Any Way You Dream It Read online

  Any Way You Dream It, Copyright Monique McDonell

  Published by Redfish Publishing

  Interior layout: www.formatting4U.com

  All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author. Please contact the author at [email protected] This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For more information on the author and her works, please see

  http://moniquemcdonell.weebly.com/

  Dedication

  To my daughter Charlotte, I hope she always dreams big.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  More Books

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The pillow is as far over my head as I can get it without suffocating myself. Still, it is useless in blocking out the party my sister is having downstairs in the living room. It’s Wednesday night—well, no, now it’s after midnight, so it is officially Monday morning about one, and I have to be at work at four.

  My sister isn’t a giggling adolescent, and we don’t have the house to ourselves while our parents are away for the weekend. She’s a thirty-five–year-old mother of three who has just started sowing her wild oats. Loudly. I know that doesn’t make sense, but I’m exhausted.

  I get up, open my door, and peer over the stairwell to the living room where Minnie and three friends are dancing feverishly to music, hair flowing, with beers in hand.

  I’m not a party-pooper and I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade, but this is the third time in a week this has happened. I want to turn around, close my door, and walk away. I also want my sister to grow up. Neither is going to happen because my eleven-year-old niece, Katie, is standing in her doorway, looking at me hopefully.

  “It’s so loud, Lucy,” she says, rubbing her eyes.

  “I know, sweetie.”

  So for Katie’s sake, I go into battle. I trudge down the stairs.

  “Hey, Min! It’s nearly one in the morning. You guys couldn’t keep it down a little, could you?”

  She turns on me—as has become increasingly common these days—and I can already see the fire in her eyes. “This is my house and I can make as much noise as I goddamn want, and if anyone doesn’t like it, they can leave.”

  Now that’s not exactly true. Katie can’t leave. Kyle can’t leave, and Kyra can’t leave. Only I can leave.

  I turn to the top of the stairs where Katie is hiding. “Yeah, well, it’s Wednesday night, Minnie, and the kids have school tomorrow,” I say, hoping to appeal to the good mother I know is lurking somewhere behind the chardonnay, the beer, and the desire to be twenty again.

  She walks toward me and pokes my chest. “They’re my kids, Lucy, and I’m the only mother they’ve got, and if you don’t like the way I’m doing my job, you can get out.”

  I don’t like the way she’s doing her job. Neither do the kids, and it would appear, neither do the neighbors because I see the blue flashing lights of a cop car down on the street.

  “Okay.” I hot foot it up the stairs, bustling Katie into her room and firmly closing the door behind us so that whatever happens next doesn’t have to be witnessed by either of us.

  While I’m re-tucking Katie into bed and soothing her with meaningless reassurances, there is a loud kerfuffle downstairs.

  “Stay here, Katie, honey, and do not come out unless I come get you. Got it?” I crack the door to see what’s going on.

  I can see that Minnie’s latest boyfriend Earl is handcuffed and swearing at the police, and that Minnie is imploring them to let him go. One of the policemen sees me watching and rolls his eyes at me. It’s Mike , who I know from O’Shaunnesy’s, my regular after-work watering hole. Great. Now the whole neighborhood will know—if they don’t already—that my sister is off the rails.

  Minnie starts calling for me. Of course she does; five minutes ago I was free to leave, but now I’m needed again.

  “Shh,” I say. “Maybe the other kids won’t wake up.” I race down the stairs.

  “I need to go with Earl,” she says. “I need to bail him out.”

  “You can’t drive, Min.” I don’t say that it’s a bad spend that Earl and that without her help will be out of jail and gone by tomorrow, which would be a good thing.

  “You can drive me.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “Sweetie, someone has to stay with the kids. It’s the middle of the night.”

  “You don’t care about me!” she screams. “You’re such a sanctimonious bitch!”

  Nice, Min. Real nice.

  Mike looks over his shoulder at me.

  “Min someone has to stay with the kids; that’s all there is to it.”

  “The lady is right,” Mike tells her. He doesn’t let on he knows me. “If you leave those kids alone, I’ll report you.”

  Mrs. Domenica, who is standing in her robe on her porch next door—and who I have no doubt is the one who phoned the cops—suggests that he should call them anyway.

  Minnie hisses at her.

  “Now, ladies,” says Mike. “No one is calling about the kids. Lucy will stay with them. If you want to come down, Min, then call a cab.”

  Minnie turns on me again. “You know this pig?”

  “Of course I do. You know him, too. He was a friend of Nick’s. He’s Mike Waters. They played baseball together.”

  That shuts her up. “You knew my Nicky?”

  “Yes ma’am. Great guy.”

  “He was a great guy,” she sighs.

  “We’re heading off, ladies.” He heads down the stairs, then Earl is shoved into the back of the car looking sullen and somewhat remorseful, and Minnie slams the door.

  Except… it’s not over. Somehow this is my fault. Somehow I’m interfering and controlling.

  “This is my house, Lucy. These are my kids.”

  “It is and they are.” I’m not going to argue with her when she’s like this. What’s the point?

  “You need to learn to butt out. I’m allowed to do what I want. I’m an adult.”

  “Well, act like one,” Sure, I was a perhaps a little argumentative. “The kids are awake because you’re partying, and the cops just hauled your latest boyfriend away for drunk and disorderly conduct. That’s not judgement; that’s fact.”

  “Well, here’s another fact. I don’t need you here telling me what to do.”

  I’d been living with her for the past four years. I helped her when her husband was dying, I’ve looked after the kids, cooked the meals, and I’m pretty sure—due to her erratic behavior and fewer work hours of late—I’m also paying the bulk of the expenses. The truth was, she did need me. The truth was, I put up with her behavior because of the kids. It was our childhood all over again, and I was trying to be a buffer.

  The truth was, I was failing.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? What does that mean?” S
he’s in my face now.

  I can see the anger in her bleary drunken eyes. I really hope the kids would stay in their rooms.

  “Don’t just say okay to placate me. I’m not someone you need to handle. I don’t need you at all. You can get the hell out of my house.”

  And there it is: the statement I’ve been trying to avoid for weeks.

  “If that’s what you want,” I say calmly. “I have to go to work in three hours so I’ll come back and get my stuff after.”

  I turn to go up the stairs.

  “You’re not going to argue?” she asks.

  “Nope. It’s your house; these are your kids. And if you think that you don’t need me here, then it’s time I go. I thought I was helping, but maybe I was wrong. It’s probably time you looked after your own family all on your own.”

  I see it then: the moment reality registers. She hasn’t thought this through. She might not like me, but she needs my money.

  “Are you still going to contribute?’ My sister has never lacked for nerve.

  “To what, Min?” To your mortgage—which we both know I’ve been paying for years—for your kids’ school supplies? Your groceries? I don’t think so.”

  “What am I going to do?’ she wails.

  “I guess you’re going to have to work that out without me.”

  Part of me feels like a total bitch, but part of me feels free. I’ve put my life on hold because I love my sister and her kids, but maybe, it’s time for us both to learn to stand on our own two feet.

  Chapter 1

  I couldn’t believe that my car had spluttered to a hot steaming stop in Piper and Aaron’s street. At least I had made it for their engagement party and wasn’t stranded somewhere miles away, in a broken-down car loaded full of all my worldly possessions.

  I got out of my car and Cherie, Piper, and my friend—who was also the woman responsible for setting up the happy couple—came strolling past.

  “Lucy, your car is on fire.”

  “I think that’s steam not fire,” I replied. I sure hoped so.

  “Is that any better?”

  “It’s not worse,” I said, but really, I wasn’t certain that was true.

  “Well, on the bright side, you made it and you look lovely.”

  I was wearing tight black jeans and a loose, lacy red top. My blonde hair, which spent most of its life under a hairnet in the work kitchen or in a ponytail, was loose and flowing down my back. I had a leather jacket over my arm and stiletto black boots on my feet, a change from my regular sneakers. I didn’t look like a supermodel, but I also didn’t look like I was going to sleep in my car, so that was a win.

  Cherie had on a skin-tight color-blocked dress in many shades of neon. Her hair was Jersey-Shore big, and her heels put mine to shame. She linked her arm through mine and gave me a grin.

  “You know I’m the matchmaking genius behind this, right?”

  “You’ve told me several times, Cherie.” I shook my head.

  “All I’m saying is, I’ve got my eye on you, Lucy. You’re my next project.”

  “Fine.” I unlinked my arm and faced her. “First of all, I’m not sure you possess the matchmaking gift you think you do, but if you do, please keep your evil eye off me.”

  “It’s not an evil eye. It’s a cupid’s arrow.”

  “Well, aim that sucker elsewhere. I’m not in any way, shape or form in the market for a boyfriend.”

  “A fling?” she asked, hopefully.

  “Not even a fling.”

  “You do know what they say: when you’re not looking….”

  “Cherie!”

  It was at that moment that my phone rang. I should have checked caller I.D but I didn’t. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Lucy. It’s Patty Lewis.”

  Great. On the list of people I least liked in the world, Patty would be on top. Patty was my high school nemesis and now she was married to my hometown sweetheart, Josh.

  “What can I do for you? But more to the point, how did you get my number?”

  “Your mom gave it to me, of course,” she said in her saccharine voice. “And I’m calling because the high school reunion is in two weeks and I haven’t got your RSVP. I assume you’re coming because your mom says you’re doing really well in Boston, and only people with something to hide stay away from reunions.”

  “I don’t have anything to hide,” I snapped. Well, apart from the fact that I was living in my car, not talking to my sister, and terminally single. “I’m just not sure with my work schedule that I can make it up to New Hampshire.”

  “You can bring a date if that makes it less awkward for you. Even a girlfriend.”

  I read between her lines: If you’re desperate and dateless and too scared to come back to town without a friend, then bring one, chicken.

  That’s when I said it. The words were out of my mouth before I even thought about what I was saying. “Can I bring my fiancé?” I didn’t add my imaginary fiancé, of course.

  “Your mother didn’t say anything about you being engaged.” Her voice held a very suspicious tone. I couldn’t blame her—considering that I was lying—and my mother would not be able to keep that secret. If I had a fiancé that my mother knew about, my entire home state would know it, too.

  “I haven’t told her yet. It’s a secret. Naturally, I want to tell her in person. Don’t spill the beans yet, please?” I tried to sound all perky and conspiratorial.

  “Well then, you’ll absolutely have to come so you can introduce your fiancé to your mother and the whole town. I, for one, can’t wait to see you. I’ll put you down for two tickets.”

  The phone went dead and I wanted to die. Cherie was eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Wow. I had no idea you were engaged, Lucy. No wonder you don’t want me to set you up. Have you been holding out on me?” She knew darn well I was a big fat liar.

  “Shut up. Let me get inside and get a drink, and then I’ll tell you the whole, woeful tale.”

  All of a sudden, sleeping in my broken-down car wasn’t the worst part of my day.

  We climbed the stairs to the house, and Cherie headed in.

  Piper stood there next to Aaron, looking like the happiest person on the planet. She had snared a prize in Aaron. He was sweet, he adored her, and it looked like the guy was loaded. Not that Piper needed money; she was a woman of independent means, but still… It was a nice perk.

  “My girls!” Piper was beaming as she pulled us in to a group hug. I thought perhaps she had already had a couple of drinks because I had only left her an hour ago.

  Aaron came over as well. “Hey, ladies.”

  “Don’t hey ladies me, cousin. I need a hug,’ said Cherie and, of course, he obliged. I had come to expect that whatever Cherie wanted, she got.

  A male voice came up behind them. “Aaron!”

  “Chase.”

  Cherie turned and so did I. Chase was a tall, preppy-looking guy with a shock of dark hair and dark blue eyes.

  “Glad you could make it man.”

  “You got married, Aaron. I can’t believe it!” Chase gave him the guy hug-slash-back-slap. “Where’s the bride?”

  Piper extended her hand. “I’m Piper.”

  “Pipe-ah. Love the Australian accent. I’m Chase Wentworth. Aaron and I were roommates in college.” He kissed the back of her hand. Smooth fellow.

  He pulled Cherie into a hug. “Cherie, girl, look at you.”

  Finally his gaze fell to me as Aaron made the introductions. “This is Lucy.”

  “Hi.” I had no choice but to shake his hand. It was large and his grip was firm. And there was a zing. I must have been tired because my body had learned long ago it was not allowed to zing when a rich, handsome preppy touched it. I’d been there, done that and had the emotional scars to prove it.

  “Drinks!” declared Cherie, dragging me into the house which was full of her relatives, friends from Pied Pipers Pies where I worked with the bride, and lawyerly types I assumed worked w
ith Aaron. “Chase is cute, right?”

  I took the glass of champagne. “He’s all right I suppose. Not my type.”

  “Chase Wentworth is everybody’s type.” She took a sip of her champagne. “He’d be the perfect fiancé for a school reunion.”

  I shook my head. “Do not even think about that, Cherie. I’m so tired I just want to talk to the pie guys and relax.”

  “Sure go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later. But don’t dismiss Chase out of hand. After all, it’s not every day a tall, good-looking, successful guy lands in your lap.”

  In the middle of my car? Yeah, that’d get him interested.

  I put the idea out of my head and headed over to hang with my co-workers.

  Still… every time I looked up, I was aware that Chase Whoever-He-Was was looking at me. It was very disconcerting. I turned my back so I didn’t have to watch him watch me, but I was still aware that he was.

  Then a shadow fell over me. “Can I get you another drink, Lucy?”

  Of course it was him.

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  “I hear you work with Piper?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you enjoy that?”

  “Very much.”

  “Not feeling chatty, are you?”

  “Not really.” I looked at him. He was so sure of himself. He thought with his tall good looks and patrician air that I’d be swooning. I hated that. “What was your name again?”

  “Chase.”

  “Like Chase Manhattan? The bank?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, Mr. Manhattan I’m kind of tired. It’s been one of those weeks. So, no, I’m not feeling chatty.”

  “We don’t need to talk then. But when you do please don’t call me Manhattan” He gave me a lazy half smile. “Sure I can’t get you a drink?”

  Cherie joined us. “Go on, Lucy. You can get me one, Chase.”

  I relented to be polite. I was so tired I really didn’t need another drink. Then again, I couldn’t leave the party early because my car was going no further than its current spot out front and I couldn’t let every person I worked with plus Cherie’s extended family see me sleeping in my car. I was stuck. May as well be stuck with good champagne.