so much to tell you that I'm not even sure where to begin.”

But begin I did, from the beginning.

I told them about Peter coming over to tell me about Maeve/Jennifer, and how Alice had made all those quilts and drawn all those pictures for the daughter she'd barely met and yet somehow knew completely. I told them about my fight with Peter, how angry I was, and my sleepless night, and my visit with Father Damon. When I got to that part, Rinda closed her eyes in rapture, clapped her hands to her breast, and murmured, “Thank you, sweet Jesus, for answered prayers!”

And I told them about meeting Jennifer.

When I showed off the pictures I'd snapped with my phone camera, they crowded around the screen to
ooh
and
aah
and coo as if I'd been showing them pictures of an adorable new baby. And in a way, I guess I was. She was Alice's baby and she was absolutely adorable.

“And smart and interesting and well-spoken and happy,” I said. “She's just an all-around terrific kid! And she wants to come up again and spend some time at the cottage, maybe this summer. And when she's here, you'll all get to meet her.”

“That would be fantastic!” Celia exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“Does she quilt?” Daphne asked.

“If she doesn't, then we'll teach her,” Rinda said.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “You know, meeting Jennifer is what really helped me make up my mind about staying. I think maybe that's what I wanted all along.”

Daphne raised her eyebrows at this and I revised my answer.

“Okay, maybe not all along.” I laughed. “But for at least the last couple of weeks. But I just couldn't admit it. I mean, for so many years I've been feeling this lack, an empty spot in my life, a hunger for something more. I thought that reaching the top of my field would fill the void, that working in the White House would prove to the world that I was worth something, and that when I moved into that West Wing office, I'd finally be happy.”

I let out a little huff, amazed that I could have been so dense.

“But as I was sitting there with Jennifer, I realized I already
was
happy. And satisfied. And when she asked if she could come up and see me again because she wanted to see where Alice had grown up, I knew I couldn't sell the cottage. I just . . .”

I had to stop a moment. I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to keep my emotions under control. Daphne put her arm around me and gave me a squeeze.

“It's okay,” I assured her when I was able to speak again. “I'm just so grateful. It's been an amazing day. Oh! And I almost forgot! I've got more good news!”

I told them what Peter had told me about the market being saved and, hopefully, Rinda's job as well.

“That part's not certain yet, but I think our chances are pretty good. The fact that they want input from the community is a really good sign. We've just got to help them find ways to make the investment worth it.”

“Well, that is good news,” Rinda said with a smile. “But, I'm not sure I'm going to need that job anymore.” I gave her a curious look and she went on to explain.

“Lloyd and I've been talking things over the last few days. This news about his kidneys has kind of gotten our attention, helped us start thinking about what we want to do with what's left of our lives. I'll tell you one thing: I don't want to spend mine standing at a cash register, ringing up cans of beans. Lloyd just can't keep working the way he has been, and he's ready for a change too. He'd like to do something more creative. So would I. That's why we've made a decision.” She paused, looking from one face to the next. “We're going to sell Lloyd's heating and air-conditioning business and the house, and—”

“The house!” Daphne cried.

“You can't!” Celia protested. “You love this house!”

Rinda crossed her arms over her chest and glared, waiting impatiently for them to finish.

“I told you before,” she said, “I like my house. But I
love
my husband. And I want to spend more time with him. That's why we've decided to sell the house and the business and use the money to buy the Comstock building.”

“The one where the antiques store used to be?” Daphne asked. “It's been empty for at least two years.”

“Which is why we think we can get a good deal on it.”

“Why would you want to?” Celia asked.

“Because.” Rinda smiled. “I'm going to open a quilt shop. It's something I've had in the back of my mind for a long, long time. If I don't do it now, I never will.” I frowned and started to raise some questions, but she cut me off. “I know it's risky. A couple of shops have opened and closed on the peninsula in the last few years, but I think we can make it. For one thing, I think we can rent out the upper floors as office space, so that will give us some extra income. I'm going to teach classes and hold some special workshops in the summer for projects that can be completely finished in just two or three days. I think that'll appeal to the tourists. Lloyd is going to help me out in the shop, at least as much as he can, but he's also going to start a side business, longarming.”

“Longarming?” I asked, my eyebrows arching. “You mean he's going to get one of those huge professional quilting machines and finish people's quilts for them? I thought you said that people who don't quilt their own quilts aren't real quilters, just toppers.”

Rinda sniffed. “I know. But if there are people out there who want to be toppers instead of quilters, who am I to tell them they can't?”

“You didn't have any trouble telling me,” I mumbled, but Rinda kept right on talking as if she hadn't heard.

“And I think Lloyd would be good at it. He's always drawing and sketching. Do you see that?” she asked, pointing to the wall and a watercolor of the seascape with a lighthouse in the background. “He painted that himself. He's very artistic, and, of course, he'd be good at the technical side of it too. He's always been great with machinery. Anyway, if people insist on having somebody else finish their quilts for them, then why shouldn't Lloyd be the one to do it?”

“Makes sense to me,” Celia said. “He can fulfill his creative side and he'd only have to take on as many customers as his health would allow.”

“Right,” Rinda said, taking a big breath, her face breaking into a smile again. “Anyway, we've been praying and talking it over for the last couple of days, and we feel like this is the right thing to do. We're meeting with the Realtor in the morning and putting an offer in on the building.”