A Passion Most Pure (9 page)

Boston Library was one of Faith's favorite places. From its graceful, curved archways to its gleaming chandeliers and stately pillars, it was to Faith one of the most beautiful buildings in the world. A place where one could lose themselves in the great classics of literature and escape to a peaceful respite in an otherwise hectic day. And certainly, Faith decided, a place where one might happily wile away the hours of a Saturday evening.

The moment they entered the building, Charity was off "researching Latin" in the world language department, promising to meet in the entryway when the library closed. Maisie and Faith headed to the research department, opting for a table by the door.

"So ... are you all right?" Maisie ventured, brows wrinkling as she eyed Faith. -1 mean, you were awfully quiet on the way here. Is there something going on between you and your sister? I thought you were going to bite her head off over her remark about the library being the only place you spend a Saturday night."

Faith shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "Just good old rivalry between sisters. Consider yourself lucky to be an only child." She took off her coat and threw it over the chair.

"Well, I don't-consider myself lucky, that is. Goodness, Faith, you've got everything I ever wanted in a family."

Faith sighed and rubbed her face. "I know. I'm sorry. I do have a wonderful family. But don't be fooled. Even wonderful families have their problems."

"What's yours with your sister?"

Faith frowned. "What, are you studying psychology now? My sister and I get along most of the time. We just don't see eye-to-eye on everything."

"Okay, okay..." Maisie shook her head, rifling through her bag for paper and a pencil. "I'll tell you what, she sure is beautiful."

"Yes ... she is." Faith tried to keep the edge out of her voice but didn't succeed.

Maisie looked up, shocked. "You're jealous!"

"What are you talking about? Yes, she's pretty, I'll grant you. But there's more to happiness than catching the eye of every male in Boston."

"I'm sorry," Maisie said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset."

"Yes, you are. Why don't you admit it?"

Faith glared. "You know, you're a really pushy friend."

"Emphasis on friend. Come on, out with it." Maisie steeple-folded her hands on the table and arched her eyebrows in expectation.

Faith leaned over the table and pursed her lips. "All right, okay, I'm jealous of Charity. Always have been, probably always will be. There! You happy?"

"Not particularly. So why are you jealous of Charity? I mean, she's pretty, but so are you. It's gotta be more than that."

"What is it with you tonight, Maisie? You're annoyingly analytical."

"I'm waiting .. .

"For what? For me to say I'm jealous of my sister because she's beautiful and gets all the attention from men? Or because I look sixteen and she looks nineteen, which is probably why ..."

"Why what?" Maisie arched a brow. "Mmm ... something tells me there's a man involved." She wrinkled her nose and leaned forward like a dog on the scent. "She's caught the eye of someone you like, hasn't she?"

Faith gaped. How did she do it? She hadn't breathed a word to Maisie about Collin before or after the kiss. As far as Maisie knew, he didn't exist. And yet, here she was, her prying finger neatly on the pulse of Faith's beating heart. Faith closed her mouth.

"I'm right, aren't I? Oh, Faith, this is so exciting! Who is it, do tell!"

"I can't believe I opened my mouth."

"Oh, but you didn't have to. Do you think I didn't notice you sulking all the way to the library? I know we've only been friends for three weeks, but I feel like I've known you forever. You're the best friend I've ever had."

Faith forced a weak smile. How could she be angry with Maisie? She was the best friend she'd ever had too. Faith sunk into the chair and stared glumly ahead, hands limp on the table. She shot a furtive glance at the few other people in the room before fixing her gaze on Maisie. "I've never told this to another living soul, except my dear neighbor who is more like a grandmother to me."

Maisie nodded.

Faith took a deep breath and proceeded to unravel the whole sad tale-from the schoolgirl crush to the pivotal kiss in the park. Her friend sat wide-eyed as Faith spilled her heart. When finished, she felt lighter, as if sharing the burden made it more bearable.

Maisie shook her head in amazement. "And to think I thought you were this brainy bookworm with little or no experience with men."

"But I am, that's just it. At the end of this week, I'll be nineteen, and that was my first kiss ever." Faith's shoulders sagged. "That is, if you don't count Peter McKenna in the third grade."

Maisie rolled her eyes. "Oh, but what a kiss! I'd pay a week's salary for a kiss like that."

Faith made a wry face. "Well, I wouldn't. It's my sister he wants."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"Anyway," Faith said, quickly dismissing the notion, .one thing I am sure of is Collin McGuire is trouble for both me and my sister. My head-and my heart-tell me loud and clear to stay away from the likes of him."

Maisie suddenly jolted upright in the chair. In a scrunch of freckles, she peered at Faith. "Hey, Charity was awfully anxious to spend the evening in the library. You don't suppose . . ." She bounced up and started for the door.

"Suppose what? Wait! Where do you think you're going?"

Maisie wheeled around, grinning like a pixie. "I need a book from the language department."

"Oh no you don't!" Faith said as she ran after her.

"Oh yes I do. I need something on the language of love." She drawled out the word so ridiculously that Faith couldn't help a little giggle as she ran to keep up with her.

"Maisie, you're crazy!"

"Hush! The esteemed department of language lies just beyond those doors. Do you want to stay here while I explore?"

"No, I'll come. If he's here, I'd like to embarrass himboth of them." Somehow the thought of Collin and Charity together didn't have quite the sting to it with Maisie by her side. They tiptoed into the cavernous language department, which was dimly lit and mostly deserted this time of night. An elderly gentleman sat reading in a far corner while two students appeared to be studying-each other more than the books strewn on the table before them.

Maisie motioned her head toward the bookshelves in the loft area overhead. Faith nodded. The two crept up the staircase like burglars on the prowl. Faith shadowed her friend while she peeked around each and every bookcase. All at once, Maisie lunged back, colliding into her. With a look of smug victory, she put her finger to her lips and pointed. Faith took a deep breath. It jammed in her throat when Maisie yanked her into the aisle where Collin McGuire hovered over her sister. His hands were pressed against the wall on either side as if caging her in, but Charity seemed anything but trapped. She smiled up at him beneath thick lashes. Faith heard Collin laugh, and her body went cold as she shrank out of sight.

"Look, Faith, I found her!" Maisie announced, causing Charity to gasp and Collin to swear. He spun around.

"Mmm ... nice research," Maisie said. She stretched her hand toward Collin, who stood speechless. "You must be Collin McGuire. I'm Maisie. It's nice to meet you," she said.

Maisie reached back and jerked Faith into open view. She wanted to die. There she stood, face-to-face with the man who had occupied most of her thoughts-and prayers-for the last seven days. Faith was as crimson as Charity, who stood in shock, her back hard against the wall.

Collin appeared immobilized for the briefest amount of time before he visibly relaxed. A shadow of a smile formed on his lips. "Hello, Little Bit," he said softly.

"You know my sister?" Charity asked, a slight razor edge to her voice.

Collin never took his eyes from Faith's. "We've met. Let's see, I believe it was in the-"

"High school," Faith interrupted. "It was in high school."

His smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.

He's enjoying this! Instinctively, her lips clamped tight. He laughed out loud. "And just what is so incredibly funny?" Faith demanded.

He laughed again. "You. You're the same funny little girl you were then."

Faith was appalled, Charity seemed relieved, and Maisie appeared to enjoy every mortifying moment. Collin turned back to Charity. "Enjoyed the book. Let me know when the next one comes in." He reached to pull her close and kissed her soundly.

Faith looked away with heat scorching her cheeks. Collin turned and edged by, resting a hand on her shoulder in a fraternal fashion. He leaned close to her ear. "What about you, Faith? Read any good books lately?"

He's a devil, she thought, her heart thundering in her chest.

With effortless charm, Collin turned to Maisie. He nodded his head toward her. "Nice to meet you too-Maisie, is it? Have a good evening, ladies."

And with that he was gone, leaving, as always, bewildered women in his wake.

Patrick tried to remember the last time he'd crossed the threshold of Brannigan's Pub-certainly not within the last twenty years. There'd been no need. From the moment he had laid eyes on Marcy, she had been all the intoxication he needed. But tonight ... well, tonight he needed more, and with lips leveled in a hard line, he once again returned to the dark and smoky confines of the pub that had once been a second home. He looked around. Almost nothing had changed, except for the faces and style of clothing the patrons wore. They still crowded around the same rickety piano and leaned against the same endless cherrywood bar, which looked as if it were polished to a gleam twice a day. The smoky haze was the same, the smells were the same, and the lure and promise of trading in one's problems for a night of revelry was as strong as ever.

Patrick only recognized a few faces, such as Lucas Brannigan, the proud owner of this, the most successful pub in the Southie neighborhood. And, of course, there was Tommy Thomkins, minstrel to those who found themselves alone and miserable, catering to anyone who would drink up his melodies along with bottomless mugs of beer.

Patrick found a vacant barstool and wearily sat down, wedged between a bloke passed out on the bar and a young couple so entwined they only required a single stool. The sleeping man beside him was snoring loudly, cheek pressed hard on the cherrywood bar. Drool funneled from his mouth into a pool of saliva. Patrick forced himself to stare straight ahead at the endless rows of bottles overhead, each reflected in the smoky mirror behind, each a tonic of choice for various problems of the afflicted. The couple to his right disengaged momentarily to sate their thirst, and Patrick caught the nauseating scent of perfume mingled with sweat and stale beer. The whiff of it reminded him just how much Marcy had changed his life for the better.

The thought of her now brought a strange mix of sadness and longing, and more than a bit of anger. They'd had their arguments over the years, but she had never done this before, never questioned his authority or spoken to him with anything other than the utmost respect. And certainly, she had never turned him out of her bed before. Patrick nodded to the bartender who pushed a foaming mug toward him, the frothy rise of beer tumbling over the edge before slithering into a puddle on the bar.

He brought the mug to his lips, and the biting brew tasted strong and good going down. So much so, he was shocked when he emptied it. He would have only one more, he vowed to himself. This wasn't the end of his life, after all, only an argument, a minor interruption in a twentyone-year love affair that was the impetus of everything good in his life. She would know by his absence just how much she had hurt him, and she would be sorry and ready to welcome him back. Patrick signaled for another, then sipped it slower this time as he mulled over his thoughts. He downed the dregs of the mug and blinked in surprise when the bartender magically produced another, its glorious overflow enticing him to succumb.

His sweaty palms hovered around the glass. He was wrestling with pushing it away when he felt the presence of someone standing close, lodged between the hopelessly entangled couple and himself. He blinked up at a pretty woman in her midthirties, and his fingers recoiled as if he'd touched a hot stove. Her dark hair billowed loosely about her shoulders while her green eyes assessed him with open curiosity.

She nodded at his beer. "Drink up-my treat. And tell me now, sweetness, where in the world have you been keeping yourself!" It was a statement of pleasant surprise rather than a question, and Patrick could do nothing but stare, completely caught off-guard by the woman before him. Her smile broke into a delighted grin at the effect she seemed to be having, and she sidled closer until barely inches away, her gaze level with his. "What, cat got your tongue? The name's Lucy, and it appears you could do with some company. We have a table over there-why don't you join us?"

She waited while he grappled with his response, then noticed the ring on his left hand. If she was disappointed, she never let it show as she rested her hand on top of his.

"Look, it's only a beer with some friends. We'll send you back to your darlin' wife with your virtue intact, if that's what's worrying you."