Impossible Dreams (2 page)

“You would very definitely not wish to include Stephen
in our conversation, even were he here, Mr. Holm. Take my word for it. Do you
like the tea?”

He hated tea. From the disorder and dust of this shop, he
feared the cleanliness and safety of anything ingested anywhere within a
hundred yards of it. Still, in the interest of peace, he lifted the cup to his
lips. The fragrance enticed him into sipping.

“Interesting.” Calmly, he lowered the cup and
sought another approach. The colorful young woman across from him was the
antithesis of everything he’d expected. A teacher at the utopian after-school
program should be highly intelligent, goal-oriented, efficient, independent,
and eager to forestall the problems he perceived ahead. She should be grateful
for his offer of help.

Instead of the rational, business-suited career woman
he’d expected, she was an explosion of femininity. The thick cascade of
red curls spilled over delicately boned shoulders draped in a lacy ivory shawl.
A satin-trimmed wide collar of a shifting blue-green silky fabric drifted
downward in points that clung to high firm breasts resplendent with pregnancy.
He didn’t dare look any lower. His gaze fastened on unadorned slender
white fingers wrapped around the outlandishly decorated burnt-orange teacup.

“I disturb you, Mr. Holm,” she said gently, in a
voice that whispered above the pulsating tide currently emanating from the
speakers. “You do have a first name, don’t you? May I use
it?”

“Axell, please do,” he replied absently as a
graceful branch of flowering forsythia dipped and caressed her fingers. The
disorderly bouquet of branches, daffodils, and crushed violets reminded him of
his purpose. Constance. A thump of panic struck his heart at the thought of his
lovely, lost waif of a daughter, and his determination returned.

“The mayor is dead set against the school, Miss... Maya.”
He set the tea cup down, adjusted the saucer so the scene of bridges and trees
lined up with the edge of the table, and the cup’s design faced him.
“I suspect your liberal principles are anathema to his conservative soul,
but mostly, the building occupies acreage the new shopping center needs for
parking lot access.”

“I have a three-year lease on that building, Mr....
Axell,” she imitated him teasingly, the tip of her tongue touching her
top lip with mischief. Axell blinked and tried not to wonder if her tongue
tasted of tea or honey.

“The shopping center people really should have met
dear Mr. Pfeiffer’s selling price if they wanted the land,” she
continued. “Mr. Pfieffer grew up in that house. He has no intention of
giving it away. My lease specifies he can’t sell for three years. I
don’t see any problem. I trust Constance is happy with the
program?”

“It’s the only thing that does make her
happy,” he said bluntly, and therein lay the crux of his concern,
although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone and certainly not to this
pixilated gypsy. “She’s very attached to the program.” And to
the teacher — again, an admission he wouldn’t make aloud. Confessions of a
personal nature revealed weaknesses that could be used against him, he’d
learned long ago. “The location is convenient, and it’s a relief
knowing she’s in capable hands while I’m at work. I don’t
wish to see that arrangement disturbed, but the mayor is pressuring the
department of transportation for a road through there. The state can condemn
the property if a road is approved.”

A tiny frown wrinkled the delicate bridge of her nose, then
disappeared as she took another sip of tea. “Well, just tell the mayor
that would be a misplacement of the public trust and a personal use of the
taxpayers’ money. I have plans to expand to a full-time pre-school
facility at the beginning of the next school year. As you said, it’s an
ideal location. The children love the yard, too. We won’t be
moved.”

“You don’t understand...Maya.” Axell
hesitated over the preposterous name, wondered briefly what planet she hailed
from, then ruthlessly dismissed all his nagging questions in favor of his goal.
“A school of your size requires a license. Should the state decide to
side with the mayor, you won’t receive that license. Unless you’re
independently wealthy, you won’t be able to sustain your lease for long
without income. For the sake of Constance and the other children...”

She rose and drifted toward the counter where the phone was
ringing again. He’d never seen a pregnant woman move with such grace.
When Angela was...

He shut down that path of thought. “We really must
consider some alternatives.”

She poured more hot water over the leaves in the pot. A cat
he hadn’t noticed earlier leapt from a high shelf to the counter,
stretched luxuriously, sniffed the tea, then settled for a cream-filled saucer
beside the hot plate.

His gaze fastened on the gauzy red-brown pleats of her
jumper as Maya turned. He glanced away as the baby moved. She was definitely
making him uncomfortable.

She patted his shoulder reassuringly as she passed by.
“Don’t fret, Axell. I know you like all your little soldiers in a
row, but life isn’t like that. I appreciate your concern, but fate will
decide whether the school survives or not. You may try to steer the hands of
fate, if you like, but I’m afraid I rather have my hands full dealing
with more earthly concerns. Fate is out of my realm.”

She said this last so dryly, he almost winced.
“You’re new to the area, I believe?” he asked, determined to
get a handle on the situation despite her evasiveness.

“No place like home,” she murmured.

“Perhaps you don’t understand the local
politics,” he suggested diplomatically.

“Authority rules for the good of all and the benefit
of none,” she quoted, setting her cup down. “I appreciate your
concern, Axell, but I’m certain you have better things to do. Constance
will always have a place in my program after school, and she’s welcome to
join our full-time summer classes. I think she might be happier with a little
more individual attention, don’t you?”

Setting the cup precisely so the handle aligned with the
table’s edge, Axell rose. “I don’t think impossible dreams
make a good basis for an education, Miss Alyssum. If Constance needs individual
attention, I’ll place her in a more traditional private school. Thank you
for the tea. It was nice meeting you. Good day.”

He strode out, not a wisp of that sunny hair misplaced by
the spring breeze, not a speck of dandelion fluff daring to cling to the
knife-sharp crease of his gabardine trousers or the broad expanse of his
suit-coated shoulders as he passed by the shop window. Tall and sturdy rather
than elegantly lean, Axell Holm strode down the street with the arrogant
certainty of his place in the world.

Maya admired the surety of his stride as he passed, then
smiled as he stopped on the corner to examine a foil kite displayed outside the
corner drugstore. That Aquarian curiosity would be his downfall, she predicted.

Patting the restless stirring inside her abdomen, she
relaxed against the chair back, reprogrammed the sound system, and let the aria
from
Man of La Mancha
carry her away from this time and place. Music was
supposed to inspire the unborn child, increase their intelligence and
awareness, and she wanted her child to have all the right advantages. She
breathed in the crescendo of “The Impossible Dream.” Impossible
dreams were the only kind she knew.

She had no money, a stack of bills higher than her
sister’s inventory, and no real job to speak of, but wherever her heart
was, was home. She could pack up and leave anytime she liked — after Cleo got out
of jail.

***

December, 1945

The night you walked into the bar, I thought you were the most
amusing thing that had happened in a long time. The joint stank of beer. Pete
had passed out at his usual table. The piano player was more interested in one
of the guys at the bar than what he was playing. Then you walked in with your
shiny new church suit and spiffy fedora, trying to look as if you walked into
dens of iniquity all the time. You were irresistible.

I was half way to drunk when you looked at me, but I sobered up
quick. God, you were one good-looking fellow. Why am I telling you this? You
damned well knew it all along. You probably got through the war on your looks
and charm. I’ll sober up in the morning and rip this letter to shreds, so
it doesn’t matter what I say anyway.

Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll mail it and hope it
poisons your two-timing heart.

You had eyes that seared the soul and set my jaded heart
thumping. Even Pete wasn’t amusing anymore. I didn’t want you to
ignore me, so I walked right up and caught your tie between my fingers and led
you straight down the path to hell.

Or maybe I hoped you’d lead me out. I never was very
smart.

Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.

“Maya, is that you? We’ve got problems,
girl.” The lilting Southern accent drifted down the darkened hall through
the office doorway, sounding more bemused than worried.

Maya kneeled and hugged the five-year-old clenching her
hand. “It’s all right, sugar baby. Selene makes jokes.
Everything’s going to be just fine. Why don’t you turn on the
lights and check on Mr. Pig?”

The solemn little boy with her sister’s bright green
eyes nodded his shaggy head. She really needed to get his hair cut. Maya
ruffled the dark strands and kissed his forehead. Maybe pregnancy was
magnifying her emotions, but his solemnity tore at her heartstrings. Except for
his eyes, he didn’t even look like Cleo, but she saw her older
sister’s worried frown in his expression now. He might be only five, but
he carried the world’s burdens on his shoulders already. And just like
Cleo, he frequently rebelled at the weight. He still didn’t entirely
trust Maya to carry the burden.

“I bet Mr. Pig missed you today. Pat him nicely so he
knows you care.”

Matty smiled shyly. “I will. Can I have a chocolate
milk?”

“May I,” she corrected. “Sure thing, sugar
dumplin’. Only one, though. We’ve got to have enough for
everyone.” Maya bit her lip and watched with a sob in her throat as her
nephew ambled down the long hall toward the school’s main workroom. That
poor child had lived through hell these last few years. She cursed Cleo and
turned to find Selene watching her from the doorway.

“That boy will be just fine. Kids bounce back fast.
It’s you I’m worried about. Get yo’self in here and put your
dogs up.”

“Don’t give me that cotton-mouth, girl,”
Maya mocked, following Selene into the office to drop onto a shredded couch
that was one step ahead of the garbage heap. “I may be white trash, but
you’ve got upbringing.”

Selene’s grin spread across her face.
“You’re the one with the education, not me. I’m just here
washing floors.”

“Scrubbing.” Maya arranged her expanded belly
comfortably on the sagging cushion and put her feet up. “One scrubs
floors and washes dishes. Shows how much you know about real work.”

With a more serious expression, Selene inquired, “You
heard from that sister of yours yet?”

She sighed. “Going cold turkey hasn’t made Cleo
any more communicative than before. She won’t take my calls.” Just
the topic of her sister made her nervous. She hadn’t seen Cleo in years,
had barely exchanged more than a dozen phone calls with her since Cleo had
reached the age of eighteen and fled the series of foster homes they’d
grown up in.

Still, Maya treasured memories of her street-tough older
sister rescuing her from childhood dragons, and she figured she owed Cleo. She
just couldn’t rely on her. For that, she had her wealthy partner.

Except today, Maya felt dumpy and dowdy beside
Selene’s tailored ivory linen magnificence. At five-ten and barely a
hundred-forty pounds, Selene could scarcely disguise her elegant carriage.
Pregnant women weren’t supposed to be elegant, Maya reminded herself.
Still, it would have been nice if she’d felt a little less like a
mushroom around a man like Axell Holm. Not that Norse gods noticed
insignificant white trash.

“Earth to Maya, earth to Maya, come in, please.”
Selene had taken her chair behind the desk and waited patiently for
Maya’s return to the world. “You get any ditzier, girl, and
you’ll have that baby and forget where you left it.”

Maya grimaced. “Don’t remind me. It’s one
of my nightmares. Now what fascinating problem do we have besides the
mayor’s desire to run a highway through our kitchen?”

Selene looked impressed. “My, you do have your signals
tuned in for a change. Where did you pick up that one?”

Selene had grown up in the little town of Wadeville, North
Carolina. Her father might have started out as the token black in the local
bank, but he’d moved up in the corporate world until he currently
occupied a spacious corner office high in the bank’s uptown Charlotte
headquarters. Selene had hated city life, and dropped out of high school to
waste several years playing at local fashion model before discovering she had
an aptitude for investing her earnings.

Few people realized she had inherited her father’s
financial acumen. She accepted the town’s prejudices by hiding behind a
shield of silent partnerships and displaying her party-girl charm in public,
letting the community believe she lived off her father’s generosity. Maya
had seen through that disguise the day they met. Geminis could frequently do
two things at once. Selene managed three or four.

“A little birdie in the form of a Nordic god told me.
It’s hard to imagine poor little Constance with a father like that. No
wonder she has an inferiority complex.” Maya relaxed into the sofa
cushions as Selene answered the phone, switched on the computer, scribbled a
note, and sent her a glaring look, all at the same time. She couldn’t
have found a better partner, financially or otherwise.