Page 69 of A Whim and a Prayer

“Exactly!” Winnie slammed a fist into her palm as if to punctuate his statement. “I mean, I’m eighteen, Pop, but she barely lets me go to the Quad of an all-girls’ college much less anywhere else.”

“The Quad?” Patrick’s brows bunched.

“Yes, ‘the Quad.’” With another noisy exhale, Winnie settled back against Pop’s shoulder with legs crossed on the ottoman again and arms in a fold. “The Radcliffe Quadrangle, Pop, which is the social center of our campus, where most of the Club meetings, teas, and gatherings take place in the dormitories. Which, of course, she won’t let me live in either.”

Patrick cleared his throat to thwart a smile. “Uh, you live two miles from Radcliffe, darlin’, so why would she allow you to live in the dorm?”

“To give me some freedom to grow up, Grandpa!” she said with a pleading look, her use of his formal title a clear indicator this was a most serious matter. “Besides, most of my friends who live in Boston stay in the dorms, but not me. Oh, no. Mama likes to keep me chained with lock and key.”

Patrick couldn’t help it—a laugh popped out as his lips took a swerve. “That’s a mighty long chain, darlin’, with schooling at Radcliffe and membership in The Footlight Club.”

Winnie ignored his satire, doubling down on her point. “Yes, but Radcliffe was Daddy’s idea, not Mama’s, and Holy Joe, Pop—it was like trying to loosen a rusty bolt for Mrs. C and him to get her to agree to The Footlight Club.”

His smile took a dry slide. “And yet, here you are—the youngest member of The Footlight Club, no doubt.” He quickly shifted—both in the chair and in his conversation. “What about dances? Doesn’t Radcliffe have formal dances and mixers where you can meet young men?”

“Yes, but only a few times a year,” she said in a near-tragic tone, “which doesn’t give me a lot of chances to meet anyone to date, you know? And then getting Mama to approve any of them is like pulling teeth. She suddenly paused to lean in, eyes lighting up. “Say, Pop, how are you at pulling teeth? Maybe next week over Thanksgiving you could do some oral surgery to get her to let me go to my first fraternity party.”

Patrick’s laughter was full throttle this time. “Ha! There are not enough teeth in either of your parents’ heads for me to convince them, young lady, nor mine for that matter.” He all but shuddered, remembering the horror stories his son Steven had told him about fraternity parties. “And it’s not just your parents and grandparents that feel that way, darlin’—Harvard and Radcliffe banned fraternities and Greek organizations early on because they didn’t approve of them either, so I seriously doubt you’ll be seeing the insides of a fraternity party anytime soon, or ever for that matter.”

“And I understand that, Pop, I do, but Mama won’t let me even date a college boy who’s older than me, which is just about all of them since I’m a year younger than even most freshmen in college ...” Her voice trailed off in a sad wail as she clutched Patrick’s arm, her anguish reminding him so much of Charity’s dramatics at that age that he bit back a smile. “For pity’s sake, Pop, she’s like a prison warden who thrives on holding me back, which is downright unfair. I swear she hates me.”

He patted her hand. “Now, now, darlin’, your mother doesn’t hate you and you know it. Just the opposite, in fact. She loves you so much, she’s trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Winnie turned to pierce Patrick with a pointed stare. “From having a life?”

“No, darlin’,” he said with a gentle rub of her arm, his eyes suddenly tender, “from having a bad one.”

“Oh, Pop, that’s crazy.” Winnie plopped back into the chair with a fold of arms. “Why on earth can’t she just trust me?”

“Because, darlin’,” Patrick said quietly, “she couldn’t even trust herself.” His gaze lapsed into a desolate stare that took him far into the past when Charity was Winnie’s age, making faulty decisions that had brought her so much pain—and him.

“What do you mean, Pop?” Winnie turned to stare.

“I mean that sometimes a parent’s own wild past causes a swing of the pendulum the opposite way when they raise their own children. It happened between my father and me, and it’s happening between you and your mother. But the good news is, it’s a sign of love and protection.”

Winnie studied him through a squint. “What was so bad about my mother’s past?” she said, confusion furrowing her brow. “She married Daddy at a young age, so what could she possibly have done wrong before that?”

Patrick scratched his head. “Well, their road to the altar was anything but smooth, Winnie, and Charity regrets most, if not all of it.”

“Really?” Winnie sat straight up to face Patrick head on, eyes suddenly glowing with a youthful curiosity that so typified this granddaughter of his. “Tell me, Pop—please! What did Mama do that was so bad?”

He patted her knee. “Sorry, darlin’, but that’s your mother’s story to tell—if and when she’s ready to tell it. But suffice it to say her own past is probably the biggest reason she has you on a short leash, Pooh—not because she doesn’t love you. Or even trust you”—he gave her waist an affectionate pinch—“although you’ve not always given her much reason to, eh? With all of the head-butting and harebrained stunts you’ve pulled in the past?”

“Oh, Pop …” Her smile was sheepish, his frank comment dusting her cheeks.

He smiled. “It’s more your young age and the world she doesn’t trust, Winnie, with someone she loves as much as she loves you.”

Winnie expelled a faltering breath that seemed to go on forever. “I know, Pop, but I wish that love included a little more freedom.” She peered up, the plea back in her eyes. “Do you think that maybe … well, you know, you could talk to her for me? She respects your opinion, Pop—everyone does—so maybe you could convince her to loosen the leash just a bit so I can at least date a little more? Because I honestly think that’s the only way to convince Beck I’m serious about friendship and nothing more.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Patrick asked quietly.

Winnie paused, and Patrick didn’t miss the hint of fear that flickered across her face before she quickly dispelled it with a stern thrust of her chin. “It has to, Pop,” she said with the slightest waiver in her voice, “because when it comes to Beck—I can live without romance.” Her eyes suddenly shimmered with tears that pierced his heart to the core. “But I can’t live without him.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Lord, please—give me something really big to be thankful for. Beck’s stomach growled as he stood on the Dennehys’ front porch on Thanksgiving in the freezing cold, his mother’s freshly baked blueberry pie—still hot from the oven—the only thing keeping him warm at the moment. Snowflakes drifted down along with his thoughts, as icy as his relationship with Winnie of late.

He hadn’t seen or talked to her alone in close to three weeks now. She’d been sick the one week he’d come for Julia’s two different chess lessons—of him, no doubt—then she’d had an impromptu meeting for The Footlight Club the next time, and finally Abby had been over to spend the night the next two times—all since “the kiss” in the kitchen.