There's No Place Like Home (The MacQuire Women Book 2)

by Peggy Jaeger

“You okay, Mo?” her brother asked, scrutinizing her face. “You sick again?”

  “No,” she answered. Then, “Why? Do I look sick?”

  “No, just kinda spacey.”

  “I’m fine,” she replied, with a mental and physical shake. “Where have you been?”

  He rolled his eyes and walked passed her into the house. “At Colin’s house. Mom.”

  “Oh,” she said, and followed him into the foyer.

  After telling him goodnight, she went up to her room, Rob Roy following after her, his snout rubbing against her leg. She stretched a hand down to pet him and was rewarded with an enthusiastic tongue licking her hand several times.

  As she was getting ready for bed, her cell pinged. She opened the text and read, “Dream about me. Q.”

  “Like I’m going to be able to do anything else, now,” she told the dog, who’d curled up beside her, his head resting in her lap.

  How could she have been so clueless? Looking back on the time since she’d been home, she realized Quentin had never touched her so much as he had these past few days. He’d always been tactile, just like his father and, as friends they’d always hugged each other. But he’d never kissed her face so much, or wound his arms around her, like recently. She remembered in vivid detail how it had felt when she’d reached out and grabbed him during the movie, to simply have him kiss her forehead and pull her into his warm, solid, and safe arms. Those actions alone should have clued her in.

  She’d told him he looked like a god, and he did. She could look at him objectively and see what every other woman with a pulse could see: exceptionally tall and fit; gorgeous blond hair begging for a woman to run her fingers through it, eyes so green they looked like a summer field of tall, warm grass. And when he’d been kissing her, she’d seen those eyes shine like never before with yearning and want. With his arms secured around her she’d felt his desire, so bold and hard against her. She let her mind imagine him naked. Moira knew what he looked like shirtless. She’d seen him many times over the years, although not since she’d been back, when he’d tended to a horse, or when they’d all gone swimming together at the lake. He was an utterly desirable male.

  And the way her stomach had flipped when he kissed her, the way she’d felt instantly lonely when not in his arms, she knew she desired him as well.

  But what would come of admitting and acting on it? Should she give in to the feelings running through her? What if this was just plain and simple lust? What would happen when it spent itself, when they no longer felt the intense urge, the physical pull toward one another? Could they revert back to being just friends? Could anyone?

  Moira knew one thing for certain: she didn’t want to ever lose the friendship she had with Quentin. He was right when she’d called him her best friend at thirteen. It was still true at twenty-eight. He was one of the constants in her world, as important to her as her parents and brothers. She couldn’t imagine any of them not being in her life. And she didn’t want to think Quentin might not be.

  Finally, sleep pulled her into its clutches and she drifted off to the sound of an owl calling in the distance.

  And she did, as he commanded, dream of him.

  Chapter Ten

  When morning came, Moira joined her mother and father in the kitchen. As she handed her daughter a steaming cup of tea, just the way Moira liked it, Serena asked, “Did you have a good time last night?”

  Moira smiled. “Like I told you before I left, I knew I was going to get roped into a gory mess of a movie, and that’s what it was.”

  “Slasher 3?” her father asked, smiling into his coffee mug.

  Moira shot him her index finger. “Bingo. Actually, it wasn’t too bad. Quentin says I have to see the first two before I can really pass judgment.”

  “Did you three go to Mike’s afterwards?” Serena asked. Moira was quick to see how her mother’s watchful eyes gaged each spoonful of oatmeal making its way to her mouth.

  “Predictable as rain,” Moira said with a smile. “Pat didn’t make it for the show, though. New calf out at Jamison’s kept him busy. He came to Mike’s.”

  A look passed between her parents. It was Serena who said, “So just you and Q for the movie?”

  With a nod Moira said, “And about a hundred others. The place was packed. We were the oldest ones there. I felt ancient.”

  Seamus chuckled and reached across the table. “Don’t say that, Baby. Think how you make us feel if you think you’re old at your age.”

  She put one of her hands over his. “You two never age. Just like Aunt Delilah and Uncle David. Eternally young. Oh, by the way, I saw Clarissa Rogers last night, too. I’m heading over to her office this morning for a bit.”

  “Is everything okay?” Serena asked, worry in her voice.

  “Fine. She witnessed one of my cramp-fests last night when we were at Mike’s and wants to give me a list of foods I should avoid until I’m healed. No biggie.”

  “So she was there with you three, too?” Serena asked. “You were a foursome?”

  Moira squinted at her mother, then grinned. “I’m slow sometimes, but I’m not that slow, Mom,” she said.

  Serena’s left eyebrow edged dangerously close to her hairline. “And that means what?”

  “No. We were not a foursome despite what your little matchmaking mind thinks.” She grabbed her mother’s hand and squeezed. “Doctor Rogers came into Mike’s when we were already there and almost done. She was getting takeout. Alone. And that’s how she left. Alone.”

  Serena hummed.

  When Seamus laughed out loud, Moira joined in. She brought her bowl to the sink. After she rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher, she said, “I have to be at her office at eleven. Do you need me to do anything to help get ready for tonight?”

  “I’m good,” Serena told her. “It’ll be an outdoor buffet, so that’ll be easier to clean up. You can help start setting up at about four, if you’re here.”

  “Us, the Stapletons, Aunty Carly’s family and who else?” Moira asked.

  “That’s everyone.” Serena said. After a heartbeat she added, “Why don’t you invite Dr. Rogers? She’s still fairly new. Probably doesn’t know many people outside of the clinic.”

  Moira cocked her head at her mother. “Ok. But I tend to think there’s more than just neighborly good intentions attached to the invite, Mom. Like I said, I’m slow, but not too slow. I can still tell when you’re up to something.” She kissed her mother’s cheek.

  “That’s an insulting statement and you know it.” Serena tossed her hair over her shoulder, her lips tight.

  “Nailed,” Seamus said, with a laugh. He rose, took his wife in his arms, and bent her backwards from the waist planting a huge, wet kiss on her mouth.

  Moira sighed, loving the way her parents showed their affection for one another with such open and unabashed gestures.

  “Oh, come on.” Alastair stood in the kitchen doorway, arms fisted on his angular hips. He wore a pair of worn gym shorts slung low across his narrow hips and nothing else but sleep in his eyes. “You’re parents for God’s sake. Keep it clean.”

  He sauntered over to the pantry while Seamus kissed his wife again, twice as noisily.

  “Okay, okay,” Serena said, laughing as she pulled out of her husband’s arms. “Don’t disgust the boy anymore before he has breakfast.”

  “Or any other time,” he said, his head still stuck in the pantry.

  “I’m driving into town before my appointment. I need a few things. Can I take your car?” Moira asked her mother.

  “Sure. I don’t need it. Put some gas in it for me, though. I think I’m low.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t forget to ask Dr. Rogers for tonight.”

  Moira waved as she heard her youngest brother ask, “Isn’t she the doc Pat’s crushing on?”

  She didn’t wait for her mother’s response, knowing what it would be.

  ****

  The waiting room in Clariss
a Rogers’s office was spacious, warm and welcoming, very different from Moira’s memories of how it had been in Doc Williams’ time. Soft, tan colored walls were rich with framed, matted reprints of famous medical scenes. Moira recognized two Norman Rockwell paintings, one of a little girl holding a rag doll, the other a young boy getting fitted with eyeglasses. She checked in with the receptionist and then sat to wait her turn. No sooner had she become comfortable in the chair, she heard her name called by an oddly familiar voice.

  “Oh my goodness. It is you. I just knew it.”

  Before Moira could put a name to the voice, she was engulfed in strong, substantial arms and the overpowering scent of Shalimar. “Moira Cleary, how are you?”

  Moira pulled back and smiled into the face of one of her favorite high school teachers. “Mrs. Kalgon, I’m great. How are you?”

  “Well I just knew it was you when you came in, but I haven’t seen you in forever, and you’re so skinny, I almost didn’t recognize you. But here you are, back home. Is it for good, or are you on vacation? Oh, your mother must be thrilled. You’ve been gone, what, about six years now?”

  All this was delivered in one breath and Moira had a momentary flashback of listening to the woman read from novels the same exact way.

  “It’s been about four years and yes, I’m home now, not on vacation.”

  “Well, you look amazing—way too skinny—but amazing none the less. What are you doing with yourself these days?”

  “That’s up in the air for now,” she said. “And what about you? Still teaching English lit and drama?”

  “Yes,” she said, with a chortle that shook her numerous chins. “Still trying to instill a love of the classics into tenth graders. I’ve got two more years to go and then it’s off to Boca Raton and retirement for me. My sister’s been down there for the past year and she can’t wait for me to join her.”

  “The high school will miss you,” Moira told her, meaning it.

  “Oh, that’s so sweet, but you always were such a dear. Hey,” she snapped her chubby fingers, “I just had a thought. Mr. Carruthers, remember him? The old music teacher? Well he’s retiring at the end of the semester and I know the School Board hasn’t found a replacement yet. Do you know anyone, and with your music connections, you must, who might be willing to apply? They really want to get someone up and running this summer before school starts again in the fall.”

  “Off the top of my head, no one. Sorry.”

  “Oh, well it was just a thought.” She flipped her hand in the air. “But I’m filled with them, as my mother always said. Do you think you’ll be staying home awhile? Any more traveling plans?”

  “I think I’m pretty landlocked for now.”

  “What about giving piano lessons? Ever since Jane Mawrby died two years ago, there hasn’t been a decent tutor in the area. A few of my students have had to drive into Hartford to take lessons because there’s no one around here now who’s as good as she was. But you? You’re a world famous symphony pianist. I bet people would flock to your door if you offered lessons. Something to think about, dear.”

  Before Moira could reply, Clarissa came out of an office and called her name. “It was so nice to see you again, Mrs. Kalgon,” Moira said, hugging the woman before she could be yanked back into those massive arms.

  “Well, you too, my dear, and remember what I said. They’d flock to your door.”

  As Clarissa walked Moira into her office, she asked, a wry smile tugging at her lips, “Who’s flocking to your door?”

  “No one, right now,” she answered.

  ****

  After her appointment, during which Moira extended her mother’s invitation to the party and the good doctor graciously accepted, Moira had a few errands she needed to do downtown. She zipped into the local department store to purchase some badly needed moisturizer and cosmetics, then up the escalator to the clothing department. She’d lost so much weight she didn’t want to wear some ill-fitting garment to her own welcome home party. Even though everyone who’d be there wouldn’t care what she wore, she still did, so an hour later, Moira left the store with two new sundresses—she couldn’t make up her mind which she liked best—and two new pair of shoes.

  By the time she got home, her mother was in full party commando mode.

  Her youngest brothers were relegated to sweeping and vacuuming the house and porch. Dennis had hung festive Chinese lanterns all along the porch ceiling rails, which Serena would light at dusk. The inside of the house sparkled with shine and the smell of lemon scented cleaning oil. Moira knew her mother would put a match to fragrant candles scattered around the downstairs just before the guests were due to arrive.

  She found Serena in the kitchen, a flour-covered apron tied around her, and a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies just going in the oven.

  Moira smiled at her mother’s back and put her arms around her, hugging tight. “How did I know you were going to make my favorite?”

  Serena patted her daughter’s hand. “I don’t want to coat you in flour,” she said over her shoulder, “and you knew I was going to make these for you because I always spoil my babies when I can. How was your visit with Dr. Rogers?”

  “Fine. She’s coming, by the way, and I don’t even have to look at your face to know you’re smiling. You’re such an obvious matchmaker, Mom.” Moira leaned a hip against the kitchen table, arms crossed over her chest.

  “I could be accused of worse things,” Serena tossed over her shoulder. “So, you’re okay?”

  Moira nodded. “I still need to watch what I eat for a while. She gave me a list of foods to avoid, and luckily Mom’s chocolate chip cookies aren’t on it. I need to finish out the antibiotics and if the pain comes back she’s going to order another round of tests for me just to be safe. But I think last night was a fluke. I feel fine today.”

  Serena turned and studied her daughter. “You still need to gain back some weight. Your clothes are all hanging on you.”

  “No worries. I treated myself and bought something to wear to the party. I haven’t spent any money on new things in a long time. It was fun.”

  “Speaking of money, a letter came for you from the symphony. I put it on your bed. It looks like it might be a check.”

  “Probably the severance and vacation pay I’m owed. It should be pretty substantial since I never took a day off in almost four years,” she said, dryly.

  Serena stared over the butcher-block counter at her, while she mixed the dough for the next batch of cookies. “Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do in the future? You know you can stay here as long as you like, that goes without saying.”

  “I know and I really appreciate you and daddy offering. I’m still not certain.” With a sigh she added, “I had a bunch of people I met today ask me the same question. I really don’t have any answers right now. I just want to feel normal again before I make any decisions about what to do or where to go.”

  “Baby, you take all the time you need before you do anything. Daddy and I are just so happy to have you home with us. We missed you so much.”

  “I missed you all, too.” She came around the counter and hugged her mother again. When she felt Serena’s hands wind around her waist, she laid her head down on her mother’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “It’s so good to be home.”

  “I want to ask you something,” Serena said, “but I don’t want you to be upset.” She pulled away and added, “Okay?”

  With a frown, Moira nodded.

  “You haven’t touched your piano since you’ve been back. Daddy mentioned last night that he couldn’t remember a day in this house when you were in it when you didn’t practice or play something. When Pat asked you to play the other night we were all shocked you refused. You’ve never in your life declined to play for us or anyone else who asked.”

  Moira blinked a few times and then pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I—I haven’t felt like practicing. I’ve been playing non-stop for four
years, Mom.”

  “I know, Baby. I know you said you needed a break from it. But I can’t help but wonder if your not wanting to play has something to do with why you came home to us. Let me finish,” she added when Moira’s mouth opened. “I don’t want to pry into your personal life, but I feel something or even someone did something to you to make you stop doing the thing you love more in the world than anything else. I just want to help, and I can’t if you don’t let me in.”

  “Mom.” The sob broke from her without warning.

  Serena, heedless of her flour-coated apron, took her daughter back into her arms and ran a soothing hand down her hair. “I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready. But I can’t help but worry about my baby girl. You know I can’t.”

  “I do,” she said, the sound muffled as she nestled into her mother’s embrace. “I can tell you nothing has happened to make me shun playing. I still love it and always will. I just want a little time where it isn’t the most important thing in my life.” She unwound her hands and looked into the eyes so like her own. “It’s been all-consuming for years. Nothing else has mattered, nothing else has impeded on my playing. I’ve had no real life. No fun. But now I just need some time away from it. Do you understand?”

  “I think I do. And I won’t ask you again. When the time comes when you’re ready to, you’ll play for us again. I know it.”

  “I will.”

  With a quick crushing hug, Serena let her go and turned back to her baking.

  “Do you need me to do anything?” Moira wiped her face with her hands.

  “No. We’re under control. I put the boys to work because this party is for you.”

  “I’m sure they love that,” she said, and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’m going to take a shower and get ready. Call me if you do need me for anything.”

  In her room, Moira took out her purchases and laid them across the back of her vanity chair. She’d decide later which dress to wear. For the moment, she wanted to enjoy the solitude and quiet and just think.

  Her mother’s question hadn’t surprised her. It was true. Moira never refused a request to play. When she was alone in the house growing up, or if it was packed with her brothers and their friends, she’d played and practiced for hours every day, to the exclusion sometimes of all other pursuits, including schoolwork. Even on tour she’d found time to practice and play just for herself everyday she could.