Page 21 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
Chapter Six
Megan had never been to a budget meeting before, and given that her pottery classes began tomorrow, this wasn’t the day she would have chosen for her first one.
It had all started with a text from Bets last night.Hi Megan! Don’t panic but the council has decided it won’t cover the arts center’s operational costs. I’m hosting a meeting to talk about solutions tomorrow at eleven after Donal and Carrick do some last-minute pushing back of their own. We’re going to figure this out. Trust me.
The message had instantly sent her into a tailspin. When the shock receded, Megan had felt the urge to pull the covers over her head and ignore the issue. She’d written in her journal instead, talking about her old habit of avoidance and then tore the pages up into her version of a jigsaw puzzle and burned them like Liam had suggested. She might have even danced around the fire.
But she wasn’t dancing now. Her stomach was already in fits about tomorrow’s class, and this added stress only made it worse.
The fact that her usually beaming sister was wringing her hands next to her on Bets’ settee in the front parlor as her cousin and Siobhan McGrath, the arts center knitting teacher and Bets’ dear friend, made tea made her feel slightly better. The clacking sounds of china from the kitchen grated on her frayed nerves, though.
Not even the memory of another walk on the beach holding Kade’s hand could ease the tension in her belly. Breathing took effort. The center had money troubles already, and that was no way to start. Angie knew it well, having gone through what she called the budget roller coaster before in Baltimore.
“Carrick said he could kick himself for not making this part of the conditions for his donation,” Angie muttered. “His focus was on getting them to agree that we could teach any form of artistic expression such as nudes. Not the day-to-day expenses.”
Angie’s painting classes had gotten into trouble for teaching nudes, stirred up by Mary Kincaid and Orla MacKenna, Tom’s wife. Ultimately that complaint had prompted the county council to close Bets’ fledging arts center. Carrick had donated the house he’d built to serve as a city-run arts center, which should have solved the problem. But if they couldn’t afford to pay the operational expenses of the center, it would close.
They would be out of jobs.
Or at least Megan would be.
Angie taught five art classes, sure, but her painting career was taking off again, and her Irish roots would be oak-tree strong once she married Carrick after the new year. Megan had only started to think of Ireland as her new home, but Ollie loved it and so did she. Now there was this beautiful and tender thing between her and Kade, as fragile as a newborn. She needed to teach and make ceramics to stay.
They had to find a solution.
The two women appeared, a complete contrast to each other. Siobhan was five ten with silver hair and a round face, while Bets was a whirl of energy at five four with orange-brown hair and an angular face that suited her thin frame. Siobhan carried a plate of biscuits and tea cakes with a warm smile. Bets carried a tea service and had a tight mouth.
Megan couldn’t imagine forcing anything down, but she thanked the women as they settled in, Siobhan into a tapestry-covered armchair and Bets onto another settee.
“I think Donal and Carrick are back,” Bets said, cocking her ear. “I’m hoping for good news but I don’t know that they’ll be bringing it.”
“Donal and Carrick thought it was worth a try,” Angie said, tapping her fingernail against her teacup. “They couldn’t wait to confront the council about the notice.”
Megan set her tea on the coffee table and crossed her legs to stop her foot from bouncing nervously, listening for the sound of boots clapping in the front hallway.
When she finally heard them, Megan turned to watch Donal and Carrick stride into the room. The older man was already shaking his head. Carrick’s jaw was clenched.
“So it’s as I thought—a complete waste of time,” Bets said, dumping a sugar cube into her tea with such force the hot water spilled over the rim.
“Did you punch anyone?” Angie asked Carrick as he kissed her cheek and sat on her other side.
“I thought about it, and I’m not a violent man. When we told them you weren’t planning to pony up the cash, they had the cheek to propose thatIshould pay for the expenses sinceI’ddonated the building. As I’d saddled them with a burden.”
“That center isn’t a burden,” Siobhan said enthusiastically, her round face tense. “It was good of you to donate it as you did.”
“Thank you.” He nodded in her direction. “I said they were mad. Hadn’t they paid to finish the center in the first place? Something has clearly changed, and I demanded to know what.”
“That’s when I stepped in,” Donal said, dropping onto the settee beside Bets and putting his arm around her shoulders. “I served on the council until recently, and I know the way of things. Tom wasn’t going to let anyone be upfront with us—even though I wanted to confront the lot of them.”
Donal had resigned from the council over the snafu with Bets’ art center. Megan rather admired that, even though the thought made her belly tighten further. They had a real fight on their hands, and she’d never been a fighter.
“Breathe, Megan,” her sister whispered next to her.
When she tried, she could barely squeeze air through her windpipe. Her sister took her hand, the touch sweet and yet firm, and she finally managed a short and painful breath.
“I wish they had the guts to say why,” Bets said, giving the floor a stomp. “They make me so mad!”
“They weren’t going to say why,mo ghrá,” Donal said, rubbing her leg.
