Dreamsleeves (17 page)

N
ana comes home. We keep our tradition. I buy loafers you can stick pennies in. While we're waiting for our tuna fish sandwiches in our booth at Manory's, I tell her about Dreamsleeves, just the idea, I don't tell her about standing up and talking from the pulpit. She'd probably say that was too bold, sacrilegious even, and then say, “I hope you were wearing a hat at least.”

I don't tell Nana, but I bet I get my courage from her. You must have to be pretty bold to be the first ever woman leader of the workers' union.

“I was wondering how you were spending your time,” Nana says. “My flowers looked like they haven't seen a hose in weeks.”

“Oh, Nana, come on. I watered them. They just missed you. Everybody knows you're the real gardener in the family.”

 

On the day of the Town Picnic, I help my mom pack sandwiches and salads and sodas and we all go to Frear Park for the day.

Beck takes his bat and ball. Dooley's got his cars.

“Bring your guitar, A,” Callie says. I pack some bubbles, too.

Dad takes Mom's arm to walk her down to the car. Her belly's as big as a mountain now.

The park is filled with families at tables and on blankets with picnic baskets and coolers, radios playing, smoke rising from grills, a badminton game, volleyball, college kids tossing a Frisbee. Up on the hill, there's a boy trying to fly a kite. Two little girls, Callie's age, run out from under the sprinklers holding hands, giggling, dripping wet.

“Let's try to find a spot in the shade,” Mom says.

Maria Carroll stands and waves to us from inside the pavilion. “Aislinn!” she calls, “Maggie! Over here. We've got room.”

When I reach Maria, she points toward the next picnic table over. “Look!”

It's the old man from church in his brown suit and feathered hat who was first in line for a Dreamsleeve label.

He sees me and stands, comes to shake my hand. “I'm Patrick Leary,” he says. “I was a friend of your grandfather's. He was a good man.”

Mr. Leary touches his Dreamsleeve. It reads
Meet my grandchildren.

The two little girls I saw giggling out under the sprinklers come running in and pull on his leg. “Come on, Grandpa. Come watch us!”

He looks at me with tears in his eyes. “You gave me the courage,” he says.

“For what?” I say.

“To tell my daughter I was sorry and get my family back again.”

“And look, A,” Maria says, pulling my arm. “There's another person wearing a label over there, and look, two tables back, see?”

People wearing dreams on their sleeves. I can't wait to read them.

A cry catches in my throat. I gulp. My eyes fill with tears.

Maria hugs me. “You started something good here, A. I knew it was a big idea.”

My family comes up behind us. Maria shows them what we're looking at.

“I told you Dreamsleeves was catchy,” Mom says.

“We tried it first,” Callie brags.

“No … you were second,” Beck says.

“O …
kay
,” Callie says, rolling her eyes.

“I got my red car with it,” Dooley says.

From Santa Mike.
I smile, wishing he was here.

“
Dreamsleeves
, you call it, right?” a lady standing by us says.

“It's my daughter's idea,” Dad says, nodding proudly. “That's my daughter.”

 

It was a nice nearly-end-of-summer day.

Mike wasn't at the park, but I'll see him soon enough.

School starts next week.

Hopefully, this is also the start of happier days for me and my family, filled with rainbows and pots of gold and that house with the apple trees.

And no more drinking, no more tempers, no more being scared.

I learned a lot this summer. I know I cannot control any of that.

What I do know is this:

I know how to dream
.

And because of that,

I, Aislinn, aka “Dream” O'Neill,

will always and forever be

free.

With thanks, first and foremost, to my mother, Peg Spain Murtagh, who always makes me feel like I can accomplish every dream I dream.

To my brother, Jerry Murtagh, whose face lit with excitement when I told him about the Dreamsleeves idea. Such enthusiasm is a rare and priceless gift.

To my sister, Noreen Mahoney, who listened to all my fledging stories back when I was desperately trying to get published and who somehow always found a way to be encouraging. Thank you for believing in me, Nor.

To my agent, Tracey Adams, who knew I was ready to write this book, and supported me every step of the way.

To my editor, Jennifer Rees, who loved the idea from the start and then challenged me to take it further. Your mark is on this one, Jen. And to David Levithan and Elizabeth Parisi and all of the fabulously talented people at Scholastic Press, Scholastic Book Clubs, and Book Fairs.

To my seventh-grade friends Joan Garbowski, Marie Hogan, Christine Casey, Mary Madden, Theresa Maloney, Joanne Fin, and Mary Hennessy.

To fellow writer and kindred spirit Sara Webb Quest for a particularly nourishing conversation about this story as we walked “the Spit” on Popponesset Beach, Cape Cod.

Always and forever to my beautiful, smart, and huge-hearted sons Dylan, Connor, and Christopher Murtagh Paratore. You are this mother's dream come true.

And to you, my loyal readers. May you close this book inspired to open something new and wonderful in your life.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

COLEEN MURTAGH PARATORE
, a popular school visit presenter and inspirational speaker, is the author of The Wedding Planner's Daughter series, which includes most recently
From Willa, With Love; Forget Me Not;
and
Wish I Might
, as well as
Sunny Holiday
and
Sweet and Sunny
. The mother of three sons, she lives in upstate New York and on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Visit Coleen online at
www.coleenparatore.com
.