Page 58 of A Whim and a Prayer

Winnie’s smile swerved off-center. “Me too, but thank goodness Daddy and Mrs. C managed to talk her into it.” Winnie absently gnawed on her lip, suddenly remembering how her mother had almost derailed the whole thing …

“But they sell alcohol at The Footlight Club, Mrs. Cullen, correct? That hardly seems like a proper environment for an eighteen-year-old girl.”

Mrs. Cullen had given Winnie’s hand a reassuring press. “Yes, but in the lobby during intermission only, Mrs. Dennehy, and cast and crew are not allowed to imbibe on the premises.”

“What about cast parties?” her mother had badgered, and Winnie wanted to sink into the floor. “Surely there’s drinking allowed there?”

With a slow nod, Mrs. Cullen offered an understanding smile. “Yes … there is alcohol at cast parties, but not if you are under twenty-one like Winnie, and don’t forget she’ll be with me most of the time, so I will take complete responsibility.”

Fortunately for Winnie, her father had interrupted at that point, reassuring her mother that under Mrs. Cullen’s care, The Footlight Club would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to explore her love of drama.

Abby stretched out on her stomach, propping her face in her hands. “So, what will you be doing? Can you audition for plays?”

“No, not right away—there’s a pecking order, you know,” Winnie said with a crinkle of her nose, “but there’s plenty else to do, just like with Annie, Get Your Gun—moving scenery or props, painting backdrops, sewing or altering costumes, organizing wardrobe racks, applying makeup—you name it. Mrs. C says community theatres depend heavily on volunteer labor, so the members all have to step up. I’ll most likely start at the front of the house, selling tickets, handing out programs, ushering—stuff like that, because Mrs. C said those tasks are generally assigned to teen members.”

“Holy moly, Win—how many nights will you be there? Will I ever see you again?”

Winnie laughed, remembering her mother had asked the very same thing. “Yes, you’ll see me lots because they only have rehearsals twice a week a few weeks before a play and then every night of the production, of course, which runs for one week each. But since The Footlight Club only stages a handful of productions per year—not year-round nightly shows, for goodness sake—sometimes there’ll be weeks or even months between productions when we’ll see each other all we want.”

“Oh, good!” Abby exhaled in relief. “Well, it sure sounds like it’s right up your alley, Cuz, so I’m happy for you.”

Winnie skittered up to sit against the headboard with knees tucked to her chest, sporting a Cheshire grin she couldn’t contain. Not with goose bumps tingling all over her body! “Thanks, Abs, but I haven’t even told you the best part yet.”

“The best part?” Abby chuckled. “With your love of the theatre, Dennehy, how could it possibly get any better?”

Winnie giggled as her bobby socks did a little dance. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Abby shot up, jaw dangling. “Wait, there are cute boys there? Jeepers, Winnie—why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

Winnie laughed, a throaty sound à la Mae West while her eyebrows bounced in tease. “Not boys, Abigail McGuire—men.”

“Oh. My. Goodness!” Abby jumped up to shake Winnie’s shoulders hard, unleashing a roll of laughter from Winnie’s lips. “You tell me right now what you’re talking about, Winifred Dennehy. Did you meet some droolies? How old are they? What do they look like? And most importantly—when can I meet them?”

Winnie collapsed on the bed in a fit of giggles so loud, she was afraid Aunt Faith would soon appear. Hand to her chest, she raised a palm to ward Abby off, desperately trying to catch her breath. When she did, she pulled her close and lowered her voice to a near whisper, darting a quick glance at the closed door. “Yes. Early twenties. Dreamy beyond belief—and every single one in college.”

Abby pounced on Winnie again, tickling her until their laughter bounced off the ceiling. “Holy cats, Dennehy, I want details and names, and I want them now!”

Sure thing, McGuire,” Winnie said as she sat up. “Details to come, I promise, but I only have one name so far.” She paused to shoot another quick glance at the door before she leaned in close to whisper in Abby’s ear.

“Ever hear of … Brayden McCarthy?”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Amy unlocked her mailbox slot in the foyer of her and Henry’s apartment and tugged out a large, folded manila envelope with a crimp in her brow, turning it over to look at both sides. “What in the world? I wonder what this is?” she said to her sister-in-law Hope and cousin Gabe after returning home from a movie matinee, so very grateful for their girls’ movie and dinner nights when Henry was out of town. She absently stuffed it in her purse and relocked her mailbox, relieved she’d prepared a casserole to go right into the oven and had a salad already made. “Oh, well, I’ll open it upstairs … after I pour us some lemonade because all that popcorn today made me thirsty.”

“Oh, me too!” Hope followed Amy up the stairs to her and Henry’s third-story flat while Gabe trailed behind with a low chuckle.

“Yeah? Well, that movie tonight made me hungry—for Alex,” Gabe said with a teasing bounce of brows, leaning against the wall with arms crossed while Amy unlocked her door. “I’ll tell you what, Alex being on call for 24 hours is bad enough, but filling in for friends to the tune of 36 hours?” Gabe feigned a shiver. “By the time he shadows the door, I’m ready to make up for lost time, but all the poor guy wants to do is sleep.”

“And you’ll let him, of course.” Hope gave Gabe a playful pinch as Amy opened the door to usher them in, then locked it again out of habit since Henry wanted her to. “After all, doctors need their sleep as much as doctor’s wives need their attention.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gabe said with a flop of her hand, tossing her coat and purse over Amy’s coat rack, “but come morning?” She delivered a wink as she moseyed into Amy’s kitchen. “All bets are off. And Holy Joe, that movie we just saw—Notorious? Whew! It warmed me up more than usual because I swear, if there’s a better-looking man than Cary Grant, I’d sure like to see him.”

Hope arched a pointed brow at Gabe as she draped her coat over a kitchen chair along with her purse. A smile squirmed on her lips. “Uh … excuse me? You will tomorrow, Cuz, and so will Amy and I when our boys get home because let’s face it—they could be movie stars themselves, all three too good-looking for their own good.”

“And ours,” Amy agreed with a grin. “Everybody want lemonade before I put in the casserole?” She pushed an auburn curl back as she glanced in her refrigerator. “Or I have Coke …”

“Boy, ain’t that the truth.” Gabe plopped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Lemonade for me, please. Coke will just keep me up. Then I’ll be as tired as Alex when he rolls in tomorrow morning. I’ll tell you what, you guys—I don’t know how you do it with Henry and Bren being airline pilots, especially with multi-day layovers. I mean at least Alex is still in town when he’s on call, but your guys could be in Timbuktu or anywhere else in the world for days at a time.”