“She made these for me? All of them?” Her disbelieving eyes swam with tears.
“One for every year of your life,” I said. “Because there was never a year, or a time, not even for a moment, not even when she had to give you up, that she didn’t love you.”
We hugged and cried and hugged some more, but it was all right. We had good reason to cry, to shed happy tears and sad.
The time went too quickly. Jennifer had to drive back to Minneapolis to help her mother with Christmas preparations, but we promised to keep in touch and see each other again soon. We got out our phones and took a series of “selfies” to mark the day; then I helped load the quilts into Jennifer’s car.
“Alice would be so proud of you,” I said as we hugged good-bye for the fifth time. “So proud. I’m proud of you too.”
Jennifer tipped her head to one side, smiled and bit her lower lip simultaneously, just the way Alice used to when she felt embarrassed but also a little pleased.
Jennifer got into her car and I stepped up onto the curb to watch her drive away, but when she turned on the motor I remembered something.
“Hold on! Wait!” I cried, leaping forward and banging on the window, which Jennifer quickly rolled down. “You told me you’ve been accepted to Kenyon in the fall, but you didn’t tell me what you’re going to study.”
“Environmental studies with a minor in biology. But what I’d really like to do is be a wildlife photographer. It just seems like the perfect combination of the things I love best: animals and art. I know it’s a long shot,” she said with a giggle. “There just aren’t that many wildlife photographers out there, but the world needs at least a few, right? I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t be one of them.”
“Neither can I. Bye-bye, Jennifer.”
“Bye, Lucy.” She shifted the car into drive and started to press the button to roll up the automatic window, but stopped herself. “Hey, do you mind if I call you Aunt Lucy?”
“I’d like that,” I said.
She grinned. “Okay! And, also . . . Aunt Lucy, I was wondering . . .”
She stopped and ducked her head, suddenly bashful.
“What?”
“Never mind,” she said. “It was kind of a dumb idea.”
“Go ahead,” I urged. “I want to know.”
She hesitated. “Well, I was wondering if—and it’s totally okay if the answer is no,” she assured me, her expression wide-eyed and earnest. “I mean, you barely know me and it’s kind of an imposition, but . . . do you think that maybe, during summer vacation, I could come up and stay with you for a day or two? I’d just really like to see where you and my mother grew up.”
I never saw that coming. For an instant, her question stopped me dead in my tracks, but only for an instant. Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, I knew what the answer was, for Jennifer and for me.
“Nothing could make me happier,” I told her.
I was never more sincere.
I stood waving my arm high over my head until Jennifer’s car turned the corner and disappeared. As soon as it did, I got into my car and pulled my phone from my purse. Now that I knew what I needed to do, I saw no point in putting it off, not any of it.
I took a deep, decisive breath, hit the correct listing on my screen, and asked the operator to put me through. It didn’t take long.
“Lucy? I didn’t expect to hear from you until after Christmas. Are you all right?”
“I am, Mr. President-elect. In fact, I’m better than I’ve been in a long, long time. But, sir? There is something I need to tell you.”
Chapter 43
“You 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 w
alked 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
Eventually, 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.
The Second Sister Page 32
