A Hope Undaunted (5 page)

Charity dropped a piece of fried chicken onto each of six plates and licked her fingers with a lazy smile. “Oh, never mind. I forgot. That pain was much further south as I recall . . . and I think he’s in the next room playing chess with my husband.”

Faith grinned and threw the dishrag at her sister before hefting the pot of mashed potatoes from Lizzie’s grasp. She returned to the kitchen table to plop steaming mounds on each of the plates. “Hey, Collin’s not
that
bad. And I suppose Mitch isn’t a pain in the posterior at times?”

Charity bobbled the dishrag in her hand while a wicked grin surfaced on her lips. “He’s stubborn, he’s Irish, and he’s a man. What do you think?” She tossed it in the sink and joined Faith at the table to ladle gravy, pouring it on thick.

Faith’s chuckle merged with her mother’s. “So, Katie, you never did say what you have against poor Cluny. To be honest, I always felt sorry for the little guy. Goodness, abandoned by his mother, raised by a grandmother who wasn’t much better, and then shipped off to New York to live with an aunt he barely knew. Other than his brief stay with Brady before Lizzie and Brady got married, he’s had a life of sheer misery.”

A grin curled on Katie’s lips as she placed the rolls into a napkin-laden basket. “Which explains why he’s so good at it – he made my life miserable.” She sighed. “Okay, maybe he wasn’t all
that
bad, I suppose, but the little beggar just had a way of getting under my skin.”

“So does Collin, but you still love him,” Faith said with a smile, never missing a beat as she swatted Charity’s fingers from picking at the chicken.

Katie grinned at Charity’s threatening gestures behind Faith’s back. She toned it down to a smile and forced herself to focus. “But Collin is family – I
have
to love him. Cluny McGee was just so . . .
so
. . . annoyingly cocky.” She pictured the puny street urchin that Brady had brought to dinner the Easter she was ten, and the memory of her instant dislike roiled in her stomach like indigestion. Despite his age of fourteen, he looked younger than her and yet he flaunted the same controlling air she’d seen in every bully she’d ever known. From the moment she’d met him, he teased her and baited her and pushed his way into her family and her life, winning the affection of everyone but her. A shiver traveled her spine. No, to her he was little more than a gnat, buzzing around every summer like those annoying fruit flies hovering over the bananas in her mother’s kitchen. Tiny, taunting, and impossible to swat. Katie sighed, suddenly ashamed at how she had resented him so. “I don’t know, the little twerp barely came to my shoulders, and yet he strutted around like he was ten feet tall, always trying to boss me around. I guess he just got on my nerves.”

“Well, you will be civil to him tonight, won’t you?” Lizzie asked in a pleading tone. “It is Brady’s birthday, and you know how much that husband of mine has always loved Cluny.”

Charity commenced spooning green beans on each of the children’s plates. “Civil? Our Katie?” She chuckled. “She barely treats Jack civilly, and she actually likes him.”

Lizzie tucked an arm around Katie’s shoulders. “Katie, please. Give me your word. Tell me you will be nice to Cluny – just for tonight.”

“Just for tonight?” Katie asked. She grinned. “Well, since the likelihood of ever seeing the little brat again is completely remote, yes, I promise you, Lizzie. I will be on my best behavior with Mr. Pain-in-the-Knickers McGee. Consider it my birthday gift to Brady.”

“Mmm . . . Katie’s ‘best behavior.’ Sounds a tad risky to me,” Faith said, her tongue rolling inside her cheek.

Katie gaped. “Faith McGuire – I’m shocked! I expect that from Charity, but
you
?”

“What can I say – she’s a bad influence,” Faith said, licking potatoes from her finger.

The kitchen door flew open as Faith’s husband strolled in, a tall, dark-haired man who made a beeline for the icebox. He stashed two tubs of ice cream next to the block of ice, then turned to press a kiss on the back of Faith’s neck as he snatched a piece of chicken from the plate, all in one fluid motion. “Marcy, Cluny’s here, so Brady said you can serve dinner anytime.”

Faith slapped his hand and spun around. “Collin McGuire, you’re going to lose an arm that way, mister.”

His wife’s annoyance prompted his trademark smile, along with a little-boy twinkle in his gray eyes. “But not the lips, eh, Little Bit? Wouldn’t want to risk those, would we?” With a tug to her waist, he gave her a lingering kiss before heading for the door, drumstick in hand.

“Collin, wait!” Marcy crumbled the last of the bacon on top of the baked beans and grabbed two pot holders. She hurried to hand the casserole dish off to him at the door. “Here, you can pay for your thievery by taking this to the table. And would you mind herding everyone into the dining room, please? We’ll be right in.”

“Yesh, ma’am,” Collin mumbled, drumstick lodged between his teeth.

“Charity, will you and Faith get the children settled outside while Lizzie and I carry food to the table? Katie Rose, you can pour the drinks – we have iced tea or lemonade.” Marcy shoved two pewter pitchers into Katie’s hands, then wisped a strand of silver-blond hair from her face. Her blue eyes sparkled with humor. “And for pity’s sake, don’t spill any on Cluny, you hear?”

Katie took the pitchers and gave her mother a thin smile. “Yes, ma’am, but don’t blame me if he spills it on himself. I didn’t call him Clumsy Cluny for nothing, you know.”

“Katie . . .” Lizzie’s voice brimmed with warning.

“
Just – kidding
,” Katie replied in a singsong tone. She shot her sister a grin and pushed through the door with her backside, both pitchers anchored tightly in hand. Male voices rumbled in the dining room, and Katie zeroed in on Brady with a bright smile. “Happy Birthday, Bra – ”

The smile died an ugly death as the pitchers slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. Sticky puddles pooled at her feet, but all she could do was gape, drawing in little or no air despite the extended drop of her jaw.

Pandemonium erupted – Collin yelling for a towel and her mother rushing in, and everyone blotting and mopping and babbling words Katie couldn’t comprehend. Instead, she stood like a statue, mounted to the sticky floor as surely as if lemonade and tea were glue. The heat of humiliation curdled her stomach, rose to her throat, and bled into her cheeks, confirming once again that Cluny McGee – aka “Soda Jerk” – possessed a true talent for misery.

His shock mirrored her own for the briefest of seconds before those wide lips eased into an annoying grin. Striking pale blue eyes crinkled in humor while he assessed her head to toe, finally settling on her face in painful perusal.

“Well, Katie Rose,” he drawled in a teasing tone that hinted at a twang, “I see you still know how to make a splash.”

Brady latched an arm around Cluny’s shoulders. The man matched her brother-in-law’s six-foot-three height, head to head. “You remember this little runt, don’t ya, Katie? Cluny McGee? He’s a big-shot lawyer now, but I remember how he used to pester the daylights out of you.”

Cluny grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth against a deep tan. “I think it was the other way around, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones if you are . . .
Katydid
.” He extended a muscled arm in a handshake truce. “No sense in crying over spilled milk . . . or milkshake, whatever the case may be. And by the way, the name has changed – I go by Luke now.”

God help her, she wanted to whop him right upside that towhead of his! She gritted her teeth, completely incensed that he looked like a male model for
Vanity Fair
. The white thatch was now stylishly combed back with just the right touch of Brilliantine, and a double-breasted blue blazer slung casually over his arm, the perfect complement for tan linen slacks. His crisp, striped cotton shirt did little to hide his obviously muscular form, and Katie was appalled when more heat whooshed to her cheeks. She stared at the hand that had captured her wrist outside the diner last night and swallowed hard, contemplating slapping it away. But for Brady’s sake, she reined in her temper and cautiously placed her hand in his. Upon contact, the heat of his palm unnerved her, and she jerked hers away, hoping the gummy remains of lemonade would cling to his skin.

“A lawyer?” she said weakly. “But . . . but . . . Robinson’s . . .” The words seemed to adhere to her tongue, as sticky as the lemonade now coating her skin.

He winked. “I fill in sometimes . . . for a good friend of mine.”

“Katie, we’ll wait while you run upstairs and change,” Marcy interrupted. “Goodness, I hope that dress isn’t ruined. Cluny . . . sorry,
Luke
, it’s so good to see you again . . .”

Her mother’s words faded as Katie stood, fixed in a hard stare, still in a daze.

A gentle arm circled her waist. “I told you he changed,” Lizzie whispered in her ear, “so be good, okay? And speaking of changing, you better hurry upstairs – Mother won’t be able to keep Collin and Brady at bay forever, you know.”

Katie blinked, then glanced down at the stains on the front of her dress. She nodded, still in shock that the soda jerk was conversing with her mother. The realization of what that could mean chilled her blood to the bone. As a boy, Cluny McGee had prided himself on besting her, taunting her at will, and clamoring for control. And today, the ghost of childhood past had returned to roost – harboring a secret that could chain Katie to the house forever.

Which meant one thing. Cold prickles of fear iced her spine as she mounted the stairs. Cluny McGee had won –
again
. Because no matter how much she wanted to smack that smirk off his handsome face, she couldn’t. She was forced to be nice, hoping and praying it would seal his lips. Katie groaned and entered her room, thinking an ether-soaked gag would be more to her liking. She stared at her splattered dress in the mirror and scowled. Cluny McGee was indeed the “king” of misery. She grunted and hiked the dress over her head, sailing it across the room.
Humph! Long live the king – a royal pain
in the neck. And may he have lockjaw forever.

Despite almost seven years since he’d been here last, Luke had the strange sensation he’d never left. He bowed his head at the O’Connors’ table, listening to the humble tone of Patrick saying grace, and a sense of gratitude seeped into his bones along with more than a bit of longing. This had been the type of family he had craved as a boy, and just being with them again made his heart race at the prospect of a family of his own. And one, hopefully, far different than what he’d known.

His thoughts drifted to the mother who’d abandoned him when he was thirteen, preferring the company of a drunken boyfriend to that of her illegitimate son. To her, he was an unfortunate mistake, while to his Gram, he was little more than a burden and the evidence of sin in her wayward daughter’s life. His jaw stiffened. And to the families of the Southie neighborhood whose streets he roamed? Nothing but a bastard, unworthy of love.

He released a quiet sigh, joining the others in the sign of the cross as Patrick finished his prayer. It hadn’t been until John Brady had taken him under his wing at the age of fourteen that he’d gotten his first real taste of being cared for, loved . . . his first true glimpse of family. And what he had seen, first with Brady and then the O’Connors, convinced him that family was worth everything he had to give . . . his love, his devotion . . . his life. A sense of longing rose within him so strong, it produced a sharp ache in his throat. He quickly reached for his folded napkin and shook it free, doing the same with the craving in his soul. He placed the napkin on his lap, laying it to rest along with his thoughts. A family of his own. Someday maybe, he reflected with a touch of melancholy, but certainly not for a long, long while.

“So, Luke . . . how long have you been back in Boston?” Patrick reached for the mashed potatoes and heaped a mound on his plate, then passed the bowl to his left. A gentle breeze stirred a renegade strand of Patrick’s dark hair now glinted with silver at the temples. Damask window sheers fluttered behind him, infusing the room with the heady scent of lilacs and fresh-hewn mulch. Mottled sunlight flickered across a crisp, white tablecloth resplendent with a crystal vase of lilacs and the last of Marcy’s creamy, white parrot tulips. The comforting sound of children’s laughter drifted in the air, harmonizing with the chatter of birds and the yipping of neighborhood dogs.

A silent sigh of contentment escaped Luke’s lips as he selected a crispy drumstick and a thigh from the plate of fried chicken Lizzie offered. He handed the platter off to Brady with a smile. “Thanks, Lizzie.” He glanced up. “Not long, Mr. O’Connor. About a month. But I can tell you one thing – it sure feels good to be home.”

Marcy smiled. “It’s good to have you back, Clu – er, Luke – sorry. But if you don’t mind me asking, Luke, why did they call you Cluny as a boy?”

Luke peered over his drumstick, the near-taste of Marcy’s chicken watering his mouth. “My given name is Clarence Luke McGee, Mrs. O’Connor, but I was so puny that one of my mom’s boyfriends started calling me Cluny instead of Clarence, and somehow, the name just stuck.” He took a quick bite of his chicken, and the sheer flavor of it brought a smile to his lips. Taking a swig of his tea, he winked. “But, since I’m all grown up, I figured a lawyer needs a respectable name, so I go by Luke now.”