Dreams and Promises: Love, Loss and Redemption in a Land of Infinite Promise

by Anna Markland

  “Hmmf.”

  “How’s the degree coming?”

  He didn’t give up, did he? Kate sighed. “Fine, but I don’t look forward to spending my summer in the basement at the Archives.”

  “Aren’t historians supposed to love that kind of thing? Why do it if you’re not into it?”

  “I suppose you love your major?” she snapped.

  He smiled. He did have a nice smile, not like it came with strings attached. “Graduated five years ago. I’m CFO for a software company. Chief Financial Officer?” he added when she frowned.

  She stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at him… or more precisely, at his attire. No way was this guy a professional anything.

  He got her unspoken message. “The jeans? We’re pretty casual except for corporate presentations and the like. Victoria’s getting a reputation for quality video games. The company’s moving out to the Technology Centre, though,” he added, as if it mattered to her. “I won’t be on the bus with you much longer.” He dared to touch her arm and start her walking again. “Now, about that sub…”

  Kate hesitated. Her sole purpose in going to the village was to get lunch, but it appeared impossible to do that solo.

  “I’d like to point out,” Jamie continued, clearly oblivious to her signals, “that there’s no reason to reject a shared meal outright. I won’t even offer to pay.”

  She nearly groaned out load. Clint never paid. Bitcoin was the future, he’d said. Using ordinary currency catered to the establishment. Defeated, she grumbled, “Okay.”

  “Grace under pressure. Nice.” In response to her glare, he added, “What are you doing this weekend? I plan to sweep down our side of the attic. It’s pretty much immaculate, but grime always filters down from the roof over the winter.”

  Until that moment she hadn’t realized how the ramshackle collection of furnishings had already gotten under her skin. Her mouth raced ahead of her brain. “I’m tackling our half, too, and it’s a challenge. Crammed with old furniture. This morning I unearthed a sewing box with embroidery scissors shaped likes a bird’s beak, and a pincushion with this fine lace around it, and a thimble that I think might be gold…” As she ran out of steam she shot a covert glance in his direction. Clint would tell her, not politely, how unwise she was to bore him.

  But Jamie nodded. “Like a treasure hunt. Nobody’s seen that stuff in years, I bet.”

  Before she could apply her Clint-implanted censors, she said, “This is real history. Living history.” Then, unable to contain her mounting excitement, she launched into a description of the chests and bedsteads she’d uncovered that morning, the layers of dust, the potential for great finds…

  Before she knew it, her tummy had been appeased by a chicken sub, she’d learned more than she ever dreamed possible about financing computer software start-ups, and Jamie had purchased her an extension cord, the longest they could find.

  ~~*~~

  On their way home, having set aside the mental castigation—idiot!— that followed his grace-under-pressure crack, Jamie casually threw in his coup de grâce. “I guess no one’s told you that all that stuff in the attic belonged to my family.”

  “Really?” Kate blurted. “You think it was yours once?”

  “I know it was. I live here.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before replacing them. “My parents divided the house and sold your half to Mrs. Cummings. Seems my dad discovered cheap flights to Vegas, and then the casinos opened… Let’s say there were bills to pay. I grew up visiting my grandparents. I reckon as a kid I explored every inch of the place. Still can’t figure out how Mrs. Cummings ended up with all the old junk on her side of the wall.”

  Her eyes—green, he’d swear he’d never seen such true green eyes—danced with eagerness. “Someone didn’t want to deal with it?”

  Jamie snorted a laugh. “Probably a good guess. It wasn’t a happy time.”

  “Then if I have questions, I could ask you. Or your parents.”

  Or Gramps. But it was much too soon to let her in on that little secret. “Sure. I live to be useful.”

  They parted on the porch, each of them mounting to their respective halves of the attic. Jamie plugged in his end of the extension cord, then hoisted himself onto the chest. From his perch, he looked out over the clutter on her side. The mere existence of his Gramps had taught him to allow room for whimsy, but he didn’t have a clue how Kate could be so enthusiastic. Where she saw treasure, he saw a massive mess. He dropped the other end of the cord down to her and received an answering tug. “Got it.” As he jumped from the bureau, the light increased; the lamp she’d plugged in, complete with a fresh bulb, was a mate to his own.

  He spotted his Gramps sitting on top of the plywood, giving him a thumbs-up. He’d tried a high-five once, but Jamie’s hand had gone right through. The disappointment on Gramps’ face had been priceless, if a little heartbreaking. Jamie smiled and returned the gesture.

  “Heading down,” he called.

  “Yeah, see you,” she replied. “Oh, and thanks.”

  Not all he wanted, but the most he was likely to get, at least for today. He killed his overhead light as he left, wondering what his next steps should be, now that all these delicious, but still forbidden, possibilities had opened up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  After a well-mannered breakfast of muesli and yogurt with Mrs. Cummings, Kate stepped onto the front porch with her coffee to find a gorgeous, sunny spring day… and the equally gorgeous woman with wavy blonde hair who hung out with Jamie, the pair of them occupying both available chairs.

  She’d seen the woman around a few times over the winter. Clearly a fixture.

  Jamie hopped to his feet. Which Clint would never do. “Equality cuts both ways,” he’d growl if anyone made a point of it. “Have a seat. Kate, meet Jan. I was telling her about your attic research. Jan’s my—”

  “Hi, happy to meet you,” Jan interrupted, positively fizzing with enthusiasm. “I’m fascinated. I had no idea anything was up there. You’re lucky.”

  Flustered by the enthusiasm of the new acquaintance—blonde goddess—next to her, she stammered, “It’s physical labour, and everything’s filthy.”

  Jamie hoisted his butt—think about something else, Kate cautioned herself—onto the porch rail, letting one leg swing free. He waved her toward the chair. She sat, noting the warmth of the wood from Jamie’s—blood rushed to her face.

  “Still, it must be kinda like panning for gold. You might get nothing or you might unearth a giant nugget.”

  “Oh, I don’t agree.” Newly kindled, Kate twisted to face Jan, waving her coffee mug around a little wildly. “It’s the whole package… I mean, every piece up there comes with a history. I was telling Jamie about this sewing box… If I can find out when it was used, what room it was in, what generation—”

  “Oooh, I’d love to do something like that. Wouldn’t you, James?”

  Real name James. Better than Jamie? Why should she care?

  Jamie sat above them and watched the to-and-fro, a grin plastered on his face. He still hadn’t shaved, she noticed, his beard now long enough to pick up reddish glints in the bright light. He had on a different hoodie today, a red one with CANADA emblazoned across the front.

  “I doubt I’d be much use at sewing boxes, Janelle,” he said. “But I’m good for heavy lifting. Shifting stuff around.” He addressed Kate. “Have you made a plan? Because if even half the boxes I saw over the wall yesterday are full, you’ll never sort it out up there. Cramped, inadequate light, and the dust will turn your eyes red.”

  “You could haul it down to your room, or the dining room. Jamie would help, right?” Jan turned her luminous, royal blue eyes on Jamie-James.

  Kate said, “Not a chance.”

  Jan and Jamie both looked at her. She suddenly wished her hair were blonde, and longer, and maybe had some curl in it, or at least that she’d tackled it with a curling iron this morning,
if she owned one. The two of them were perfect, even in jeans and—she realized abruptly—matching hoodies, although Jan’s was dark blue with a red CANADA.

  “The thing is,” Kate said into the silence that greeted her pronouncement, “my room’s done up in pink. It’s girlie, and no speck of grime is allowed. Mrs. Cummings seemed determined that I would love it, and I’ve never found the courage to tell her otherwise.”

  “I get that,” Jan said. “She’s so prim, you’d think she’d be timid, but no one’s ever dared to cross her. And you’re more goth than girly, right?”

  Her hair, barely an inch long when she’d moved in, had grown over the winter, and she’d removed most of the piercings before coming west. The holes looked like freckles, she hoped. Only a couple of modest studs in her ears now. “Tried goth, but it didn’t stick. I’m not really much of a rebel.”

  “Figures. My image of history buffs is conservative, with pocket protectors.”

  Kate groaned.

  “Okay, over the top. But tailored, not fluffy.”

  “Definitely.”

  Jamie said nothing during this girl-to-girl exchange, but he looked pleased.

  “Jamie,” Jan prattled on, “has she met everyone yet? I mean, does she know about—Ouch!”

  Jamie’s foot hiccupped and kicked Jan’s leg across the narrow porch. “We only got into all this yesterday,” he said. “Time enough to meet the gang later.”

  “Oh. Right.” Jan once again turned to her. “If you want help, I’m pretty busy weekdays, but evenings or weekends, I’d love to get grubby in your attic.”

  Kate’s first instinct was thanks, but no thanks. She didn’t even know this woman, and she wanted to keep her finds to, and for, herself. But overnight she’d done some calculations, and realized there was no hope of assessing the contents of the attic, sorting out value from dross, and disposing of it all, in a summer, much less in the week she’d allotted.

  Before looking for a new place to live, she reminded herself firmly.

  Besides, she had this idea percolating in her mind. Could there be enough factual information in those drawers and boxes to develop a history? A photographic history, the provenance and use of each piece…

  “I want to work up there this morning,” she said. “At least get a better picture of what’s what. Maybe move some things around, if I can spot any order in the chaos. It’s important I keep track, so notes, photographs.” A new thought hit her. “Maybe your family has old photos?” she asked Jamie. “So we can see how the house was furnished?”

  “Mom has tons. I’ll borrow some.”

  “I’m free this morning, so count me in. You, too?” Jan asked, eyeing Jamie.

  “Just what I love best, spending the first sunny weekend in months in the old attic. But if you want me there, sure.”

  “Oh.” Suddenly faced with a work crew, Kate fought down panic. “But this morning… I was going to start as soon as I finish this.” She gestured, using Mrs. Cummings’ fine bone china mug with the roses on it as a kind of pointer.

  “James, is that pair of jeans still around?” Jan asked. “And can I borrow a shirt? I’m kinda in my Sunday best here.”

  “The cutoffs you left last autumn and never bothered to pick up? After the water fight? Look in my closet. I think they’re in there.”

  So. Situation clarified. Jan obviously was someone special. Pity, because Jamie had grown on her during that crazy lunch, and his eyes had set off unexplainable tremors from the vicinity of her heart. She almost felt like she could trust—No. Stop right there. She’d finish the damn degree and get the hell out of Dodge, no entanglements, her future before her. That was the plan, and she intended to stick to it.

  But… a water fight, she though wistfully. She’d never been in a water fight.

  “I guess that’s settled,” she said, keeping it formal. “I’ll meet you here in… fifteen minutes?”

  Jan unfolded her long legs, rose, and hugged Jamie. She looked like she might hug Kate as well, but Kate got to her feet and out of range in time. Then Jan bolted through Jamie’s front door, the screen crashing closed behind her. Kate heard her footsteps as she darted up the stairs.

  “Guess I’d better supervise,” Jamie said as he slid off the rail. “The undergrads—if any of them are awake yet. They tend to get excited when she’s around.”

  Kate escaped into the peace of her half of the house. The comfortable camaraderie between Jamie and Jan made her uneasy. She’d never quite managed that with Clint, and as a result she felt gypped, as if her senior year in university had been stolen from her.

  Clint. She had to get him out of her head. She refused to let him be the benchmark by which she measured everything and everyone.

  ~~*~~

  Jamie busied himself with window cleaner and paper towels, releasing a flood of dammed-up daylight into the attic, and monitored the bursts of chatter from the two women. Jan had the sense to defer to Kate—actually, he’d warned her to do just that, but he didn’t always rely on Jan to listen. The morning passed peaceably and might have gone on into the afternoon if Jan hadn’t excused herself at lunchtime, breaking up their little party. He heard her making polite with Mrs. Roberta Cummings on the way out.

  “Come next door for frozen pizza,” he said to Kate as they descended a few minutes later. “You’ll never survive an afternoon up here on an empty stomach.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of fixing a sandwich.” She shook off the hand he rested on her arm.

  “And I’m perfectly capable of heating up a pizza, which, incidentally, I can’t finish on my own. Come on. It’s vegetarian.”

  “I like pepperoni.”

  Stubborn, eh? Through sheer force of will, Jamie nudged her toward Mrs. Cummings’ front door as he spoke. “Me, too,” he said, referring both to the pepperoni and, obliquely, to the stubbornness. “This one was abandoned by the undergrads. One of ’em met a no-meat girl a few months ago. She didn’t last, and it’s been languishing in the freezer since then, but I’m sure we’ll love it.”

  Out one door, in the other. He absentmindedly waved to Jan as she drove off.

  ~~*~~

  Over pizza—surely the table in Jamie’s kitchen dated from the fifties and deserved to be up with the artifacts—Kate once again found herself saying too much. But Jamie talked, too, filling out a picture of life as an accountant—not half as boring as she thought it would be—his soccer team, which clubs were worth going to.

  Not about Jan, though. Why not?

  She returned alone to the attic for several more hours. The bits of paper she excavated from drawers would be worthless to anyone else, but were priceless to her. No velvet ribbons or tearstained letters, but that didn’t faze Kate. This old attic was historical research. By determining dates for the furniture and contents, she could build a picture of the family who had lived in this house for a century. Several generations, ending with Jamie. She devised a classification system as she worked, hanging onto everything until she’d established timelines and provenance. But in the cramped quarters of the attic, she increasingly despaired of arranging things in any way that made sense.

  ~~*~~

  Kate was a little surprised when Jan turned up alone the next Saturday. By then, Mrs. Cummings had put down plastic runners from the front door and up the stairs to the attic entrance. One did not mess with the pristine order of Mrs. Roberta Cummings’ abode.

  “Board meeting or something,” Jan volunteered with reference to Jamie. “Means he had to put on a dress shirt. Poor baby.”

  Kate’s head was buried in an ancient wardrobe, the largest piece of furniture in the attic, but she caught the tone. Caring and laughing at him at the same time. Jan clearly had privileges. But Jamie had toyed with her mind all week, and suddenly it mattered that she got the whole relationship thing clear, because she couldn’t go on having pizzas in Jamie’s kitchen if he and Jan were… you know… like that.

  Like you and Clint?

  She str
aightened, holding a bundle of something that promised to be a moth-eaten fur coat. “So… you and Jamie…”

  “What about us?” Jan looked up. She was sitting at a desk, gambling the gimpy leg on her chair would hold and frowning at a book with a worn cover.

  “You’re like… you know… together?” Even with the lamp she’d borrowed from Mrs. Roberta Cummings and the freshly cleaned window, the lighting remained subdued, hopefully enough to hide her red face.

  The reaction she got wasn’t what she expected. Jan hooted. “Jamie? Are you kidding? He’s my dopey brother. Five minutes younger, and a pain in the butt. I could tell you stories—”

  “Wait. Stop.” Kate unceremoniously dumped the fur on the floor and strode over. As she looked down at the woman sitting at the desk, still laughing, it became clear. The same deep blue eyes. Similar blonde hair. Jan’s strong chin a female match to Jamie’s. Both tall and slim…

  “I’m an idiot,” she groaned.

  “Secret between girls,” Jan said. “He’s interested. If you are, that is. He’s diffident. Not much by way of killer instinct. I reckon I beat up on him in the womb.”

  “Oh,” Kate said faintly. What do you say to the newly minted sister of the man whom you haven’t been able to kick out of your fantasies for a full week, when ‘he’s interested’ was the most amazingly wonderful phrase you’ve heard in a year or more?

  Jan appeared to give a V-for-victory sign to the far corner of the room by the plywood, keeping it low as if she didn’t want Kate to see, then ruffled the pages in the book. “Take a look at this. Someone’s diary. Mostly garden parties and gossip, but still…” Keeping her feet firmly planted on the floor in defense against the chair leg, she leaned forward, elbows on knees, and abruptly changed tack. “So, do I encourage this? A subtle nudge?”

  “No,” Kate barked, and backed her way toward the wardrobe. “I… I have to get back to work. This is a mess. The room, I mean, not… you know… I mean—”