for.
But there were so many other things she'd wanted, dreamed of, that she'd locked away. Always telling herself to be sensible because people expected her to be.
But more, deep down more, the knowing if she failed, she'd have to live with it. And she hadn't had the courage for it.
She glanced back at the envelope, squared her shoulders. She had it now. This time, with this dream, if she didn't try, she couldn't live with it.
'Wish me luck,' she murmured to whatever drifted through her house, and grabbed the envelope.
She didn't let herself think on the drive to town. She was going to mail it, then forget it, she told herself. She would not spend every day agonizing, fretting, projecting. She would know when she knew, and if it wasn't good enough- somehow she'd make it better.
While she was waiting, she would finish the book. She would polish it until it gleamed like a diamond. Then, well, she'd start another. Stories that came out of her head this time. Mermaids and shape-changers and magic bottles. She had a feeling that now that she'd popped the cork on her imagination, things would spurt out so quickly she wouldn't be able to keep up.
There was a roaring in her ears as she parked in front of the post office. Her heart was beating so fast and so thick her chest hurt. Her knees wanted to buckle, but she made herself cross the sidewalk and open the door.
The postmistress had snowy white hair and skin as dewy as a girl's. She sent Jude a cheery smile. 'Hello, there, Miss Murray. How's it all going, then?'
'Very well, thank you.' Liar, liar, liar chanted in her head. Any second she would lose the battle with nausea and humiliate herself.
'To be sure it's a lovely day. The finest summer we've had in many a year. Maybe you've brought us luck.'
'I like to think so.' With a smile that felt like a death grimace on her face, Jude set the envelope on the counter.
'Are you sending something to a friend in America, then?'
'Yes.' Jude kept the smile in place while the woman read the address. 'An old college friend of mine. She lives in New York now.'
'My grandson Dennis and his wife and family live in
New York City. Dennis, he works in a fancy hotel and makes a good wage hauling people's luggage up and down the elevator. He says some of the rooms are like palaces.'
Jude was afraid her face might crack, but she continued to smile. She'd learned enough in three months to know one didn't just scoot in and out of the post office, or anywhere else in Ardmore, without a bit of conversation.
'Does he enjoy his work?'
'Aye, that he does, and his pretty wife worked doing hair and such until the second baby came along.'
'That's nice. I'd like this to get to New York as soon as possible.'
'If you're wanting to send it special that way, it'll be a bit dear.'
'That's all right.' She felt as if she were moving through clear syrup as she reached into her bag for her wallet. In a daze she watched the weight and cost calculated, passed over the pounds and took the coins in change.
'Thank you.'
'It's not a problem. No problem at all. Will your friend from New York be coming in for the wedding?'
'What?'
'No doubt your family will, but it's nice to have old friends as well, isn't it?'
The roaring in her head became a harsh buzzing. Nerves were so quickly smothered by blank fury, she could only stare.
'My John and I've been married near fifty years now, and still I remember so clear the day we wed. It rained a torrent, but it didn't matter in the least to me. All my family was there, and John's as well, packed into the little church so the smell of wet wool fought with the scent of the flowers. And me da, rest him, he wept like a baby when he walked me down the aisle, for I was his only daughter.'
'That's lovely,' Jude managed when she had her breath back. 'But I'm not getting married.'
'Oh, now, did you and Aidan have a lovers' spat already?' The postmistress tut-tutted kindly. 'Don't take on about that, darling, it's natural as the rain.'
'We didn't have a spat.' But she had a feeling they were going to have the world's champion of spats very soon. 'I'm just not getting married.'
'You make him work for it,' she said with a wink. 'Doesn't hurt them a bit, and makes for a better husband in the end. Oh, and you should talk to Kathy Duffy about the wedding cake. She makes a fine one, pretty as a picture.'
'I don't need a cake,' Jude said between her teeth.
'Now, then, just because it's your second time doesn't mean you don't deserve a cake. Every bride does. And for the dress you should talk to Mollie O'Toole, as she found a lovely shop in Waterford City for her daughter's.'
'I don't need a cake or a dress,' Jude said, waging a vicious war for patience, 'because I'm not getting married. Thank you.'
She turned on her heel and marched to the door.
When she stepped out on the sidewalk, sucked in air, she glared at the sign for Gallagher's.
She couldn't go in now, couldn't possibly. She'd kill him if she did.
And why the hell shouldn't she? He deserved to die.
Long, purposeful strides ate up the ground until she reached the pub. And flung the door open.
'Aidan Gallagher!'
The room filled to bursting with locals and the tourists who'd stopped in for a bite to eat or a drink went dead quiet at her outburst.
At the bar Aidan paused in the draft he was drawing.
When she stalked to the bar, the gleam in her eye laser-bright, he set the pint aside. She didn't look a thing like the soft, sleepy woman he'd left shortly after dawn. That woman had looked silky and satisfied.
And this one looked murderous.
'I want a word with you,' she told him.
He didn't think it was going to be a good word. 'All right, then, give me a minute here and we'll go upstairs where we can be private.'
'Oh, now he wants privacy. Well, forget it.' She turned to the room. The stares and interested faces didn't embarrass her this time, didn't give her that hollow feeling in the belly. This time they fueled an already black temper.
'You're all welcome to listen to what I have to say, since every one of you who lives in the village is already discussing my business by now. Let me make it very clear. I am not marrying this baboon disguised as a man.'
There were a few snickers, and when she saw the kitchen door slit open, she spun back again. 'Don't stand behind the door, Shawn, come right on out. It's not you I'm after.'
'And thank God for it,' he muttered, but being a loyal brother he came out to stand beside Aidan.
'Pretty as a picture, the pair of you. And you, too,' she said, pointing at Darcy. 'I hope you both have more brains than your brother, who seems to think because he's got a handsome face women are going to swoon at his feet at the first sign of attention.'
'Now, Jude darling.'
'Don't you darling me.' She reared up over the bar to rap a fist on his chest. 'And don't call me Jude in that patient, infuriatingly placating tone, you- bloody moron.'
His own eyes flashed and temper threatened. He jerked his thumb at Shawn to take over the taps and nodded to Jude. 'We'll go upstairs and finish this.'
'I'm going nowhere with you.' She rapped her fist on his chest again, enjoying the violence of it. 'I will not be bullied.'
'Bullied? Who's bullying you, I'd like to know, when you're the one pounding on me?'
'I can do worse.' She was suddenly, thrillingly, sure of it. 'If you think that by telling everyone who'll listen I'm going to marry you, you'll pressure me into it, or embarrass me into it, or just wear me down, you're in for a
